What the Heck...a Character Backstory.

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Many years ago I made up the latest incarnation of a hunter character I originally conceived of for a BtS game. He was reimagined for a WoD campaign. In order to generate a feel for this new version, and to better explain him to my Storyteller, I wrote up a back story for him. Years later, I reworked it to be told as an actual story, in his own future.

The character telling the story is an NPC (former PC of the Storyteller) who became a team mate in his fight against the evils of the world. She was a werewolf who posed as an old homeless woman named Gran during the campaign...as was another PC. The team was rounded out by another PC who was a young woman Psi....

For your enjoyment, or not, here is the old (wow...late 90's) story of Ezekiel Morgan...also known as the Hunter Gabriel.




In a room so poorly lit by fire that its size cannot be seen, an old woman sits on an upturned piece of firewood. She wets her lips before leaning in toward an assembly forming a tight semi-circle around her. There are none appearing elder than she, but all ages are represented in the sea of faces that swell out from her. Some rest on stools and benches, some on the floor, the youngest on blankets up front like story time in a normal preschool. She smiles, sits back again, stretches her back, and begins to speak.

"It’s hard some times to remember where it all started. You sort of live life, going through the motions, day to day, and it sort of just happens around you. You meet people and never see them again. You make friends and lose them. You meet people that make no mark and that change your life forever.....Then one day you stop, look around and try to figure out how you got to be where you are. Who you are. And you can find, some times, that figuring turns into quite a story."

"Here, in this dark room with all of you gathered around, I'll try as best I can to do that now…tell you a story. I'll tell you the tale as best I recall it, since some of it is pretty worn with age. These sorts of things ain't like the Hollywood dream sequences; there's no crystal clear flashback in real life. Anyway, I'll tell it as it was told to me, from the start, which is how the best stories go anyway..."

"The hunter you all know as Gabriel, the hunter that has become so well know to all of us, was just a man once. I know it seems like he's been around forever, and for some of you youngins he has been, but there was a time he was just a man. Back then, he had a name. Ezekiel Morgan."

A murmur, in tones laced equally with excitement and respect, runs through the sea of listeners like a wave...she pauses a moment to enjoy the reaction....

"Ezekiel Morgan was born on Easter Sunday, in a small Texas town, to a highly religious mother and father who loved him very much. His father was a scholar for the Catholic Church, working on the old Mexican missions, and his mother was a missionary worker. They were deeply in love and even more deeply devoted to the Church. Their son, and only child, grew up surrounded by the Church....immersed in it. While in school he pursued every form of training and theistic education the Church provided.”

“During his summers, he visited the Holy Land, the Vatican, and other sites the Church held sacred. He performed missionary work all over the world. From his father he learned of theology and devotion. His mother gave him her love of people and overflowing compassion for those in need. Both of them were thrilled when he chose to enter the seminary college near their town. All were certain his path lay with the Church, and that he would do great things in God's name."

She pauses to drink from a metal drinking cup sitting hear her feet. As she raises it to her lips, a flash of light breaking through from outside glints off its bottom. There are gasps, and many look in the direction of a door which, save for the glow of a setting sun through cracks at the frame, would be invisible in the dim light of the room. It is closed, and the figure so many seemed to expect there is nothing but a shadow of smoke and firelight.

"He married his high school sweetheart, a beautiful dark haired woman.... two years his junior....three days after her graduation. She attended a college near the Seminary school, where she turned her own capable mind to philosophy while he, ironically, pursued hard science as part of his education... seeking to find God in the numbers....so to speak. Together they planned their dream life together: buying and decorating their dream house, building a nursery, children, weekends with the doting grandparents. She had always wanted to be a mother, and made him want to be a father. He gave up ideas of priesthood for his love of her, and the desire to have children. He became a learned Bible Scholar, a loving husband and then, eventually, a father."

"He was a loving and happy father. His little girl, Chloe, was like a gift from Heaven above. They were a family, and so very happy. And, if not for events none of them could foresee this story might have ended just as happily. But it did not. Ezekiel did not know it, but he had a calling to answer, and it was not one studying texts for the Church. One day, as with so many who become heroes, tragedy struck. One day, it happened....and everything changed."

She pauses to take another sip of water, and getting more then a bit of satisfaction over the eagerness of the audience for her to continue. She could see it in their movements and their faces; she could hear it in their whispers and their breaths.

"All preparations were being made for his upcoming 26th birthday. His mother, returning from work in Honduras, was being picked up at the airport by his father...."

"Most times this is the point in the story where something out of the natural comes onto the path and changes things. Not in this tale. No, in this tale the unnatural comes later. First, we have to see something all too natural and open up the doors for the visitors who come in after."

"The car accident, while terrible, was the sort of thing that happens all too often. The accident investigators found photos from the Honduras trip scattered all over the scene. Maybe she was showing them to her husband. Maybe....maybe that is why he did not see the drunk driver come into his lane until it was too late to avoid their destiny."

