Luchador Profesional
Quote:
You Sabbat gringos think you can withstand the 24 inch pythons of El Diablo Verde, si? (poses ferociously) I will send you vampiras chicas scurrying back to your sires in disgrace . One at a time or all at once - it matters nothing to El Diablo Verde!
Prelude:
You grew up in the slums of Mexico City. You learned to fight before you
could walk. By your 12th year you were leading a pack of kids and
winning turf wars.
After a particularly vicious battle, you were noticed by a promoter. He
offered you a way out of the ghetto apprenticeship at a wrestling camp.
You were thrilled! You would trade rags and hunger for glory and
adulation in the squared circle!
Life at the camp was rough, but it was paradise compared to the calles.
You grew large and strong, and were taught the techniques of
professional wrestling - armlocks, piledrivers, head scissors, faking
injuries, glowering. By the time you were 18 you were appearing on TV as
the masked nightmare El Diablo Verde. You were a natural; you quickly
became champion . Your mask, the symbol of your prowess, remained
unremoved. The crowds screamed your name. You were the mightiest warrior
of the ring.
Unfortunately, an all-too-real war was being waged, and you were
drafted. Four hombres pálidos came for you one night. One, an
exceedingly ugly one who said he was part of the Sabbat, drained your
blood. But even death Itself could not conquer El Diablo Verde. Before
you were buried in the earth, your attackers were attacked in turn. The
battle could have gone either way, but you added your strength to that
of your rescuers and turned the tide.
None could withstand the strength of El Diablo Verde. You made it to
America, where you resumed your career. The legend of El Diablo Verde,
who only fought at night and who never removed his mask, grew in the
viewing. Soon you had franchised goods and throngs of screaming
fans.
La muerte es la vida, no?
Concept:
You are a mighty fighter and a champion of the
people. Your Retainer is your sleazy ghoul manager, while your Herd is
the throng of Diablo-maniacs who follow you everywhere.
Roleplaying Tips:
Brag. Flex your muscles. Growl. Grunt.
Equipment:
Mask, trunks and boots, roll of pesos
This info is ©1994 White Wolf. It is currently used
without their blessing or permission. I'm real sorry 'bout that...but I
mean 'em no harm. And if they say to remove it, I'd be happy to. I'm not
doing this for money, or glory, or anything except to further the reach
of their already incredible game system, and probably making 'em even
MORE money...but still...