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1001 interesting character ideas

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  • 201) He began as a comic book artist in the 1950s, working for a cheap horror anthology. He knew nothing about real supernatural creatures...until one of his readers arrived at his doorstep one night. It was a recently turned vampire who, after seeing (and perpetrating) too much horror, decided to greet the sun. But not before coming to the artist (a favorite of the fledgling's, and the only thing they had left after a cycle of horrors and loss), to reveal everything they knew about vampires. After having the painful truth of vampirism proven to him, the artist recorded the monster's last testament. As the vampire departed to die, the artist used his connections in the publishing industry to start his own company, with its own 4-color. He called its main book "Vampires Are Real!".

    He filled the book with more or less accurate information about vampires, as he understood it at the time. The great conflicts between sects were unknown to him, but the mechanics of vampirism and the nightly unlifestyles of the undead were fair game. For a time, he ran under the radar. While the "funny books" weren't new by this point, they were often beneath the notice of vampires still. This, of course, would change (especially as public outrage over horror and crime comics increased), but the artist-turned-publisher remained hidden long enough for mortal hunters to take notice. He started getting letters from people who claimed to have seen or even hunted vampires. Some could be rightly written off as jokesters or the mentally ill, but others seemed genuine. He started depicting their stories in the pages of his comics, though with names changed to protect the innocent.

    Eventually, with more and more vampire hunters being galvanized by the cheap rags he put out, vampires began to notice. In truth, the man had always underestimated the total vampiric saturation of society. He'd actually thought he and his followers had made a sizable dent in undead numbers, when he was targeted for assassination. They cut his brake lines, and sent him colorful death threats. When he wasn't deterred, they came into his home, stealing information from his files and from his mind. Someone, somewhere, apparently decided against just killing him, for reasons unknown. Maybe they didn't want his death attracting attention, or making him a martyr. He didn't know how far they'd go, because he ran at the first opportunity and never looked back. Abandoned his old identity, to start a new one.

    The vampires, perhaps supposing they could prevent repeat offenses against the Masquerade, fed the fire of public outcry against "sordid literature" in comic books. The Comics Code Authority came down, destroying the mainstream horror comic industry. If they supposed that it would stop the artist, they were sorely mistaken. He entered the underground comics market, distributing small print runs of new material, under the heading "Vampires Are Everywhere!". He'd learned his lesson, and started doing his own investigations. Contacts within hunter groups were supplemented with personal detective work, to learn as much about vampires and their stories as possible. With far more care than in the old days, he worked to keep the mags circulating and the hunters informed. Information on how to hunt vampires - the tools, techniques, and temptations of the trade - became more direct and explicit. He liked to think he created his best work in those days, both in writing and in his art, experimenting with the new underground styles.

    This, too, did pass. Vampires tracked him down again. And again, he was not outright destroyed. But only because his assailants - now thoroughly sick of his shit - wanted to subvert him. In a cruel irony, the Toreador leading them Embraced and Blood Bound him, and forced him to continue his work. By this point, the Comics Code Authority lost much of its bite, and horror titles gained mainstream acceptance. His master set him up with a new company, and bought up the rights to his own "Vampires Are Real!" comic, that had languished in rights hell for years. Set him to work, pumping out vampire stories. Except these were deliberately seeded with lies and disinformation, meant to get hunters killed. When people who knew things would send him more letters, he had no choice to pass them along to his master, who would track down their senders and silence them.

    Times change again, however. In a reversal of fortune, the artist's master perished in a Sabbat crusade. As the artist fled from their city, he felt the Blood Bond keeping him in check break down. He took charge of his master's ghouls, allowing him to completely control the assets of his company. By this point, of course, the company had struggled after the bursting of the 90s Speculator Bubble, which rocked most of the comics industry. But, after selling much of the physical assets, he made the transition into the digital age. He carries the rights to his comics, but now he put that work on the Internet. Learning to create webcomics with digital tools was a learning curve, but one he took to with enthusiasm. Despite being years dead, he'd never felt more alive. Free and learning new skills.

    And with the internet, he had the tools necessary to reach a far larger and more connected audience than he had before. He trawls message boards, looking for folks with vampire experiences, and pointing them towards "interesting reading material". He might be one of them now, but he has no love for vampires still. So much ground was lost when he was a slave. It's time to catch up. His Embrace HAS given him new appreciation for the vampiric struggle, though. His first addition to the "Vampires Are Real!" website was a story he'd put off making for over fifty years: a dramatic retelling of his first encounter with the vampire who met the sun. He could understand it in the new light, and so figured it was important to create. Nonetheless, he used it as a teaching moment, both for vampire readers and mortal ones.