"The drunk was killed in the crash, his identity lost in the events that came after. Flipped onto the roof, his parent’s car had slid into a concrete barrier. His father was decapitated. His mother died from massive trauma before they could even get her out of the car. When the police came to tell him of the loss, only two things kept him from falling apart. One was the strength of his faith. The other was the strength of his wife's hand, clasped to his as they took in the news together."
"He told me she was always so strong...stronger than he was. She never even cried when they were told...trying to be strong for him. He loved that strength in her."

”He assumed that he would be needed to identify the bodies. The police told him there was no need to do that right then...it could wait til the two were more...presentable. He still felt the need to see them. The police advised against it. He never knew if it was a need for confirmation, if he needed to be sure it was really them lying dead, or if it was a desperate need to see them one more time. The site of them....mangled....stayed with him for a very long time."

"The faith that had steadied him in his storm of grief was tested over the following days. He asked himself all the classic questions during that time.....What kind of merciful God would do this to his servants? Why to his so faithful parents....? He never got his answers...or, if he did, his grief kept him from hearing. He felt like God was not listening…like God was not taking his calls right then. He did discover though… that, in great enough quantities, alcohol would make him stop asking the questions or caring about the answers."

A deliberate, intentional pause gave time for the elder to enjoy their reaction to that. Some of them seemed so surprised he'd ever had mortal failings...as if they were shocked to hear he was mortal at all. There was no small pleasure in that. He'd enjoy that thought...they did not think of him that way...

"He started drinking at home then slowly moved to spending most of his time at bars. He'd come home at all hours. His wife did what she could to comfort him, and to dissuade him, but in the end had to console herself with cleaning him up and putting him to bed. She never argued and never fought. She knew it would not help. She accepted his anger and hard words; she agreed with his ravings and rantings. And, she prayed. She asked God to be with him and to bring her back the man she loved. She kissed him goodnight every night, made excuses to their friends, and held their baby Chloe when the noise made her cry"

The old woman waited at that, letting it really sink in. It was all she could do not to smile at the way they were enthralled. The children had looks of wonder, the teens were enthralled, and the adults....even the adults were held captive in their chairs. Even the ones trying to feign disinterest...some of the Glass Walkers and Silverfangs... she knew they were listening; she could tell. And she couldn't help wishing he could see it....

Taking a deep breath, and stretching her back so that even the ones in back heard the crack of bone on bone, she groaned a weary groan and took another sip of water.

"What happened Granny? What happened next? Did his mommy and daddy become vampires? Did he kill em?"

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Too much TV. None of these kids could wait anymore, not even for a dramatic pause. The murmurs had built to a sufficient level, so she leaned toward the youngster and said

"No little one, nothing like that. His parents died the way many humans tend to die: tragically, and for ever. But this is where the story takes the turn you all have been waiting for. This is where a different, darker destiny stepped in to shape the life of a man. And I know this....I heard it from his own lips to my own ears, just like I'm tellin' you all now....so listen up."

She sat back, rolled her shoulders, and continued the tale.

"It happened that one night he found himself in a bar. It was like any other he had taken to visiting. The name didn't matter, the location didn't matter. It served beer and it served whiskey. That was all that mattered to him. That it could give him what he needed to forget....that was all that mattered. But this bar, on this night, was different from all the others. In this bar, on this night, sat a woman. Her. She looked at him the moment he noticed her, eyes coming up from her own drink, and she was like a light across his face. What he didn't know then was that light he felt was not her...it was destiny."

"In moments they were sitting together, in seconds exchanging names. Her name was Deidre. She was so subtle, so easy to talk to...it seemed like she was opening his heart with the openness of her own. She would talk with him, never prying. She would listen to him, never judging. He never felt like she was trying to help him or that she was looking for anything for herself. She was though, on both counts, and he never even knew it."

"He began to see her more and more. More than his wife. More than his child. More than his own home. He was spending the same amount of time, in the same nameless bars, but now he spent less of it drinking. He felt like, for the first time, he had made a true friend. Thoughts of his wife never entered into it; he rarely thought about her when seeing or going to see Deidre. He also never thought of an affair. When he lay beside his wife, asleep, he knew he loved her. He knew that was not what he felt for Deidre. It was something else...he was sure. Until, she kissed him."

The looks on their faces...priceless....It was all she could do not to laugh. Yes, kiddies, he kisses too....pretty darn good from what I hear....

"He and Deidre had been visiting for months. He really felt like he was over his parents, but something still drew him to her night after night. Something kept his wife at home, without him, night after night. They would laugh together, have dinner, go for long walks in the empty night claimed city, and they would talk about everything. He had told her things his closest friends did not know. He had even told her of his loss of faith."





