Design: Cendree, a bordure sable, the flower of Order sable to sinister, entwining a rod in pale argent, opposingly entwined Acacia or to dexter.

Mortal Q&A: Questions To the Future Power of Stealth

Darren Hofstadter might be described as a man of average height, dark coloring, indeterminate race, and undiscernable motivations. He's not a man you could pick out of a crowd. In fact, you probably wouldn't ever realize he was in the crowd to begin with.

Raised in a family where competition was everything, the only thing he excelled at was avoiding attention. Deeply affected by the loss of his love at an early age, he sought escape in the Government and found a niche where he excelled beyond his expectations. A niche in the shadows of the world, doing work that his talents suited him for uniquely.

Estate

Many things in this world must be hidden, a concept the Nobilis may be more familiar with than most, but it is not the hidden things which fall under the domain of Stealth, rather it is those who do the hiding. The covert lovers, the surprise gift-givers, and the undercover cop all might fall under his domain; but so would the cat burglar, the peeping tom, and (perhaps especially) the assasin.

Having finally discovered the aptitudes that made him so natural in his mortal profession, the competitiveness that still unconsciously drives him causes him to strive for perfection in his Domain. He wants to be Stealth, and to embrace all of the potential aspects that it might have. To be the best power he might possibly be, as he had quickly shown himself to be one of the most dangerous killers the United States had in its employ...

Weaknesses

Darren is casually social, but does not form acquaintances deeper than casual well. Those who have made the effort to penetrate his quiet, even easygoing shell, though, have found an intense curiosity, and a driving ambition to succeed. Once you have won through to him on this level, show him that you hold his merits in esteem, and he will defend you to the death.

Associated Non-Player Characters

Douglas "Dougie" McIntosh was Darren's immediate superior in his mortal profession. A talented but boastful and prideful man, he was smugly superior when Darren was first put under his supervision, but when his own field record began to seem threatened by Darren's performance he grew increasingly spiteful and mean. Darren came to despise him, not understanding his insecurities, and took him as his first anchor. And he hates being called "Dougie."

Kobashi Ichiro, owner and sensei of the Golden Panther Dojo in the suburbs of Oklahoma City, is the only Mortal on Earth that Darren truly loves and respects. A 57 year-old man, originally from Okinawa, he came to the United States with his father as a teenager, and they opened the Dojo in the mid-seventies. He taught Darren much about confidence, self-respect, and discipline, and he was the second of Darren's anchors.

Appearance and Gifts

The key, of course, to Darren's appearance is in his mundanity. Darren is moderately handsome, and his mixed ancestry blended well in his even features, high cheekbones, and slightly tilted eyes, but he is not the sort of man that makes women (or men) stare or swoon. Most people would pass him by without a first glance, much less a second. He is so quiet and still at rest that one can easily forget he's there, and so soundless and smooth in movement that you probably would not notice his entrance into a room even if you were facing the door.

Child of the Father

In a very real way, Darren's early life was shaped by the early life of his father.

Joseph Hofstadter was born Joseph Redfoot, Jr., to Joseph and Gloria Redfoot in a Choctaw Indian Reservation in Northern Oklahoma. Joseph Redfoot Sr. met Gloria Hofstadter when she was on a school trip to the reservation, and the two struck up an illicit romance that ended in a confrontation involving Mr. Hofstadter, Joseph, and a shotgun. The wedding was all too shortly followed by the arrival of little Joseph.

Redfoot was a sort of odd-jobs man, meaning he was largely unemployed. He was also an alchoholic, and his moods were extremely erratic when drunk, from jubilant to violent. Both his wife and son found themselves to be frequent targets of his abuse. When Joseph was 7, an argument arose that left Mrs. Redfoot weeping on the floor from being beaten. As his father leaned over his mother berating her, Joseph crept up behind him and knocked him unconscious with a cast iron skillet he could barely swing.

Joseph and his mother left that night, returning to live with his grandparents. The marriage was annulled, and Joseph Redfoot was never seen again by his son. When his mother returned to her maiden name, Joseph took it as well.

The chief influence on Joseph's life from that point onwards was his Grandfather, who was a prejudiced man and stressed a "proper White upbringing" to his half-and-half son. Joseph was only too happy to distance himself from his father, and did his best to be the ideal white boy. He excelled at sports, and grew to be tall and strong. He married June, his high school sweetheart, the quiet, somewhat submissive daughter of well off German Immigrants. He got a job at the factory his father-in-law ran, and which he now manages. As an adult, Joseph Hofstadter continued to strive for the "White American" ideal. He was an avid sports fan, drove a big car, and was a stern disciplinarian to his children. He was also emotionally distant and extremely cautious about exposing his family to new things. He never drank, or abused his wife or children, but he never particularly related to them, either. Darren was the 4th of 5 children, 4 boys and one girl. In order of their birth, they are Frank, Elizabeth, William, Darren, and Joseph Jr., whom everyone always calls "Little Joey," even though he is now a grown man.

