Jonathan Moreau

Frequently called simply “Moreau.” He is something of an oddity of the city, one of the few truly unsolved mysteries remaining within the small kindred community of Oklahoma. He appears almost painfully nondescript, with almost no noticeable features in his bodily structure. He would almost make a perfect spy… If not for his choice of accessory. Moreau has always, to everyone’s knowledge, worn a carefully sculpted porcelain mask while in public. This mask is not only unnerving due to how carefully it is molded to his face, but by the fact that it does not ever seem to move. Almost as if it was fused to his skin, impossibly tightly. His eyes often bulge out of the mask, appearing quite alien under these conditions. The mask appears to be an out-of-date prosthetic for the badly burned; an old porcelain replica of a human face. Upon the bridge of the slightly-too-small nose of the mask, lies a slight pair of delicate spectacles. They are fused to the mask as tightly as the mask is to Moreau’s skin, never slipping or moving at all. The mask never looks quite right close up… Almost seeming more like a doll’s face than a true replica of a human.

Moreau claims to be a Malkavian, and though this has never been confirmed, it would take a madman to doubt him. His eccentricies and murderous tendencies are well-known, after all. Moreau often moves through areas quietly and without announcing his entrance, preferring to instead wait for others to notice him before saying anything. Sometimes, he will even wait for several hours. It is unknown whether this is for his own amusement, or to hone his skills, or out of a creepy fascination with remaining unseen.

He appears to have no master other than the prince, and none claim to be his sire. He often works with Buckston directly, leaving even Bruce in the dark as to his activities. Moreau is the unofficial “Scourge” of the city, as he follows little to no laws in his pursuit of carrying out the Prince’s will. He may trespass on the territory of others, as well as directly call them into question. While many of the Primogens do not choose to take him seriously due to their authority over him, ordinary vampires fear his presence far more than any ordinary elder.  Moreau appears to have the authority to kill fledgling kindred with complete impunity, though he would never be allowed to move against a kindred elder without permission.

“How many of our kind have you killed over the years?” Buckston Brown asks to his favorite murderer, his favorite monster. “I couldn’t say.” Is the simple reply from Moreau. The Prince sighs, and takes a moment. Then he asks his real question, the one he really meant to ask. “How many of our kind have you killed, for me?” Moreau takes a while to answer this question, seeming almost resentful when he does. “... 163, Sir. Not counting half-breeds.” The room was quiet for a moment, as the Prince quickly turned from Moreau’s gaze, and looked out the window. “Jesus… Do you… Remember any of them?” Buckston almost thought he heard the beginning of a chuckle from Moreau as he asked, but it was hard to tell through the latter’s mask. As he began to turn to leave, Moreau left the Prince with a parting jab: “Oh, Mr. Brown… I wouldn’t have expected you to have such a soft heart. I count the lives I’ve taken out of achievement, not out of any misguided sense of guilt. If I make speak freely, sir… Please remember, always… Sentiment is the death of leadership. I bid you good night.”