    That vampires suffered from their condition. For vampires, it was a call to hold fast to their Humanity. For mortals, it was a charge to put them out of their misery. Even with Empathy, he must keep perspective that vampires are all monsters. His readers must never be made to forget that, either.


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    • Originally posted by Bluecho View Post
      201)
      To me, this seems extremely unlikely to happen. Julius and Hatter from Bloodlines comes to mind when I read about this character. Any domain that allowed this kind of threat to survive for as long as it did is run by drooling imbeciles, who deserve to be put to Final Death.
      Last edited by Nyrufa; 05-19-2019, 05:52 AM.

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      • Originally posted by Nyrufa View Post

        To me, this seems extremely unlikely to happen. Julius and Hatter from Bloodlines comes to mind when I read about this character. Any domain that allowed this kind of threat to survive for as long as it did is run by drooling imbeciles, who deserve to be put to Final Death.
        Yeah. It IS weird. One could almost imagine there's more going on than the artist realizes...


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        • 202) Rowen Wolfe

          Clan: Nosferatu

          Concept: Hormone Crazed Steroid Abuser

          Character Bio: Some people take the muscle man fetish too far, and Rowen Wolfe is one such example. A competitive body builder in life, Rowen devoted his attention to getting as jacked as possible, and then flaunting his brawn for all the world to see. Had he stuck with basic training, he might have been a prime candidate for clan Toreador. But his lust for ever sicker gains drove Rowen to heavy steroid usage. After decades of abuse, Rowen's muscles had inflated to disgusting proportions and it was clear he did not have much longer before his body suffered a catastrophic backlash. That was when he drew the attention of clan Nosferatu.

          Rowen's sire did not approve of the obscene vanity he placed on his muscles, and decided to punish him, as many Nosferatu are known to do. Even with his herculean strength (by human standards), he was no match for a potence infused kindred, and Rowen was forcefully embraced after a short struggle.

          Even by Nosferatu standards, Rowen Wolfe is shocking to behold. He has turned the stereotypical idea of the clan as a bunch of skeletal anorexics inside out, and become a hulking monstrosity that would inspire urban legends for any mortals who lived to tell the tale. He is obsessed with Potence, to the point where he focuses on improving it to the detriment of his other disciplines. He is also envious of the more "beautiful" clans which share this power, and is always eager for a chance to demonstrate his perceived superiority with its usage.

          The clan uses him like a blunt instrument. When stealth and espionage can't get the job done, they send in "the Behemoth" to acquire the information they're looking for. It's a thankless job, but it's one which Rowen Wolfe manages to excel at. That is until his Cleopatra attitude inevitably leads to him doing something incredibly foolish in an attempt to satisfy his vanity.

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          • 203) A Ventrue Antitribu who served four tours of duty in the middle east. The exemplary record of service was what attracted his Camarilla Ventrue sire in the first place; the old leech had a fondness for soldiers dating back to the Napoleonic era. Back when folks still believed war to be a glorious adventure; a belief the sire held to unironically.

            For the veteran, of course, his experience in war was anything but glorious. A little PTSD, a little shrapnel embedded in his bones. Bad memories, and lingering health issues. He'd only joined the military to get a college education...which, thanks to the bureaucratic clusterfuck that is the Army, he never got. Nor did he get much help from Veterans Affairs, when it came to those aforementioned health issues. So by the time he heard about some rich guy, looking to hire him personally for some mysterious job, he was too in debt and too homeless to say no. Borrowed a suit and a shower from a friend, and took his night interview. While he was damaged, he had a good enough hold on his psyche to fake being more put together than he felt. Faked it so well, the Elder bought it, and gave him the Embrace.

            In retrospect, the Elder was fooling himself, seeing only what he wanted to see and hearing only what he wanted to hear. It was well into the veteran's grueling "education" - when the fledgling snapped more than once under pressure - that the old vamp realized he'd attached himself to "damaged goods". He tried to reclaim the blood he'd given. Except, if nothing else, the service had taught the young vamp two things: 1) how to survive, and 2) paranoia. He took his sire's eye on the way out (not that it means much), and vanished to the streets. Trying desperately to blend in to the legion of other homeless veterans, before the Sabbat picked him up.

