Sir Immanuel VII Wiggins


Sir Immanuel VII Wiggins had a very privileged childhood. Born into one of the richer families in Chicago, he experienced very little in terms of misery, and grew up into what most rich people grow up into: a perfectly polite and corteous hateful bastard.
Thanks to top-quality education he also became quite smart, graduating at the top of his class with a degree in Divinity and the Occult.

After a couple of years of private research he moved abroad, to become a lecturer at Oxford university. He rather enjoyed that job, except for one particular coworker.
This man, this Mr Brown, seemingly had decided to make it his mission to make Wiggins’ life a massive pain. However, Wiggins was also well versed in the art of social backstabbery, and thus began a feud that would last for many years, and far longer than Wiggins would ever had guessed.

At the age of 34, Immanuel was diagnosed with a terminal illness, with less than a year left to live. This made him take a good look at his life, and started to become an almost decent human being.
Then Mr Brown stepped in. Perhaps he was annoyed because Wiggins had stopped playing their game. Perhaps he did it out of begrudging respect for a worthy opponent. Or maybe this, too, was part of the game.
Whatever the reason, Mr Brown visited Mr Wiggins one night, and gave him what people in the business call “the embrace”.

Wiggins was far from grateful. Firstly, He had come to terms with his premature death, and now that it was no longer impending, it felt somehow anticlimactic. And secondly, as far as Wiggins was concerned, it was definitely not an act of kindness from Mr Brown, but a way to get the upper hand in a way that Wiggins probably could never hope to trump.

The very knowledge this was very stressful for Wiggins, and eventually he could not take it anymore, and resigned from his position, cleared out his office, and disappeared without saying a word to his former colleages.
Well, except for a letter which he left for them in the coffee room:

“Dear ladies and gentlemen, friends and collegues. It has been an honour and a true pleasure to work with (most of) you.
However I feel that there is nothing more for me to accomplish here, and feeling this invisible cage around me causes me more frustration each day.
While I regret not being here to say goodbye to you in person, my new destiny beckons me and I cannot refuse its siren call for a moment longer.
I feel sorry for my successor (whoever it may be) – having to fill my shoes is not a thing I would wish on my worst enemy.
Nor, I suppose, will it be easy for you all to get used to someone who is bound to be my lesser by a massive extent. For that, and only that I apologise – but it cannot be helped.

All the best,
Sir Immanuel VII Wiggins

PS: Take heart in knowing that while this is the last you will hear FROM me, it is certainly not the last you will hear OF me.
(Especially you Mr Brown. This is not over)"

And so he returned to his home country. It was indeed far from over for him and Mr Brown – Wiggins was going to get even with him one way or another. He did not yet know how, but he could think of a good place to start: politics. He would rise to a place of power, a place Mr Brown could not possibly deny. And then his wrath would descend like a rain storm unto Mr Brown, and when all was said and done Brown would not be able to show his face in civilised lands without being ridiculed, shunned, or worse.
Oh yes. It would be glorious.

Sir Immanuel VII Wiggins

Vampire The Masquerade: Washington D.C. By Night JamieHalle DarthIB