Ziva Mohamed

[Kiala]

Name: Ziva Mohamed
Nick Names or Alias: Saya Aakhri (Last Shadow)
Age: 300
Aesthetic Age: 20
Gender: Female
Sexual Preferances: Bi-Sexual
LClan: Assamite
If Other..:

n/a

Sect: Independent
If Independant Faction..:

Works for herself and only herself

Rank: Elder
Generation: 7th
Powers (Disciplines):

Celerity: ******
Obfuscate:****
Quietus:*****
Obtenebration****

Deformities:

none

Derangement(s):

none

Misc.:

none

Appearance:

Ziva has long black hair, and brown eyes. She stands 5'8", and weights a 123lbs

Fashion Sense/Style:

Ziva typically dresses in dark colors. Black and red are the most frequent in her attire. Her clothing is made of the finest materials. She can normally be seen wearing a black trench coat, and calf high boots, regardless of the weather.

Personality:

Comes off as the friendly yet aloof club owner. This is the face she presents to kine, and most kindred. In truth she is as cold hearted, and ruthless as a viper. She has been known to kill for the smallest insult. Despite this she is cautious, calculating and clever.

Physical-Strength: 10
Intelligence: 6
Speed: 14
Leadership: 9
Melee: 14
Unarmed: 8
Ranged: 10
History:

Ziva was born in 1710, the daughter of a wealthy sheik near the mountains of Afghanistan. Her father treated her well, and as all Muslim women of the time, as a valuable asset. As she grew her father’s hopes came to fruition. She was a radiant beauty. She was his third child, and the only girl. By her fourteenth birthday, her father started seeking a husband for his young daughter. , a husband that would be beneficial to him. It was not until his daughter was in her twentieth year that he found a suitable man for his daughter. The third son of a neighboring sheik who owned several prime oases.

The plans for the wedding were made, and all went according to plan. Ziva was married to young Sharief. That night she was to become a woman in truth; her husband would take her maiden head. That was how things were supposed to be, but fate and a powerful vampire named Abdul had other plans. He had seen the young Ziva and had decided that she must be his and his alone, and that no other man, be they kindred or mortal would have her. As Ziva and her husband were about to consummate their marriage Abdul struck. Using an ability of the Assamite, he removed all sound from inside the tent. He ripped out Sharief’s throat with out even bothering to drink of his blood, wishing to savor the terror and the sweet taste of his new bride. Ziva screamed but no sound came out. She might as well be mute. He used her before draining her blood. Just as her soul was about to reach beyond his grasp and enter into paradise, he slashed his wrist and forced his blood into her.

Ziva awoke the next night, buried within the sand. Panicking she fought her way free. She could see plainly in the dark night. How long had she been down there, had it all been a dream? No. Her clothes were all but gone with only a few shreds remaining intact with which she tried to hide her nakedness. There was blood on her throat; she tried to breathe in only to find that she could not. She was cold to the touch and she could not even feel the beating of her own heart. She was scared, panicked…and hungry. Not just hungry a horrible, a gnawing thirst. She looked around and in the distance; she could make out a fire from lamps. She ran toward the fire, the burning hunger in her growing. The fire stabbed at her eyes, hurting them more than normal. Ziva stopped in her tracks suddenly aware that her senses were heightened. She could see clearly, she could hear the beating of the hearts of the men and animals within the camp. She could smell them. Smell there blood. Her jaw ached for some reason and her and the hunger grew. She ran to the camp, the hunger growing with each step until it was almost unbearable. She recognized some of the men…they were her fathers men…and there he was, her father. She cried out to him, and he raised his head, shock filling his eyes as his bloodied and very much naked daughter ran toward him. Hazieth was a devout religious man, but he loved his daughter and ran toward her, wrapping her in his arm’s, and covered her nakedness with his robe.

The aching hunger grew as she held onto her father, her shoulders heaving as she tried to cry but no tears came. The smell of his blood filled her nose; the sound of his heart pumping filled her ears. She had an uncontrollable urge to bite down on his throat, to rip open the tender flesh and gorge herself on his blood. The urge overwhelmed her, and that is exactly what she did. She did not remember anything after that until later she came back to herself to find what she had done. Her father and the five men he had brought with him were dead, their throats ripped open. She put her hand on her mouth, and felt the blood; she still tasted the blood upon her lips. Shaken and horrified she started to back up…right into the chest of Abdul. She spun around, lashing out with her hand, which he caught with ease. “You belong to me now…gather some things you will need and come with me”.