            See, the neonate had done some thinking. With Clan Ventrue digging its roots into every facet of international business, it wasn't a hard leap to assume that they had hands in the military industrial complex. The same circle of business interests and war profiteers that gobbled up government budgets, by selling them military hardware, leaving nothing for programs to take care of soldiers AFTER they returned from war. The Military Industrial Complex that lobbied politicians, encouraging them to go to war only the slightest pretense, then stay there indefinitely. How many Clan Ventrue bastards profited from America's Forever War in the middle east? How many folks like him - brave, patriotic, desperate soldiers - were ground up and spat out by a military machine, as a byproduct of Camarilla interests? Were they responsible for the poorness of Veterans Affairs, so they'd always have broken, homeless soldiers to feed on?

            Just thinking of it drove the veteran to Frenzy, on more than one occasion.

            The last thing he'd ever wanted, when his tours were over, was to go back to combat. But here he is, in a squad (pack) of his own. If the Camarilla wants unceasing conflict - if they want their Forever War - he'll give it to them. And he'll take the fighting right to their havens. Make them feel just a tiny fragment of the fear that kept him up at night when he was alive, and that troubles his daydreams.


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            • 204) Heard of Reptillians? Plenty have. Also called "Lizard People", they're one of the most infamous "Secret Masters" spoken of in conspiracy theory circles. The reality of their dominion of the earth and its leaders is espoused by notorious figures like David Icke. So widespread is the idea - if not belief in its truth - it's become a punchline for skeptics. But for some, the Reptillians are given as much credence as the Illuminati and the "Elders of Zion", to the dismay of everyone else.

              Naturally, then, as heavily reptile-themed as they are, it was practically a no-brainer for some Followers of Set to get in on that action. That's where this Setite comes in.

              Strangely, he used to be a skeptic himself. A journalist and published author in the 70s and 80s, he sought to debunk belief in the ridiculous conspiracies spouted by theorists. This includes Reptillians. Unlike the average theorist, who was content never to look outside the bounds of mass media and conspiracy zines for their "evidence", he made tracks in pursuit of such subjects, in the interest of proving them wrong. Until, that is, he got a lead on a man who supposedly encountered a Reptillian, before promptly winding up dead of overdose weeks later. The author tracked the man's apartment down, following clues that lead deeper and deeper into the criminal underworld.

              He only came to believe when he stood face to face with a scale-faced man. He didn't survive the encounter, though he did walk away from it.

              The "Reptillian", of course, was a Setite, possessed of a Flaw that covered his face in scales. The old one was impressed by the skeptic's investigative skills, and Embraced him for the benefit of Set. The truth was revealed unto the fledgling and, after a period of indoctrination, he came to see it the Setite way. The world truly did suffer under the weight of Secret Masters - the Aeons - but the Setites were interested in breaking people free from their bonds. The reptile, not an oppressor, but a liberator.

              Now he trawls internet forums and social media, most nights. Keeping tabs on conspiracy theory circles. Separating the wheat from the chaff, to find those mortals who are most useful to Set. Starts dropping hints and leads, coaxing those who are not mere dabblers or totally useless into going beyond their comfort zone. Having them seek the truth...or A truth. Most will simply be pawns or cultists. But, perhaps, a few worthy of Set's blood will surface. Seekers of truth, ready to remove the blinds and take on the Aeons.


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              • I've been trying to think of an interesting way to run a character from the Children of Osiris for a while now. I think I found one.



                205) These nights, he goes by the name Manish, called "The Mouse". It's not hard to see why, as he will (very rarely) manifest rodential features after frenzy (to accompany his permanent buck teeth). Frenzy, of course, being something Manish avoids judiciously, as a matter of course.

                For his part, the Child of Osiris considers "Mouse" to be aspirational. A state of humility to be emulated, and a quiet (un)lifestyle to be practiced. The acolyte makes his haven in a farm just outside of town, where he raises rats. The blood goes to him - the power of Bardo allowing him to gain ample nourishment from a single rodent - while the bodies are butchered and sold to any of various local customers who appreciate the culinary value of rat meat. (Most are Chinese, Vietnamese, Taiwanese, and Thai restaurants and families, though a few West Virginians seem to enjoy clean fare for their rat stews). All in all, Manish considers his situation almost perfect, for the purposes of allowing him to pursue spiritual ends. Almost.