Life among the boys was extremely competitive. The only time they received particular attention from their father was when they achieved some victory in Sports or Sporting events. Fortunately, for the most part, they were star athletes, and seemed to excel at most anything they tried. Darren was the only exception, being a moderate to good athlete in most events. He was always good enough to "make the team," but wouldn't be described as the star player. This caught him a lot of flack from his brothers, and a lot of nothing from his father.

Joseph's distance, from both family and the general public, meant that there was very little socializing with outsiders in the household. Darren's brother's all took to the sudden explosion of social contacts that going to school presented like ducks to water, but Darren never did. He was overwhelmed at first, and his reticence led to early social problems. Darren was nearly through Elementary School before he managed to blend in so thoroughly with his peers that he forgot he was trying to do so. Even so, he was quiet, at home, at school, everywhere. The only thing that brought him out was Karate.

Darren and his brothers were all sent to Karate classes at the Golden Panther dojo when he was 10 years old. For once, he was the one who excelled. His brothers were average at best, but something in Darren and Karate meshed, the forms seemed to flow naturally for him. He continued to go even after his brother's had all quit, and even though his father never understood the appeal. He advanced quickly, and soon was receiving direct personal instruction from the Dojo's owner, both in the forms of Karate and in the philosophies and discipline behind it.

With the boost to Darren's confidence his new extracurricular activity engendered, Darren found himself better able to relax in the social situations he had always been marginal at. He became, if not exactly popular, then at least well liked.

Darren was 16 when he met Marie. Her parents had moved to town from where she was raised in San Diego, and she came to the Dojo with a letter of recommendation from her sensei to Master Kobashi. Darren was advanced in his studies by then to the point where he was actually working part time there as a beginner's class instructor. He was surprised by the new addition to the Advanced classes, not least because she was his age and attractive. He was even more surprised when she handily defeated him in their first sparring match. Before too long, they were close friends. Not much longer, and they were far more than that. Darren had found his soulmate.

It was two weeks after graduation when everything changed. Darren and Marie were headed home in his old, hand-me-down Camry, after a visit to his grandmother's house further out from the city. It was dark, and raining, and they were just relaxing in each other's company. They rounded a corner and were passing through a street light when a speeding drunk driver in an old blue Chevy pickup ran through the red light and smashed into the passenger side of Darren's car. Darren suffered a break in one of the bones of his left forearm, two broken ribs, and severe whiplash. The entire right side of Marie's body was crushed. She only lived long enough to look into Darren's eyes, incredulously. As she tried to speak, she slipped away, and his heart died with hers.

After Marie's funeral, Darren more or less locked himself in his room. He only seldom ate, and lost a great deal of weight. It's impossible to say what would have happened to him if Kobashi hadn't come to see him, then. Kobashi tried to get him to go on a walk with him, but Darren refused angrily. Harsh words were spoken. Darren struck at his sensei in anger for the first and only time. He didn't even see what happened, but his fist didn't connect, he just found himself waking up on the floor and Master Kobashi sitting in his desk chair looking at him. It seemed it truly was possible to knock some sense into someone. Darren begged forgiveness, and eventually wound up weeping at Kobashi's feet, for the first time since Marie had died.

After his confrontation with Kobashi, Darren began to try living again. But he found that trying to live out his life where he was, where reminders of Marie were around him always, drove him to distraction. He wanted to get away from everything and everyone he knew. He decided the Military might be his best option, and he went to the recruiting office to take the tests.

The military was very interested when Darren's test results came back. They showed a certain...moral flexibility. He signed up, and was put into a special training program, for which branch of the Military even he didn't know. Eventually it was revealed to him that he was being trained not for a branch of the military, but for the most secretive portion of the CIA. That he was being trained to kill for his Government, with a variety of weapons and with his body itself.

Darren exceeded even his instructors expectations in training. His mind did not want to dwell on any of his past, and so he was able to wholly dedicate himself physically and mentally to the intense regimen he was placed upon. And it felt good, stretching himself to that limit. By the time he knew what he was being made into, he was willing to accept the idea.

