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 NPC Introduction: Olivia Colbert

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Posts : 383
Join date : 2014-09-12
Age : 36
Location : Germany

PostSubject: NPC Introduction: Olivia Colbert   Tue Mar 22, 2016 12:03 am

Olivia Colbert, Toreador and Carthian


June 22nd, 2007

The club rattled. Packed wall to wall with human flesh and the sweat of anticipation. She would perform this evening. Some had waited months for this night. Others begged, borrowed, or stole their way into the remarkable venue. Rumor was the new City Council Chair, Robert Goodman, would be front row and center.

In a quiet corner a small group of men in business attire took their seats. The table was out of the way, but to the perceptive it was an obvious place of honor with a clear line of sight to the stage.

The crowd erupted. The air was electric. You could feel the rhythmic stomping, clapping, cheering of the great unwashed masses. She strode out onto the stage in glittering silver and sparkling diamond.

The Prince of Salt Lake City did not rise like the rest, but he did take a breath. He breathed deeply of the smell of anticipation. Anticipation for an event he had forced.

Over the tops of the mortals’ heads, Archbishop Armel locked eyes with Olivia Colbert, the singer and proprietor for which the applause cascaded. He glanced down at the human in his place of honor at Olivia’s feet and then back up to his would-be rival.

Olivia stared back and the Stone Prince smiled.

The air was heady with the scent of victory.


Monsignor Rochelle, Bishop

[/i]Two weeks prior[/i]
Same setting. Same stage. A slightly different crowd. Olivia Colbert, Toreador and ranking member of the Carthian Movement of Salt Lake City, such as it was, even stood in the same place. It was an early evening, the sun had not been down long, and the place was empty save for her guests.

A Crone. A Dragon. Her own Carthian brothers and sisters and a few rogue elements of the city unattached to the five major factions. There was even an Invictus present. The young Byron Thomas, a member of her coterie manipulated beyond his understanding by his love of the beautiful Olivia.

“You say there is too much power in the hands of one faction,” a young Carthian spoke up, quite rudely interrupting Olivia. “What are we gonna do without getting our own hearts ripped out?”

A chorus of cries and nods of silent ascent rose up. All present agreed the reigning Prince was too entrenched to topple.

Olivia smiled in her polite, unshakeable way. She held up slender fingers for silence.

“You think we don’t have a plan? Would I have called you all here if there were no hope? The Sanctified have their boot heavy on our necks. I would not risk this meeting if I did not have hope.”

Olivia continued with honeyed words into willing ears. Despite their pleas and fear they wanted someone to lead them. They needed a figurehead behind which to rally and oppose the Stone Prince. Who better to be their rising star than the remarkable Toreador? Oliva drank their desperate need and reveled in the promise of power in the nights ahead.

A polite clapping halted her mid-sentence.

“What a lovely gathering.”

Olivia saw the faces of all present fall. The deep bass voice was immediately recognizable. Rochelle, a Sanctified Bishop and Seneschal to the Stone Prince himself, stepped out of the shadows flanked by two Crusaders. All Ventrue. All business.

“Why,” Olivia’s instinct forced the words from her lips even as she felt the terror. “Monsignor Rochelle…to what do we owe this honor?” Olivia spread her hands outward in welcome and bowed her head. She looked to all like an actor taking a bow atop the stage.

The Bishop grinned from ear to ear.

“I believe it was not one month prior that the Archbishop decreed no meeting of political factions could take place without a Sanctified member present. You,” he gestured with a thick hickory cane, “are in violation.”

Olivia put on her best confusion and gestured to Byron.

“My lord Bishop, Byron belongs to the Church. He stands as representative for your faction at this meeting of the minds. Why, we only sought to discuss a way to petition the Prince for greater freedom in our factions. Harmless, really.”

“Archbishop.” Rochelle’s single word fell like a stone.

“I beg your pardon, my Bishop?”

“You name him Prince, yet Archbishop Armel is both religious and secular leader. Prince is a title beneath him.”

“Forgive me, Monsignor.” Olivia bowed her head once more.

The Bishop stared at her in silence as his two Crusaders moved about the room. Every eye in the room cast down in subservience to the will of the Prince’s men.

“I do not think I will grant forgiveness this evening, Olivia.” He turned his gaze to rest upon Byron. “You are not a member of our Church, Olivia Colbert. Your ignorance is understandable. This one,” he pointed with a his cane to Byron, “was excommunicated from the Lancea Sanctum this very evening. On the grounds of spiritual corruption.”

Byron’s eyes exploded with fear. He began to blubber as first one, and then the other Crusader took his arms. “I did not know! I would not betray the Church. I, she made me…” a fist of steel silenced him for a time.

The Bishop took a moment to stare at each and every Kindred present.

“By way of enforcing the Archbishop’s decree, all of your lives are forfeit.” Rochelle sneered as the obvious fear spread like a wave.

“By way of showing the Archbishop’s mercy, you are all…forgiven.” Rochelle locked eyes with Olivia. “All save one.”

Rochelle’s gaze never wavered, never shifted from the Toreador. “Byron Thomas, your life is hereby forfeit for your traitorous actions to the Lancea Sanctum. I hereby name you anathema, traitor, unclean. You will be purged of your sin this very evening as a lesson to all those who would stand against the Church.”

Byron’s anguish was cut short by a black bag thrown over his head as the two Crusaders dragged him from the room.

“Take the lesson. Savor it. There will not be another.”

In moments, the club was empty. Olivia stood atop the stage replaying the brief scene. Her legs had been cut from under her. No one would stand on her side in the Stone Prince’s city after this.