She could not deny him; it was a compulsion within her. What he said she must do, there were no two ways around it. She gathered up a few bits and pieces of clothing from the dead men, going through there supplies. A short while later she was dressed appropriately for a woman within there culture. She hid a curved knife beneath the robe she had gotten out of one of her fathers bags. The robe was hers surprisingly. Maybe not so surprisingly. She sensed something, memories that were not hers and she caught glimpses of a woman, her cousin finding in the morning that Ziva’s and her husbands tent held only one occupant, the dead body of her husband. The alarm was raised and they set out looking. Her father instructing each group of men to carry something of his daughters with them, a robe and veil.


Soon Ziva was dressed and they were on they’re way, heading for where ever it was her ‘master’ as he had instructed her to call him was takeing her. The came to a large boulder in the foothills with a simple command in there native tongue and the rock moved, revealing a hole in the ground. They enter, going down over two-hundred feet. Into what he called his ‘Sanctuary’. He made her to sit down and began to explain to her how things were, what she had done, and that she would hunt nearly every night without fail, that she must have blood in order to live. He then ordered her to him, and stripped away her clothing and had his way with her again.

Over the next couple of decades Abdul instructed his bride on what it was to be an Assamite, a clan of vampire or as they preferred to call themselves, The Kindred.. He trained her in the art of the assassin, the way of the Assamite. He trained her to fight with her bare hands, to fight with the scimitar, the favored weapon of the the Arabs. He also taught her how to hunt, even there own kind were they are prey, all but other Assamite, he would never allow that. He taught that by feeding on her own kind, especially those more powerful, she would be able to gain more powers. This also led her to the fact that she could possibly do the same to her ‘sire’. It was not an every night ordeal, but often enough he commanded her to his bedchamber. She hated every moment of it.

A century passed under the careful tutelage of her master, and then where they were two, they were now three. Her sire came ‘home’, a young woman freshly turned to there way of ‘life’, or un-life as it were. Her name was Sarah, a young Hebrew girl, hardly old enough to be considered a woman in all truth. Ziva’s own training slowed considerably and more often than not, she was left to her own devices. This in turn led to less frequent visits from her sire, wich she truly did not mind. It was 1850, well over a century after she had been turned. It was around this time that things would change for Ziva. One night her master came to her, and commanded her to drink of his blood. It was time to restore the blood-pact. He did not specify where she was to take his blood. Ziva walked up to her master and took his arm, and in one swift motion lunged and clamped her jaws down on his throat, and began draining him of his blood. He tried fighting her off, but he had trained her far to well. Her jaw had clamped down on his jugular, preventing any verbal command, when his arm reached up to pry her jaw open, she broke his fingers in her grasp. Soon, there was nothing left of her master but a pile of ash.

She had his knowledge, his power. Before she was only able to move at the supernatural speed most Assamite’s could achieve, but she now knew with practice she would be able to seemingly defy gravity, and in certain cases, defy gravity by sheer speed.. She was free of him. She was truly free. It had not been as with most Assamite, who trained with there respective masters for fourteen years and then were free. He had trained her, and used her. Accepted payment for her assassinations, and used the blood himself to become more powerful. Abdul had been rouge among his kind, not obeying the rules as set down by the elders. He had left during the time of the schisms, and went his own way, and did as he pleased. Observing no faith, no code, only his whims, and now he was ash. Ziva walked through the lair, wich was now rightfully hers. All within, the books, the weapons the gold was hers.

There was only one loose end that needed dealt with, and that was her ‘sister’. Ziva had become cold in the nearly century and a half since she was embraced. Before she had been a kind and gentle maiden, but she had been trained to be a cold-blooded killer. As her ‘sister’ was about to learn. Ziva approached Sarah from behind, her feet making not so much as a whisper on the cave floor, and as she did not breathe, there was not anything to give her away. She came up behind Sarah and touched her shoulder. As the younger kindred turned, Ziva used her master’s scimitar to cut off the younger vampires head. Ziva gathered what she could, everything she would need and left the cave, not wanting to spend another minute there, though she was forced to. She could sense the coming of the sun, and was already feeling sluggish.