"Then one night, while having some drinks, they both started to laugh. When it stopped, in the quiet they found themselves looking right into each other's eyes. He was thinking it. She acted. Dropping her drink she reached over, grabbed his head, and kissed him.”

“She kissed him. “

“Like Love and Lust in one, like fire and lighting, alpha and omega, life and death.”

“She kissed him.”

“That one kiss was all the things he could never describe. That one kiss made that moment; defined that moment. That one kiss was everything. It changed everything."

"The sex they had that night...in a nameless motel room on a nameless street...could be described as carnal, if you wanted to understate it. It was a coupling driven by something more than lust, more than passion, more than even an animalistic need. No more base actions could be performed by the human form. He was certain, long before the night was close to done, that this was the sin the Bible spoke of. He was wrong."

"This was not the seduction and deception written of by ancient tale keepers, but he came to know that evil before the night was out. At the height of the fury...at the peak of their organic uproar, they shared a knowledge no children of any God should possess.”

“She bit him.”

“He knew instantly this was not the sin-laden, overcome with passion, bite of a lover. There were sharp teeth...no, not teeth...fangs, sunk deep into his flesh. He did not think the word 'vampire'...but his soul knew it and struggled against the dark. He felt the predation of life stolen from his beating heart. His fingertips, still pressed to her, clutching at her, went cold. His breathing came in gasps. He wanted to pull away, push her away, but he could not let her go. He held her even tighter as she drew his soul closer to the pit."

"And it stopped. His eyes focused...she was sitting up in naked, sweat covered, fangs bared glory. She was like his very own Eve....no.... his personal Lilith....her lips still painted and wet with that which she took from his throat. She looked down on him, seeming to revel in the way she had penetrated him while his flesh, lower, still penetrated her. She brought her wrist to her lips and, effortlessly, drew open the vein. He watched as blood collected, felt hypnotized as she brought her wrist toward his face. 'I am not going to kill you' she promised him...'I am going to set you free...now......drink.' She pressed the blooding wrist to his lips."

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In a mockery of his tainted lover's own feeding, he drank. He suckled her like the young of a corrupted, damnable sow. Guiltless and unquestioning he gave his will to her as she encouraged him to bite. His tongue explored the bleeding rent as it had her mouth in every kiss. The blood of the creature stained his lips and ran over his cheeks. He felt her surging within him. He knew, in that moment, there was no God. As his teeth further pierced her skin, as her blood rushed hotly over his tongue, he fell from the union he had known. He knew the faith he had held was false. That God, he knew in his heart of hearts, could never have created Deidre."

The old woman paused. She saw the shocked expressions on so many stunned faces. It was all she could do to maintain he composure. She knew they all assumed he was some untouchable being. Seeing their realization he had once just been a man was more satisfying that she'd expected. With a sip from her cup, a taste of water, she resumed, clearing her throat loudly to shake them up a bit.

"The hours of that night became sunrise, and he woke to find her gone. At first he thought of the many things it must have been...the alcohol, drugs, guilt, disgust. Then he felt the blood. He tasted the blood. And he couldn't stay away."

"That night turned into the next, when again he found his way to her, again a motel, again the sex, and again the taking of his blood. Only once more did he partake of her's. He wanted it, but she denied him. He grew knowingly and shamefully dependent on her. When he took of her, he was like a god himself. When refused, he was like a hollow shell. And every morning, after sharing a bed with corruption, he would go home to his wife. He would cry in her arms as if husband become babe while guilt choked the truth he wanted to share from leaving his throat. She held him still. She did not judge or even understand. She loved him still. And his shame grew deeper at what he did."

"Unable to tell his wife the truth, and denied the potency of his mistress, alcohol returned to its place as his elixir vitae. Day became his time to mourn for the night. Night became the visit to Hell he prayed for every day. Night after night became week after week became month after month. And then he was thrown out of this new and twisted Garden. The night came when he went to meet Deidre and she did not appear to him."

"In that moment his heart sank lower than it ever had been. Partly out of the loss he was overwhelmed with when she did not appear, and partly due to the realization of how deeply he felt that loss, he was overcome with despair. Without his faith, his life, his God....and now, without his Deidre, he felt a loneliness he'd never imagined. The pain welled until it overflowed and its cleansing wash cleared away the stains of guilt. He knew the only way he could survive was waiting for him at home. He knew he never should have sought solace where there was none. He had a wife that loved him....a child....and he should turn to them for strength. Realizing this as a moment of salvation and not of loss, he abandoned his car and ran home to his loved ones. He swore to never leave them again."

"His heart was racing, his blood pumping, his breathing labored with the strain. Months of abusing his body with alcohol and pure ambivalence did not prepare him to run so hard for so long. Finally though, stumbling up the stairs to his front door, he had made it home. Shaking fingers dug in his pockets searching for his keys. Before it even found the lock his mind snapped at the fact that at this time of night the door was left ajar. He froze in place as cold and still as the night suddenly became."

