Occult Magic

Languages: English(native), Latin, French, German, Spanish

Alternate ID:

Iron Body (Level 2)

This ritual imbues the subject with supernatural endurance, allowing the Kindred to withstand the Biblical anathema of his kind. THe subject must carry a spent shell casing with him while this ritual is in effect.

The subject may soak aggravated damage for as long as this ritual lasts, whic is one hour per point of the caster's (not the subject's) Stamina. It does not grant the subject any additional soak dice, though. It merely allows him to withstand the traditional banes of the Kindred. (GttA page 163)

Gear (carried): Knife, Glock 9mm, ammunition, satchel filled with odd things (toothpicks, spent shell casings, sawdust, feathers, Zippo lighter, mirror shard, roll of reddish-hued, slick dimes)

DOB: 1939
RIP:

She knew she was bright and precocious because her parents told her so. Her clever mouth got her into trouble in school, occaisionally, and, as she grew into adolescence during the late 40s and early 50s, became a little frustrated with what she could see was a one-sided ecudation. Guidance counselors constantly harassing her to drop math and Latin in favor of Home Economics. She wasn't popular with her peers; labeled a tomboy and a lesbian because she had little interest in playing the popularity and dating games.

Her home situation didn't help. In 1953, her father fell under the scrutiny of the Senate Permanent Subcommittee on Investigations, Senator Joseph McCarthy's instrument against suspected Communist activity within the United States. He lost his teaching post and was blacklisted from the University system. Being a tomboy, a lesbian and a Red was almost too much peer pressure for Elaine, as the few friends she did have politely distanced themselves. She drifted further into high school outcast society - the leather-jacket wearing James Dean wannabes she wound up eating lunch with thought she was a pretty big freak, too. Somehow, she managed to convince them she was cool with a little bit of Kerouac and a proper display of attitude. She obtained something of a social life - holding up the silk scarf at street races, sneaking around smoking cigarettes when they thought noone was watching. She lost her virginity in the back seat of a turqoiuse Chevrolet, and would forever hold a place in her heart for outcasts and iconoclasts.

When she finished high school, she managed to scrape up enough to start attending college - an out-of-state university where her father's stigma would tar her less. She was discouraged from studying psychology, but did, anyways. And she was 21, with the ink on her degree still wet and a mire of frustrating graduate school rejections, when she vanished, mysteriously, as she was on her way home from her part-time job as a sales girl.

John Beaumanoir was a Tremere who had treated hysterics in the Victorian Era. The young woman had caught his interest laregly as an experiment - he wanted to see what a woman did with a male-dominated profession. And in a male-dominated Clan. He Embraced her after her disappearance and inducted her quickly into the Pyramid's hierarchy. Understandably, Elaine was more than a little annoyed. And let Beaumanoir know this at every opportunity. When she grew too out of line, he wouldn't hesistate to use his gifts of mental domination on her to temper her judgement. When she egan using his psychological clinic to turn his patients (and Herd) against him, he isolated her in the city's Chantry and forced her to translate texts and research rituals for him. It was the preternatural equivalent of being forced to take Home Economics.

She kept her head down. Spent almost a decade learning what she could, talking to whatever people she could while she thought up a strategy. And, one evening, while she was allowed out to feed, she inexplicably vanished from the Tremere's radar, just as she'd vanished from her family's the night of her Embrace.

In actuality, she'd taken all the notes she'd copied as well as a few books from the Chantry library and fled to make her own way in the world. After a couple of narrow scrapes, she managed to fall in with a crowd that wasn't too far afield of the leather jacketed rebels of her breathing days. Anarchs were romantic, they advocated freedom, and, and more importantly, didn't ask too many questions about where she'd come from. Assumed she was some disgruntled Toreador or Ventrue and left it at that. Eventually, she managed to gain some respect and accord helping a Baron maintain his fiefdom against a nosy Sheriff.

She keeps the knowledge of her Clan a secret for two reasons; it arouses less suspicion, and keeps the Pyramid from noticing her too much. She's certian, sometimes, that they're aware of her existence, but for whatever reasons, have yet to move against her. She keeps her thaumaturgical displays to an ansolute minimum, excercising extreme subtlety and discretion when she does.