Cyrus Caine

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Clan Gangrel Antitribu
Sect Position {{{Sect Position}}}
Pack Position {{{Pack Position}}}
Status 11
Domain NYC
Pack Bloodborne
Path Honorable Accord ••
Faction Inquisition
Faction Importance {{{Faction Importance}}}
Player Garrett Lucier
[[Category:Sect Position:{{{Sect Position}}}]] [[Category:Pack Position:{{{Pack Position}}}]] [[Category:Faction Importance:{{{Faction Importance}}}]]



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Real Name:Cyrus Caine

Apparent Age: Late 20's

Concept: Gangrel Warrior, The Noble Beast, Troubled wanderer

Physical description: 5'8" Dark hair, Well built, goateed and one golden wolf-like eye. If he cracks a smile, his fangs are obvious.

Detailed Status:

Positional Status:

Reputational Status:

Accomplishment Status

Little. Old. Me.

Known History

Cyrus was born on the Fifth of May, 1967 in Oaklahoma city, Oaklahoma. His father, Jeremiah Caine, was an airman stationed at Tinker airforce base. His mother was a stay at home wife, of native decent. If Cyrus ever bothered to remember, she was Lakota. He never could wrap his tongue around her language, but dad always called her Doe, so it was probably short for something in her own tongue. She never made him learn, simply smiling at him when he flat out told her he didn't understand. She'd usually shake her head, then switch to english.

His childhood was spent mostly on base, his father never really wanting to travel, even if he had the time. His mother would often travel north, visiting family in what Jeremiah would call the "frozen wastes". Cyrus would always remember those eight short years as probably the best in his life. They were simple, easy and quiet. Shortly before his ninth birthday, all of that would change.

May 1st, 1976, a hangar was engulfed in flames near the tarmac at tinker afb. To this day the reason for the blaze is unknown. All Cyrus knew at the time was his father was called a hero, a life saver, a credit to the american soldier. He also knew his father was dead. His father was buried on his birthday. It was cold for May. Dispite the tragedy, his mother still managed to give him one gift: a small tin airplane, just like the one his father had flown. To this day, Cyrus still has it tucked safely away somewhere.

After that day life, and Cyrus changed. His mother took him to live with her family, far north in Alaska. His first impression mirrored his dad's : Frozen Wastes indeed. A short peace would settle in for Cyrus. School, home life. His mother's family were simple people. Not ignorant by any stretch of the imagination, just not ones for luxury or unnecessary decadence. They taught him to survive, to live in nature and keep out the cold. They taught him to rely on himself. They also taught him to be happy again, that life wasn't always hard. Eventually le learned to love the "frozen wastes". There was a dangerous, deadly beauty that he learned to apreciate. He was always greatful for the teachings and time spent among his "people" but never felt like he was one of them. He remained close to his mother, the only person he still considered "family". Tragedy, it seemed, had not finished with Cyrus.

1983: It was spring. The short "thaw" had just begun. What warmth the sun provided brought smiles to peoples faces. Not Cyrus. Spring brought a trip to the doctor. Spring brought the news of Cancer. His mother was dying. They gave her six months before the "blood disease" would take her life. She made it four more years, before passing painlessly in her sleep. Cyrus was alone. Sure, there was "Family", but they weren't his. It was time to find a direction and move along.

He stayed with his mother's family until the early nineties. During that time he studied hard, focusing his mind on medicine. There wasn't much to offer. He wasn't stupid, but his mind simply didn't thrive on english and algebra when he was pre-occupied with curing cancer. During this time he closed himself off. Locked his soft heart in a block of stone. He never let anyone in, nor too close. Friends were a luxury he just couldn't afford. Finally it was time to pull up stakes and head back south.

1990: Cyrus had found his way to sunny California. Apparently if you apply to every med school across three states, you find yourself some interesting friends. That would be where Dave, Angus, Shane and Max came in. They were young, rambunxious and fired up about a new cause. Dispite himself, Cyrus fell in love with them almost immediately. They were med students, and activists. Apparently, California was having a medical issue. People that needed medicine weren't getting it. People that made it were hoarding it. Children, elderly, the moment they said cancer patients Cyrus was in. They started small at first, pharmacies, mom and pop drug stores. No one would get hurt. Hell, they never even loaded their guns. Life was good. The riched robbed, the sick helped, and a small profit made on the side. That was Angus' job. He was the money man. They also called him geek, nerd and dweeb, but that was besides the point. Dave planned, Shane drove, Cyrus and Max were the muscle. Five years was a good run, but every good run had to end 1995: Cyrus and the gang had settled in Oakland. The riots that Cali was suffering at the time provided great cover to hit some of the larger medical repositories in the surrounding area. The only problem that no one saw with that little plan was the fact that bigger, meaner less altruistic gangs had the same damn idea. The first hint that they were in trouble was a molitov cocktail coming through the window of their safe house. The boys were screwed. Sure, they had guns, did they have bullets? No. Max bit it first, taking a few in the chest as he stood to get to cover. Shane and Dave flipped the table for a makeshift barricade as Cyrus and Angus went out the back to get the wheels. As a side note, pipe bombs make short work of wooden tables. Things got fuzzy around that point. Cyrus would remember telling Angus to run, just before he himself got hit with a molitov, right in the face. He remembered a burning feeling, things going dark, a shadow standing over him. The shadow put out the fire, then everything went black. When he woke up, he was dead. Dead and Hungry.

He spent the first few nights learning how to survive. How to hunt, how to use his gifts. His sire was no where to be found. Years went by. From time to time he'd run into another vampire. Stories got swapped, questions asked. apparently, he was a Gangrel, whatever that meant.

2007 would be the year he fought and killed his first vampire. while hunting in LA he found a gang, slightly newer than him. They had a girl, she couldn't have been more than 16. The fuckers were toying with her. one would take a bite, throw her to another. She was terrified. Cyrus lost it. When the red went away all the others were dead, and the girl was dying. He didn't know what else to do but bleed into her. She was innocent, almost angelic. She managed to crack that black stone in his chest for just a moment, and that was enough. He guided his child through her re-birth, showing her what he knew. He wasn't alone anymore, and he had to admit, it felt good. The incident made it impossible for him to retract his fangs, but she was worth it. Shortly after, the two would meet Nickolai Bardonia, move back east and become the bloodhounds of Rockland. The rest, is unliving History ( Still under construction )





Too god damned many. Most of them he probably doesn't know about. Definitely the Anarch Barony of Rockland County.






I have no idea. Grendel is kind of a whore.

Character Inspirations


This will just make it easier:

Shots of Wisdom

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