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1001 interesting character ideas

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  • 214) A sympathetic Ventrue, who maintains the conviction that the mind is a sanctuary. Having rejected the powers of Dominate and Blood Bonds, they look for more humane ways in which to rule others.

    215) A ruthless Toreador, who maintains the conviction that self preservation justifies murder. Since the nights following their embrace, they have encountered many situations in which their continued existence is threatened.

    216) A Thin Blood who was embraced more for their strength of passion, rather than their strength of body. Failing to manifest either the disciplines of Potence or Celerity, they instead focus on using Presence to win most of their battles.

    217) A Thin Blood who prides themselves on being the "prettiest rat" in the city. Ostracized by even the Nosferatu who sired them, they have to work extra hard to uncover the elusive secrets they so desperately crave.


    • 218) This Brujah is Strong. Like, really Strong. Like, "do you even lift, bro?" Strong.

      Growing up, this guy had been the stereotypical Gym Bro. An absolute Chad, who took Sick Gains to be the height of achievement, at least according to his hyper-masculine perception of reality. He oozed Toxic Masculinity. Weight lifting and boxing were his jam.

      Then, he received the Embrace. Except it was an illicit Embrace, given by one of his weight-lifting buddies who wished to share the gift, but hadn't known what the consequences of the act would be. The two had to bail, leaving the city and settling somewhere else. While his friend/Sire made connections with local Anarchs, he poured all of his effort into his Potence. Between this and his skill in Athletics and Brawl, he was a pretty archetypal "Combat Monster" Brujah (well, except he didn't invest in any Celerity; ONLY Potence).

      Unfortunately, his great strength did little to help prevent his Sire from being killed, due to Jyhad shenanigans. Now this Brujah was never exactly smart. His friend and Sire had been smart; it's why that guy had been chosen by the Clan of philosophers. But this Brujah wasn't. He'd gotten into college through sports scholarships and a bunch of folks pulling strings for him (or just doing his class work for him, in the case of the nerdy kids he'd bully into helping him). But even he could understand that his one notable strength - Being Really Strong - was useless when dealing with vampires older, wiser, craftier, and better at manipulation than he was. And when he got a group of other Neonates together to maybe help him figure out what happened, he discovered that he could contribute little of worth. He wasn't smart like the Tremere, insightful like the Malkavian, sociable as the Toreador, convincing as the Ventrue, stealthy as the Nosferatu, or resourceful as the Gangrel. He couldn't track clues, do research, cover up the Masquerade, or any of that stuff.

      He was just Strong. Which doesn't matter as much in the modern world, full of its complex systems and many ways to approach problems.

      Understanding now that being Strong was a dead end, he has resolved to correct his deficiency. He's cracking open books and really applying himself. He's actually listening when other vampires talk about things like history or occultism. He's realized there's more to unlife than being strong. Though it might be hard, he's going to make himself better. Reevaluate his priorities, and try to understand the world as others see it.


      • 219) Reece Greene was having the time of his unlife, partying it up with the Sabbat. As a member of clan Gangrel, he took to the borderline demonic rituals and customs of the sect like a shark to bloody waters. He was powerful, he was terrifying, he was free! But that all changed one night, when the other members of his pack received The Beckoning.

        Out of nowhere, his priest and ductus suddenly thought it was a good idea for the pack to pull up stakes and take a one way trip to the middle east. No explanation given, just that they had to leave as quickly as possible! The fact that this sudden movement would have practically handed their territory over to the Camarilla on a silver platter didn't seem to cross any of their minds. Well, all except for Reece himself, who had surprisingly managed to avoid falling under The Beckoning's influence.

        Reece didn't go with the rest of the pack. A decision that he is almost certain has branded him a traitor in their eyes, but one which he will hopefully avoid the consequences of in the future. They seemed pretty convinced they were going to stay overseas for an indefinite period of time, so maybe they'll never see each other again?

        After losing his pack, and finding out he wasn't the only one facing such problems, Reece ingratiated himself with the Anarchs. Continuing to fight against the Camarilla's machinations, rather than roll over for them. For the most part, he finds it quite easy to cover up his past affiliations from his new allies. The Sabbat were the original Anarchs, after all, so as long as he makes an effort to hide his religious extremism from the public, most kindred assume he's just another in a very long list of violent thugs who find their way into the Anarchs' ranks.

        Predator Type: Alleycat


        220) Millie Marsh did not have a pleasant time during her early introduction into the world of kindred. As a devout believer in The Ministry's theological rebellion, her sire took pride in casting off the shackles of moral constraints and liberating herself from the oppression of false gods. As it happens, one of her favorite spiritual taboos was the targeting of children. To hear her sire defend themselves, they would tell you that mortals lock baby animals in cages for later consumption by the thousands every year. Why should doing the same to baby humans be seen as any more offensive, in a society that uses humans as a food source?