And so, Darren found his calling. And he excelled at it. He was soon known to be the best "Fixer" the Agency had working for it. His boss, Doug McIntosh, held the past record for longest streak of unfailed missions, but Darren would soon top that, and in one third of the time it had taken him to achieve it. He gave Darren more and more difficult assignments, missions where it would be more and more difficult not to get caught, or interrupted, or hurt. Darren won past them all, and his attitude infuriated Doug (as did the way he insisted on calling him "Dougie"). Doug decided to arrange for Darren to be spotted, and gave him an assignment he thought he could work that out of.

All Darren had to do was kill this man who worked at a Ren Faire...

-"Signs", Tesla

I came into His sanctum early that morning when I felt His call. He noticed me right away, of course.

He would.

"You were thinking of me?" I said.

"Yes, Darren," He replied and gave me a small smile. "Walk with me."

He took me to an area I had seen before, though only once. Two curved, dark stone benches framed a white stone pedestal, draped with a sheet of green velvet, weighted at the corners by large, heavy tassles. The room was open entirely on one side to the garden outside, and a cool breeze blew through with regularity.

He sat down casually at one of the benches and looked up at me amusedly. "I believe you know the routine?"

I couldn't hide my surprise. The irony did not escape me. "You knew. ...Of course you knew. How absurd." I sat in the other bench, suddenly somewhat apprehensive, and said "Did I violate a privacy I shouldn't have? I was just passing by, and...well, my curiosity is no secret to you."

He didn't seem angry. Still smiling that small smile, He said "If I desired security, you know I would have sought it out. You did no wrong, though I would ask you to keep what you saw to yourself."

"Of course," I replied, as I'm sure He knew I would. "What now?"

Still smiling, He answered "Draw a card."

I looked, and on the pedestal, where before there had been nothing, was a deck of cards, finely made, and larger than playing cards. I raised my eyebrows and looked at him. "Could I ask you something?"

"Certainly," He said. "Whatever you wish. I may not answer, but you may certainly ask."

Hmm. "What is the point of this? Surely you know what the cards will be?"

"This is a tool. It illuminates some things about you that even I might not see otherwise, but, more importantly, you yourself may not see them." His smile broadened. "As to the second question...I do not know what the cards will be, as they are not my creation. Do you?"

With a slightly puzzled look, I shook my head at Him. "Just draw?"

"Just draw. Draw, and tell me what the card says to you."

I raised an eyebrow, shrugged, and pulled the top card, laying it in front of me and to one side.

A mixed group of men and women wearing fur and carrying spears struggle through the snow. Several of them are wounded, and blood stains the ground where they have walked. In the sky above them the swollen sun burns red.

The images on the card impacted my mind, acting like some primeval key upon patterns of my memory and summoning them forth.

"I...I see."

"What do you see, Darren?" He asked me.

"It's...strange. I couldn't tell you how I know, or why I know, but this is my family. Father...he wasn't very trusting. He kept us seperate from the world as best he could, I think. Maybe it made us stronger, in some ways, but it felt so strangely isolated. I mean, we weren't out in the middle of nowhere, literally, but I think we all felt alone. It's so sad, this image. You know what the saddest part is? They're wounded. There's no one else around to wound them but themselves, you see..."

I looked up at him. I was beginning to understand what this would be like, I thought, and was much more wary.

I asked him, "Do I have to do more?"

He was no longer smiling as he looked at me. I couldn't tell what his expression was, honestly. "What do you think?" he said.

I didn't know what to think. So I drew another card.

A young boy in shorts and a t-shirt stands in front of a carnival shooting gallery, aiming a rifle at a row of silhouettes of a young boy. The carney leans on the counter, watching him intently. Stuffed dolls resembling the boy fill the prize rack.

Again, the jolt of the image in my brain...like a sledgehammer made of ideas...

"Ummm...it's my brothers. And me. It's all confused. I have three of them, you know, two older and one younger. Everyone always remarked on how we all looked the same. Sure, Frank's hair was a little wavier, and little Joey got mom's chin, but we were all cut from the same mold. And always so competitive. Competed for grades, competed for who was better at sports...mostly I guess we were competing for Father's attention. Somehow I never seemed to win, though. But then, I never came in last, either."

I looked up, and He was still just looking at me. He seemed thoughtful, although it's hard to tell. I took a breath and drew the next card.

A white-breasted bird with dark brown, almost drab feathers elsewhere, sitting on a black, bare branch of a tree in a landscape covered with snow, the sky leaden in the background.

