| Auguste | |
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| Portrayed by Thor Knai | |
| Statistics | |
| Fullname | Charles Auguste Beaumont |
| Birthday | October 5, 1728 |
| Species | Vampire |
| Age | 280 |
| Height | 6'0" |
| Weight | 180 lbs |
| Eyes | Blue |
| Hair | Blonde |
| Occupation | Vampire Whip |
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Table of Contents
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Claim to Fame
Charles-Genevive-Louis-Auguste-Andr-Timothe d'on de Beaumont, The Chevalier d'Eon. Is also rumored to have run with a pack of vampires who systematically depopulated several villages in Alsace-Lorraine in the late 18th century.
Biography
Ah, you wish to know my story? Bon. I will tell you /a/ story. It may or may not be true. But then again, isn't that the way it is with all stories? As your countryman, Mssr. Twain said, 'Truth is stranger than fiction'. And I have had a long, strange moonlight trip into the future indeed. I have been a knight, a spy, an assassin, a poet, a leader of men, a lover and a corpse. And some would even tell you that I was a woman. But she, my dearest doppleganger merely took over my role after I died and became …well, what you see here. A man, perhaps. A demon, perhaps. As with le voix du bon Dieu, I will merely say 'I am.'
I was born (as all good stories start, no?) in a province that no longer exists, in a France that died even as I was reborn. What shall I tell you of my childhood? I was educated, obviously and lived in comfort. My father was an important man and a rich one, with the wealth to make the most of his graces and position in society. We were Royalists, loyal to the throne in a time of rising rabble and the victory of the banal and low over those who were born to be their betters.
Oh, I see your lips compressing. I hear your heart beating a little faster. Your lovely brow knits with consternation. I have offended your modern sense of democracy, where even God loves us all the same. Well, you will have to suffer it. I make no claims to being a populist or a citizen of the 21st century. The blood my sire spilled was as old and rare and precious as France herself. And if it is diluted these days with many an inferior vintage, well, there are still dregs of it at the bottom of my heart.
I was a nobleman, with all that entailed. I served my king in peace and war. I was a scholar of some note, an accountant without peer and a soldier. Oh, I was a soldier. The only thing I loved more than my uniform fresh from the press was my uniform soaked with the blood of my foes. Oh yes, barbaric, by your standards. But war, then, it was …personal. No pressing a button or pulling a trigger from miles away. No, most of the men I killed died with steel through their guts, screaming out their last breath for me to breathe in and savor. And when the peace came again, I was a spy, serving Louis XV throughout Europe as eyes and ears and occasionally a hand that held the dagger from whom's point dripped the price of peace. And when my king betrayed me, well, I was an exile in filthy England. I assure you that the hell that undoubtedly awaits me has no terror after living in London in the 18th century. The food alone! Pfah!
And it was in England that my maker found me. Exiled, drunken, alone and desolate. I was, I suppose, planning to die there, after humiliating Louis with papers that proved he was a fool. My only comfort was a friend of mine who often played my part when I was out spying but needed to be seen at some affair or other. We were as alike as twins, almost. Perhaps he was a bastard of my father's. I don't know or care, as they are are all, king and father and double, dust now.
And I go on. Where was I? Ah yes, my maker. He was a rough sort. His name was, I think by way of irony, Bellus. For there was nothing beautiful about him. Old, even for one of us. To hear him tell it, he'd marched with Caesar's legions into Britain and been turned by some demonic druid woman. And lacking in social graces. He confided in me that he'd picked me because of my fine manners and the fact that I lacked what the more unenlightened would call a conscience. He gave me death and a dark rebirth and I gave him the semblance of a gentleman. Believe me, the miracle I worked was no less wonderful than the one he performed to bring me back from the dead. I sent my double back to France in my place and that unlucky soul had to deal with the Revolution. By that time, I cared little for mortal affairs.
My first century as a vampire was …wonderful. Orgiastic. A dark and beautiful sojourn wherein I learned that the soul of man is that of a demon. And that there is a certain wonder and beauty to being the perfect predator. We traveled and feasted and gathered others like ourselves. It was a wandering troupe we were. We were vagabondi, wandering players in a commedia dell'morte, so to speak. And whole villages yielded to us, as sweet as any blushing virgin maid or youth. Our applause came from carrion crows and it was a delight to the ear.
But all good things come to an end and ours was in our hubris. Rumors spread. The peasants revolted. Again. As it seems their inexplicable want to do and the hunters came. Our little band was then hunted and killed one by one. I did not stop running until I'd crossed the great Ocean and come to what was now the United States. And here the rules were different. We had to be clever and subtle for the most part. We were …organizing. Forming courts and groups and factions. And then we were public. A fool's game. The lion doesn't proffer his calling card to the gazelle. He merely hunts and kills. But it is our law now. And like a good knight of my dark king, I obey.
These days my joy mostly comes from those few times when I am allowed to hunt and stalk as of old. Perhaps a human crossed us. Perhaps a shifter has forgotten his place. Perhaps even a vampire needs a reminder of her place in the great order. It is for those moments I wait. For the fleeting, glorious hours when I can, once again, be a vampire and stop pretending to want to be human again.
Which brings us to you, dear one. Did you /truly/ think that your foolishness had gone unnoticed? The Sheriff, he sees all. C'est vrai. He does. And I, I am but a humble hand of justice, holding that dagger that brings peace and surcease. But not yet, my lovely one. Not yet. First … oh first, we shall remember better nights, you and I.
Let's begin, shall we?
Character Details
Auguste is still very much a nobleman of the Enlightenment. He believes in honor and duty and loyalty and works best in a strong chain of command. And if those above him in the chain don't act the way he thinks they should, well, that's also the nature of royalty. Only by maintaining one's place in the order, master to those lower and servant to those higher, can order, and indeed morality, be maintained. Of course, his verson of morality is a little different than most.
Auguste is also a hedonist and a cruel, capricious man. In fact, the best analogy for him would be that of a house cat. Imperious, demanding, sly and fickle, casually cruel to prey and well aware of his own beauty and grace. But also affectionate and loyal as long as his metaphorical belly is being rubbed occasionally and his ego stroked.
Relationships
| Name | Race | Relation | Notes |
|---|---|---|---|
| Will | Vampire | The New Boss | An auspicious beginning indeed. I can work with this one. |
Character Gallery
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Logs
| Title | IC Date | OOC Date | Quick Description |
|---|---|---|---|
| Grand Guignol | December 24, 2004 | December 24, 2009 | Will meets his new Whip, Auguste for an evening of theater, an interview of sorts and nefarious plotting. |
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