D'walin Vatulimma

Of Magic and Might


Name – D’walin Vatulimma
Age: 632
Apparent Age: 20
Sex: Male
Race: English
Hair: Dark Brown
Eyes: Violet that glow subtly
Height: 5’11""
Weight: 169lb


D’walin was born in a back water unassuming place some place near the ocean. When he was to young to even recall his parents he was sold to a vile corrupt group and put into slavery. Years rolled by as he toiled for his masters. They took much from him but always he held the memory of the ocean with him and longed to be free of them. In time he began to know this coven as the “Tremere Lichs”, cruel and single minded these mages lusted after immortality like no other. Tirelessly working to there end and uncaring about those that suffered in there wake. D’walin eventually and his fellow slaves “experimented” upon, and in a monumental moment these hateful master found a bit of success. There glee was ecstatic. They turned one of there own into a immortal, but a vampire. Her name was Sylvia of Copenhagen, a Acanthus mage. The success was not quite as hoped, and her magic faded. As she lost her Arcanum she embraced D’walin in an elaborate ritual designed to pass on the aspects of the Arcanum in your blood. So began the story of D’walin the vampire.

It was there desire to use both Sylvia and D’walin as guardians. To keep them safe as they worked. But as with all things they began to trust to much and miss the hateful glare swallowed deep down with his being. D’walin could not hope to take them all. He dreamed of tearing each one apart but these mages had other defenses that he couldn’t begin to fathom, and hidden reserves that could easily over power him. Years rolled by and his chance never given and in a fit of despair he thought to take what was important to them. That way he could hurt them, that way he could strike back.

These magi loved there rituals, loved there toys and magic trinkets. It was sealed in a vault… secure enough but he had time on his side. One evening his chance opened up, a careless mage feel asleep and then D’walin struck. Stole into there vault and took what they all craved. Took there power and stole away into the night and ran.

The days on the run were a blur of uncertainty. Hiding all day and moving at night always just a step behind them. They were relentless. D’walin took a small measure of pleasure in that. He had to find a way out, some avenue where he could go that he tormentors could not. At that he had his answer… Time. Time was they way out. He would just outlast them. They would die off and he could sleep until he was free. He found a statue maker who had just started making a gigantic visage of someone called “The Daisy Cutter” but at the last moment his instruction was changed. The visage turned into another being of myth, a terrible, powerful and beautiful being only know as “The World Ender” and by his side a small pillow with his favorite slave forever by his side. D’walin jumped in the unfinished edifice only to be sealed up safe inside of it.

To wake hundreds of years later in Boston…

D'walin Vatulimma

Boston: Sanguine Nights lordbaccus MarshallKarg