The DemonALIASES: Jason Blood; Jayson of Northwic; Sir Jayson o’ the Blood; Jeison Ketsueki; Jaysun Dam; The Demon
SPECIES: Cursed Human
GENDER: Male
HAIR: Red
EYES: Blue
HEIGHT: 6’4”
WEIGHT: 200#
APPARANT AGE: 40
ACTUAL AGE: 1,365 years
ABILITIESINTELLIGENCE: 6
STRENGTH: 3
AGILITY: 3
SPEED: 2
HEALTH: 4
ENERGY: 5
REGENERATION: 7
ACTIONSClose Combat 5- Strength bonus or weapon modifier
- Specialties: League of Assassins training; Samurai fighting style; Shaolin Kung-fu; swordsmanship
Black Ops 3- General spycraft
- Specialties: escape; interrogation; Pinkerton training
Eastern Medicine 4- As Medical Healing when used for others, as magical healing when used on himself
Eyes of the Demon 6- As Fear Action, Range 2
- Stones vs. Intelligence: take damage from an opponent’s Action Box and absorb it into energy pool
- Requires eye contact, or AN -1
General Knowledge 6- Intelligence bonus
- Specialties: anthropology; demonology; occult lore; forgotten history; philosophy; the arts
Ranged Combat 3- Weapon bonus
- Specialties: archaic weapons; firearms; thrown weapons
Social Skills 4- Specialties: aristocrat; Eastern language/cultures; negotiation; seduction
MODIFIERSHealing Factor- Heal 1w stone/hour
- Continues healing after “death” no matter the condition of his body, and is resuscitated one he’s returned to full Health
Immortality- Jason cannot die and does not age
Magical Defense 3- The enchantments which bind Etrigan also provide Jason with a potent defense against the dark arts
Metal Defense 3- Jason has had to maintain strict mental discipline for centuries; if not, he would have long ago succumbed to madness.
Precognitive Flashes- Although not a practitioner himself, Jason's mother was the same witch who gave birth to the great wizard, Merlin. He has a connection with higher powers that sometimes send dreams and omens to illuminate his path.
Wealth 4- Jason has a reputation as a collector of art and antiquities, and owns property in major cities across the world. Unlike other immortals, he doesn't indulge in mind games with his neighbors, faking his death, coming back as a descendant, etc. He prefers to stay aloof because he knows he's dangerous – but he does enjoy his creature comforts.
CHALLENGESAccursed +5 enchanted by his half-brother, Merlin, Jason is host to The Demon, Etrigan. His presence in a city is also usually enough to alert mystically attuned individuals to his proximity, and he shares the same demonic limitation as Etrigan: he cannot set foot on holy ground.
Enemies +3 it's not hard to collect enemies over the centuries. Among those still alive who want a piece of Jason Blood are:
The League of Shadows/Ra's al Ghul, with who he was once associated but has severed ties. They're less of an enemy, more of hostile acquaintances with nefarious designs on his skills and nature.
Morgaine le Fey, who was once his ally before he learned of her evil designs against his leige, and later his enemy when he became The Demon, a weapon forged to oppose her. She's a sorceress far older than he, and her memory is just as powerful as she is.
Miscellaneous others, most of whom have passed on, and others he doesn't really know about.
Man out of time +2 Sir Jayson o’ the Blood has had a lot of practice at assimilating himself into new cultures, but he never quite fits in. As a former knight of Camelot, he also has a medieval sense of justice that is alarming to the modern mind.
The Demon +2 Jason has a menacing aura that is off-putting to animals and the innocent. Although he has kept the half-brother of his half-brother in check for centuries, sometimes Etrigan is closer to the surface than others. When Jason’s temper flares, those standing too close can see The Demon peering out from his eyes, and sometimes Etrigan's rage becomes Jason's own. This has given him a reputation and a nickname…
The Demon.
