Have you see the OVA or read the manga series of Hellsing? If so how far have you gotten? If not please direct your attention to youtube, and watch OVA 1-4 at least. Warning: If you have watched the anime we require you watch the OVA, or read the manga. The anime is not canon. This is not our opinion. This is the law set down by the creator of Hellsing, Kouta Hirano.

OVA 1-4

Name: Hadrian Höss

Age: 108

Gender: Male

Physical appearance:

Height: 5' 9"
Weight: 150 lbs
Eye Color: Blue
Hair Color: Platinum blonde

Hadrian is what one might consider the epitome of the Aryan race. He is not overly tall, but his body is well muscled and hard. His hair is a blonde so pale as to be considered white, or even slightly silver while his eyes gleam out from his hawkish features with a sky-blue intensity. His face is marred by a jagged scar stretching from left temple to the base of his right jaw, narrowly missing one of those azul orbs. His near military short hair does nothing to hide this trophy and Hadrian wears it not as a badge of shame, but proudly. His jaw is wide and his chin is strong, leaving him looking near identical to the soldiers of so many Nazi propaganda posters. His teeth are pearl white and pointed, giving him a particularly feral expression when he smiles, which is often. While his age is incredibly old by human standards, he appears not older than 30, for all asthetic purposes, a man in his prime.

Clothing of choice: Hadrian is a great traditionalist and is of the opinion that the Third Reich had the right idea in style. To that effect, he wears the deep black uniform of the Waffen SS, complete with trenchcoat and sometimes helmet. The one piece of clothing he disdains are those poofy pants. His wear more closely to the thigh and look somewhat less ridiculous, in his always correct opinion. The rest of his uniform would recall one to the days of World War II: Tan shirt, with a tie in black, double breasted trench coat with the shining lightning letters of the SS. Leather belt cinched about the waste with a silver buckle and a narrow strap that rises over one shoulder. Silver piping about the left arm of the coat, about mid-forearm with the broader red band proudly displaying the swastika encircling his upper arm. Across the other arm is the gleaming silver eagle, secondary symbol of the Nazi party. His boots rise high on the calf, made of a high quality black leather. An Iron Cross hangs close about his neck, the only medal he deigns to wear though it is a near surety he has won more.

Weaponry of choice: Hadrian disdains the use of weaponry which fires projectiles, finding their use lazy and not nearly as much fun. He likes his victims to bleed and the best way to cause that is by the use of something sharp. Catering to his vanity, Hadrian wields a pair of custom daggers which hang from silver worked sheaths off his belt:

If a longer reach is required, he relies on a ceremonial sword, stamped and etched with Nazi symbology:

Finally, while opinion about the use of projectile weapons is well known, he carries a SIG-Saur P250 DCc pistol for backup:


While these are the main weapons he carries, Hadrian is well known for his use of the environment about him and is quite capable of turning the most ordinary object into something lethal.

Race: Category C Vampire

Abilities: His ability to regenerate is strong, but takes a long period of time (10 posts). However his strength and agility are far above base human standards. His reflexes are greater than a cat's, which is a benefit when considering his weakness to blessed weapons and silver. He dislikes the light, though it causes no real harm to him. He is capable of teleportation and absorbing others' memories. His bite will turn virgins into vampires and others into weak ghouls. His need for drinking blood is only once a week, though he often indulges more often as he enjoys the flavor and sensation of fresh blood.

Organization: Millenium

Personality: The words 'insane' and 'mad' easily come to one's lips when describing Hadrian, but he is too coy and clever by far to have lost his mind. Sadistic and masochistic, he loves pain above all else. Inflicting it on someone else or himself, it doesn't matter. It is the one drug he is utterly addicted to. It inhances lust and hunger and sends pleasure to a level transcendant.

In nearly all things he is cold and calculating, using strategic advantage instead of brute force while in combat. His preference, however, is not in battle. Its outcome is too swift; it ends before one can savor the first taste. He prefers talk and subterfuge, bringing his enemies into his grasp, where he can confine them, and enjoy their agony for as long as his substantial skills can keep his victim breathing.

In personal interactions that don't involve his standing over his conversation partner with some pain-inflicting object in hand, he is most usually the dominant personality. He enjoys talking about himself, and will often regale audiences with tales from the day when the Fatherland was the greatest super-power the world had ever seen and he stood at the right hand of the Furhur himself. He smiles often and laughs much, finding the world, and most especially humans, amusing in the extreme.

While his voice is deep and strong, it does not carry the expected German accent. He pronounces each word he speaks with special care, giving him the sound of an extremely well educated scholar. He often chooses his words with specific intent and he always means exactly what he says...except when he doesn't, but that's diplomacy, non?

