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The Scribe of the Blood-Misted Inkstone (aka "Misty", aka "Angst-Boy")
Game: Gotta Catch 'Em All, a Very Serious Game GMed by Cyanide Breathmint
Caste: Moonshadow
Nature: Caregiver
Concept: Tragic Muse and Gothic Poet
Picture: http:/MistyWeb.jpg
Anima: A vaguely paisley-like pattern of purples, black, and gray

Str 2
Dex 5
Stm 2

Chr 5
Man 3
App 4

Per 2
Int 4
Wts 1

Bureaucracy 3
Linguistics 1 (Old Realm)
Ride 1
Socialize 5 (Stylish Angst +1)
Melee 5 (Scythe +2)
Performance 4 (Really Purple Poetry +2)
Presence 4 (Tragic Muse +1)
Lore 5
Craft (Calligraphy) 2
Awareness 2
Occult 2

Compassion 3
Temperance 2
Conviction 2
Valor 2

Break: Compassion
Flaw: The Ultimate Angst-Puppy of Doom (Like Heart of Tears, only with more posing)

Essence: 2
Willpower 6

Merits and Flaws:
Unbidden Oracle (-1)

Backgrounds:
Liege 3 (The Professor of the Withered Oak)
Resources 3 (Underpaid, but a keen investor)
Followers 2 (The Ghosts: Beatrice, Lillian, and Elliot)
Manse 3 (A Nice little mausoleum in the local Shadowland. Gem of Dream Entry)
Contacts 2 (The Dead Poet’s Society)
Familiar 3 (Edgar)
Artifacts 3

Charms:
Furious Blade
Slashing Ghost Talon
Elegant Flowing Deflection
Five-Fold Sensory Exercise
Haunting Inflection Technique
Loyalty Withering Technique
Passion-Unveiling Glance
Intimations of Mortality
Exquisite Etiquette Style
Implication of Ill Manners

His Artifacts:
The Lie Beneath Flirting Eyes(White alabaster funerary mask): Artifact 2
Created by a Day-caste assassin who masqueraded as a slave or concubine. She obviously could not wear armor during such missions, and when things went south she liked to have a little more protection than a scrap of fabric barely covering her naughty bits. Thus she made The Lie Beneath Flirting Eyes, from the dying breath of a Solar whom she had infused with Death-essence, crafting it into the shape of an alabaster mask.

When attacked, the edges of the mask crackle with dark energy and for an instant a suit of black plate is seen on the wearer, which vanishes as quickly as it appeared. The mask only summons the 'essence' of the plate, so does not offer the protection a full suit would. (Commitment 5, +5L/+5B)

Chorus of Lovers Lost in Mourning (Soulsteel and bone scythe): Artifact 3
Commitment, Damage, Speed as per standard daiklave. Special Effects: Innate ‘Void Sheath’ effect that allows it to be stored Elsewhere until needed. The blade also burns with strange, flickering green balefire purely as a special effect.

A sharp black quill with a soulsteel nib. Never runs out of ink (Artifact 1)

A small, black leather book with soulsteel corners. Infinite pages. (Artifact 1)

His Familiar:
Edgar: No one is quite sure WHAT Edgar is. Or WHY Edgar is. Or even HOW Edgar is, now that you mention it... He's equal parts raiton, bat, pygmy marmoset, and several species of literary critic, and was apparently created by The Professor for reasons unknown. His hobbies include composing scathing critiques of his master's work, hitting on Madame Birdcage (Obviously her Lunar ex figured into the thing's construction, somehow-), and stealing anything that's small, shiny, and not tied down.

His Description:
Total bishi. Pale skin, dark hair, and very dark, violet eyes. He wears a funereal kimono of grayish-lavender silk, and he always puts on long gloves of pale leather ("Best not to inquire what kind-") when he leaves home. He hates the idea of breaking a nail. For reasons he's never quite been able to figure out, he's often assumed to be female. (Even his best friend, the wayward Night-caste Solar, Ash the Typhoon, is convinced that he's a girl...)