Torment +3 it is Jason's duty and destiny to keep Etrigan in chains, and nothing can break this curse. Although he knows the spell to release The Demon, he will not allow it under any circumstances. As a consequence, he must endure Etrigans taunts and rages in his mind. Unless the two maintain an accord, both must live in the torment of one another’s nature (Jason battling urges of cruelty and destruction; Etrigan plagued with bouts of mortal empathy). The two halves of Jason's soul have been in relative balance for a long time, but sometimes Etrigan likes to rattle his cage, potentially distracting his host at inopportune moments.
EQUIPMENTArt & Antiquities CollectionMedieval Weapon Collection +1 to +2 - Various swords, blades, and other weapons of exceptional value and quality
Mauser C96 +2Oni Mask & Tankō +2Rolls-Royce Phantom I Jonckheere Coupe Northwic Manor- Constructed in 1785 by Jason himself.
- Located at 253 Park Ave. in the Upper West Side of Gotham adjoining the south side of Robinson Park, on a secluded road around the corner from the botanical gardens.
- Floorplan consists of a master bedroom in the tower with 2,970 sq. feet of living area on the ground floor, including two spare bedrooms. Beneath that is an underground garage, accessible by elevator or from the street via a portcullis-gated entryway behind the house. Beneath that is a sub-basement accessible through a hidden stairwell in the ground-floor, which contains his most valuable art collection and mementos from his past, including his Oni mask and an arsenal of weapons.
STORYJayson became aware of the sound of screaming, and then of hot, tearing pain raking across his body. He screwed his eyes shut tightly rather than open them to whatever fate had befallen him, then he realized that the screams come from him. His mouth snapped shut and he jerked upright, eyes flying open.
At least, he tried to sit up. As it happened, his arms were bound at the wrist over his head, and his ankles were tight against the cold stone. He looked around, panicked. He was laying on an…alter.
Forcing his heaving chest to calm so he could think through the agony, Jayson took in the dimly lit cavern, feeling the warmth of a nearby fire. Gnarled roots reached down from high above, grasping like hands as the shadows danced around them. He was naked, and strange marks had been painted in blood across his torso. The walls of rough-hewn stone and dirt bore pagan pictograms, also painted in blood. And there was a voice, chanting blasphemies in unknown words.
Jayson knew that voice.
“Myrddin,” he gasped, his voice harsh, broken. The name was uttered like an oath; a thousand terrible things lurking in its meaning, but Jason only had voice for that one word.
Myrddin’s chanting stopped.
“Accursed,” the old wizard said, shuffling closer into view, chuckling. “That is not an inaccurate description. You were here to betray me, Jayson o’ the Blood, I see it in your thoughts. Accursed – perhaps, but only in defense of our kingdom, same as you!”
“Cursed…” He worked his dry mouth, trying to spit out more words.
“And you sought to save my soul with fire, yes? In the name of your desert god! No matter; I bear you no ill will, all evidence to the contrary. Soon you will understand, though I daresay salvation will be well beyond us both.”
“You –”
“Speak no more, boy, your thoughts are plain enough. Your strength is great, but not so great as to avoid your fate. Had you thought more of the heritage of our mother than the privilege and titles of your father, perhaps I’d have found more use for you as a pupil than…”
The old wizard stopped, looking toward the painted wall, as if gazing upon somewhere else entirely.
“We have no more time. To fight the Morgaine I have made a pact – a terrible pact. Do you know of my other brother? No, I think not…I truly wish there were another way…”
“Don’t…”
Myrddin renewed his chant, eyes rolling back into his skull as Jason felt an unseen presense moving around him about the cave. The smell of blood and sulfer slashed at the doomed man’s nostrils, and Jayson could no longer restrain his voice.
But his screams were merely a prelude – an invitation to the dark forces that were about to violate him. Suddenly the old wizard’s mumbling turned into a rhythmic shout; the spell was cast.
