“Mad Jack” Marsters
Unfortunately, I misplaced Mad Jack’s character sheet and can’t seem to locate it. I do, however, have his backstory and other pertinent information. I’ll put his stats up whenever I find them.
Description: If some Malkavians manage an outward appearance of sanity, Mad Jack is not one of them. His long, shaggy black hair sits about his head in utter disarray and his clothes are entirely unkempt. This combined with his sallow complexion and wild stare make him appear quite psychotic. Although his mannerisms are a function of his wildly varying temperment, Jack generally spends his time pouring over his occult library or attempting to acquire new additions to it. He has a disturbing tendency to ask anyone if they own such books, and is willing to do almost anything to obtain them.
Personality/Derangement: The torment Jack suffered from his Embrace was so great that he was only able to cope by detaching himself from his internal psyche. He exists in a perpetually distant state, rarely expressing strong emotion and regarding the world as if he were seeing it second-hand. Because of this, most disregard Jack as a homeless loony; little do they know the anguish he has suffered or the lengths to which he must go to cope.
Unfortunately, this is only a small portion of his derangement. In a failed effort to resolve his conflict of character, Jack’s mind shunted most of his violent and sadistic instincts into a completely separate personality. As such, Mad Jack is a wholly different story. Cruel, sardonic, and remorseless, Mad Jack is the perfect portrait of a serial killer. On the rare occasion that he surfaces, he takes delight in abducting, torturing, and feeding on hapless mortals, finally submerging when his violent tendencies have been properly vented.
In game terms, Jack is always at risk of reverting into Mad Jack. Certain cues usually set him off, though. Some things that might rouse Mad Jack are young girls walking alone, nuns in silent prayer, sleeping infants… anyone that seems vulnerable, innocent, and preferably solitary. He must make a successful Self-control check on seeing such potential victims to avoid changing (difficulty depends on the situation). Note that Jack never remembers what he did while changed, but second-hand evidence might still pose consequences for his Humanity.
Role(s): Within Kindred society, Jack is considered a minor nuisance and a frightening foe. He has lived in New York for almost a century now, residing mainly in Queens. He interacts with other Kindred as all Kindred must but has yet to make any moves toward the seats of power; in truth, Jack is quite indifferent toward Kindred politics. He holds a special grudge against the Giovanni and the Tremere, who continue to refuse him access to any of their arcane lore.
Within mortal society, Jack is considered an urban legend told to frighten small children. His story is well known throughout the poorer parts of New York and in most gang sects, although few know his true origins or nature. Those few who actually know him regard him with not a little fear and reverence. He has been known to sell some of his blood to street folk for a high enough price, and has a group of loyal “customers” that have become addicted Jack’s Kiss. Between Kindred and Kine, police officer and gang member, most everyone avoids the abandoned house in which Jack squats.
Most of Jack’s free time is spent obsessively leafing through his occult library, although he makes an occasional foray to local nightclubs and party spots (usually to hunt). If he is seen elsewhere, he is probably running some personal errand that only makes sense to him.
Ambition(s): Jack is constantly tormented by his alter ego, Mad Jack. Occasionally this personality will surface, causing Jack to commit atrocious acts until he feeds or is forcibly brought down. In his pursuit to rid himself of this menace, Jack has sought out the ancient legends and sparse lore of Golconda, eventually turning to magick for the answer. Perhaps it is only his delusional desperation or perhaps he’s stumbled upon the true secret of Golconda, but Jack has become convinced that the dark arts hold the key to his salvation and will do almost anything to attain the lore that he seeks.
The Tale of Mad Jack
Some people say that the street has its own peculiar brand of folklore. Most are mere stories or superstitious dribble, but some have an inkling of truth. One such urban legend is the story of Mad Jack.