                Alas, the Mouse has more than ample baggage, and stacks of unfinished business that gnaw at him.

                Before he was Manish the Mouse, Child of Osiris, he was Rahgu, called "The Rat", City Gangrel and soldier in the Sword of Caine. His early unlife was a blur of violence, skullduggery, and gluttonous excess. When the Sabbat needed answers, they called on the Rat to spy, unseen. When the Sabbat needed a knife stuck in the back of an enemy, the called on the Rat to get in close and wield that swift blade. And when the Sabbat required someone to contribute blood to create new recruits, well...rats are known for their fecundity, aren't they?

                Therein lies much of the vampire's current trouble. When he was Raghu, he sired many childer, participating in mass embraces often. Many failed to dig themselves from their burials, and remain interred to this night. Most others failed to unlive very long. But, still, progeny lasted beyond the lifespan of the average rat. Indeed, they outlasted The Rat's own life, in a manner of speaking.

                In time, Raghu could stomach the Sabbat unlife no longer, and grew ashamed of the blood on his hands. In a terrible moment - that moment when his pack perished and he had no more Vaulderie ties holding him down - he realized that his whole unlife had amounted to nothing but ruin. Ruin of the world, and his own soul. He abandoned the Sword of Caine, his wicked ways, and his own name. When he found the Children of Osiris (or rather when they found him), he converted without a second thought, seeking absolution and control. The Rat became the Mouse.

                But while he can no longer sire childer - thanks to Osiran ritual - it would not erase the progeny he already created. Their existence pains him now, both because of how he thoughtlessly cursed them, and because he unleashed blood-drinking monsters on the world. To complicate matters, his new dedication to Humanity ties his hands. He cannot, in good conscience, put down his ill-sired progeny. Even were he willing, they are difficult to find; the buried ones alone are scattered, and he cannot rightly recall where all the failed mass embrace targets could be found. Those up and about are fewer, but move around. For many of them, his hope is that they destroy themselves (as Sabbat often do, one way or another).

                One of them is a particular trouble, because he knows exactly where they are and what they do. The last of his childer abandoned the Sabbat before he did...to join the Followers of Set. So, on top of opposing the Setites for sectarian (and moral) reasons, Manish must contend with his own errant, corrupt progeny. The rodent must oppose the snake he created. All while upholding his virtues, and hopefully not exposing himself to either Setite or Sabbat agents, lest he be a target.

                It's a tough world, for a Mouse. But who said the road to Golconda was easy?
                Last edited by Bluecho; 05-30-2019, 03:05 AM.


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                • 206) Artair Sutharlan:

                  For the clan as a whole, the collapse of the Tremere's pyramid was a catastrophe. But for some individual members, it was the best news they'd heard in a long, long time. Upon hearing of House Carna's formation, Artair Sutharlan immediately severed any involvement he had with the main clan, and left to join her side of the now scattered remnants of the Tremere. A dabbler of hedge magic since before his embrace, Artair accepted the Tremere's recruitment offer under the pretense that he would be allowed to explore several human life times worth of arcane knowledge. Only to discover too late that his research opportunities would be severely curtailed by the hermetic elders who ruled the clan with an iron fist.

                  With the pyramid collapsed, and the blood bonds destroyed, Artair is once again able to study magic freely, and House Carna is not nearly so oppressive, or narrow focused as the rest of the clan proved itself to be. He has turned his back on the hermetic sciences and adopted more pagan traditions, based on the celtic magic of his Scottish homeland. Runes and sigils are his particular specialty, and he is always eager to try new combinations in order to see how the enchanted language interacts with itself.

                  When he isn't busy with his own magical research, Artair also has a keen interest in strengthening House Carna as a whole. He has adopted a far more casual set of standards towards giving the embrace to mortals, and believes that a genuine love for magic should be the highest concern, instead of focusing on whether or not the subject is talented enough to rise above their peers. He claims that magic should be available to all who wish to learn, and is not something to be hoarded by vain tyrants looking to feed their egos. This philosophy has lead to him becoming the leader of his own chantry, who's apprentices take inspiration from neo-shamanism and new age druids in their approach to magical traditions.