“Change! Change, O' form of man! Release the might from fleshy mire! Boil the blood in the heart for fire! Gone! Gone! – the form of man –
ARISE, THE DEMON, ETRIGAN!!”Another voice, deeper, resonating, filled with hate and hellfire, screamed in harmony with his own…
Jason woke again, this time bolt upright in a modern feather bed, jarring awake the lithely-muscled woman laying in a shift beside him.
“J-jason?”
The terror that plagued his dreams simmered down beneath the capstone of his will, teasing Jason’s thoughts with a sinister chuckle – not metaphorically. It was no dream, of course, but a memory. Fresh, ancient, as always.
“Sorry,” he said, sliding from the side of the bed. “I have an early meeting this morning. On a zeppelin...”
He put his feet into waiting slippers and grabbed a robe before walking across the elegant hotel room to the commode. Rubbing at eyes that had seen too much, Jason ran clean water into the sink, splashing himself to wakefulness. Wiping his hand on a towel, he glanced down at the note where he’d left it the night before, found beneath his door.
“A zeppelin? How exciting! Let me throw something on,” the woman – Linda? Cindy? – said in a tone he had no patience for.
Jason brushed at his face with the towel and dropped the note into the waste basket. He stood to his full height, starring into the mirror for a moment longer than he meant to. Starring back, of course, was Etrigan, grinning and gnashing at the same time.
Say it, wretched man! Speak the words of Merlin's spell! I’ll show the girl a time for you, and send her straight to hell…The woman appeared behind him in the mirror, and when she glimpsed his eyes she gasped, dropping the glass she’d brought as an offering. The shatter-sound seemed muted, as if coming from another room, as she glimpsed Jason lost in thought – as she saw him for what he really was.
Accursed.
“Go,” he said flatly. The Demon cackled silently.
He never saw the woman again.
********************************
Jason sat across from the gentleman at the small dining table, waving off the tuxedo-clad steward approaching to take his order. The drone of the zeppelin’s engine made a nice backdrop of sound to the impending conversation, and his host smiled discretely as Jason took the chair.
“Thank you for joining me, Mr. Blood. I’m so glad you decided to be civil about this.”
“Are you?” Jason asked as he leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs as he sat sideways to the stranger.
The man’s smile broadened.
“Of course. The world is full of anarchy and corruption; I always appreciate the opportunity to conduct business with a bit of decorum. I hope you don't mind a little early libation,” the stranger lifted a chilling bottle from its basket at the table’s edge, opening it with a pop and fizz. He poured out two dark red glasses and let them rest side-by-side. "You see, I've done my research, and I know you're not adverse to enjoying life's pleasures when presented."
“You want to talk
business then. I recall you mentioned that in your – what was it, an extortion letter?” Jason waved off the man’s insincere objection and took the proffered glass as he peered beyond him, out the airship’s window. “If nothing else, I can tell my secretary that the disruption to my schedule was worth the view. My compliments. Would you say that’s the coastline or the Seine?”
The stranger spared a glance.
“Coastline, and you don’t have a secretary. I admit, Mr. Blood, I’m surprised by how well you’re taking this. You don’t seem very concerned by my note. Why is that?”
“Hopefully you don’t believe that you’re the first person to try this with me. Perhaps it is you who is not showing proper concern. Perhaps you don’t know as much about me as you think, Mister…?
“Johnson –and to the contrary, I know a great deal about you. I’d like to know more.”
“Come now,” Jason said, indignant, drinking the contents of the glass faster than was seemly. The stranger smiled and lifted his own in a toast before taking a sip. “Under the circumstances, I hardly think it’s reasonable to expect further divulgence at this point in our relationship. Besides, your note was hardly specific. It seems more likely that this is a sloppy attempt at entrapment.”
The man leaned forward.
“I want to hear about
The Demon, Mr. Blood.”
Jason smiled, to the stranger’s surprise.
“Why didn’t you say so? That's a dangerous request, my friend, as I'm sure you know. Very well – it’s a lengthy tale, but I’ll try to make it brief..." Jason let the man shift in his seat while he let his gaze dawdle in the passing view outside.