        Millie spent 5 long, grueling months chained up beneath her sire's haven, along with 4 other kids who had been abducted from their homes in the middle of the night. One by one, they were slowly drained of their blood, until Millie was the only one left alive. But by the time it was her turn to die, she had subconsciously absorbed enough of The Ministry's teachings to give her captor pause. Maybe it was the fear and desperation of the situation, but something in Millie compelled her to begin debating the finer points of Setite faith with the hungry vampire. And after an hour or two of doing so, they were impressed by her insight on the subject. So impressed, in fact, they decided to keep her around, and embraced Millie after draining the last of her blood.

        So now here she is, a fledgling Minister trapped forever in the body of a 14 year old girl. It was a difficult adjustment period, seeing as how most of the services that The Ministry provides catered to a more adult demographic. But after a while, she found her niche among the city's street kids. Orphans, runaways, gang members, young and impressionable minds who have become frustrated with society in one way or another. These are the kinds of mortals that Millie is able to reach out to, and indoctrinate them into the The Ministry's teachings.

        Her sire couldn't be happier with the situation, children are the future, as they say. And if some of them don't seem like they're cut out for long term service to The Ministry, well it's not like anybody is going to notice if these kids suddenly go missing!

        Predator Type: Cleaver


        • 220) A discredited historian and archaeologist, made a laughing stock for his continued pursuit of "ancient sunken civilizations". To him, Atlantis is just the tip of the iceberg, a cipher for greater and more varied ruins to be found beneath the waves all across the world. Delving into forgotten academic records, he looked for signs of underwater ruins that the scientific community may have dismissed or ignored. In time, he actually found something: records from a century prior that told of an explorer operating in Europe who found signs of a potential sight off the coast of Britain. (Modern archaeologists now accept that "Doggerland" was a real stretch of land that filled out that space around the island, connecting it to continental Europe, prior to the end of the last Ice Age).

          The researcher wasn't entirely circumspect about the trip that followed, as his inquiries into local rumors attracted the attention of parties interested in keeping certain buried civilizations buried. He ALSO attracted the attention of a Setite researcher, who wanted the truth buried, but also wanted it claimed for the Followers of Set. So the vampire struck up a friendship with the mortal, helping him uncover more evidence and clues (while making sure they wouldn't appear again after their journey concluded). They chartered a boat out into North Sea and weighed anchor, intending to dive down and look for where they thought it was.

          That's when the Technocracy hit squad arrived, trying to threaten the men into silence.

          An altercation occurred, and they were both shot. The Setite, of course, was minimally injured, falling into the water to escape capture. But so did his mortal protege, who would soon succumb to his wounds if drowning didn't do him in first. Not wishing to squander such a bright resource, the Setite embraced the mortal down there, beneath the waves. Their boat scuttled, the two descended to the bottom, and proceeded to continue their journey.

          They found a small ruin of algae-covered stone walls and buildings. Clearing away debris, they found an underground chamber, in which ancient carvings were preserved. The site was tiny, all things considered, but it implied greater things elsewhere. Before they could fully explore the site, though, they were forced away by aquatic things, down in lightless depths. The fledgling's sire later concluded that it was probably Mariner Gangrel, but the fledgling himself wasn't sure. Were they actually aquatic vampires? Or were they something different?

          In the years since, the historian has pursued many such leads, diving down to explore sunken, Cyclopean ruins. On more than one occasion, he's encountered fish-like humanoids, but in the night diving he must engage in, discerning their nature is difficult. Other Setites scoff at the idea that merfolk inhabit the seas. "Even if they had existed, and weren't Cainite or Setite," they said, "they'd surely be extinct by now." Nonetheless, he remains undaunted. He not only wishes to discover what time and the sea has forgotten, but what living creatures remain, under the waves. And why they seem so intent on thwarting him.

          (As is implied, the "merfolk" might, in fact, be Bygones. This Setite, however, doesn't know the significance of the term. Technocrats would, though, as would other Mages.)


          • 221) One of the rare Cappadocians embraced in the modern age, this man was a student of micro-biology. He grabbed the attention of his sire when the two had a chance meeting in a swamp. The Cappadocian Elder seeking a cadaver suspected to be in the area, the student collecting pond water samples after a long day of classes. The two wandered for a time together, and spoke of microbes. The Elder still found the idea of micro-organisms to be strange, and so listened intently as the student explained what he learned. Eventually the two parted ways, but the Cappadocian kept tabs on the student.

            When the pressures of university life caused the student to burn out, the Cappadocian was there to pick up the pieces. The Elder didn't want the bright mind extinguished. As the Elder said, "It's alright to pause here, your education can continue later, when you're ready. There is always more time." And indeed, there would be more time. Now the student has all the time in the world.