The legend of Mad Jack is whispered in the slums and back alleys of New York City. It is said that a crazed, knife-wielding killer once plagued the streets more than a century ago. Police officers led an all-out manhunt and eventually tracked him down. Guns rang out in the night, but Mad Jack simply shrugged the bullets off as if they were nothing. The maniac tore through half a dozen men, sweeping his cleaver in deadly arcs until not a single officer was left standing. Those witnessing the incident swear that he attacked with such speed and ferocity that he could not have been human. After that he disappeared without a trace, leaving the streets safe to walk again. Some say, though, that Mad Jack is still alive somewhere, waiting for the chance to kill again…
Naturally the story has many variants, and most people have their own pet theory for exactly what Mad Jack was (or is). Some popular choices say that Mad Jack was a ghost or a shaman, but other, wilder theorists claim he must have been an alien, a vampire, or some government experiment gone horribly wrong. No one is quite sure, and Mad Jack likes it that way.
The truth is this: Mad Jack is actually a vampire and is still very much around. He isn’t quite as crazed or rash as the stories say, but he is still very much insane. Those who know he exists rarely speak of him by name; few mortals would dare incite his wrath.
Mad Jack’s story actually begins much earlier than most people would guess. He was born under the name Jacob Marsters to a simple farming family in eastern Ohio in the winter of 1823. The infinitesimal portion of his existence that Jacob actually spent as a child has since been lost to amnesia and the caprices of time.
By the time he was 24, however, Jacob had become a deputy in northern Pennsylvania, quickly gaining a reputation for catching murderers, rapists, and other criminals of the worst sort. This continued for some time and everyone was certain that Jacob would soon become sheriff. That is until one day when the horrific chain of events began.
In the summer of 1849, the community had been shaken by a terrible killing; a mother and her unborn child had been slain along with her husband and left to rot in a back alley. Jacob felt a deep sense of anger at this twisted perversion and took it upon himself to single-handedly solve the crime. Within a few days, he felt his investigation was leading him to the culprit.
That is when Greebler noticed the young deputy. The sadistic Malkavian considered his options. Should he simply kill the upstart mortal or perhaps do something worse? The prospect intrigued him and the irony of such a prank proved too sweet to pass up. In utmost secret, Greebler sent a ghoul on an errand to the police station.
Within days, Jacob was tireless. He wrote his sudden energy and insomnia off as a result of his moral conviction. Nothing seemed to interest him any more but the case. Finally, after several long nights, a hot tip led him to what he sought.
At first the house seemed deserted. Nothing stirred within the confines of the structure save a few stray rats and insects. Pistol drawn and lamp held high, Jacob entered. Much to his surprise, all he found was a coffin. The oddity perplexed him. He stood beside it, rubbing his chin in contemplation; he was sure the killer would’ve been here.
Suddenly, Jacob was grabbed from behind. He struggled against his attacker’s iron grip to no avail. Something sharp pierced his neck, and he felt the world slipping away. Gradually his struggles ceased altogether and Jacob fell limp and lifeless to the floor.
“Excellent work, deputy,” Greebler said sardonically. His vision faltering, Jacob saw Greebler reach for his hand. “I know why you’ve been looking for me,” he whispered, drawing closer. “I know what you want.”
Only when the blood touched his lips did Jacob finally comprehend what had happened. That strange taste in his drinks… he had been drinking this vile creature’s blood the whole time without realizing it! And now, as he felt life brushing against his dying lips, Jacob lost control. The taste was overwhelming. He licked the first few drops clean and lifted his head to Greebler’s open wrist. “That’s right,” Greebler said, chuckling to himself.
And so Jacob Marsters died, leaving Mad Jack in his place. The first few decades were the worst for Jack. Greebler had not Embraced him for any benevolent reason; Jack was no more than a toy to him. And Jack, desperately addicted to his sire’s blood, had no choice but to go along with Greebler’s every whim. The two headed west, paying little mind to the local Kindred. They cut a swath of death across North America, leaving hundreds dead in their wake.
In the midst of this bloodshed, Greebler found it pleasing to torment Jack. He would force Jack to kill any lawman that tried to stop them, and even taunted Jack as he snacked on children and infants. “Don’t you want a taste, Jackie,” Greebler would prod. “I know you do. Mmm, such sweet youth. You really should have some.” It was more than Jack could handle most of the time, and his new alter ego began to gain strength.
