Castore Emeric

• Age: 112 (in 1506)
• 8th Generation Malkavian (Camarilla)
• Culture: Italian
• Religion: Malkavian (Camarilla)
• Education: Grey Eminence
• Traits: Attractive, Lustful, Greedy, Gluttonous, Paitent, Gregarious, Arbitrary, Frail, Lunatic
• Disciplines: Auspex 3, Obfuscate 2, Dementation 2

Castore Emeric in his small amount of time as a mortal, used to grow grapes for wines in his family vineyard in the slightly-Northern parts of Italy. Helping the family grow a small business from living of the hardwork from his backyard. Though over time it slowly grew, things grew darker for the family over the winter seasons, unsure of how to handle the losses that the family seemed to constantly have around this time of year.

But it didn't always come from the cold winds, or the opportunistic foxes. Something sinister always seemed to be at play when compared to the losses of the other grape growers. Castore would often see figures lurking around in the dead of night when he hears noises. Wait. Voices. They get closer to the house every night. And he doesn't know why. And with the growing turmoils in the East with the Ottoman threat in the Byzantine Territories.

When he was old enough he decided to take a night in the local tavern, and while there. Noticed that when he was served wine, that it tasted similar to that of the grapes of his families, with a hint of something odd. And that was his first experience in a bloodbound.(edited) After Castore's experience. He felt odd, turned, crazed, yet at the same time. Powerful. He would return to the tavern in the oncoming years, having fun with the local women, actively using his attractive appearance to attempt to gain more attention. Then he would pass out from drinking. Being escorted into the back rooms of the taverns. Where his bounded vampire would suck him nearly dry until he would wake up and go back home. After years of bringing in new customers, those of his new lovers, he was rewarded with an embrace from his Sire at the ripe age of 25. Being forced into his sire's servitude to run his bar for him. Though it took him away from his family, his active daylife, and he didn't feel that much into his nightlife as well.

He wanted more.

65 Years working as a servant for his sire, 65 years of anticipation, 65 years of paying attention, years of research. He got what he came for. When his sire came back to him. He stabbed the man in the heart in cold blood. Sniffing the blood and consuming it as more vitae flowed out of the wound. Though he was unable to savor the taste when he was found out by one of the others. He fled to Rome. The bustling streets filled with people to help him start again in his new business as leading a new tavern that specializes in their wines. New livestock to feed upon. And while he moved in he started to take an interest in the Camarilla. More as a form of protection then standing with their beliefs. But as long as his bar was open he was fine to pick sides.

Though tales do tell of a man who lures women down the streets of Roma later at night. With promises of satisfying desires, and appetites. To be taken away in strange mists, and never seen in the sun again. Yet chuckling can be heard down the alleyways, of those of his victims. Cackling at those foolish enough to dare walk the streets at late.