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Jericho Alvarez


Age: 70                                 Height: 5’4”

Born: 1932                             Weight: 175 lbs

Embraced: 1951                    Eyes: pale green (an oddity of the embrace; they were originally dark brown), with oblong pupils

Generation: 11th                    Hair: Dark brown, long, thick, and mangy.

Sire: "Cochise"                          

Resides: Nomadic; generally the American Southwest, currently Enferada, Colorado

Sect: Nominally Camarilla; at least, he respects the Camarilla more than the Sabbat, when forced to choose.


The Embrace:

                Jericho was born somewhere in the Southwest, son to a Mexican drifter and an unknown father. When his mother died near Nacodoches
(Texas), victim to exhaustion and exposure, a ten-year-old Jericho was taken to a very small orphanage. He left five years later, moving West. A year later, after walking, hitching trains, and a brief stint as a hand on a cattle drive, he reached El Paso, wandered into a saloon, and slapped a few
dollars down on the bar for food and a drink. He was told to get lost, precipitating a fight that would change his life. Another man at the bar told
him that “his kind” was not served there, and Jericho took offense. Two men died in that fight, one gutted after Jericho turned his own knife back on him, the other shot at random in the surrounding brawl. Both deaths were blamed on Jericho, and he became a fugitive, running first to New Mexico, where he remained at large for several years, and finally to Nevada, a location which precipitated the fight that ended his life.
Moving along a disused railroad track one night, Jericho stumbled upon a fight between several bandits and a single traveler. He joined the fight,
less to protect the traveler than as a preventative measure- he didn’t want to be next, and two against five was better odds than one at a time. What he didn’t know was that his dubious ally needed no help at all- known as Cochise, he was Gangrel.

                Jericho lost that fight, victim to a lucky stab from one of the bandits. Cochise survived, eventually Embracing a barely conscious Jericho. After saying, “don’t thank me,” Cochise disappeared for two months. Jericho adapted well to the Embrace, feeding for the first two weeks on the
two bandits that survived. After that, he discovered that desert mice and lizards would sustain him nearly as well as humans, if he didn’t exert
himself too much. When Cochise returned, he was a strong neonate, well able to defend himself when dragged to his first Allthing.


Current Activities:

               After that first Allthing, Jericho left Cochise and simply picked up his wanderings where he left off. He kept few of the nominal friends he had in mortal life, content to let most of them fall to the past. Those he did keep, he did so because they may one day be useful, should he be forced to play the political game so many Kindred seem to love. He recently presented himself to the Prince of Enferada, a small town in Colorado. What he will do there is anyone's guess, but he hopes to remain relatively obscure. 


Character Traits:

               Jericho is rather a stereotypical Gangrel, nomadic, standoffish, and in many respects uncivilized; however, he has a certain aspect of
regality to him, a pride born of his difficult lifestyle. He respects power, and is willing to respect those who hold it, so long as they show a
willingness to respect him. He does not consider himself a part of the Camarilla (the closest he has ever come to political involvement was once
asking a minor Prince to extend considerations to the unemployed Hispanic kine in a small town), but considers the Sabbat to be brutal and misguided. He respects the masquerade, and generally follows the Traditions when in a Camarilla City.

               Jericho disdains conventional fashion, usually wearing a faded black denim shirt (unbuttoned, of course) above ragged Levis- your
stereotypical drifter. He carries a bowie knife slung across his back, under the shirt; the braided leather strap falls across his bare chest. He walks
barefoot, although a pair of tattered Teva sandals is strung through a single belt loop on the off chance he needs to enter a "no shirt/shoes"
establishment. The thumb and first two fingers of his left hand end in short, sharp claws, mottled black and white in color. His eyes flit from focus to focus as he moves, seeing much but lingering on nothing. When he moves, it is with an easy, confident gait that covers distance quickly.

To Enferada

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Copyright ©2002  Adam Rutledge