His Staff:
Elliot, the Valet: Elliot is a fastidious, prim, and proper ghost who once labored faithfully as an accounting clerk in the offices of Biddle, Buddle, Barrows, & Marsh with absolutely no hope of ever being made a Partner. His real dream was to move to the Imperial City to become an actor.... a dream that remained unfulfilled since he was run over by a reindeer-drawn carriage on his 40th birthday and died shortly afterwards, convinced that life just really wasn't worth the bother. His hobbies in the afterlife include community theater, panicing over the household finances, and getting completely bent out of shape when his master comes home covered in nasty, unidentifiable substances and assorted decomposing body parts.

Lillian, the Secretary: The brains of the operation. Lillian is brittle and opinionated, with no obvious sense of humor. Misty calls her a shrew... She calls him a blubbering idiot. The only reason she hasn't been soul-forged into an ashtray is that Misty can't seem to hire a replacement. Every time he tries the candidates all end up changing their minds, or having some sort of tragic accident that ends with their souls being ripped to shreds, moliated into something terrible, or tossed into the pits of Oblivion... Lillian's hobbies include collecting statuary made from the screaming souls of her enemies, plotting to rule the Underworld, and attending night classes to get her Evil Overlord certification.

Beatrice, the Pain-in-the-Neck: Bea was Misty's self-proclaimed Greatest Fan when he was just a poet living in a drafty attic, trying to share his artistic vision with a cold and uncaring world. She followed him around, pined for his affection, and tried everything she could short of Bloody Murder to get his attention... He never noticed her. Even now, after she's gone through all the trouble of dying of a broken heart just to follow him into the Underworld, he has trouble remembering her name. He keeps telling her that she's *not* part of his staff. That he never hired her. That she doesn't really have a job... But Bea remains eternally hopeful that someday... SOMEDAY... he'll figure out that she, Beatrice, is the girl destined to be his One True Love. Her hobbies include filling pages of Misty's book with little drawings of hearts and flowers, daydreaming about things that would scare him to death if he had any clue that she was thinking them, and making sure that none of those fan letters he writes to Madame Birdcage ever make it to their destination.

His Manse:
Misty spends a fair bit of his off-time time in the "Real World", where the audiences are livlier, mournful artists are always looking for a tragic muse to guide them into Oblivion, and publishers are less set in their ways. It's convienient for him to maintain a base of operations in one of the local Shadowlands... an abandoned, but once very high-brow burial ground... as something of a "country house". Not really in one place or the other, but close enough to both to make an easy commute. It also lets him keep an eye on Ash.

His little mausoleum is quite stylish, and the Hearthstone it produces allows him to wander around in sleeping mortal's dreams to inspire or terrify or do whatever else seems like fun. The Professor's sampler looks very nice hanging on the wall.

His History:
Misty is pretty much the classic "Tragic Poet"-type. Exaltation via an attempt to jump off a bridge after suffering the last in a series of very dramatic broken hearts. Professionally... He runs the Professor's library.

Misty is beautiful, charming, and brilliant... but he's got all the common sense of a toadstool. (Thus the abysmal WTS and questionable PER.)

His role in the group is varied. He's the Loremaster. ("There's nothing to do down here but read... [sniffs] and think about Elise... [sniffle] and William... [sob] and how the editors at Dead & Buried Press are so unspeakably cruel- [completely breaks down in tears]") He’s also a reasonably presentable combatant and a good back-up conversationalist... plus he knows where staples for the red Swingline are kept and he can shuffle paperwork like nobody's business. He also does everybody’s taxes.

His personal life after Exaltation looks... Well... A lot like his personal life did *before* he became a minion of Death. It's been a constant series of fiery and passionate (ie: obsessive and angsty) affairs, with distant and uncaring (ie: wildly inappropriate... or just reasonably sane-) people, which always end in copious tears (of blood, of course-), poetic lamentation, tragic and stylish posing (In high places. At night. During thunderstorms.), and (melo)drama. Misty could easily be the star of his own soap opera.

He seems to have a real talent for bringing out everyone else's "inner angst-puppy", though... and the dark romance of his poetry and mournful beauty have drawn Malfeans-only-know how many mopey mortals into the underworld (That's where he got Beatrice. "It's so hard to find good help in the Underworld these days.")... so maybe his suffering isn't completely in vain.