"The heavy front door swung open with ease. The pain in his limbs was gone. The confusion in his mind was gone. All of that was replaced with mortal...total....final...fear."

She pauses while the masses reflexively grow closer. As the tension builds, her voice becomes softer. She knows she has them. They are hanging in space, supported only on the tale she spins for them. And she loves it. She has to remind herself not to smile.

"The moment it cracked a gap, he could hear his house was not his own. He was assailed by heavy metal music, screams, inhuman sounds, and insane laughter. Most of the lights were broken. His foot crunched the glass of broken fixtures and shattered bulbs as he stepped over the threshold. The mix of light and shadow gave his home an unfamiliar and threatening pallor. It was as if the open night was more comforting somehow."

"He approached the foot of the stairs leading up the second floor. Everything was out of place...every picture on the wall either askew or on the floor broken and trod on. Every piece of furniture overturned, slashed, or broken. He heard voices upstairs...several of them...and then the cries of mercy from Deborah. That voice, her voice, stole away his fear and made him a husband again. He took the stairs several at a time, racing up to her aid. Live or die, in that moment, he swore it would be for her. It was his time....his chance to be there for her."

"His clenched fists struck the door like a pair of hammers, knocking open a reveal to a scene from Dante's Inferno. His screaming wife, her bedclothes shredded and bloodied, was being held spread eagle on the bed with a man at each of her thighs and another at her breast. At first, he thought they were assaulting her. Then his eyes traveled across the room to the bassinet and locked on Deidre. That woman, the blight he had welcomed into his life, was cradling baby Chloe to her face. She drew away at the sight of him, looking into his eyes, blood of the innocent child dripping down her lips and her fangs....her fangs....slipping free of the baby's tender belly."

"He could not move. It was as if the world stalled...as if it gave him the time to process and comprehend what he saw. She was a vampire. The men on his wife, they were drawing her blood from her as well. He saw their fangs and claw like nails now. The look in their eyes as his gaze came to them. He looked back to Deidre, she was looking to the men, and they to her. She licked her lips, and still none of them moved. It was an instant, frozen for all time...the start of a new age."

She waits, it is only a breath of a pause, but it is a breath she heard many take with her. She smiles. This is gonna get their attention....

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"Unable to entirely understand...unable to believe....he fell back on what had been lost. He returned, perhaps out of instinct, perhaps out of reflex, perhaps divine providence, to what he needed to find the way out. Nearly under his breath, merely a faint press of air on the skin of his lips...but more power than any vampire had ever dreamed....'God....oh, God...' he stammered, tears streaming down his cheeks as he realized what he had done."


"'I am with you' was the response he was given."


"There was no white light from above. There were no sounding of horns or the hymns of celestial choirs. There were no visions...no angels riding in to aid. There was only the one, simple, wordless revelation: You are NOT alone...."

"He felt fear and despair fall away. His shock was transformed and his tears became a baptism. His body flooded with righteousness from his blood to his very soul. He had not known the void in his center until, in that moment, it was overflowed. He knew...with this renewed sense of the truth... he knew what he must do. He was not God's Instrument, but in that moment became one of His True Soldiers."

"He rushed forward into the room, moving over debris and broken pieces of his life as a ghost through a field of stones. There was a moment...he saw it in her eyes....when Deidre was shocked he stood before her. He pulled the limp child from her grasp and clutched the baby to his chest. Deidre smiled. She SMILED. He looked down into his daughter's sweet face, still bearing her last terror, and knew she was gone."

Murmurs and gasps fill the room. The fire popped in its hearth, as if to add its own voice to that of the crowd. In more than one place among the crowd, she saw parents reach out to touch, if not to hold, their own children.

'Now they understand him better', she thought. 'Killing, hunting, is one thing, but anyone can feel the loss of a child. Now they are starting to understand.' She could not help but wonder, in that moment, what they would do if he was here.

"He fell back from the plague before him, not out of fear but to distance himself from her. He lowered his baby, drained of her life, gently into her bassinet. He covered Chloe with her blanket...and all the while he never took her eyes off the woman turned beast before him. Above the baby's tiny bed hung a large wooden cross on which was suspended a golden Christ crucified. His hand found it first, then his eyes, then he clenched it in his grip. A new man, a soldier, armed with faith in the One True God, turned to face his murderous adversaries. He understood now what he had lacked. To believe in the Light, you must accept that there is an equal measure of Dark. And here, this night, it was in his home."

"When he returned his thoughts to the battle, Deidre's brood was charging him, full of fangs and talons. It seemed they held no fear, til he raised the cross before them. They seemed as shocked as they were afraid when the Power of the Christ compelled them. They staggered, but did not stop, and he thought quickly of how to destroy them. To destroy a vampire... Van Helsing taught him all he knew of that in movies during High School. A stake through the heart, beheading, Holy Water, fire."