"I was born Jayson of Northwic, somewhere in the middle of the 6th Century." The man lifted an eyebrow. Jason ignored him and continued his exposition. "I grew up in a small town of Roman cast-offs and local Saxons, a city that’s still thriving today – they call it
Norwich, about 150 kilometers north-east of London, perhaps you know it. My father was the Ealdorman, and his wife a wealthy woman in her own right – I say his wife because I was a bastard, taken into their house shortly after I was born, a fact she never let me forget. By the age of 10, she’d convinced my father to ‘let the black monks have me,’ and I began my education as a scribe under the tutelage of the Benedictines.”
He paused in his story; the man’s attention thoroughly wrapped. Clearly this wasn’t the story he had expected.
“Another glass, yes?” Jason gestured to the bottle and took a smaller drink before continuing.
“As luck would have it, I hit my growth before my 12th birthday, and my father reconsidered the value of letting his eldest son’s budding prowess languish in a monastery. He gave me instead to one of his knights, a boorish, violent man whose name I no longer remember. Come to think of it, I can no longer tell you the name of my father either, but I digress…
“I was 15 years old and barely a squire when our town held its first grand tourney. My particular knight was a dullard and a knave, but he was quite good with a lance and fared well in the contest. A fluke on the field turned fortune against him, however, and the blame was given wholly to me. I was in the midst of a rather memorable beating when a shadow passed between us and the evening sun. That was the first time I saw
him.
“I’ll never forget that moment – a troupe of unfamiliar knights rode in seeking refuge from the road. We all knew their banner –
his banner. The Pendragon. Artor – you would know of him as Arthur, yes,
that Arthur – he took umbrage with my treatment and called my master out on it. The rest of that day is a blur in my memory, but my Knight lost his life at the edge of the famous blade,
Caelibur, and I gained a new master.
“I was Artor’s squire for five years, during the quest to claim his throne, after which time he knighted me to his table.”
Jason wetted his throat again, and the stranger joined him.
“Camelot,” the man’s eyebrows lifted once more, this time in derision, but Jason wasn't looking at him. “Camelot was like a wonderful dream at first, but the powers of darkness wasted no time in laying siege to it. And to me. I met my master’s advisor, Myrddin, while I was still a squire. He actually abducted me for a time, but that’s quite another story. I learned that we had more in common than our nearness to the king – that my mother, who turned out to be a welsh witch, was also
his mother. He tried to persuade me to take up the dark arts, but I steadfastly refused. He bullied me about it long enough that I grew a keen dislike for the man, but eventually he returned me to my duties and lost interest.
“Or so I believed. A few years later I found myself a full-fledged knight and father of two. My wife was a lovely thing, sweet Mary, and my boys…well, I wasn’t a father for long.
“At my liege’s side, we knights repelled invaders and had many an adventure. But those aligned against us were not merely challengers of flesh and blood, but rather dark beings from the unseen world. Myrddin was Camelot’s greatest weapon in those dark days, but for all his power he was only one man. You know the stories, the grains of truth about those times, as fantastical as they may seem. It was in the darkest of those days that Myrddin made a pact with hell itself to save Camelot – a demon that he summoned to earth. And yes, I'm aware you were probably asking about those words in reference to my erronious pseudonym, but there's a real demon involved in my story, you see, and whether you were aware or not, that's what you really wanted to know. And now you probably can't help but think:
how could loosing an unbound creature from the abyss save anyone? You’d be right, and of course Myrddin knew that too, so to bind this fiend the old wizard needed flesh that was something more than mortal. I must tell you, to this day I find myself rather disappointed that he didn’t bind the thing to himself, but then we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we? No, that bastard chose me to pay for his crimes.