By 1881, however, the Camarilla had had enough. A Brujah task force was sent on a blood hunt against Greebler. The Malkavian was caught and massacred in Mississippi, never to plague the world of Kindred or Kine again. Many thought Greebler’s childe should suffer a similar fate; the taint of Greebler’s derangement was all over the neonate. However, the Justicar took pity on the tormented and remorseful vampire, accepting his oath of undying fealty to the Camarilla as penance for his sire’s crimes.
Unfortunately, Jack’s personal torment was only beginning. The seeds of insanity that Greebler had sown in him all those years began to germinate once again. Jack would occasionally black out and wake up covered in someone else’s blood. He acquired a cleaver, which, despite his best efforts, he could not be rid of. He would dispose of the vile implement, only to wake from Slumber with it clutched tightly within his grasp. Mad Jack was fulfilling his sire’s wishes even if Jack himself refused.
Within a decade, Jack was looking for cures. Every Kindred he came across scoffed at the idea, and many other Malkavian’s considered him “crazy” for wanting to be rid of it. A gift they called it. Jack wanted nothing of Greebler’s gifts, and took his search out into the wide world.
He searched for many years, traveling from country to country, seeking ancient vampire lore. If any vampire had been rid of this curse, he would find out. The journey was an arduous and depressing one. At every turn he met with new faces giving the same answers. “It can’t be done.” “Accept what you are.” “Insanity is our gift!” Jack started to be very bitter toward other Kindred; none of them seemed to understand what he was going through.
The spring of 1906 found Jack in northern France. While seeking a reputable copy of the Prophecies of Anatole, he had broken into a Tremere library. The Prince immediately threw the Malkavian into a local asylum as punishment. The ghoulish servants ignored his pleas and he was subjected to the “therapy” of the day. He was regularly starved, injected with lead-laden drugs, and hung over pits of vipers.
After several years of this treatment, Jack struck a hideous compromise. Mad Jack whispered at the back of his mind, promising that they would be free if Jack would only let him loose. Years of torture had broken Jack’s resolve enough for the bargain to seem plausible. In a sudden flash of homicidal rage, Mad Jack tore out of his straight jacket and escaped back into the mortal world.
Following the incident, Jack made his way back to America. Under his arm he clutched the fabled book he had stolen from the Tremere; it had stayed safe and hidden all those years in the asylum. His compromise with Mad Jack, however, had given the killer a terrible foothold in his mind. Controlling him now would be even harder than ever.
It was then that Jack decided to head for New York City. Such a large metropolis would surely afford him a safe haven. He needed time: Time to study, time to learn, time to find his cure. This was not to be, however. Mad Jack looked upon the vast city and his mouth watered. The next night, Jack failed to awaken from his Slumber. Mad Jack took his place, casting the dominant personality to the back of his mind to enjoy blissful ignorance while the killer had a night on the town.
The murders were more grotesque than even Jack could have imagined. Having been cooped up in that asylum for all those years, Mad Jack was making up for lost time. He killed a dozen victims that night. Old, young, rich, poor… the killings were utterly random. The villain failed to cover his tracks, however, and the police were soon on his trail. When Jack awoke the next night, policemen were beating down his door.
Jack panicked. It couldn’t be him that they wanted. Why was his cleaver so bloody? Had Mad Jack…? Fearful, Jack retreated into the night. It didn’t take long for the police to catch him, though. Cornered, Jack faced down the barrels of six pistols. He looked frantically from one officer to the next and, suddenly, felt his eye tic. The cleaver was in his hand once more. “Drop the knife!” one of the policemen screamed.
Mad Jack set upon them like a ravenous animal. Bullets ricocheted overhead as the officers fired desperately at the Malkavian. Some even hit their mark, but failed to do any damage. In his preternatural rage, Mad Jack quickly finished all of them. With the frenzy over, Jack regained control. The cleaver clattered to the ground. “What have I done?” Jack whispered pitifully into the night.
It was then that Jack went into seclusion. He had to get Mad Jack back under control. He had to find a cure. Jack retreated from the mortal world, the Prophecies of Anatole clutched tightly under his arm once more. And there he stayed, away from the people he might hurt and the vampires that would most certainly urge him to give up his quest. There had to be hope.
