Samuel Morton

Basics

Name: Samuel Morton
Alias: Sam, Sammy, Sammy Nails, Nails, Morty, Mort
Apparent Age: Mid to early 20’s
True Age: Mid-20’s
Gender: Male
Species: Vampire
Occupation: Club Owner/Gangster


Physique

Physical Description: After years in the trenches, sewers and back alleys of the world, Samuel had taken towards wearing the best.  He tends towards expensive, tailored suits and well-fitting shoes.  He usually wears his dark wavy hair slicked back.  He rarely outright frowns or lose his cool, though he does tend to tap his nails when he’s getting impatient or bored.  His eyes, on the other hand, can be focused and intense when he finds something intriguing or worth his time.
Height: 6’
Weight: 190 lbs
Hair Color/Style: Dark and slicked back
Eye Color: Light Brown
Character Model: Luke Evans


Psychology

Demeanor: Samuel is personable, or at least, he’s sociable and doesn’t like to be alone, though he’s careful of letting anyone know his secret.  The result leaves him feeling like he's alone in a crowd.  However, that’s a far better feeling than simply being alone entirely.  He’s far more able to control his hungers and desires when he’s around others and often feeds vicariously through them, enjoying their pleasures as his own.  It leads him to be somewhat voyeuristic at times, as well as controlling, directing others to perform to his design.  That includes both business and pleasure, where he’s quick to use his supernatural abilities to manipulate his underlings, though he’s equally quick to reward them in return.

He’s a talker but reserved in what he says, often speaking around things or using suggestion and innuendo rather than directly saying what he means.  At least when just talking; when giving instructions, he’s intently clear saying exactly what he wants and expects.

Though patient in regards to strategy, he gets bored easily in other respects, usually when he’s bothered by something or someone he doesn’t find particularly interesting.  However, while those that know him might recognize the signs of his impatience, he’s very good at masking it and making excuses rather than being outright dismissive or rude.  Between that and his generally sociable nature, it’s sometimes frightening when he gets angry and he shows that he got his nickname for more than just tapping his nails on a desk when he’s bored.

Nature: Samuel is young and hungry, but wise enough to not let that hunger run out of control.  In fact, it might be noted that control is his nature, control of himself and control of others, through mundane and increasingly, supernatural means.
Character Merits: Friendly and sociable, appreciative and generous, patient in the long-term
Character Flaws: Not easily forgiving, easily bored, impatient in the short-term
Sin: Envy
Virtue: Prudence


Paranormal


Species:  Vampire
Rank: Standard
Abilities: Acute senses, aura of power, fast moves, passing for human, physical prowess, rolling, silent moves, stillness, unaging
Weaknesses: Sunlight, garlic, invitations, master vampires, silver, stakes, holy water, religious iconography, fang removal


Biography

Background/History:  Frankly, Prohibition was a Godsend.  Not only did it put a premium demand upon liquor, it provided him with an ideal excuse to come out of the shadows and into the light.  Granted, it was the light of incandescent bulbs, but it was light all the same.

Before Prohibition, he’d struggled to remain undetected and ‘alive’.  He’d been left to his own devices and left to make his own errors, which he did time and again.  Truthfully, he was surprised he’d made it as long as he had.

Then Prohibition had come and he’d had the advantage of taking what he’d wanted and needed from those that couldn’t turn to the law for their protection.  With that, he’d quickly been able to consolidate a small slice of the city for his own purposes, purposes which culminated in the acquisition of the Olde Pink House, a longstanding fixture in the community, famous for its bright pink color, a product of brick bleeding through plaster.

Once it had been the home of a hero of the Colonial War, later it had been a bank.  Now it was a hotel and restaurant, though more importantly, a speakeasy, a den in the massive cellar where performers danced and sang while guests drank, gambled and dined.  It was a nice little place in the heart of the city, one that served him just right.  It also allowed him a persona and a life beyond the shadows.  Sure, no one saw him during the day, but that was because he was sleeping it away in a suite on the top floor.  They only saw him at night, when he played host to the nighttime party below, providing whatever was desired for his guests.