Rank: Sturmbanfuhrer

Biography: Hadrian was born before the National Socialist Party had the slightest reason to exist and Germany had not yet seen the terrible wars and economic destitution that followed their shameful loss. He was the child of a gentleman with not insubstantial political clout; his mother died in her birthing bed. Being raised by a father who was far too busy to worry about something as trifling as an heir that was still figuring out how to properly spell, Hadrian often had to make his own way. He excelled in school, hoping his high marks would win the approval of his distant father, but such was not to be. Because of this inattention, the boy's tendacies to abduct neighbors' cats and various small wild animals went unnoticed as did the little skinned bodies staked in the forest surrounding the family estate.

When he came of age, he entered the military, shunning any association with his disinterested father and hoping to find some individual prestige on the battlefield. Shortly after his conscription, the first of the great world wars broke out. Hadrian indeed fought valiantly and gained himself the Iron Cross which hangs about his neck from an especial act of bravery in the trenches. He also acquired the angry red scar across his face that mars his otherwise perfect nobleman features.

Sometime during the war, Hadrian was bitten. If asked when this occurred, he'll mutter something about obviously having been a virgin and that he's been fucking since he could walk. The rest is left up to the imagination of the inquirer. The truth is not quite so short. During Germany's initial push into France, Hadrian would discover a woman huddled and hiding in a small town his unit was scouting out before the main force moved in. The rest of the townspeople had fled, but for some reason this woman had remained behind. When questioned in French as to why, she only shook her head and muttered an incoherent response. Knowing the response of his fellows would be to rape and murder the woman rather than speaking to her, he took her hand and snuck her into the nearby forest.

While his scout troop prepared the town for the main army's arrival, he would sneak into the forest, bringing the woman clean food and water and daily trying to convince her to flee. She always refused, but one day when he arrived with a bit of ham and water in hand, she was gone. He realized with her absense that he had grown close to the woman and felt a strange emptiness now that she was gone.

Weeks passed and his unit moved on, scouting out the next location as the army moved into the town they had secured. Every night Hadrian thought about the woman, her beauty, her soft voice. He was sure he had fallen asleep and was dreaming when she wandered into his tent one night, her face outlined by the pale light of the moon filtering in through the rough canvas. It was that night he lost first his humanity and then his virginity. He never saw the woman again and grew deeply bitter about the entire encounter.

Following Germany's humiliating loss in the Great War and the economic stiflement the resulting treaty sanctions imposed, Hadrian turned his hand towards the former realm of his father. Political intrigue facinated him and his cruel disregard for the fate of his allies who could no longer support him earned him something of a reputation. During these years, he sired the boy who would grow to become Rudolf Höss, first Commandant of the Auschwitz internment camp. It is unclear if Hadrian took any more interest in his offspring than his father did.

While working the great German political machine, he observed Adolf Hitler making fine speeches before the Nazi party had taken an interest in him. Having some voice in the party, which he had taken a fancy to in its founding, he helped bring the man to their attention, or so he says. Also supposedly to his credit is a good portion of the Final Solution, which he considered a masterful work of manipulating the multitudes' fears to bring pain to millions.

Hadrian's specific association with the Nazi party is not clear, though it is rumored that as soon as Hitler became aware of his vampiric tendacies, he because the subject of intense study and experimentation. It is known that Hadrian had close contact with Josef Mengele for several years, before the man's facination with identical twins drew him to other study. Another claim that Hadrian is all too happy to make is his role in the development of the FREAK. He is insistant that study of his blood and tissue were a key contributing factor in the development of artifical vampirism.

Managing to flee to Argentina with a number of other Nazi war criminals, Hadrian managed to avoid capture by Allied forces. Mourning the loss of the Third Reich and what he considered his greatest achievement in life, he was all too happy to join with Millenium when he was contacted by their movement. He has since served in whatever position they required, as long as his personal 'hobbies' were provided for.

RP sample:

Hadrian spun away, leaving yet another small but intensely painful cut along his opponent's ribs. The man, an American by the look of it, though possibly English, grabbed at the new wound, blood coating his already stained fingers while he held out his saber defensively. In the distance, a reverberating boom reminded the dueling pair that a battle involving thousands of men raged just outside the copse in which they were sequestered. His opponent looked up, distracted by the noise, eyes tightening with the knowledge that his brothers were dying. Hadrian spared the man not a moment for his grief, stepping forward and slashing up to leave a long weeping gash under his eye before once again twirling out of his reach, his trench coat flapping.

