Hoffman
From Changeling Venue
| Seeming | Beast Hunterheart |
|---|---|
| Court | Winter Court •• |
| Freehold | Dunasheen |
| Player | Player name and Email |
Contents |
Overview
Alias(es):
Stag, The White Hart, Mr Gray
Real Name:
Peter Hoffman
Location:
Dunasheen
Age:
34
Seeming:
Beast
Kith:
Runnerswift
Court:
Winter
Virtue:
Justice
Vice:
Gluttony (Exercise)
Concept:
Long Distance Runner and Protector
Physical description:
Hoffman of the Verdant Sanctuary is a tall, lean, pale man with a mournful, humourless appearance. Despite the amount of time he spends immersed in nature's bounty, he never seems to tan or burn. His face, which bears the marks of middle age is distended into a small muzzle, his nose darker than the rest of his face, and fiery eyes sit below the antlers that grow from his forehead. His hair is only a shade darker than his skin, a pale yellow like the sun in winter. He wears a khaki shirt and light grey trousers, beneath which his tight muscles can be seen, wound like a spring, which bear a red mark on the left buttock, and his feet are bare and hooved. In his Mask, he appears barefoot, regardless of the ground's surface.
Relevant Mechanics:
Character Livejournal:
History
Basic Timeline:
Current Activities:
Hoffman maintains Sanctuary. It is whispered in Scotland, and further afield, that if you have nowhere else to go, then Hoffman will protect you. The whispers are not always correct. Certainly, no pursuers are allowed within the shambling confines of the old school that stands as Sanctuary in the world of men, nor in the sprawling woodlands to the rear, and Hoffman will endeavour to ensure that even the weak and foolish receive fair trial. For one moon, he will ask no questions; will provide food and shelter, but once that time is passed, even the most penitent must leave. The wise use their month's grace well; the foolish are buried in the woods.
Merit Details:
Background:
Hoffman ran. It's what he'd always done. From the age of 8, when his father had led him to vicarious local triumphs, hating his crippled leg. From age 12, when the taunts of Kraut, Fitz, Hun and Jew spilled into violence. He ran to escape the physical, he ran at the age of 17, after the funeral of his father, the wind on his face drying his tears. But no-one would feed or shelter him for running, so Hoffman became a Forest Ranger. And there he'd run, under blazing suns, limpid moons, and with every step he knew more of the world.
But he was not content to stay; no relationship or job lasted more than 3 months, and being inside for too long would make him itch. And one night, at the end of another dark-haired girl's attempt to tame him, whipcord legs pounding the streets, the Others came, hissing "Run for your life," herding him into a gap between buildings and a gap between worlds.
He will run forever, run until he bleeds, run until he dies, and in the dawning of the new sun be renewed, a little less human, a little more beast, until there is only the white stag to be slain anew. All was gone, all the pain and frustrations of human life now bored into a simple life of eating running and dying. A thousand days the Hunt was the same, in verdant woodlands; some deaths quick and relatively painless, others - less so. But always, with the setting sun, Hoffman would die, brought down by the Hunt and their hounds.
And then one day, the rules changed. The creature was scared, herded into an area of the forest it had never been before, and then the forest parted, and the Hunt took on a new face - for hours the stag was chased over narrow cliffs, through icy rivers, hot banks of lava, lashing thorns, and for the first time there was more to hope for than the prolongation of the inevitable, there was something called hope, something forgotten, something not of the beast, but of the man inside, and the man rebelled - not prepared to die this evening. The moon rose, a moon that usually heralded death, and as the horn blew, and the hounds snarled, Hoffman became a man within once more. He turned, taking the pack of Hounds on, who seemed more surprised than ready as the mighty antlers crashed and gored, becoming bloodstained as the Stag leapt from the mountain top, sailing over rocky crags below, skidding on the gravel as it charged towards the thick thorns. And somehow, it knew that though this was not the easiest road, it was the one, the only one that offered survival. So the stag charged, feeling the familiar pain slash its face, tear at its white skin, but still, through the pain, it pressed on. Flesh was flensed from its bones, the night died behind the thorns, and after what seemed like eternity, the thorns parted, and a bloody carcass half-staggered, half-fell, blind with blood, naked into the street. Hoffman stumbled onto his pink forelimbs; feeling his spine curve unnaturally, and unfurled his body.
His eyes recoiled against the bright lights, a lamppost glaring down at him. A word surfaced, the first in this new land; Narnia. Hoffman laughed, and with this release of humanity - for this was not Narnia, but the gritted streets of Edinburgh, and the oncoming noise was not the Hunt, or the sled of the White Witch, but taxis bringing home drunken revellers, vomiting dark bass tunes into the air - encrusted with man's effluvia.
Hoffman stumbled, naked into the streets, aware of his nakedness. He found a discarded newspaper - eleven years had passed. He touched his face, now wearing more lines than when he was first abducted; some through terror, some simply through the passing of age. He touched a door, which refused to yield and, hearing approaching voices, the beast took over and he crashed his head against its fragile wood, sending splinters flying as it shattered more than sense would allow. The horns, he knew, were still there - what hope of reality did he have now? He scrambled into the paint-sodden uniform as the alarm rang, sprinting out of the alleyway on hard calloused feet, and into a crowd of people.
And yet - they didn't recoil in horror.
Associations & Associates
Character Inspirations
Dustin Hoffman in The Marathon Man
The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner
Oskar Schindler and those of that ilk
Herne the Hunter
Gallipoli
Bambi (may not be true)
Soundtrack
Midnight Cowboy
Protection - Massive Attack
Gimme Shelter - Rolling Stones
Keep on Running - Spencer Davis Trio
(This is just a collection of puns, really)
Quotes
"Why blood tonight? Do you cry for justice, or for your deathlust? You will have your blood, if the sin you speak of is true, but what matter it to you whether his soul is prepared or not? I intercede, and his sins are mine to bear - I assure you, if he breaks this trust, I will dash him on my horns myself."
"He's allright. Philosophical fucker, but you've got to respect someone who'se willing to put himself out so much for other people. Plus, he's a bit handy with a Paintbrush" - Steampunk
"It was really nice of him to invite me to stay at his hostel, it sounds a lot nicer than the one I was in. It has it's own lake and fish to swim after and sounds like it's really relaxing! He's really nice, did i say that? Like how I imagine a big brother or uncle might be, i'm really lucky to have met him, i'll have to get better at my cooking and make him a bit meal to say thanks. He's really nice!!" - Reeva
"He is right to protect what he does. Should any who would harm his wards be too much for him - then I shall assist, and they will wish they had not been so strong." - Cormac the Poet
"He's as angry as many of those of Summer I have ever met. And while I understand he has the right to make calls on judgement for criminals in his lands, I will never forget the sight of him killing the Privateer in front of me." - Graceful Aline
"If Reeva's right, and I'm right, there something rotten in there. They all get a bit sick, back in the old country. But I think this is gonna need surgery." - Malakai
"Run and hide if you can." - Orpheus Bane
"I remember him." - Rea