Of course, he was actually sleeping it away in a safe room buried in the catacombs off the cellar, but it was a reasonable belief for those that didn’t know the truth.  That truth was obvious enough to those familiar with the world behind the shadows, the world of shifters, witches and the things that went bump in the night.  He was one of those things, young though he was by their standards.  He’d been a young man on the battlefields of France when he’d died.  He, along with countless others lay wounded and dying under a pitiless moon.  At first, he’d thought her so radiant she must be an angel.  She was, he supposed, in her way, but demon as well.  He’d woken as she feasted upon his blood.  She was a feral thing, drunk with the slaughter, her face covered in red.  He’d survived that night, and into the next, too weak too move, too strong to die. And he survived into the next, as his demonic angel visited again and again until finally she met his gaze and smiled.  He never saw her again.

He barely survived the transformation, waking one dawn to feel his skin begin to burn.  He’d clawed his way through dirt and mud to the trenches and the safety of a shallow grave.  His hunger was intense in those first days and like his maker, drew him to the killing fields to finish those that had been ripped and torn apart by bullets and bombs.  He fed like an animal, a vulture, a rat until he was strong enough to think and plan.  He knew what he was, well, not knew, but he had enough sense, enough to know the old stories were true, of bloodsuckers and undead fiends.  Only, he didn’t feel undead or even particularly fiendish, only hungry and lost and far from home.

He did eventually make it home, stowing aboard a ship bound for the States.  It was a hard voyage, one where he learned some measure of control and skill.  It was the education he needed to survive once he reached America, a place where feeding was less easy and his presence more difficult to conceal.

He did manage to conceal himself though, living in the shadows and alleys until he was struck by opportunity and idea.  It was in one of those alleys when he came upon it, it and them, a group of men plotting the robbery of liquor in the days before Prohibition took effect.  ‘Cornering the market’ they called it and it was a good plan, but short sighted.  They only sought to clean out one cache and had no plan on what to do afterwards.  Samuel on the other hand did.

He’d been living in the cellar of a large house, one that had once been a mansion, then a bank and most recently a hotel.  He was ‘friends’ with the owner and it would be easy free up the cellar for a speakeasy.  They could even keep the upstairs as a hotel, both a source of legitimate revenue and suitable cover.

It was easy work convincing the group to follow his plan and even before Prohibition began, Samuel had a vault full of liquor and a cellar bar to serve it in.  He also had an assortment of loyal followers, men willing to do what he wanted in order to ensure they were not bothered, by either the police or others wishing to stake their own claim on Savannah’s sins.

It had been three years since that first night, three years to cement himself in the community as a safe place for entertainment and wet lips.  It had made him prosperous, both in cash and blood and he’d expanded enough to cater to other needs and desires, supernatural or otherwise.  He dabbled in the world of politics, supported his friends and expanded his turf with a minimum of bloodshed.  Of course, that also meant he’d started to become known, something a man in his position wanted to avoid.  Still, he’d been careful to control his hunger and his greed, not wanting to give anyone a reason to intervene and spoil a good thing.  He’d dabbled in the world of politics just enough to have powerful friends, supported the community enough to be well-liked and expanded his turf with a minimum of bloodshed.  Still, it wasn’t quite enough and he still wanted more, he just wasn’t sure what ‘more’ or whether it would ever be enough.

Possible Connections:

  • The Cellar is always on the lookout for new staff and takes all kind.  Shifters often work the door, vampires work the gaming tables, humans work the floors and all sorts work the beds upstairs.  There's always a need for others as well, the next singing sensation, backing musicians, a trustworthy accountant, management.  In other words, if you're looking for work, apply within and show us what you've got.
  • Sam's maker is still out there.  He doesn't know who she is, only that she was in France during World War One, feeding off the wounded and dying in Belleau Wood.
  • Though not well known, even among members of the local pack, Sam has a quiet working relationship with them to supply liquor for his clubs.  As such, he's familiar to varying degrees with a number of their members, most notably Helena, Tom, Robbie and Mina.  It's well known by all of them and most of his own staff that he's expressed an unashamed interest in and attraction to Helena Courtland, though whether anything was ever returned isn't known.  What is known is that he had been threatened by Tom Morgan over it on more than one occasion.  Fortunately, things never progressed beyond threats due in no small part to his steady business and always prompt payment.
  • He does his best to cultivate relationships with other important groups in the city, high and low.