“The agony, the insanity – I’ve gratefully forgotten most of it. Most, but not the worst. When the dark deed was done, the wizard taught me the words of the spell, the key to unlock the prison that I’d become. In my rage and madness, I turned those words against my brother and became…I became
him. The Demon. He rails inside me even now, railing that I do not tear you apart and throw your remains to the ground below. And that woman behind me. And the
maître d' at the bar. But that wouldn’t be civil, would it Mr. Johnson? Ah, there it is, the concern I was looking for…”
Jason took another drink and looked out the window once more. Remembering.
“I wounded the old wizard and left him for dead. Discovering my utter lack of control, I –
The Demon, rather – rampaged through the countryside. When I returned to my senses I was back in the village where I lived with my family outside the court, in the ruins of my own home, covered in the blood of my wife and children and whichever dozens of nameless fools tried to rally to their defense…”
Jason stopped once more, setting the wine aside to pull a cigarette case and lighter from his coat.
“Forgive me. It’s not an easy thing to say, even after all this time. I came by my name that day – Jayson o’ the Blood, they called me.
The Demon. My king was torn by strife in his own house at that point and took little notice of the rumors swirling about me. The old wizard reappeared as if his wounding had been a small thing, pressing me to use the power of The Demon – his
other half-brother – in service to the kingdom. I did so at the command of my king, but in the end, it was all for naught. In the end, the king was betrayed in his own house and his dream died with him.
“I had nothing left to fight for by that point, so I left. Those were darkest of days. Years. At some point, without whatever power Myrddin held over him, The Demon entirely overcame me for days and weeks at a time. I wandered more-or-less eastward, across the edge of the old empire, across the steppes and horse plains, and was consumed by The Demon whenever it pleased him. My torment as an engine of destruction found no relief until I’d walked all the way across the world to find myself on the banks of the Yellow River. It was there that I had the first sane thought I could remember – that I had to die. That was when I learned that The Demon’s presence prevented my soul from escaping its earthly shell. That his prison was my own.
“I was saved by a group of monks who were fishing along the same bank and witnessed my attempted final sin – I say saved, because it was their heathen philosophies and meditative arts that restored a measure of balance to my soul and put The Demon back in his chains. They gave me more than they knew in the few years that I took refuge with them. Still, they sensed the great evil that lurked inside me, and I left their temple before they chose to expel me – or before they loosed The Demon accidentally. Continuing my wanderings East, I found my way to the Island of
Wa – Japan – and was taken in by Prince Shōtoku.
“I found His Excellency to be an unusually gracious and generous man, especially to someone he considered a barbarian such as myself. I rode with his men to guide them to a bandit camp I’d uncovered in my travels.
“Our raid was a success, though I fought just as fiercely to keep my grip on The Demon’s chains. I fought the bandits like a demon, the soldiers reported back, and so that was a name by which I ironically became known to the peasants and soldiery. In his court, I was simply
Jeison Ketsueki. My host had a masked helmet fashioned to show his gratitude, the face of an Oni – a visage perilously close to Etrigan’s himself.
“Through that exchange I met Koken, his blacksmith’s daughter, who became my second wife. It caused something of an uproar of course, but by the time I made my intentions known the prince and I had become good friends. I never found relief from my curse in all those years, but I count it as a happy time. We were married for less than a decade before she passed of natural causes. Once she was gone, I took my leave of the islands and my friends and began a new quest – a place whose name my wife made known to me, a place where I could find teachings to gain mastery over The Demon once and for all.
“Nanda Parbat.“I found the fabled city easily enough – or rather, as I later learned, the city found me. By the time I came down from the mountain centuries had passed, and I was no longer subject to the vicissitudes of age or ill health. In the city of the Rama Kushna, I honed my will to the measure of The Demon’s. I left with the confidence that he’d never slip his leash again. And he hasn’t – but don’t let that encourage you.
