"I could jess' drop th' lighter...but where's the fun in that?"
Molotov looks like nothing more than some scruffy looking Army vet, or grunge wanna-be. An oversized, drab, olive green field coat, a beaten, worn jacket if there ever was one, wraps his torso, and most of his face is hidden under the brown, shaggy curls of his uncut bangs, which hang down into his face and the pair of mirror aviator shades. A pair of dirty blue jeans, messily tucked into the well broken-in combat kicks, themsevles only half laced up, completes his outfit.
Weighing in at a lean, wiry 5' 8", Molotov almost fades into the woodwork and shadows, a scruffy 25'ish punk. It's the little things, tho', that nag at appraisal. The small things, like the gator skin patterning on the combat boots, the smuges of soot on the coat and jeans. The burn and singe marks on the coat, the worn, butter soft leather shooter gloves that cover his hands make you think of less comfortable things, and the faint smell of gasoline over his old spice carries it's own special warnings.
Wha'? Like I'm gonna give you a freakin' psych-profile? Get lost, pal...
Volatile. Edgy. Paranoid as all can be. And he loves every minute of it
Molotov was brought over during the French and Indian War in Colonial America. A native Bostonian, Molotov fled to the frontier to escape his family, seek his fortune, and to find a way to indulge in his favorite hobby - setting fires. His travels led him to a job as a cannon loader in an unknown fort near the Canadian border. And it led him into the waiting arms of his Sire-to-be, who masqueraded as a trader known only as "The Thin White Man".
Over the next two hundred plus years, Molotov out-"lived" the Revolutionary War, a stint as Archon to the Brujah Justicar during the Civil War, constant warfare and skirmishes with the Sabbat, and countless fires and explosions, most of his own doing. During that time, a few "trends" have been noticed. Molotov dislikes (hates) taking orders. He dislikes giving them almost as much. "Extreme paranoia" is a severe understatement, as is "likes playing with matches". He is known to be one of the premier explosives and demolitions experts in the country, if not the world, counting both Kine and Kindred.
After misadventure and...well, misadventure, Molotov settled for a time in the city of Rhydin, a festering pit of corruption, vice, and pain-in-the-neck vampires. When enough became enough, Molotov took to the road with Rain, his Gangrel lover. The two eventually settled in Manchester, NH, nearer to both their old haunts (in his case, extremely old). Somehow near the new millenium, Molotov wound up as the Brujah Primogen, which, of course, led to nothing but more misadventures and tons of politics - which he hates with a passion...
Don't ask me how....I got no idea...
Yes....Molotov is just a character in an game. That means his fiction people...
See the nasty things Mol's player's doing in his Sabbat chronicle
| The Kindred | The Granite Home Page | 
|