Todd Marlowe - AKA: Enuppsis
The dead heart of Detroit slithers, and he's part of the reason why....
Residing in Detroit for more than fifty years, Enuppsis has seen the city under both the Camarilla and the Sabbat. While he initially supported the early ‘90s Sabbat overthrow of the city, his actions were more out of pragmatic necessity rather than Sabbat sympathy or preference. After all, what fool dares to resist the conquerors after their clear victory has been established, and why in Set’s name would the Mesu Bedshet show so much preference to the Ivory Tower to bother with defending it?
But, dark and foul things now lurk in wasted depths of nighttime Detroit, and that isn’t to reference the Nosferatu antitribu. From mindless snuff gangs of seemingly-identical twins, to a blue “elf” who primarily has a taste for schoolchildren, to massive amalgams of writhing, moaning, and randomly-excreting ghoul flesh that can derail entire trains with a charge, and even a few traitorous wretches who dare to oppose Set, Detroit is a true urban hellhole since the Sabbat took-up residence. And, I mean, fuck… before all this shit it was already Detroit!
Enuppsis has now decided that he and his clan’s allowance and aid of the Sabbat overthrow was a serious mistake (a position shared by most of the city’s unexpectedly large Setite population)… and he’s convinced the rest of his clan to do something about it. For the last four years, the Mesu Bedshet have been biding their time, cementing their alliances, amassing their forces, and planning their great move. At first they had thought that it would take them at least a decade or two to gain proper positioning for a reversal of power, but things move faster in these modern nights; wars move faster. Perhaps Enuppsis should not have been so surprised when he first witnessed the aftermath of a figure he knows only as “the Dark Man”.
There had been rumors about this powerful kindred throughout the local Sabbat packs, an elder who walked into and out of darkness as if it was an open door. Aside from that one common thread, however, the rumors varied greatly… with most being strange and bogeymanesque tales of ‘what the child of my sire’s ally saw’, or some such. — “He came at them from nowhere, ripping the pack leader down with a horde of black tentacles before knocking the rest of the pack to their backs and walking into the shadows to disappear without a trace!” — “He fell upon their group from the dark without warning, with a cold hateful glare that sent all but two of them fleeing in terror. The ductus was heard screaming in agony, and those who fled soon enough came to their senses and rounded-up reinforcements for a return. All anybody found was two piles of ripped clothing covered in ashes, with short notes placed inside each that read, ‘So, even your proudest priests can be made to beg for mercy’ and ‘I told her that she’d be spared if she would rip her arm from its socket… but I lied’.” — “They had heard a noise in the basement, but found nothing when they went to investigate. Then, as they were walking upstairs, the first of them flipped the lights off as he reached the top, and the last of them started to scream. By the time the others had turned around, all they saw were black tentacles pulling her into the darkness, never to be seen or heard of again. They barred-off the basement and the bishop quietly had the house condemned.”
Enuppsis had taken the rumors to be simple horror stories meant to keep bored Sabbat childer on their toes, but then he saw firsthand the devastation that the Dark Man could leave in his wake. A pack of Sabbat neonates were infrequent (and always overcharged) customers of Enuppsis’ information network. One night they failed to make a scheduled meeting, so Enuppsis elected to make the mildly annoying effort to go to the money rather that having it come to him. When he arrived at the pack’s common meeting grounds (a run-down once crack-house in the Inner City), he found the lot of them ashed, save for the pack’s pander (who was staked to the basement wall with a broken two-by-four, his visage of abject terror). Brass casings littered the floors along with what looked to be flattened bullets (as-if they’d hit something far sterner than their own mere metals). Scarred into the cement of the basement floor (with no discernible instrument that could be found) were the words “NONE ARE SAFE IN FORTRESS DETROIT.”
After un-staking the pander (and after getting him to stop crying & screaming – the mewling whelp), Enuppsis learned of the attacker’s identity. The pander first attempted to describe the vampire who had attacked them, but his descriptions left much to be desired (save for the crucial fact that it was a Lasombra wearing a silver pendant of the “Camarilla’s cross” – the uncultured degenerate didn’t even know that it’s actually an ankh, but what can one expect from the clanless?). After some further conversation (initiated to keep the pander’s mind from wandering far enough to realize that he had yet to contact his superiors), Enuppsis learned that the young pander was once an aspiring art student. And, with a little supernatural persuasion, Enuppsis convinced him to sketch a picture of the pack’s attacker. It was a pity that Enuppsis had no choice but to end the whelp right there – the artistry of his sketch showed much talent….