Backstory Friday is being discontinued. The feature will continue through June but after that there will be no more updates.

What is Backstory Friday? Every Friday there will be a new article showcasing the backstory of characters past and present. Characters range from various settings, systems, players, and writing styles. The whole point is to share our creative works, and potentially the creative works of our listeners. Perhaps one of these characters will inspire other Players or Gamemasters, but primarily they are for entertainment. Enjoy.
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Backstory Title
In 1998, Alexander Wright was an up-and-coming cellist, a rising star renowned for his musical prowess, his affluent upbringing and pedigree, and his movie-star good looks. His funeral was quite an event in the world of classical music, full of pomp and flair and eulogies about what could have been.

“If only he’d stayed with us longer, who knows what great things Alexander could have done? Who knows how high his star would have risen? We all know that he will bring even more beauty to the choruses of Heaven, as their golden harps are joined by Alexander’s cello.”

His funeral had been closed-casket, and the who’s-who of Los Angeles high society had all been in attendance. It was a black tie affair, full of beautifully-sad dirges and poetic, stirring eulogies. He’d tried to listen to as much of it as he could from inside the coffin, but it was hard to hear. Everything echoed strangely, and he was so damned tired. The whispers had urged him to stay awake for as long as he could, that this could be the last time he’d hear people speak of the beauty he’d brought to the world. The whispers had lent him some small strength of will that day, enough that he remembered most of the event later, even if he hadn’t been sure at the time that he was even awake.

After Xio had dug him out of his grave (literally), he took to calling himself Addison Reid. It had a New England ring to it, he thought, classy and elegant and sophisticated. He’d never play the cello again on stage, in front of hundreds of listeners. He’d never be a part of that world again, but at the very least he’d sound like he could be. He never wore it, but he still had the tuxedo he’d been buried in. It was the only thing he’d kept from his mortal days; his cello had been donated to his high school for display, and was out of his reach.

None was more surprised of his sudden death than Elizabeta, the captivating woman that Addison had hoped to someday make his wife. What Addison didn’t know at the time was that Elizabeta was a vampire (a Daeva, specifically), and that she was grooming him for the Embrace. Xio Jacks beat her to the proverbial punch, with the help of a word into the right ear from William Temporus.

The first time they’d run into one another at court, Addison had been thrilled to see her. She was a breath of fresh air, almost literally; a reminder of what it had been to be human, of what he had wanted so badly in life now in his grasp again. She hadn’t recognized him at first, and when she finally did she was revolted. Addison had felt the beast clawing at his mind then, screaming at him to rip her pretty little head off and shove it down the hole of her throat. He was still an artist, dammit! He could still create beautiful music, he could still tell charming jokes and be the center of the party, if only they would let him!

He was still beautiful, if she could only see past his skin. But she couldn’t, and it infuriated him. He promised himself that someday he would make her want him again. He’d make her want him so bad she’d beg for his love.

And when she begged, he would laugh at her.

Xio had watched him talk to Elizabeta. After she’d walked away and Addison had returned to his Sire’s side, he’d seemed almost amused. Addison was too angry to ask him what was so fucking funny at the time; he was afraid that Xio would respond, and that the answer would have driven him fully over the edge into frenzy. Addison had no interest in a physical fight with his Sire, mostly because he knew he’d lose.

(Once, Addison had asked why Xio had chosen him. His Sire had told him to mind his own business, with a look that brooked no argument.)

In time, Addison’s naked rage cooled into a distant, almost petulant contrary attitude. He looked for insults in conversation, seeking an excuse to take out his frustration on anyone who seemed like an easy target. Mister Temporus helped with that.

William Temporus was Xio’s Sire, so in a way that made them family. William had explained that part, even while he straightened his black bow-tie and made sure his hair was still straight. When William had asked why Addison was so angry all the time, he’d answered him flat and honest. William had just shrugged. “Then change it. You think you have no choice but to dress in rags and live in the sewers?”

“I embraced Xio. You carry the blood of my line. In time, and with work, it might awaken.”

That was all he’d really needed to hear; a promise of hope, the possibility that someday he might again don a suit and tie and not be looked at like a walking contradiction. The rage was still there under the surface, but it was tempered a bit now. The whispers seemed somewhat glad that he was in less turmoil, and spoke to him more frequently now.

It was so hard to understand what they were saying, but sometimes… sometimes, Addison felt like he could almost make out the words.

Maybe that would come in time, too.

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