In that moment, she made a resolution. The Night was long and made room for many plans.


June 22nd, 2007

Olivia stood atop the stage, more goddess than diva, and the crowd roared. An electric hum popped from the speakers and charged the air with anticipation. The curtain rose behind her and the Big Band lifted their instruments. All eyes were glued to the liquid silver hugging the singer’s form.

At the Stone Prince’s side Monsignor Rochelle chuckled. “She is a spectacle to behold. A harlot, a jezebel, but serviceable in her way. It is a pleasure to see her rejoin the flock, Archbishop.”

The Stone Prince did not speak. Olivia felt his eyes like the threat of annihilation.

Rochelle continued. “Her endorsement of the new City Council Chair, especially in such public fashion, will prompt the others of her Movement to fall in line.”

Rochelle droned on. It was his way to talk. And talk. And talk.

It was Armel’s way to listen. His eyes never left the Toreador.

Olivia held a thinly gloved finger to blood-red lips and the crowd quieted in an instant. After the applause, the silence was deafening.

She snapped her fingers and began to sway.

Olivia's Song

At her feet, in the place of honor - for the Herd - women flocked about the City Councilman in droves. Each was a beauty, sultry and seductive.

Olivia closed her eyes. She let the music flow through her. The electric hum left no one untouched. The power of her presence staggered even the most unfeeling.

I’m gonna fight ‘em off
A Seven Nation Army couldn’t hold me back

Her voice was silk wrapped about steel. A woman swooned. A man in the front row tossed a rose, too early, so great was his emotion. She sang and they listened and Armel simply watched. She might be the center of attention, but this was his night. His victory.

They’re gonna rip it off
Taking their time right behind my back

Olivia made a subtle gesture and the whole front row rose as if pulled up by strings.

And I'm talkin' to myself at night
Because I can't forget
Back and forth through my mind
Behind a cigarette

Armel glanced down to the City Councilman and for the first time this evening, he felt a moment of doubt. The women were all over him. To be expected, and in itself not a problem. But some of them were taking pictures. Posting them online. Spreading this moment in time and the politician’s debauchery in real time.

Shaming him.

And the message comin' from my eyes says, "Leave it alone."

Armel’s gaze snapped back to Olivia. Beneath the table, his fingers clenched tight to the table. Wood cracked.

“Bishop…” the word was a whisper. A demand. Rochelle instantly understood. He stamped his cane down hard and men began to move through the crowd.

“That bitch.” Rochelle muttered. Shamed.

Olivia saw the movement and poured more of herself into the song.

Don't wanna hear about it
Every single one's got a story to tell
Everyone knows about it
From the Queen of England to the hounds of hell

Olivia made another subtle gesture and the force of her personality spread. The front row cheered – no roared – and the people behind followed suit. That herd of humanity flooded close. Tight. Blocking the path of the Prince’s men.

And if I catch it comin' back my way
I'm gonna serve it to you
And that ain't what you want to hear
But that's what I'll do

The weight of the crowd, her crowd, kept them back, the Kindred. They could not risk showing their strength before so many. They edged and shoved and all the while the Councilman’s mockery spread across the web. Olivia sang on, eyes locked on the Stone Prince.

Utter defiance.

And the feeling coming from my bones says, "Find a home."

She sang on. The band played. The crowd pressed. The world shrank from a moment of victory for Archbishop Armel to one of hatred. Anger.

She must be crushed. She must be stamped out. The impudence of the gesture was too much for the proud lord to bear.

The crowd continued to roar.

A shot rang out.

They surged the stage, instead of fleeing. They came towards their diva. Their goddess. Their sole reason for life.

Chaos erupted in the seconds to follow and the Kindred finally broke through.

There, in his place of highest honor, City Councilman Robert Goodman lay dead. A gun, a small lady’s pistol, rested gently on his chest and there was a single entry wound in his right eye.

Of Olivia, there was no sign except the echo of those electric words.


December 31st, 2007
The P238 LADY lay atop the blotter of the Archbishop’s desk. A fraction the size of a regular pistol, the small SIG SAUER was a mere 5 ½” in length. A tiny thing, it weighed next to nothing, barely useful as a paperweight. Silver designs mixed with inlaid scroll engraving on the black metal. The crimson rosewood grip completed the image of a deadly work of art.

Small, unassuming, and capable of intense violence.

“Two more have been confirmed, Archbishop. They have gone to Arsenal. Absent these long nights, our sources in that foul cesspit bring word that these former members of our flock have joined her Movement.”

Monsignor Rochelle lay out in minute detail the recent transgressions of the distant Kindred of their “rival” city. A Carthian Gangrel and a Ventrue Crone were the most recent defectors. There were whispers of a Carthian Premiere, an opposing Prince.

Archbishop Armel realized that the Bishop had asked him a question. He did not turn from the window overlooking the Temple. His face was a stone mask reflected back into empty, black eyes.

Rochelle repeated his question.

“She taunts us. I have spoken with the Synod and the other Bishops agree. We should deal with this matter before she gains too much. Do I have your leave to send the Crusader?”

The Stone Prince of Salt Lake watched the reflection of the unassuming gun in the glass.

Just because you do not turn to see look at it full on does not mean it cannot harm you.

Armel nodded and Monsignor Rochelle departed.

In the quiet of the Night, without a word, the Stone Prince declared war.

Archbishop Armel, the Stone Prince

Character Sheet

C Thomas Hand
GM/Storyteller/Swell Guy

The wisest words fit into pithy sayings.

Legends of Rokugan on Obsidian Portal
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NPC Introduction: Olivia Colbert
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