"The first of the vampires fell fast, still shocked, with the crucifix embedded in his heart. The second one leapt at Ezekiel, and, now without a weapon, he had to resort to his hands. The vampire clashed with him, the full weight of the creature hitting him and knocking them both to the floor. Managing somehow to get his legs under the vampire's belly he half kicked, half threw the vampire off him."

"All the while, Deidre stood back and smiled. She never seemed to lose her smug confidence. It was as if she still saw the same man, the alcoholic, broken, lonely man. The third vampire was leaving the bed...the other was already on his feet. To survive this encounter, he needed a way to fight them. He needed weapons."

"In the corner of their bedroom sat an antique wooden cabinet...something his father had acquired years ago from one of the missions. It held all manner of clerical and religious paraphernalia. More importantly to him, at that moment, the cabinet doors were fashioned with decorative but no less solid wooden spires."

"Deidre's two remaining accomplices advanced on him even as he thought of rushing to the cabinet. It was old...he was sure he could tear apart the doors and free the spires as weapons...but the two vampires were on his moments after he got the doors of the cabinet open. They pulled at him...tore at him....bit him....and in desperation his hand grasped a vial from inside. He whirled himself to face them, uncapping the vial and spraying its content all over them. One started to laugh...then both became shocked and pained as the anointing oil burned their tainted flesh."

"They howled with pain, smoke rising from every splash of oil, and fell back from their assault. By the time they recovered, he held an improvised stake in each hand and he was the one advancing. The first one to attack, Deborah's blood still drooling from his mouth, knocked away Ezekiel's strike. The vampire clawed at the fool who sought his heart, but his retaliatory slash missed. It also left him open to the stake in Ezekiel's other hand."

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"As one fell, the other attacked. It was going for his throat. It was not going to feed, to torment, to tease or taunt. It was, screaming and roaring in fury, set to end Ezekiel’s life. Seeking to intercept the beast before he was in range of talon and fang, Ezekiel called on his classical fencing lessons from his youth. He performed a rapier lunge under the leaping form, spire outstretched in his hand. His old instructor would have been proud. Falling staked to the ground, the vampire thudded on the floor and came to rest on its side. A look of shock dominated it once terrible visage. For the first time, Deidre lost her smile."

"He paused to acquire a new stake before looking at her. When he turned, she stood waiting. No words were exchanged, no questions asked. There was no witty repartee and no false bravado, she simply looked into his eyes and said 'You will not hurt me'."

"In those words were a venom he now recognized the taste of. He could feel her in his mind like a stick stirring a nest of serpents. He could feel her will embracing his. He could not look away from her eyes, even as she slowly walked towards him. Her mouth began to open, her eyes turned the color of his blood, and a thought overcame all others.....You are not alone."

"For the first time he found the strength to resist her and break her hold on him. He bridged the shrinking gap between them in seconds to attack her with righteous fury. The god he had known in his youth had betrayed and failed him. He had betrayed and failed his wife and child. Deidre had betrayed him but did not compound his losses as she failed to dominate his will. The power of her blood inside him might have become too weak. Perhaps she faltered in a moment of surprise. Perhaps the man she had broken and owned simply did not exist any more. Whatever the reason you prefer, that night, he did not come like a lamb to the slaughter."

"They fought their way around the room in a fashion that, at times, was a mockery of a lover's embrace. Every limb, loose object, and stray piece of a broken life became a weapon to one or the other. Both took threatening wounds, but her's kept healing. He lost his stake and gained a broken wrist. He bled and suffered...far worse then she. He was never afraid, but he knew this battle was being lost."

"Thrown off her at last, he fell back against the wooden cabinet that had been his arsenal so far. It broke open under his weight, sending its pieces and contents sprawling all over the floor. Trying to get up, struggling to fight her, her grasped at these fragments of a former calling and threw all manner of assault against her: oil and water, cruciform and rosary, fragment of wood, shard of glass. Some of these she batted away as she advanced. Some of these she evaded. Still more, she just accepted with pain and growing rage."

The gathering was eating it up like a meal too long in the waiting. She knew she had a different take on him than most of them, knew things, and understood him in ways they could not. It was times like these she was most aware of that difference. They knew the legend of the Hunter, while she knew the reality of the man. They knew a killer of their kind, she knew a man so true to his faith he had nursed more than one of them, herself included, back from the brink of death. They did not know that man. It was in times like these, she remembered.

She paused to drink from her cup. This one was for real, but it still gave her a moment, like the other pauses, to appreciate their looks. Some knew her relationship to him; some of the older ones...she did not see some of the others but was sure they listened too. It was the children, still told stories of the warrior who fights Wrym and Were, but seeks to save more than slay. She had heard his battles recounted as morality tales...like he was some sort of King Arthur. Hell, she'd told a few like that herself. It was this, the truth, she preferred. It made her remember the man that had told the story to her, and who they all had been back in the days when they first met. With a gentle smile, she resumed her telling.