It would have been a small matter to end it right there. The soldier was distracted, and bleeding from a dozen small, viciously painful wounds. The edges of Hadrian's dual pronged knives were coated in a resin designed, not to poison, but to make each prick or slash pure agony. For the objective of the young German was not to kill his opponent. Death was a state easily achieved by even the most unskilled of men. A boy might kill a soldier with a lucky strike. But agony, torture, making one's opponent wish to die, that required true talent. And its achieving was so much more fullfilling than draining the life from his foe with one swift stroke.

It was inconsequential how Hadrian had managed to isolate this young Allied soldier or how he had managed to disarm the man of his rifle, which lay in pieces in the loam several feet away. All that mattered was the black stains spreading across the drab green of his wool uniform and the way his smooth skin twisted into a stark grimace of pain. Hadrain felt a stirring inside him at the sight and smiled wickedly, brandishing his knives mockingly.

"Come now, dear boy. Surely your country has taught you better how to defend yourself from attack." His sharp words spurred the young officer on, causing him to leap foolishly at the apparently idle German. An inhumanly fast spin brought Hadrian to the man's side, his notched saber sliding into the empty space where he had lounged the moment before. Almost delicately, Hadrian wrapped his lithe fingers about the man's wrist, the knife suddenly gone, crushing the carpal bones together with an audible crunch. The man cried out and jerked sharply away, dropping his saber, as Hadrian's other intriguingly empty hand rose up to caress his cheek, brushing across the open, weeping wound created a moment before. Hadrian pulled the man closer, inhaling the scent of his fear. His hand latched under the soldier's jaw to hold him still as he brushed his smooth lips over the man's cracked and bloodied ones, pressing them into an unnatural and terrifying kiss.

The man jerked back again, uttering a sharp curse, clearly confused and terrified. In a last ditch effort to save himself from this German demon, he took the hand that was still free and swung it at Hadrian's face. Amazingly, Hadrian made no effort to stop the attack, allowing the fist to smash into the side of his face. He blinked calmly at the Allied soldier, then yanked the hand that held the man's broken wrist up and around, forcing him to turn so his back was to Hadrian, his arm locked behind him. The German laughed darkly, sliding a foot out to hook around his opponent's, sending him tumbling forward.

Kneeling over him, Hadrian continued twisting the arm, ignoring the man's whimpered scream of pain until the joint dislocated with a disconcerting pop. He smiled savagely, leaning foward to whisper into the man's ear. "Your country has failed you and you have failed yourself." Hadrian allowed his hand to slide under the man's tattered shirt, trailing along the sweaty skin and bloodied cuts, fingers pressing painfully into the wounds and causing him to cry out in small gasps. "How will it end, do you think?" He brushed his lips over the trembling man's ear. "Scream for me, boy."

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"No, it is not some silly notion about human nature. Stop and think for a moment." Hadrian sat back in his chair, the fingers of one hand lightly stroking the fabric covering the arm while the other flicked a cigar toward the ashtray. He rose a pale eyebrow at the man sitting similarly disposed across the table from him. "Who is it that the Germans hate and fear the most, hm?"

The man, brown haired and peculairly pinched looking, holds his cigar to his lips a long time before speaking. "The English? The Allies in general for the treaty they imposed on us after the Great War?" The man shook his head in frustration. "I do no know what you are looking for, Hadrian."

Hadrian sighed, carefully setting his cigar down in the ashtray before reaching for a sweating glass containing some amber liquid. "You are thinking too shallowly, Herr Goebbels. Hate is an emotion easily come by and can be shared between a great many objects. But fear, fear is that which controls our most animal of instincts, those which our over-developed minds have not yet learned to properly control or repress." He took a sip, savoring the liquid as it burned its way down his throat. "And what is it that humanity fears above all? Not outside threats, certainly. Those are things we can control and with control comes comfort."

The man, Herr Goebbels, stroked his chin, staring intently at his companion. "If not outside, then inside. In your meaning, from inside our own country, perhaps?"

Hadrian smiled, his scar tightening across his face and lightly touched the side of his head with one finger. "Ah, and there it is. Inside our own country. And there lies another clue. We fear that which is inside because it controls us. What then, is the root of this?"

Goebbels smiled, chewing on the end of his cigar. "Control. So we will not fear that which is interior to us but does not appear to assert control."

"Precisely. And in our present day, it is not so much strength or wisdom that brings with it the power to assert control. No, we are beyond those primative notions." Hadrian leaned foward, pale eyes gleaming. "It is those who hold the purse strings who exert true power over our people."

A light dawned in Goebbels eyes. He ground out the butt of his cigar into the ashtray with fervor. "The Jews."

Hadrian bared his sharpened teeth in a feral smile, snapping his fingers at the other man's words. "Just so, Her Goebbels. Just so."

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