“I spent many years exploring Southeast Asia, and many more in the lands of the Arabs, who called me
Jaysun Dam – and occasionally branded me a
div or a
jinn, forcing me to move on. I spent some years in Northern Africa and lived among a tribe of Chinese nomads who made a home there. Decades later, I found myself recognized by one of the children of that tribe, now a grown man, a physician to a Sultan. He was fascinated by my immortal condition, and I saw no reason to hide it from him. I kept the secrets of Nanda Parbat to myself, but I told him of some of the wonders there, including, unfortunately, the nature of the Lazarus Pit.
“I can see that your true master has not made these things know to you. Well then, I shall not speak of it. I’ve had further association with that man over the years, but I am not inclined to speak of him – he's not the sort to grow sentimental with the years. There’s much more to my story, but I'm already weary of reliving it, so I’ll skim the rest and come to the point.”
“After Africa, I traveled north and became a citizen of Spain. I was befriended by a brash young man named Hernán Cortés de Monroy y Pizarro Altamirano, later known as the 1st Marquess of the Valley of Oaxaca. He persuaded me to adventure with him to the New World, and together with a small band of scoundrels we overthrew the Mexica Empire and became fabulously wealthy. Well, mostly he did.
“I signed on with East India Trade Company after that and managed to see the rest of the word. I retired to France, then later emigrated to the Colonies. With travel becoming somewhat easier than in ages past, I began to maintain multiple residences across the globe: London, Amsterdam, Paris, Cairo, Hong Kong, Mumbai, Sidney, New Orleans – and of course Gotham, which is where I’m headed next week. I’m sure you already uncovered something of all that.
“I mostly avoided the American Revolution, but I found myself drafted into the Union Army during their Civil War. Yes, I’ve fought in many other conflicts over the years, though I don’t care to recount them for you. Yes, I most recently served as a Captain with the British Expeditionary Force against the Germans. A dreadful conflict, that.”
The man had sat rigid throughout Jason’s monologue. Now that it was over, he lifted his glass to his lips, only to find it drained.
“Why,” the man began to ask, but Jason interrupted him.
“Don’t tell me you were asking about Etrigan, and not about my autobiography? Oh dear, this is awkward. As I mentioned, some refer to
me as The Demon…”
“Is this something you tell strangers regularly?” The man asked, unable to conceal his nervousness.
“As the Chinese say, my friend,
Jiǔ ràng mìmì tòu chū – Wine lets secrets out. Or perhaps Napoleon Bonaparte is more appropriate: Secrets travel fast in Paris. Or perhaps something I made up myself: Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead.”
Jason smiled.
“Come now, I spotted you following me two days ago, on the
Avenue des Champs-Élysées. Then I caught you watching me yesterday in the
Musée d'Orsay. You claim to be a newspaper man, but your skills are too honed for that. You have all the signs about you man – you’re an assassin, am I right? Now it’s time for you to talk. You aren’t going to print a story. What does the League of Shadows want with me?”
The man scowled deeply. “My only intention was to judge whether your activities in Gotham might align with the interests of my Master. More than that I will not say.”
The man stood from the table. As if they were done.
“Well then,” Jason said, pouring himself the last glass from the bottle. “I presume that the poison you intended for me was merely a precaution?”
The man’s face was inscrutable.
“I switched the glasses, you know, not that it could have killed me. There was a smudge on the lip, you should have noticed. The master of your order was always so inventive with his poisons. Which one was it – tell me your symptoms – a tightening of the throat? Slowing of the mind? Hopefully not the one that sabotages the bowel…”
The man looked like he was about to sprint away, but once again Jason interrupted him.
“I’m sorry to tell you, but I took the liberty of exploring your cabin before coming to find you here. If you’re hoping to imbibe the antidote hidden in your carry-on, I’m afraid it’s been misplaced. I’m sure you’re no man of the book, but there’s a Proverb:
Those who live by the sword die by the sword.”
The man, desperate now, pulled a curved blade from his coat and moved to lunge at Jason, but then their eyes met and Etrigan looked back at him, laughing. The man stumbled away, crashing into a steward in his haste to escape The Demon.
Jason shook his head and made gesture for the steward's attention.
"A breakfast menu, if you would..."