"Eventually, inevitably, Deidre had him in her grasp. With all her power, she still had to struggle in trying to sink her fangs into his throat. She was cursing him, swearing as she swore to drain his life. Telling him of her lies, her false feelings, of her glee in lying when she said the word 'love'. She called him a fool, and told him of the oblivion she promised after his slow and wrenching death.”

“Finally her strength overcame his and she found her mark. He knew soon her teeth, and the rush of the Bite, would have him. He embraced her, grasped her head, and as her fangs stroked his skin he simultaneously bit her himself."

The gasps made the whole story worth it.

"By chance, by instinct, by fate or the Hand of God, they rolled over and over as they each drew from the other's reserves. In that roll, like lovers on a blood soaked deathbed, they moved intertwined. Then, in providence, their motion ended the hold. They rolled violently over, with her trying to shake him free of her throat, and she was staked upon the spire still jutting from the heart of one of her kindred. She froze in place, then went slack. In his mouth, her blood went cold."

"Her teeth had only just broke his skin and the pleasure he had felt nearly overwhelmed him. He knew he had not aimed them to the stake. He knew it could as easily be his own heart on the spire. His own bite, based entirely on an animalistic, instinctive desire to live, had brought her blood. As before, though this time without her allowance, he had drunk deep. Now he realized his strength had returned. As he looked down, he saw his wounds had even begun to heal. He did not hesitate to marvel."

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"He pushed her stoutly onto the spire and ensured she was staked fast. While she lay paralyzed, pinned to her man as solidly as sin once bonded her to Ezekiel, he rose from her renewed. He understood, in that moment, their blood held power, as human blood held life for them. He understood the last taste of her had saved him as meeting her had ultimately saved his soul. There were other things to tend to; reflection could wait."

"He went to his wife. She was unconscious, barely breathing, but alive. As he examined her, he found to his horror that one of the beasts had snapped her spine when he leapt from her. He took the time to wash her wounds in Holy Water, bind them, put his crucifix around her neck, and cover her. Then he took the time to cry."

Even from here, she could see others in the collective mass were filled with shock and stunned at what they heard. This was a side none knew. She had to make sure they understood. He'd like that they understood.

"At first he was at a loss. What could he do? His wife needed a doctor, but how could he explain it? What if she became one of them? Could bites do that? What if he became one? And his baby girl...she was gone....would she rise, like the movies said? These.....things......Deidre.......were they only stopped, paused in their unlife, or were they at last dead? What could, and should, be done with the bodies? His mind raced in searching for the next step...the next, right thing to do."

"It took time for him to calm down, more time for him to think it through, but far less time than he expected when he finally looked up at the last remaining clock still ticking in the room. The first thing he had to do was the hardest...he could not face it if she rose as...as one of those things. He had to make sure his little baby girl would not become a monster. He tenderly brought her into his arms and looked into his child's face one last time. She had lost her color, and already was so cold. He opened up her bed clothes and blanket, tears filling his eyes as he picked up a fragment from the doors of his cabinet and pressed it soundly into the space he knew had to be Chloe's still little heart."

"He wrapped up her small form again and bound her in her blanket against the chill. He didn't know when the windows had been broken, but it was like he felt the cold for the first time just then, and he did not want his daughter to go the meet her Maker with a chill."

She could see the tears in some eyes. Especially the parents. Mothers reaching out just to touch their listening children. Fathers turning their eyes to their own daughters, their own sons, their mates...she was reaching them. She smiled, slightly, knowing they were starting to really see. It was a momentary lapse, not so anyone would notice. She knew he would though, and it made her smile again.

"He needed help and knew there was only one person he could turn to. He sought out the phone, put it back on its hook, and called his oldest, dearest friend. Father Matthew had been one of his teachers, his Father Confessor, and the most dependable man Ezekiel had ever known short of his father. Father Matthew was older by many years than Ezekiel, and had been a military doctor before finding the cloth. He ran an extended care facility out in the desert; one where many patients spent many years at his oasis of healing for body and soul."

"He knew his call was rousing Matt from bed...he could tell in the sound of the elder man's voice. When told only that he needed help, the sound of Matt grabbing his keys and pulling on clothes before asking the problem told Ezekiel he'd made the right choice. He made his wife as comfortable as he could, used a closet door to help immobilize her, and then took the vampires down into the basement. He then returned to the room and put all of his remaining things into one of his father's old research bags....crosses, vials, vestments and a Bible soon took up some of the space within. Carrying it all back to the basement he added several stout mallets, some wood working tools, a pry bar, and other tools to it. Things he had already decided he would need."

"He gave the vampires their last rites while they lay there staked. He even straightened their clothes to give them some dignity. Not knowing if they could hear or ever know, he forgave them what they had done, in the name of God. It was they way he was taught by the Church. He believed again. Then, with a heavy splitting maul, he decapitated them. It was the way Van Helsing had taught him...and he believed now for the first time. With wrought iron spikes chopped from the tops of the fence along the walk he put the iron nails of folklore through their foreheads. Then the heads went in a sack with a can of gas and together into the trunk of the family wagon."

