|Full Name:||Ishmael "Izzy" Chavez|
|Deed Name:||~Strikes-like-Lightning-from-a-Clear-Sky~ or ~Lightning-Strike~|
|Age:||19 (Feb. 10th)|
|Pack:||Igni Ferroque (Clashing Boom-Boom)|
|Demeanor:||(Reluctant Garou) - Visionary|
Incredibly empathetic, idealistic, and a pacifist until not so long ago, Ishmael's time with Dies Ultimae beat out much of his aversion to violence, and instilled in him a perhaps unhealthy obsession with crafting and inventing things that go 'boom'. The young man is, however, still kind and generous in spite of his foul mouth and prickly demeanor, and ineffably loyal to those that take the time to navigate around his thinly-veiled machismo and befriend the goofy artist within.
- Physical: Strength 2, Dexterity 4, Stamina 2
- Social: Charisma 3, Manipulation 1, Appearance 2
- Mental: Perception 4, Intelligence 3, Wits 3
- Talents: Empathy 3, Insight 3, Integrity 2, Persuasion 3, Sensitivity 1 Streetwise 1, Vigilance 2
- Skills: Craft 4 (Art, Forgery), Drive 1 (Cars, Motorcycles), Larceny 3, Marksmanship 3 (Rifles, Pistols), Technology 4 (Guns, Computers, Forgery)
- Knowledges: Computer 4, Enigmas 1, Linguistics 2 (Glyphs, Spanish), Occult 1, Rituals 3, Science 1
- Willpower: 7
- Rage: 2
- Gnosis: 4
- Conscience: 4
- Courage: 3
- Self Control: 3
- Banality: 6
- Backgrounds: Resources 1, Totem 4, Rites 5, Fetish 5
- Merits: Code of Honor (1pt), Concentration (1 pt), Computer Aptitude (1 pt), Mechanical Aptitude (1 pt)
- Flaws: Phobia (mild): Cockroaches (2 pt), Hunted (3 pt), Nightmares (1 pt)
- Renown: Permanent / Temporary
- Glory: 1 / 0
- Honor: 0 / 0
- Wisdom: 5 / 0
Various superficial scars, but none that are particularly interesting, nor glory-offering.
Despite his lack of Primal Urge or desire to spend more time in any wolf form than necessary, Ishmael (by sheer practice) is adept at both Mother's Tongue and Lupine. Beast instinct beyond this is another matter entirely.
Ishmael is fluent in both English and Spanish.
All that focus on crafting and artistry has lead to practiced hands and fingers that are quite nimble regardless of task.
Living a life somewhere between crime and being hunted has well-exercised Ishmael's paranoia instincts. If there's someone lurking, or something watching, he's usually aware of it in some form.
Mostly between professional schooling and years of experience, Ishmael's quality craftsmanship (and his paintings in particular) has earned him enough money to eke out a meager salary outside his Garou responsibilities. The young man's art has really made a name for itself under the moniker "Street Whale".
What really gets him the dough, however, is his ability to replicate existing pieces of art, signatures, and what have you; thus, forgery and replication are his big shtick, and also his secondary specialties.
While Ishmael had always hated and generally avoided guns before Dies Ultimae, the murder of his father in childhood instilled in him a need to know how the things work to better defend against them. He crafted several, including a pistol based off a Glock design for his late Uncle. Within the Dies Ultimae boot camp, these skills were honed to include all sorts of firearms and ammo as a sub-specialty.
The generosity of Ishmael's late uncle came with a price: If Ishmael wanted money for art school and other such pursuits, he had to learn how to hack and help out with his uncle's various criminal endeavors. Years of practice and experience has lead to top-notch hacking and computer skills in general.
Between combining paints and experimenting with simple flash bombs, Ishmael has focused his mediocre knowledge of Science towards chemistry and the combining of different metals and compounds for interesting results.
Code of Honor Edit
Ishmael automatically resists temptations that conflict with the following unless supernatural persuasion is involved. In this case, he gains either + 3 dice or a - 2 difficulty to resist at the GM's discretion.
- I will spare innocents as much as possible. Violence is a tool, not a goal.
- The Weaver has fun toys, but she is not a replacement for Gaia.
- Cockroaches are really gross, but they should never be harmed, nor killed.
- Never betray a friend, but don't be their scapegoat either.
- Breaking Litany bad.
- Always follow orders unless there is a conflict with the above.
In spite of his issues, Ishmael is quite capable of focusing on any presented task. Any negative modifiers presented from distraction or inauspicious circumstances (such as Nightmares) is limited to - 2.
Computer Aptitude Edit
Ishmael has a natural affinity for computers and electronic devices. As such, all difficulties to repair, construct, or operate them are reduced by 2.
Mechanical Aptitude Edit
Ishmael also has a natural affinity for mechanical devices such as guns, engines, and some locks. All difficulties to repair, construct, or operate any kind of mechanical device are reduced by 2. This aptitude does not extend towards driving.
