Marion Dubois

"The partner of his guilt, should be hurled from the pinnacle of unsullied virtue, down to the lowest abyss of infamy and degradation."

Marion's backstory is not essential to read before a role play with him. I understand it is long, so I will list the key points here for your convenience.

Marion lived a life of greed, taking all the mortal world had to offer. When he could be satiated no longer, his lover suggested he find pleasures in the realm beyond living. Marion wasted no time seeking the key to more, and in return, the universe stripped him of everything. His lover was slaughtered and he was blamed, which sent the estate into a frenzy. By the time things had died down, Marion was alone and soaked in his toils of greed.

Now, he lives alone, both longing for another and adverse to the vulnerability that comes with love.

Adopted into affluence at the age of 3, Marion has known only the finer things of life. From Arabian coffee to Chinese silk, he's been immersed in the best money can buy for almost his entire life. While not openly boastful in his mortal life, ego and arrogance were no strangers to him. He saw no reason to keep himself (nor those he favored) from shameless indulgence.

His tragedy began with the son of his father's business partner. He was a cocky thing, one to brag and show off, and, similar to Marion, he had the funds to back it up. Had the money and the expertise that reserved him the right to boast. It was no surprise that Marion fell for him.

The boy, just shy of 19, wasted no time in his pursuit of Marion. He preyed on his materialism; Marion's lust for worldly goods was ever expansive. More importantly, he showed Marion what he was missing outside of shiny things, even in his life of privilege: the touch of another. It was in secret, of course, hidden behind bookcases or deep in the garden, yet despite this, Marion was no more than a slave to his desires. Whether or not the boy’s love matched the merit of Marion’s was debatable, but Marion neither knew nor cared. He’d been given something without a price tag, something priceless, and something all for him and him alone.

Fed by a constant stream of stimulation and attention, it should serve as no surprise that Marion's greed grew. He'd had all the world had to offer, the finest things money could buy and more, and thus had to ask himself, where does one go when they've reached the top? What do you give the man who has everything? On instinct he asked his lover for help; he'd done so much, shown Marion all there was to see, yet there simply had to be more. If anyone was to know, it would be him.

His lover, the boy, wasted no time filling him up with tales of immortality. Stories of the unknown, legends of those who'd harnessed the darkness and unlocked the door to more, he told Marion all of it and watched as his eyes swelled with want. Vampyrs, the boy told him, that was what they were called.

Marion knew he'd damn himself if he indulged in the dark arts, but with the novelty of flesh waning, it took little convincing for him to concede.

Once his lover had left that day, Marion wasted no time looking for more information. Part of him knew it was silly, his studies had made it quite clear such violations of nature were not only morally forbidden, but implausible as well. Still, he hurried to his manor’s library, scouring the indexes in which all the books were recorded, and nabbing anything that slightly mentioned the creatures. As luck would have it, all the books in his library spoke of them like child's play and bedside stories, reaffirming the lessons he’d been taught each Sunday.

Of course his library wouldn’t have anything, it was his Father who controlled what was shelved and what was not; he'd simply have to search somewhere else. It had to be somewhere discreet, hidden away. He couldn't go asking about for vampyr books, no, he would have to visit the slums to find any tangible evidence of the creatures his lover spoke of.

He donned worn garbs and went from slum to slum, searching fervently for something, anything, that would lead him to the famed creatures. It wasn't until he stumbled upon a hole-in-the-wall magick shoppe (disguised as a medicinal parlor, funny enough) that he found what he was looking for. For just a few coins, he bought the answer to all his problems.

Bound in simple leather with two blank covers, the book instructed him to visit a cave not far from his home on the night of the Lord's Crucifixion, and to come alone. Marion was ever compliant. He had not told his lover of the book, of what he intended to do. It would be a surprise, something to impress the other boy, a testament to his own devotion to his words.

The night came not but a month later. After slipping from his bed and taking a perilous ride atop his steed, Marion arrived at the mouth of the cave, heart alight in fear and want. Leaving the warmth of his sheets, heated by the other body within them, had been hard, but it was not without reason, and he steeled himself with the knowledge that this journey would not be for naught.

Thus, he entered, leaving his steed to stand by the cavern’s lip. Guided only by the moon, Marion ventured until the night consumed most of his form, creeping along rocks and unsteady ground. It was only when he stopped, the heels of his boots the only part of him not yet submerged in the night, did he find himself face to face with the fabled creature.

The light didn't catch it well, he must’ve been a few meters deep in the cave and the thing even farther, but Marion could still see the glint of fangs as they spoke. It seemed as if his hard work had paid off.

It was no surprise to the creature that Marion came seeking their gift. Eternal life meant eternal pleasure, of course.