                  ------------------------

                  In true celtic fashion, Artair is both equal parts warrior, as well as priest. His knowledge of rune magic works exceptionally well on the battlefield, and more than once, he has heard that his rituals bare a closer resemblance to those of the Banu Haqim, than that of the Tremere. As for appearance, Artair is a middle aged looking man of Scottish descent, with fiery red hair and bright blue eyes. He also has a full, thick beard which he keeps immaculately braided. His build shows signs of someone who took pride in physical exercise, before the Tremere forced him to focus on more intellectual pursuits. He stands at 6'2 in height, weighing 245 lbs, and has thick patches of body hair on his forearms, chest and shins. At the risk of potentially breaking the Masquerade, he is also known to carry around a broad sword, who's blade has been carved with runic glyphs along the side. When asked what the runes are for, he explains that they make it easier to use Blood Sorcery, since all he has to do is paint the blade with fresh blood to awaken the rune's power!
                  Last edited by Nyrufa; 05-30-2019, 12:01 PM.

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                  • 207) Anthony Knight:

                    Sometimes, even thin bloods can't escape the curse of their sire's lineage, and Anthony Knight would awaken into the world of darkness to find that he had a powerful urge to punish the wicked! Unlike most of his kind, Anthony was not abandoned at birth, but rather his sire took it upon themselves to train him in the ways of alchemy and assassination. For the first three years of his unlife, it looked like Anthony had a promising future among the Banu Haqim. But that all changed one night, when they received a visit from the local sheriff. It turns out that Anthony's sire was also a thin blood, and had embraced him with neither the prince's knowledge, nor permission. Anthony managed to escape the sheriff's wrath, but his sire was not so fortunate.

                    Shortly after this incident, Anthony swore a vendetta against the Camarilla, who had succeeded in making his unlife magnitudes more difficult in their quest to hunt him down. He eventually fell in with the Anarch crowd, though only because he was smart enough to realize that he needed allies if he planned to survive any longer. In truth, Anthony would consider himself part of the Unbound. He cares almost nothing for the politics of kindred society, and works as a professional assassin simply because that is what his sire trained him to do.

                    Anthony's long term goal is to kill the ones responsible for his sire's death, that being the sheriff who committed the deed, as well as the prince who ordered it. But even for all his training, he realizes that would be a suicide mission by himself. So, in preparation for carrying out his revenge fantasy, he has begun to assemble a coterie of like minded rebels, whom he feels trustworthy enough to wage war upon the Ivory Tower!

                    Anthony was embraced early in his life. He is a young, white male in his early 20's with short, black hair and dark brown eyes. He was not particularly athletic in life, but had remained healthy enough that the occasional display of vampire prowess won't seem out of the realm of possibility. He stands at a height of 5'9, with a weight of 140 lbs. He has a habit of dressing in layers, which makes it easier for him to conceal weapons on his personage, as well as store ingredients for his alchemical formulas.


                    Concept: Renegade Hunter

                    Clan: Thin Blood

                    Generation: 15

                    Merits: Thin Blood Alchemist, Anarch Comrades
                    Flaws: Clan Curse (Banu Haqim), Mortal Frailty

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                    • 208) One of the rare male "Daughters" of Cacophony, this man had dreams of being a country singer. After many rejections by record companies, however, he started to get discouraged. Desperate, even. In came members of the local mob, who agreed to pull strings to get his music career up and running. Naturally, this offer came with dire strings attached. After he'd gotten his big break, the mob would have him put on a private show for some VIP or another. In truth, the VIP was an enemy of the mob, and before he went on, he was handed a pistol, and told to gun them down during. No witnesses would be around to talk about what happened...but the act of assassination would be secretly recorded, the mob using it as further leverage to keep the singer in line.

                      His stardom rose, just as his spirits sank. In time, he started to break. His last record saw him pour his heart out into songs of absolute sorrow, grief, and shame. Nothing specific enough that the mob would have words with him, but enough to convey the emotional weight under which he labored. It moved one heart, despite that heart being dead. His sire - a woman who had been a folk singer, in a previous life - was moved to blood tears (luckily, no one saw). Using Presence, she drew him out to a bar after the show, and convinced him to tell his story. When he'd finished, she offered to give him the power to visit retribution on those who had wronged him, and turned him into a killer. All it would take was death, of himself and his career.

                      They say the last member of that organized crime syndicate begged on the phone from distant allies for help, before he was drawn away by "that voice".