Jack spent his days pouring through the book, trying to gain insight into the ancient Malkavian’s prophetic rantings. Several years of contemplation passed until Jack finally found his answer. An uncited, unknown passage in the back of the book stated: “Seek ye the cup of eternal life and the raven beckons. Removed is thy claw and feather in the wizard’s den.” To Jack’s understanding of Anatole’s madness, this meant magick could allow him to reach Golconda and stop the endless killing.
Jack immediately set out back to New York. Magick would cure him, and forever rid him of Mad Jack. He sought the Tremere and the Giovanni, but none would help him or even share knowledge. He pleaded with them to no avail, eventually taking up his own pursuit of the subject. He sought ancient texts, delved into history and lore, to aid in his quest. It quickly became an obsession. Night after night he poured over rare and exotic tomes.
The great wars came and went. The mortal world waxed and waned. Everything changed around him, but still Jack’s quest went on. He spent decade after decade searching, clinging tenaciously to hope lest he fall into madness and despair. He would achieve Golconda.
Then, in the summer of 1967, more than four decades after he had begun his mad search, Jack made a revelation. A cryptic passage from the Book of Nod held the key. “Risen are they from their slumber who would cast aside the raven’s claw and be free.” This was one of several dozen passages that mentioned awakening and the raven, traditional harbinger of death. In Jack’s twisted mindset, the puzzle started coming together.
Again Jack’s quest took a different turn. These awakened beings were the crux of Golconda, he was sure of it. He sought out experts and sages, both Kindred and Kine alike, until finally he came to a run-down church. Jack ventured in, determined to have his answers.
There, sitting in a spot of moonlight, was an old homeless beggar. His eyes were closed as if in deep concentration. “What brings a creature such as yourself to my humble sanctum?” the old man inquired without a hint of any emotion in his voice.
“I seek the awakened ones,” Jack said after a few moments thought. He watched the beggar from the darkness, teeming with anticipation.
“And why would a vampire seek the Magi?” the old man replied, opening his eyes and peering directly at Jack. The gaze sent a shudder up his spine; this man had power.
“I seek…,” Jack’s voice faltered, “a cure…” He felt as if the walls were closing on him. Tension began to build up in his muscles, and his eye began to tic.
The old man cocked his head slightly to one side, looking intrigued. “A cure?” he asked. “You wish not to be a vampire?”
Jack fought to retain control. He could hear Mad Jack screaming at the back of his mind, “KILL HIM!!! KILL HIM!!!” Jack stood in the shadows, shaking from the strain. “I wish…,” he choked, “not… to… kill…” He gritted his teeth and grabbed his hand as it reached for the cleaver.
“Watch for the signs,” the old man told him. “If you are mindful, you will find what you seek.” The strain was too great. Mad Jack emerged in a bloody rage. He leaped savagely at the old beggar. Suddenly, a split second before the strike, the old man vanished into thin air. Mad Jack howled in outrage even as Jack blacked out. Hope had been renewed.
The old man had told Jack to be mindful, and so he became. He returned to his home, an abandoned house in Northern Queens, and waited. No matter how much time it took, he would find the Magi and then… then he would be free.
For years he waited. He walked the streets, watching the populace and the changing times. It eased his mind to be back amongst the living once again. He had been so utterly consumed in his search that the very character of the world had changed without his knowing. It wasn’t his time, and yet he found it strangely to his liking.
The nightlife soon began to suit his fancy. The street had its own history now, and with the history came new culture. Jack frequented the nightclubs and party spots of the new, rebellious youth. They tore down the old and the sacred to make way for their new enlightenment. Jack bathed in the tides of the time and felt a bit like his old self again.
This new happiness came with a cost, however. Within a few years, Jack had grown complacent, letting the conviction of his quest slip, ever so slightly, into the joy of the moment. For nearly two decades Jack wandered the streets, and he began to wonder whether or not his salvation would ever present itself. Then, after much waiting, the moment finally came; a Magi appeared.
Late one night as Jack strolled down a dark, deserted street, a raven called out. At first Jack simply glanced over, but the sight gave him pause. There, crouched in an alleyway, was a small black-haired girl. The raven perched over her head gave a parting caw and flew off.