Seeing both your father and uncle murdered in front of you at different points in your life generally tends to lead towards psychological problems. Compound this with Ishmael's natural sensitivity to the supernatural, and voila! Crazy nightmares.
Severe nightmares can lead to a - 1 die penalty to all actions the following day. Horrific nightmares may be mistaken for reality on occasion.
The same gang/group of people that murdered Ishmael's father and uncle are also after him. He has been attacked by their lackeys multiple times, but has thus far managed to evade them. Hoping that his time in Dies Ultimae has knocked these people off his track, Ishmael has momentarily stopped worrying about them.
Phobia: Cockroaches Edit
Besides the fact that these insects are disease-carrying and gross, Ishmael subconsciously associates cockroaches with his father (a Glass Walker) and thus a slew of painful memories. When encountered with a cockroach, Ishmael must roll Willpower at standard difficulty (GM discretion). If he gains 3 or more successes, he momentarily conquers his phobia. If he gains fewer than 3, he will refuse to approach. If he fails, he will do his best to Go Away as quickly as possible. Glass Walkers unaware of Ishmael's history tend to view this phobia with serious concern or disgust, given Cockroach is the tribe totem.
- Glock (9mm), Light Pistol, as chart. Standard ammo clip.
- Clip of standard ammo for rifle.
- Clip of silver bullets for rifle.
- Clip of tracer rounds for rifle.
- The Spiker (Level 2, Gnosis 5)
- This rifle is a unique conglomerate designed by Ishmael from hacked military blueprints and those provided by Dies Ultimae. After long study, each piece was carefully created and assembled by Ishmael to make the rifle worthy of spirit habitation. An earth elemental currently resides therein, affording the rifle extreme resistance to damage of any sort. Further, it has absolutely no recoil, and is always stable and motionless regardless of how it is held. The fetish is still beholden to gravity and other such forces, but if braced or held, the rifle will always remain aimed at its particular target, even if the user is surprised or jostled.
- Taboos: Must be cleaned at least once a week or more if possible; must be used regularly; must be placed in contact with earth or stone, or the user must be carrying earth or stone if possible.
- System: As Rifle in firearms chart - 1 diff to hit. With Scope, the total stats are: Dexterity (4) + Firearms (3) + 2 from pack + 3 from fetishes = 12; Diff 7 within 400 yards, Diff 5 within 200 yards, Diff 3 within 2 yards; 8L Damage; Rate 1; Clip 5 + 1 in chamber; No Conceal.
- Luna's Eye (Level 3, Gnosis 6)
- A scope imbued with a spirit of visions. This fetish can be easily attached to most firearms and is activated with a gnosis roll or expenditure of a gnosis point. Normally, this fetish acts as a very high quality scope that can magnify up to 4x most anything within line of sight. Activation not only affords the scope night vision, but surrounds all creatures viewed through this scope with a hazy white outline (like moonglow) that can be seen through the dark silhouette of objects and buildings. Further, wyrmy creatures are tinted a sickly yellow to a deep red depending on their wyrminess. At GM discretion, instead of just being automatic, the scope uses the character's Perception + Occult roll as if they had just used Sense Wyrm.
- Taboos: Lens must always be kept clean; must meditate with lens on something that can't be seen fully (such as stars, distant horizon, etc.) at least once a week.
- System: + 2 die to accuracy normally, and an additional + 1 die to accuracy when activated.
- Current +learn
- Current +teach
- Advancement History
- Sight from Beyond, 7/11/09
- Rite of the Opened Caern, 8/8/09
“Call me Ishmael.” I know its a bit cliché, but so is a lot of what we find memorable; the little things that build: the trite art projects in primary school; the flower I stole from Ms. MacGregor’s tiny garden for Mom’s grave on her birthday; the particular smell of wet garbage and cardboard from the dark alleyways in the morning; even insisting to spell “Ishmael” as “Izzy” on my homework because it was easier to write.
I’ve never had the heart to read Herman Melville, or any of Moby Dick, but Dad said the opening line of chapter one, “Call me Ishmael,” was one I could always use to grab attention. The name was foreign-sounding enough so even if no one caught the allusion, they might still be momentarily mystified. I can’t say it’s ever really happened that way. Dad was too much a poet somewhere down beneath the Washington Heights thug, an idealist, too, but that wasn’t the worst of it. I know he wanted me to be special; maybe he even thought I was, having mentioned steps taken to ensure such a thing. But there wasn’t any time for me to be special. For him there was only crime, and he was always busy.
I was a listener, a wanderer.
Mom died when I was five. After that, I spent a lot of time out on the busy streets, mingling with the brusque crowds, loitering in front of bakeries, lingering for a hand-out. There were a lot of smells to remember, a lot of sounds, always more voices to be heard—something to do.
I tried to go to school like the other kids, but always kept to myself. Sometimes they would invite me to their games, but they were always uncomfortable, and so was I. They knew about my father, I think. But it doesn’t matter. I often politely declined until the very last time they asked, when after I went walking through the streets, listening.