"He went back down into the basement and gathered anything else he thought might be able to use as a future weapon...axes, sledges, hammers, chemicals, religious icons and items, books of his father's work and maps of the world. Anything he thought would help him, including the shotguns he and his father used every hunting season. Loading it all into the truck he went back down into the basement one last time. He sealed up all the ducts and windows tight as he could. He covered the staked bodies in every flammable chemical still in the house. Pausing to surround them in a ring of consecrated oil, he mixed a Molotov cocktail and went up back into the house."

"He took his wife Deborah and, wrapping her in blankets, carried her careful as he could out to the lawn. He had barely set her down when Father Matthew arrived. Ezekiel was quite a sight, covered in blood and clothing torn. He explained to the priest that Deborah needed care and attention. They loaded her in the priest's car while they spoke. He told Matt he would explain all, but right now just needed help. He told of faith reborn."

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"He went upstairs one last time. He packed some clothes and changed out of the ones he wore. He took a stuffed pink bunny from his daughter’s bassinet and tucked it safely in the bag as well. Then her bundled up little Chloe into his arms and took her out to the truck. He went to Father Matthew, asked to confess his sins before God. If Matthew was shocked by the things said aloud, he did nothing to reveal it. He gave his student, his friend, absolution and his promise Deborah would get the best of care. Ezekiel promised to explain it all, at length, very soon."

"With that, Matthew departed and Ezekiel, transforming already into the man he would become, turned towards his home one last time."

She paused, took a deep breath, and stretched her back a bit. One of the younger children reached over to refill her cup and she smiled at the gesture. She could see the wonder in the child's eyes. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

"He went in the front door one last time and headed straight to the basement. Lighting the wick, he threw the Molotov cocktail and watched it shatter on the wall above the staked bodies. Fire washed over them, covered them, and soon began to spread. He moved to the kitchen, opened the natural gas line that fed the stove and water heater, and then opened up all the interior doors to help it spread. Closing the front door as he left, he smiled when he realized how reflexively he'd checked to see he remembered his house keys. He climbed into the jeep, pulled away from his past, and lovingly patted the still form of his daughter just as the fireball exploded behind them."

"He drove out to the old cemetery; the one by the oldest church on the far edge of town. It saw less people that it used to, but is had what he needed... Holy Ground, the work site for the church addition, and a Mortuary. The fire that took all that remained of his old life, his house where all this had happened, was in many ways a cleansing fire. It was also, in many ways, not unlike the one he built hot and strong in the stone urn deep in the grave yard."

"In it, he burned the heads. The heads of the vampires. The heads of Deidre and her kin. Looking at them, all the questions began...how, what, why. He saved those things for later and let the remains burn. While they did, he mixed the concrete he stole from the work site. When the fire died, he filled the urn, then capped it with a marble cherub. Upon the base of this, he mounted a cross. Once in place, settled in the concrete, he knew no one would ever even know it has not been set there from the start."

"Dawn had come and gone when he broke in to the mortuary. Tiny Chloe, even bundled up as she was and with crucifix lain in with her, was undersized in even their smallest casket. He gave his daughter Last Rites. As he placed her on the rack leading to the crematory doors, he began to weep. He wanted to give her a proper burial, but he could not bear the chance she would become one of those things. He was crying aloud when the doors swallowed the tiny casket. As it burned he clutched her tiny bunny close to his mouth stifling his sobs. It smelled of baby powder, and Deborah."

"He collected the ashes and placed them in the finest cremation box he could find. He took her outside, and looking up to the shining sun, carried her out into the graves. There, in an unmarked spot under a beautiful oak tree, he dug a grave for her and said his goodbyes. He promised that one day, the three of them would be together again in Heaven, and that mommy and daddy would never forget her. He promised her he would never let the monsters hurt anyone again...not if he could stop it."

"Placing some flowers on the site, he swore to her 'I will never be so weak again'. As he walked away, back to the jeep, he formed an idea, and that formed into a plan that would change his path in life from there on. 'Not for vengeance', he promised, 'but to make it right again'. He resolved himself. 'So no one will ever face this horror, alone, again'. With that oath he sealed his direction in life."

"Then, as he started his jeep, a feeling overcame him...a righteousness...a purpose. And, as if from the lips of God himself, a thought without voice filled his mind."

"You were never alone, for I am always with you."

It got so quiet while she told of the beginning...reaching the end....that when the doors to the meet opened, several actually jumped up ready for action. She could not help but smile at the youths...they acted so tough and ready for anything, when she knew it was him they expected at the door. The woman at the door, her long dark hair partially obscuring her face, was looking right at the old woman. She knew it. As the woman walked over it was clear to everyone she had to be at least middle aged, but her youthful beauty was still intact. She went to the storytelling Elder and rested her hands on old shoulders with the touch of a daughter.

