Jake Mason

Impulsive but kind-hearted prospective dropout.


Mental Attributes: Intelligence 1, Wits 3, Resolve 2
Physical Attributes: Strength 3, Dexterity 3, Stamina 2

Social Attributes: Presence 3, Manipulation 2, Composure 2

Mental Skills: Crafts 2, Investigation 2

Physical Skills: Athletics 2, Brawl 3, Driving (Fast) 1, Firearms 1, Larceny (Shoplifting) 3, Stealth 1

Social Skills: Intimidation 3, Subterfuge (Lying) 2, Streetwise 2

Merits: Fighting Style: Aggressive Striking 2, Blood of the Hunter 3, Stunt Driver 3, Quick Draw

Willpower: 3

Morality: 6

Virtue: Hope

Vice: Wrath

Health: 7

Initiative: 4

Defense: 3

Speed: 11

Derangement: Irrationality

Possessions: Vehicle , Revolver

Experience: 8

Experience Spent: 6

New Merit: Blood of the Hunter (ooo)

Effect: Identical to the effects of Unseen Sense, but only for werewolves. Additionally, your character is more resistant towards Lunacy than other mortals. Your character remains in full control of their actions, but is still plagued by strong “fight or flight” instincts. Rolls for actions that involve evading or engaging a werewolf in combat suffer no penalty. Other actions suffer the normal penalty +2 (Based on your character’s willpower, up to +0) Your character remembers encounters with a werewolf as well as any other stressful situation.


It had been two years since Mom died, but Jake still woke up every morning anticipating the smell of coffee – her smell. These days he awoke to the stifling stench of cigarette smoke instead. Mom hadn’t let his Father smoke inside (the cancer fucked her up just the same) , but since she’d been gone no one could stop Dad from having his way. Now Miss Pesaro was gone too, but Jake couldn’t help but smile at the thought that her first morning as a registered sex offender would be that dickhead Bonner’s last morning period. Jake opened his eyes and casually turned to his alarm clock. It was 11:14. Shit. Jake hurriedly pulled on the pants he had left on the floor the night before, half-tied his 8” leather boots, and grabbed the .38 from under his bed. As he bounded down the stairs, stuffing the gun in his tattered backpack’s front pocket, he wondered if he was making a mistake. But this thought was quickly replaced with Miss Pesaro’s tear-filled goodbye, the smirk on the Principal’s face, and the hollow laughter of the other students. As he fumbled with the front door he saw Cassie’s unfinished Eggo’s lying on the table. “Fuck” , he thought, “I wanted to talk to her… hopefully when I get back…” Before the door slammed behind him he was hitting the gas and the tears were flowing.

By the time he pulled into the parking lot he was shaking. It could’ve been anger, or fear, or even just the adrenaline. Jake didn’t know. What he did know was that it was high time for that stuck up asshole of a principal to go away… bastard ruined her life,right? In awkward, hurried movements, Jake extracted himself from the car, put on his backpack, and began his unsteady journey to the school’s entrance. As he pushed through the doors, the trembling was replaced with a heavy feeling deep inside his gut. He passed a classroom, and someone called out “Late again, Mr. Mason?” urging the classroom into an eruption of laughter and catcalls, but Jake barely heard. Instead, he slung the backpack in front of him and groped for the gun. The dark door at the end of the hallway was marked with old copper letters spelling out PRINCIPAL. Jake clenched the grip tight. Just a few more steps, a pull of the trigger and then, well, he’d think that part out later. Heart beating in his chest, he pulled out the .38 and began to walk. And then, a “Bang!”. It was the sound of two boys colliding. A white shape had slid around a corner and slammed into him, forehead to chin, knocking him off balance. “Fucker! I almost shot you!” Jake shouted clasping his jaw. His words echoed through the hallway, ” ...er, I mean… ” .

Jake Mason

Shadows in the Mist Mophorion