“Run!” I felt it. Hearing doesn’t quite describe.
I came home, and Dad was dead. I remember only the almost automatic motion of hiding Dad’s journal in my bag before the police roped off our apartment and sent me to live with Uncle Alejandro in Seattle. I don’t know how they managed to calm a nine-year-old kid amidst the smell of brimstone or sounds of screaming sirens. I know that I didn’t cry as they ushered me from the bodies. I know I didn’t look back as they drove me away.
I had been there, I think, when the murders happened; though I can’t remember any of it outside of the journal. I was stuck wanting to be where my parents were, though I didn’t really know what that meant. I knew they were dead, but loss is a vacuum only fully felt when things begin to replace the memories, and I was still in shock.
There was something else amidst the sound of the city as the police took me away that day, between the squeals of breaking at the stoplight and the telltale horns of New York City streets—something whispered to me that it would all be okay. Can a city lie? I don’t think so, and I had always made it a point to listen—to feel for it. There’s a certain Spirit to the place… a certain connection—like what Dad felt in Central Park. I’ve heard it called the Zeitgeist, but I can’t claim to know for sure. It’s almost like a shadow.
So I left New York and came to Seattle. I’ve always done a lot of riding the flow, hiding, running. Even in New York the alleys whispered “Hide! Hurry!” I don’t really know how likely I ever was to getting shot or anything like that, but it always seemed to me there was a time and a purpose for conflict, so I always tried to avoid it. I liked to think that Uncle Alejandro also believed in the merits of running from danger, as it made less the feeling of impending doom often associated with guilt and breaking the law. But in truth he was a glutton for attention, action, drama. If my Dad was anything like his brother… perhaps I didn’t really ever know him at all.
Thankfully, Alejandro had more money than my Dad, enough for school and tutors; but there was a price. Internet crime: pirating; scamming; hacking, all of it. Alejandro did it for the money and adrenaline. He did it to be known on-line, for infamy, attention. The deal was to help him or get nothing, to forever be the alley-rat of Washington Heights. I wanted to know why my life was the way it was. I wanted to know about my father. I wanted to understand.
Seven years. I was never really very good at it—the crime. I lived thinking I could get away after graduating from secondary school, but growing up happens in cycles, and failed trials seem to always reappear. I’d really started to dread ever coming home anywhere again. Alejandro had everything packed one day, and we left immediately for Spokane. He wouldn’t tell me why, but he didn’t have to. He’d made a bad move. Someone had found him. He’d gotten lazy; I hadn’t been there to warn him. Sometimes I hear, feel things.
“Run!” I felt it a few days before. Even then, coming home late. “Leave!” But it had been a long time since New York. It hadn’t been so imperative to listen for years, to be aware. So I fiddled with the lock of our new studio apartment in Spokane, swinging the door open wide. Alejandro sat at the far end of the room, slumped. There was red somewhere; I smelled iron. Movement. There was someone else.
I turned. I ran. I didn't stop running. At night the streets are wet and cold, but rarely quiet. It was there, some weeks later that I nearly Firsted on some thugs, and thus began my new life.
It was never easy for Ishmael to accept the duties and responsibilities expected of him as a Garou at Quiet Sun. His tribe affiliation as a Glass Walker likely saved him the punishment of other, more traditional tribes. But even the Walkers were forced to discipline the rebellious pacifist often enough to label the teen a problem. Unlike many other cubs that embraced the novelty of this new life, and accepted their role, Ishmael staunchly refused. Fighting for Gaia was something he could do; appeasing the spirits was also in his realm of acceptance. However, fighting brutal battles and often sacrificing the innocent for the greater good were not actions he could stomach. There was, however, something to be said for his willfulness and ability to willingly accept and withstand heckling and punishment. It became clear that Gaia's warrior was in there somewhere, it just had to be approached differently.
Through the compassion and tolerance of several of Ishmael's elders (including Urick Garret), the teen finally came to some sense of reconciliation. Though still maintaining a heavy aversion to violence, he leapt into a support role and managed the local Walker's cache of technologies and computer software, often acting as a communications officer and keeping track of tribe movements throughout the area.
Growing restless and burning with a desire to better himself, Urick eventually left Quiet Sun for the Dies Ultimae boot camp, dragging Ishmael along for a good dose of character-building. Ishmael's enthusiasm was understandably lackluster, but Urick was a trusted friend and senior, so he went along without much fuss (to everyone's astonishment). Through Dies Ultimae, Ishmael's particular talents were honed and allowed to blossom in an atmosphere that lacked little in the way of resources. The then-Cliath created fetish after fetish, improved upon already efficient software, and even learned how to craft advanced firearms.
When he finally challenged for Fostern, the terms were surprisingly easy (to everyone else's regard). The teen already knew how to use gun, but that wasn't enough. To act as long-range support in a pack unit, he had to master the gun. The challenge gave him a time limit to do so. Determined, Ishmael made a promise to himself to never use a gun irresponsibly, but otherwise dived right into the task, and blasted away everyone's expectations - even his own.