She continued with her preparations, even saddling one of the ghouled mounts, and lay down in her chamber and let the sleep of death take her. When she awoke at sunset, she set out, making her way as far away as she could. She made her way into Israel. From there she made her way to France by bribing a ships captain, and kept to herself bellow decks, except to feed and when she did it was discretely. They docked in Barcelona. She lived there for over a hundred years, feeding, as she needed, and slaying all who dared interfere in her business or affairs. Hiding her immortality with simple magic’s, and faking pregnancy after pregnancy, always having a girl child kidnapped, and paying a local Tramere well to make the child look like her as she grew up. She ran a small pub there, open all day, though she was only seen after sunset, easily explained by the ’Hidden Blade’ being open all day and night, and it was at its busiest after sunset. She had several servants, all ghouls whom ran things during the day. She lived comfortable until a clergyman noticed her. He had seen her nearly forty years earlier and she had not changed at all. He started asking questions and Ziva knew it was time for her to leave. SHe collected all she could easily carry, and had a ghoul load up a cart with some things she wished to take with her and drive it out of town, witch the explanation that he was going to make business contacts at a near by vineyard. In truth, Ziva was going to use this as cover for her disappearance. She brought in a beggar woman and gave her clothing, and then fed on her, draining every drop of blood that she could. That night Ziva left, one of her ghouls making the excuse that she was not feeling well, and if pressed that she was having a difficult menses. Ziva snuck out of the town and met up with her ghoul who then provided transport to Madrid, once again traveling only at night. From there, once again to the coast of Spain. She traveled to the town of Cadiz where she paid for passage to the new world, America.

Unlike the previous voyage, she it was not necessary for her to stay bellow deck, as the ship was quite large and she was able to easily pass herself off her nightlife as merely being eccentric. She fed only when necessary despite the gnawing hunger she once again felt, though with greater frequency than the previous voyage she had taken with a larger group to sample from. The ship made port in New York City in the middle of the night, as she had requested, and paid quite well for the service. I New York she began simply by finding and making contact with other kindred, wich led her to the prince, whom as Kindred custom and law dictates, she presented herself to him, letting him know that she would be residing within his city. This proved to be quite the fruitful encounter for it provided her with a powerful ally, who would see to it she received plenty of work. The primogin could call upon her when needed, wich she did not mind, for they had powerful blood she could use to become more powerful herself.

With the gold she had brought with her from Spain, she bought property in the city and opened a club called “Arabian Nights”. It soon became quite popular. She did not ghoul as many employees as she did before, for now there were kindred she could hire and pay. There were a few ghouls working there whom she periodically got rid of so that as little attention drawn to her club as necessary. Her being ageless was enough. To keep covered up.

Ten years passed and Arabian Nights flourished as did her other business of assassinations. Kindred in this manor only knew her, though as time went on she became restless and started playing the pat of a thief, stealing anything she deemed worthy of the act. Just for the thrill. She stole jewelry, paintings, and sculptures. Anything she wished.

At the end of her first ten years Julian Hartford, primogen of the Ventrue clan came to her and asked fir her help. He wished to be prince and the only way that could happen was if the old Prince was removed. She set about gathering information on the prince, and on Julian as well. He had offered her the right to sire a childer, along with a quart of his own blood if they proved successful. Her reason for gathering information on Julian was for one purpose. When she presented him with the required information, she told him simply, “I have a similar file involving you, if I die, it will be delivered to the local Catholic Church, and I doubt you would survive the week.

The old prince was over thrown, slain by church hunters. Julian was named his successor. She stored the blood for when she would need it, and reserved the right to sire a childer when she was ready. Once again, time passed as it has a way of doing. The only thing of interest was a job for a Lasambra who payed her with the necisary blood for her to learn to manipulate shadows, in exchange she killed a powerfull tremere that had been a thorn in her side for several decades.

Ziva still runs the nightclub, using the same guise many kindred do. She paid a Tramere to alter her physical appearance and sold it to herself. She renamed the club. ‘Hidden Blade’, and can be found there most nights, playing the charming, friendly and somewhat aloof hostess. The year is now 2010, and business is good.

[kt]

APPROVED

[Iota]

i'll move it shall i then kt?