Marius was born in 1385 within sight of the city of Wiesbaden in the Holy Roman Empire's landgraf of Hessen. Like many of the time, they were vassels under a landed Count, but in Hessen's case, the Count held fealty only to the Holy Roman Emperor, Charles IV. He'd missed the potential civil war years before his birth, but he was more than able to partake of the support of a 'pfaffenkonig'. After all, under Louis IV, Hessen had been used and largely ignored by the Emperor. Why should there be any allegience? Because Bavaria wanted to remain in power?
No.
Under the same basic edicts as England, Marius worked the fields 6 days of the week and was excused from Mass on the seventh only because he was to train in the more martial of arts. And so, from a young age, his superiors beat him more than the priests and monks could possibly imagine in order to hone what was quickly becoming a sharp blade.
War always comes. It became a given, almost a law of nature. Marius, long before he attained the age of majority, was a soldier to the cause, and had learned that lesson before he was able to walk.
Unable to resist the call, Marius left home, left the shadow of Wiesbaden to join the ranks of a group of mercenaries. Some of the cadre left to go to what was to be the dying ember of the Holy Roman Empire in the East in Constantinople, and his group moved north to Prague in support of Charles IV. In the skirmishes to follow, Marius found himself leading when those supposedly in command did not and could not. Time at the pells had paid off, and a certain.. leadership quality began to shine. It wasn't necessarily a positive guide, however. With each battle under his belt, he grew crueller and crueller to the enemy. There was no quarter given, and while his sword had no stay against the foe, neither did it for his fellow mercenary if they stepped out of line.
Marius was called once again to become a sword arm in the various battles for the Holy Roman Empire but now specifically for Wenceslaus, Charles' son and king of Germany who held only a tenuous grip of power in his own homeland. Each battle was bloody, and he reveled in the destruction, and gloried in the bended knee he'd won for Charles. Of course, there were a few obeissances by the vassels that he'd taken the liberty of using as a pose to lop off their heads, but hey! It would serve as a lesson in humility.
Come 1400, however, there wasn't anything the young Marius could do about the deposing of the king. Part of the counts against the dead-Emperor's son was the torture and murder of the Vicar General of Prague, John of Nepomuk in 1393.. not by Marius' hand, but by the hand of his guide, mentor and brother in arms. Leaving the country after finding that Wenceslas could afford him no protection, he left and went to France.
There, Marius found a willing master for his sword, and on the fields of Agincourt he fought, and fiercely. He gave no quarter, and there were times when he had to be pulled from English nobility or he would give them the death as given to the peasants. There were more than a couple of Gauls that lost their hands that day after touching his shoulder to pull him off the fallen foe. In the end, however, the French fell and the English counted it a victory. For Marius, however, his victory was to embrace death, and defy it. That was how it was presented to him— to laugh in the face of the Reaper and deny him his soul. In 1415.
After being turned, Marius felt the years fall beneath his boot; or rather, he watched and felt nothing. His Maker tried to incorporate his Child into the Royal Court of vampires in France, but there was nothing to do for his cruelty. Marius was difficult to read; his face was a study of impassivity even as he tore the heart out of one who wronged him, or held his tongue when speech was expected, or…
He was a walking lesson in the more imaginitive ways that one could literally break a human, drawing on his experiences in the past. 'Perhaps', it was soon thought, 'that it may have been a mistake to turn that one,' but by then, it was too late, and there was nothing that could be pointed to that stated that he'd broken any vampire law. After all, there were breathers, and then there vampires. Breathers were food; chattel. Some were amusing, but most were useless.
Finally, however, he was taught how to control his more base of impulses, and was freed from his tutelage, after much discussion, and some promises extracted. Marius was also asked, no, encouraged that perhaps he'd learn more.. elsewhere. England? England was good! It was a place where he was much encouraged to travel.
Finding a place to land wasn't easy for Marius. A letter of introduction, however, was given him in order to make his transition easier, and now reasonably fluent in French, albeit heavily accented. Eventually, he made his way to where he needed to be; the castle in which Ysolde and Valentinus called their own. There, he made himself at 'home', biding his time, and participating in some of the bloodier moments of debauchery that was created. Sex and blood, blood and sex.. it all ran the same. In deep rivulets in which he drank deeply.
It was there that he met Valentinus, later Will. It was in defense of the estate where he bonded with the other man; some will find a brother in alcohol, but in this case, it was in battle, and blood. Unfortunately, the loss of unlife was difficult, if not untenable. Ysolde was killed, and Marius never knew how, as was his Maker, who'd joined them at one point.
It was around that time, then, that Marius departed ways with his new brother in arms. Valentinus departed for the colonies, and Marius stayed behind, but remained in England. He was enjoying the lack of rule in the country. It allowed him to move reasonably freely. Even within the Civil War, it gave him the abilty to drink deeply in the wash of blood that flowed in the streets.
In 1666 came the Great Conflagration. It came at midnight, the witching hour, in the City of London. While Marius certainly didn't start it, he took great advantage to toy with some of the populous. John Evelyn, of the time, had written in his diary, 'The conflagration was so universal, and the people so astonished, that from the beginning, I know not by what despondency or fate, they hardly stirred to quench it, so that there was nothing heard or seen but crying out and lamentation, running about like distracted creatures without at all attempting to save even their goods, such a strange consternation there was upon them.'
On the third of what would be a five day fire, Marius learned that Isobel Symon was in peril of the flames. Her resting place was in the line of flames; the firebreaks just weren't working. It was before he slept that he glamoured a couple of firemen; able bodied men, to move her to a place of his choosing. It was done, and for their efforts, the men … perished in the fire.
Isobel… had departed the city.
Valentinus… had departed the city.
Marius… remained within.
Time passed under the heel of his boot and the flowing of blood. What was true in the 14th century was still true. There would always be war. Always death. Wanderlust grabbed hold of him, and on the coattails of the English Empire building, and he traveled. India. Africa. The Caribbean. The Far East. Where ever there were battles, and blood shed in violence, Marius was there. The weapons may have been different, but everything else was exactly the same.
It was only comparitively recently that Marius 'went home' to Germany. That was in the 1930s, where a feast was laid before him. Bouncing between Germany and Russia, he picked up a few more pointers for his game.
Now, quite surprisingly, he is summoned, and the only reason that Marius could begin to fathom would be for his sword arm.