                      The singer left his identity behind, but not his vocation. He travels from city to city, putting on shows for local venues under an assumed name. That's his "day" job. When he's not on stage, he's offering his services to Kindred who need a hired gun. He prefers to offer protection services, but he's not above being a hit man. Despite the sorrows he displayed in his breathing days, he's grown numb to dispensing death. His sad songs are about how easy it's become. Veterans seem to appreciate those tunes. He wishes he was as noble as them.

                      At least he's useful to the Bloodline. By his reckoning, it isn't proper for ladies to get their hands dirty. "Call it 'old fashioned'," he says, "but that's a burden the men-folk should take on themselves. And I am, as always, a helpful servant."


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                      • 209) A Goldsmith (a smithy in general, really), who uses this talent in order to get in good with the “higher ups.” They use this connection to gather information (eavesdropping, spying, etc) to use as currency with anyone interested in knowing more about what’s going on.

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                        • 210) A Nosferatu Anarch who works to undermine Camarilla institutions.

                          Literally. With a pickaxe.

                          A miner during his breathing days, this Nosferatu knows his way around soil and stone. Due to having lost his mortal employment to both outsourcing and mechanization, he's got a (pick)axe to grind with corporate interests. The Camarilla being highly involved in big business - including in manipulating economies to their own ends, no matter if it makes the little people suffer - he takes these lingering frustrations out on them.

                          His years of experience with geology and practical earth-work allows him to spot where the foundations of a structure are weakest. Using Animalism, he coordinates teams of moles and other burrowing creatures, turning the ground beneath Elysiums and other Cam-vampire holdings into swiss cheese. Potence, meanwhile, allows him to use his pickaxe to devastating effect. While he can often be found helping local Nosferatu expand their warrens, he's committed to the cause of bringing Ivory Tower Kindred down a peg. Or, in this case, down a whole floor. To round off his skillset, Obfuscate allows him to come and go as he pleases, allowing him to survey targets and travel to places where his tunnels start.


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                          • 211) Most Gangrel are known for their affinity for bats, wolves and occasionally rats. But in this particularly bizarre case, the vampire has developed a kinship with locusts. Like the insects they nurture, this vampire has an almost insatiable appetite. Always draining his victims down to the last drop, and then allowing the swarm to feast upon its fresh meat. It is no surprise then, that they would find themselves among the ranks of the Sabbat, for whom impulse control is already a precious rarity.

                            As conspicuous as a swarming cloud of insects may be, the Gangrel has learned to wield it to their advantage. Concealing your presence is quite easy, when people are afraid of being eaten alive if they get anywhere near you. And stories of a gigantic insect hiding among the buzzing masses can easily be waved off as simple delirium brought on by stress and overactive imaginations. Unfortunately, the Second Inquisition is not so easily fooled, and it probably won't be long before the Sabbat starts seeing agents carrying around insect repellent on their next hunts.

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                            • 212) Drawn from the ranks of domestic moonshiners and homebrewers, he was lured to the Followers of Set with promises of freedom from controlling powers (he'd never had much respect for governments or moral busybodies). The transition into vampirism, however, disrupted his ability to enjoy alcohol. As such, he pursued the power of Setite Sorcery, specifically to master Typhon's Brew.

                              Some in the Followers of Set would consider this is poor - if not blasphemous - reason for learning Set's magic. He doesn't particularly care, and less orthodox Setites are just happy for another sorcerer to add to the Clan's power. Typhon's Brew has always been a major source of wealth and Boons, extracted from desperate Ghouls and nostalgic Kindred alike.

                              But this Setite has considered himself not just a brewer, but an artist. An aficionado of liquor and beer, he spent much of his life learning different recipes. Yet Typhon's Brew has only so many variants and too few tastes, despite the thousands of years spent exploring the craft. As such, his current goal is to experiment, seeking out various beer and liquor making processes, and figuring how to adapt them to blood. Communicating with old Ahku masters, to mine them of their variants, or creating new flavors, textures, and aromas himself. If his work pays off, it could profit him greatly, as he provides not just bloody booze, but a variety of same. Allowing Kindred and Ghouls real choice in their fare, rather than settling for any vitae-enriched alcohol at all.

                              There's a small hitch: not all who know Typhon's Brew are Setites. It is old magic, and thus has been traded (or recreated) from time to time. In the city where he makes his haven, an enterprising "Old Skool" Anarch sorcerer knows his own version of the Ritual. Naturally, this Anarch will take issue with someone moving in on his racket, with a new and better product (or products).


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