In 1453, Turkish sultan Mohammed II broke through the walls of Constantinople. With the fall of the great city, Christians lost to Islam the last bastion of the once vast and powerful Byzantine empire in the East.
| Name
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Tivadar Katona
|
Sphere
|
Vampire
|
| Place of Birth
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Hungary
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Clan
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Toreador
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| Apparent Age
|
Late Teens
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Actual Age
|
586
|
| Demeanor
|
Gallant
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Sect
|
Camarilla
|
| Nature
|
Bravo
|
Generation
|
9th
|
| Occupation
|
Writer
|
Sire
|
Anston
|
- An Elder Vampire, Tivadar was embraced during the earliest nights of the Camrilla and predates (if only briefly) the formation of The Sabbat. The younger son of a Hungarian nobleman, he was trained as a soldier from the time he could hold a blade. Tivadar was there on the battlefield on that fateful day in 1453, when the walls of Constantinople were breached and the millenium and a half history of the Roman Empire finally came to an end. It left him with a lasting hatred of Turks, against whom he fought bitterly for nearly a century after that. Now rapidly approaching his six hundredth year, he's one of the ninth generation.
- A Toreador with all of the artistic flair that entails, Tividar is a great lover of romantic poetry (ballads in particular) as well as being a talented writer. It's not unusual to find him quoting Keats, Shelley or even a little Tennyson, though most of his own works are in his native Hungarian. Beyond this, he's also a skilled leatherworker and has collaborated with his sire on a number of pieces over the centuries. It always makes him smile when he sees something he made turn up in a museum. To top it all off Tivadar is also an excellent dancer and almost impossibly beautiful to look at. Some people just have all the luck.
- A Hedonist by nature, Tividar tends to take things somewhat to extremes, reveling in whatever moment he happens finds himself in. Whether upon the battlefield; spattered with gore and with a smile upon his too perfect features, or gliding effortlessly through the refined courts and salons of the city, he seems to fit chameleonlike into any situation in which he finds himself. He's very rarely the loudest presence in the room, knowing when to speak and when to keep his own counsel. Still, once his mind is made up, Tivadar has little patience for what he sees as endless, fruitless talking. He's been called rash before.
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