"School. Or maybe just people. Like I said, Father kept us apart from the world as best he could. Going to school was sort of a shock. So many people, so many ways of behaving and thinking that I just wasn't accustomed to. I felt so alone and so out of place for so long. I learned what I had to do eventually, though. I learned how to blend in. I fixed myself on it, and I got it. But it took time. A hard time."

Curious now, I drew the next card.

In the center of a forest clearing, a large ring of stone hangs in mid air, sigils of inlaid gold gleaming in the sun. A cohort of rough-looking, armed and armored men crouch arrayed in a semi-circle around it, weapons at the ready.

"The Dojo. It was the one thing I really excelled at, you know. Somehow, the way I move or the way I'm built or whatever it is that always made me only decent at all the 'normal' sports my brothers loved, just seemed to make me better at Karate. Father signed us all up for the classes. He thought we should know how to defend ourselves. And self-defense is all my brothers really got out of it. They dropped out after a few months. I had to beg my Father to let me keep on. He never really understood it, I don't think. I felt strong, there. Master Kobashi noticed me. My classmates *had* to notice me, but they welcomed me just the same; maybe even admired me. I belonged there."

I felt like I was getting used to this. He was still just watching me, quietly, so I drew another card.

A nearly impenetrable crowd of people, moving around and conversing, dressed for a formal occasion, and rendered as precisely detailed as possible. Centered in the crowd is one man in blue jeans and a sweatshirt. He has no face.

"Getting along with people, being with them, really with them, never seemed to come naturally to me. I wasn't unliked, I don't think. I got invited to parties sometimes, and various other social activities, but I don't think anyone ever really cared if I was there, or not. I doubt most people even knew who I was, although they always knew my last name. 'Which Hofstadter are you,' they'd ask? But they never really noticed my answer, it seemed. I wasn't alone...but I was always by myself."

The next card didn't seem so inviting, anymore. I drew it anyway.

A woman dressed in golden samurai-style armor, sword drawn, face turned back as if to shout a command, rides a shaft of lightning down through a black stormy sky.

No. "No. I don't want to talk about her. I don't even want to think about her, even if I can't help it."

Now He definitely seemed sad. "Please, Darren. You've drawn the card already. Please tell me about it."

I looked at Him, and I thought He was being honest with me. It occurred to me that I'd never heard Him say "please" to anyone before. I smoothed my face and settled my emotions as best I could. I said "Her name was Marie, and I loved her more than I thought I was capable of. She was so beautiful, so alive. She charged through everything, she fought for anything she valued, and she usually won. I never knew why she noticed me when noone else seemed to, but she gave herself to me and it made me think I could be someone different. I would have followed her anywhere, and she could have gone anywhere she wanted to. But she didn't. She didn't have that chance. She died, right in front of me, in the passenger seat of my car. She died as I looked into her eyes, the mangled front end of the drunk driver's truck visible through what was left of my passenger door, and I'll never forget the look in her eyes. Confused. Baffled that she was losing the fight, I think."

I realized that I was crying quietly. I don't know how long it had been since that had happened, but I surely didn't like it. I stood up. "I think that's all I need to do."

"Wait," He said, still sitting. "Just one more card. Just one more, and you can go."

I shook my head but I didn't go. I looked down at the cards I'd already drawn, and I knew that if I didn't draw this next card, her card would always be there, face up in my mind. I didn't even sit down, I just turned over the next card in the deck.

One moment you can _swear_ that it's all featureless deep velvet black, but the next you're not... so sure...

Strange. There was none of the now expected impact from this card. It just made my mind sort of...hum. Like a car revving in neutral. I could feel it working but it couldn't grab onto anything.

I must have sat there for a couple of minutes just staring at it before I realized He was still there, and still watching me. I said "I don't know what this is. At first I didn't think there was anything on the card, then I perceived a...texture...and sometimes it seems there's a pattern...somehow I almost know what it is, but my mind seems to shy away from it. Aren't I supposed to know what these mean?"

He was smiling again. "This time, Darren, it's my turn to tell you what the card means, because it's clear to me. It's your future, Darren. You can't see it because even the mind of the most powerful Nobilis isn't equipped to see that. Not and live. Some day, the pattern will be clear to you."

He stood then, and began walking into His Sanctum, leaving the cards where they lay. I followed, and when I glanced back, the cards were gone. We walked for a time, and then I said "My Lord, I'm not sure I want to remember all of these things. I've spent so much of my life trying not to see some of these things."

He smiled at me, and in an unusual display clapped me on the back. "Don't worry," He said. "None of this ever happened..."

And He was right.