"Its time Gran. We're here to take ya home."

The elder woman nodded, and accepted the help of a raised arm in getting up off her seat. She couldn't help but think of how easy it had been back in the days when all the old age stuff had been for show.

"I wanna make a stop first...I wanna go see him Phae. Can we go by the Church?"

The younger woman nodded as she led the elder out to the waiting car. There was a clean cut and very well built man behind the wheel, and he got out as they approached. Gran patted his arm as he held the door for her. "You look so much like your dad...without the body art...and with longer hair." The man just smiled and nodded. As they all got in, and he started to pull away from the meeting, others came out of the building to wave goodbye.

"Where to?" The driver asked. "Take us to the Church. Gran wants to stop and see Zeke before going home." Phaedra smiled at Gran and couldn't help but think of her first time seeing that Church. She was broken out of her memories when Gran reached from the back seat to grasp her arm.

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"You could come with me? I know he'd love to see ya....its been so long..." Phae considered it, smiled, and shook her head. "I have to get back, and you know me with him...I never know what to say...it’s like going to see my dad..." Gran patted her arm and said "I won't take long. And I'll be sure to say hello for you."

As they pulled up to his Church, Gran reflected on how he had taken this place, run down and needing such care, and rebuilt it with his own hands. So many people attended mass there now, she wondered if they even suspected the secrets and secret rooms it held. St Gabriel's Church had been all alone out here in a spoiled and desolate area of the city when he first came here. His presence had restarted the area. There were homes now, businesses, even a school. Children. She was proud to have been part of it; she knew he was.

She went around back to where he always was. There in the small plot, by the grave he had tended so diligently. She knelt down, pulled some weeds from the base of the stone, and brushed some dust from the carving inscribed upon it. 'In Lasting Memory of a Loving Wife and Mother. Deborah Ann Morgan. Missed in Life but Now Walking with Angels.'

She turned to the cross beside it and spoke. "I'm doin’ as I promised. I told you they'd remember. I tell em the truth now, not just the Hunter, but the man. I think they understand you better than I ever hoped they would."

She cleared away weeds and lit some candles she pulled from a bag. She traced his name on the stone cross. 'Ezekiel Morgan, Father, Husband, Man of God, Friend.' Tears started to fill her eyes, and she pressed her palm to the cross.

"I know your battle's over, but damn it, I miss you..."

She started to cry, but like always, he was there to comfort her.


"You are not alone. I am always with you."


It was like he has there saying the words himself, and, as always, she felt like it was all going to be alright.

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If you made it to the end, I thank you and give you these tidbits as reward.

Ezekiel had the Advantage "True Faith". Much of this tale was about how he found that.

This is also the basis of his professional "nom do guerre" of Gabriel, and the fact he bought and was refurbishing a church as his base of operation...both to restore it to a church and to have a secret base.

He did not agree with much of the Church and its own hunter organizations, and actually had a few members of them as adversaries.

Phaedra "Phae" was a PC character Psi who had issues with her family that carried over into our group. She came to see Ezekiel as sort of a surrogate father figure, and he did in many ways see her as a daughter.

There was a weird relationship between Ezekiel and Gran. For one, she was a were and he an hunter. For another, his wife remained alive in the game, though paralyzed and in a coma due to the vampire attack.

He felt that much of the "Mark of Cain" thing was true, and carried over to other supernaturals. He also felt there was those who embrace sin and those who struggle to better them selves despite it. He had supernatural allies, and sought to help them through faith as he believed that saving souls was more important than just consigning them to Hell through their deaths. He would perform rites on those he had to slay in hope of aiding their immortal soul to Heaven.

He also had the advantage/disadvantage of "Ghoul". He took blood from vamps he captured to keep himself going strong. It was a hard thing for him to reconcile, and made for awesome game play.

He took a very scientific approach to his hunts. Often, he would capture vamps and such and experiment on them...not trying to make them suffer but tying to quantify them. Making scans, looking at blood and tissue under microscopes, etc. He did occasionally test new restraints, weapons, attempts to cure and such, but he made it quick and ensured no suffering either way.

He came to be both feared and respected in the supernatural community because he was not the "high firepower-kill em all" type hunter but he was a deadly adversary (though, admittedly, as with many PCs some of his reputation was because of the luck of the roll).

He had no fear of death because of his Faith. It was not that he was foolhardy or anything; he believed he was doing God's work and would not meet his end until the use God had for him was done. It is very liberating to play that sort of thinking. I always felt that because of that he would die in service rather than old age.

He remains one of my all time favorite characters, because though the campaign did not conclude as much as end (people moved, etc) he accomplished a lot in his time.


Thanks again for bothering to read. Hope you enjoyed.