Jack ventured forward. He wondered if the girl was lost, orphaned, homeless, or maybe all of the above. As he approached, the girl scurried back. She appeared to be an adolescent with short, matted black hair. More oddly still, she appeared to be dressed in a medical robe. She stared wide-eyed out of the alley at Jack.
Jack met the girl’s gaze and something more than words passed between them. The girl was a kindred spirit to Jack; she, too, was tormented. The madness was evident in her eyes. And yet, on seeing one another for the first time, something clicked. It was as if, for the first time in his unlife, Jack was seeing someone who really understood him. And, from the girl’s expression, the feeling was mutual. Without averting her gaze, the girl rose with her back against the wall and stuttered, “Who are y.. you?”
Jack approached nonthreateningly. “I’m Jack,” he said simply. “Are you all alone?” he asked.
The girl nodded nervously. “M.. m.. my name’s Lucy,” she said. The two looked each other over cautiously. Jack could see that she didn’t seemed beaten or bruised, which would rule out rape victim. The medical robe gave him pause, however. Was she an escapee?
Jack regarded her, to his own surprise, quite warmly. “Well, Lucy, would you like some clothes and a good meal?” he said, extending a friendly hand. The words that flowed out of him felt genuine, but Jack couldn’t help but think how foreign they sounded. It had been so long since he had acted… human.
Lucy stepped forward meekly and took Jack’s hand. It was truly an auspicious meeting. Jack bought her clothes and food, gifts that seemed to cheer the young street urchin greatly. Jack guessed that it had probably been a long time (as mortal’s reckon time) since she had known kindness. After four helpings of strawberry pie at a local diner, Jack knew just about every detail about Lucy’s life.
Her story flowed out freely, as if Lucy had, in a matter of hours, come to trust Jack as a close companion. She told him of her troubled childhood and how she fled at a very young age to live with other orphans. None of this surprised Jack in the slightest. He knew street folk, and she certainly fit the bill. However, as her story went on, now in hushed tones, Jack grew intrigued.
Lucy began speaking of occult matters. She described how some of the squatters she had taken up with knew real magick, and how she managed to join their ranks after some social maneuvering. Jack’s eyes grew wide and he sat straight up in his chair, attention rapt. Lucy went on to say how she, too, had Awakened to the nature of the universe. Jack’s desperation and awe bubbled to the surface. “You mean to say,” he began, swallowing, “that you are… Magi…?”
Lucy cocked her head to the side in a girly fashion. “You know about us?” Jack felt as if he might faint. After a century of searching, his salvation was sitting right in front of him. Lucy read his reaction and frowned. “You don’t like Mages?”
Jack laughed aloud, a smile spreading across his pale face. “You misread me, my dear. I’ve been looking for a person like you for, well, a very long time. But I have a confession to make as well…” He went on to tell Lucy just as much as he had been told. He found it easy to speak his mind; Lucy proved to be an astute and reactive listener. In the end, they both stared blankly down at the table. Dawn would come soon.
“Well, Lucy, it has been nice speaking with you but I’m afraid I must go home. Daylight and I don’t mix.” As he rose to leave, Lucy grabbed his arm.
“I want to help you,” she implored. Had her tone been inconsistent or her voice unsteady, Jack would have believed it too good to be true. She stared up at him with deep sympathy and determination in her eyes.
Thus did Jack gain a valuable ally and a foothold in Mage society. Unfortunately, his problems persisted. Lucy soon returned to her old clique, introducing Jack around as her friend. Naturally, he met with mixed reactions; most of the Magi present knew what he was before he walked in the door. He sought their aid nonetheless. One of them might know something; some tidbit of arcane knowledge that would lead him to salvation.
Jack met with little new knowledge. The more experienced Magi spoke only broken rumors and myths of Golconda, many of which Jack had already heard. They agreed on one point, however. If there existed a Mage capable of curing Jack, he would be powerful indeed. Those Magi who took sympathy for Jack promised to inform him if they heard of such a Mage, but their faces betrayed little hope.
And so, with nearly two centuries behind him, we find Jack in his present situation. He sits quietly in his abandoned house in Queens, leafing through arcane books in search of the magicks that might cure him. Only time will tell whether he finds what he seeks…