Despite the quick uptake, though, the creature warned him: This gift was not something well shared. The price of vampyrism was heavy and best bared alone. To be a creature of the night, it explained, was to give yourself to the darkness, and the darkness did not like to share.

Marion nodded and hummed, feigning interest and willingness to comply. As if he'd actually bear this weight alone, he sought the gift so he could live in his lover's arms forever!

It might’ve hurt, had Marion’s vision not gone black and his body numb the moment the creature advanced. When he awoke, all that remained of the ordeal was a tightness in his neck and the sharpness of the rocks on his back.

Foolish creature, Marion had thought after receiving his gift. The first thing he was off to do was show his lover, to profess his eternal love and convince him to live an endless life of pleasure together. To be alone with such power, Marion mused, was a gift wasted.

Rising from the floor of the cave, the fledgling mounted his horse and rushed home to where his lover lay (a business trip, the boy had told his father, that's why he had come to stay for the week.) Marion wasn’t sure if it was his elation or the slight buzz around the edges of his eyes, but it seemed as if he returned in half the time it took him to leave earlier that night.

Arriving around the back, he hastily led his steed back to it’s stable, securing it in record time as to get back to his lover quicker. His knees felt weak and the bite upon his neck was now hot and puffy, but sheer excitement propelled his new immortal form through the front doors and up the stairs. He was careful, of course, in his rushing, keeping his steps swift and on the rugs. He'd hate for a servant to awake and see him before his lover could.

Finally upon the guest room where the boy resided, Marion went to turn the handle. His lover kept it unlocked just for him.

Once inside, the joy that had guided him home was swiftly replaced with dread. It was one of fate’s cruel jokes, he supposed, for instead of his love tucked comfortably into bed, his body laid lifeless on the floor, chest caved and throat mangled. Distantly, Marion noted the billowing curtains of white speckled, bay window wide open to the night, but his shock kept his mind from connecting any dots.

Without hesitation, Marion flung himself down by his lover. The blood around him ran black in the shadows, it’s fresh wine color dulled in the moon, and Marion found himself sick at the urge that ran through him to lap it up.

Who had done this? The window was open, but they were well past the second floor. The curtains fluttered a wordless reply, spray from his lover dancing across the loose folds. Marion's mind was flooded with suspects from the slum clerk to the butler, but before he could even begin to point mental fingers, a gasp rang out behind him.

Snapping around, Marion saw a chambermaid at the door, hand covering her mouth and eyes wide. He watched her eyes flick from the bloody body to Marion's sullen skin, his fresh mark, and new fangs and before he could stop her, she was dashing away.

Marion raced after the maid, now covered in his lover's blood. His legs were still weak, body aching in protest as the effects of his affliction began to set in. He couldn’t keep up, feet heavy and footsteps too loud, and the maid made no effort in concealing herself or her wails. In this shared hysteria, they woke half the manor.

Chaos quickly ensued. The first person to attack Marion was his own father. He'd cornered the fledgling in one of the many studies scattered about the estate, wielding a silver tipped umbrella. Caught in the throes of hunger and instinct, Marion descended upon his father. His mother, who had followed behind, tried to fend off Marion as well. Unsurprisingly, he killed her as well, not even able to grant her the grace of a swift passing.

The manor emptied fast, those foolish enough to stay were slaughtered by Marion in his new, hungry form. Bodies littered the halls by dawn, his thirst sated and transformation complete.

The following night, he moved the dried up husks of those who had tried to fight out to the garden, sealing them in the Dubois family tomb. He certainly wouldn't be using the thing, and to stuff the bodies in shallow graves seemed... insulting. The boy was the only one given a proper burial, right below the roses that clustered at the back of the garden. Marion did his best to smooth the soil, but the lump of his love could not be hidden.

He set fire to the bridge that connected his property to the adjoining town in hopes of warding off whoever wished to disturb him. Be it a mob of those he'd wronged or curious townsfolk, Marion didn't want any of them disrupting his eternal solitude. Who knew how fast word had gotten out, or if it even had, and he was no longer in the mood to take chances.

He knew now, standing at the flames, what the creature had meant when they'd told him his gift was best lived alone; he'd either scared off or slaughtered all those around him. He might've been able to bear it if he still had his lover, been able to bear the crushing loneliness in their arms, but by whatever cruel means of the universe, that'd been taken from him too.

...

Marion now lives most his days at rest, finding slumber the easiest way to bear the loss of all he'd known. It is not often he goes out to eat (his intermittent fits of rest can last years), but he always finds himself disgusted by his greed when he lets his thirst run unchecked.

Unlike before, he goes about with a demure presence, now plagued by melancholy and wants that he cannot begin to satisfy, his ego shattered. He may find temporary comfort in the brave few who make it into his manor (often fueled by tales of a grandiose master of the dead willing to give them everything), but after he's drained them dry and their touch has gone cold, the feelings return.