            Since becoming Cappadocian, the micro-biologist has bent the powers of Necromancy down, to that minute level. Germs are "born", live, and die very rapidly. What more perfect environment exists for the task of unlocking the secrets of Life and Death? For still, after so many years of looking into microscopes, man and vampire still find Death quite mysterious on the microscopic level.


            • 222)

              Helen (Lowndes) Goldsborough was born on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, to the town doctor, and the town librarian. Tilghman was a quiet, secluded town most of the year. Helen was a bit of a tomboy, and enjoyed wandering the fields and hammocks along the Chesapeake Bay. Alone in the yard, she would line up her dolls and preside over royal teas and courtly intrigues. She would gather seashells to make a crown, and a cattail for her scepter.

              Helen loved the quiet times of the year, when all you could hear was the tide gurgling in and out across the mudflats, dry leaves rattling on the trees, and, maybe, the rumble of a tractor hauling feed corn to the barns. In winter, the bay waters along the shore would freeze into a delicate lace of mud and ice, and the wind would try to pick her up and carry her into the sky. Spring was prosaically beautiful with more flowers than little Helen could count, and dragonflies swarming like an army of faeries. Spring was sad, though, because it meant the summer people would return soon.

              Every summer seasonal people would move into their weekend homes, hosting raucous parties on the marshy beach and careening fancy cars across Tilghman's one causeway to the mainland. (And, once or twice a year, off the causeway into the brackish water.) Helen came to envy and resent those Summer People. Truth be told, she feared them a little. The mothers wore such short skirts, and the men guffawed and slapped one another on the back when they had too many cocktails. Even their children seemed like strange aliens, with their foreign games and sports.

              Helen, at sixteen, gained a new appreciation for the summer people. One of them in particular, actually. She was courted by Henry Goldsborough, the son of a factory owner from Baltimore. They married after Henry returned from the war in Europe. Henry passed the bar, and Helen worked as a secretary in his thriving law office. By the time Helen had their son, William, they were able to have Helen stay home. Henry ran for, and won, a seat in the State Senate. They bought a rambling Victorian farmhouse on ten acres on the edge of town.

              Those were happy years for Helen. She grew prize-winning roses, and chaired the local garden club. She was president of the school board, and invested some of her inheritance in rental cottages. She opened a kennel and bred Papillons, winning best in show at the AKC nationals in 1967. Helen loved those dogs dearly, and they were a great comfort to her when William died in Viet Nam, and Henry died of a heart attack within six months of one another.

              Helen knew she had to pick up and carry on, so she got her real estate license and opened an agency, mostly managing seasonal rentals. She loved Tilghman so much, it was a true honor to help others make their homes there. Plus, it let her pick and choose the "right sort" of people and businesses to have in town. She wouldn't stand for any riff-raff or dirty people in her hometown, believe you me.

              By the time of her retirement, in 2003 at nearly eighty years of age, she was known around Tilghman as a tireless worker in making the town a better place, but also quite the busy-body. She snuck her nose into everyone's business. If a local husband was philandering, Helen would inform the wife, in gentle, sympathetic tones... while secretly reveling with glee over her own power. If a child was being abused, Helen was the first to call Child Services. If a movie with nude scenes or too much violence came to the local theater, trust Helen to write the editorial in the local paper decrying the decline of virtue. She served on the church board, and arranged the firing of at least three ministers over the decades for "unorthodox" content in their sermons, but always organized the clothing drive for disadvantaged youth. If a tosspot family came on hard times, Helen was quick to lobby for their employment at a local business... or else subtly push them out of town.

              Three Sabbat found Helen as she was walking her dogs along the fetid bay after the July Fourth fireworks. The ragtag pack was looking for cannon fodder to distract some Archons hot on their tails, and put her (and a summer family) through the creation rites. When Helen crawled out of her grave, she saw her attackers ("Those hooligans!") fighting handsome young men in military outfits. Starving, Helen jumped onto one Sabbat after another, draining them dry in a cannibalistic frenzy. Finally sated, the Archons informed her she was a vampire.

              The nearest Prince, in Salisbury, Maryland, accepted her and determined her clan to be Old Clan Tzimisce. This caused some stir at the tiny Elysium, but what could they do? She had saved the lives of several Archons, and was owed multiple life boons. These have allowed her to keep the sect at arm's length, while claiming their protection when needed. (No one bothered to tell her about her soil dependence, but she has never slept outside her barn's root cellar in Tilghman, so remains unaware.)

              Helen has settled into semi-autarky in Tilghman. She works hard to make her little seaside village absolutely perfect. Visitors to Tilghman find a quaint and spotless town square, that looks like a back-lot set from a Disney movie. The parks are groomed like a golf green, and every home is in perfect repair. All the locals wear benign smiles, and all the children play quietly in a very expensive playground the town council just installed last year. Even the streetlights are cleaned regularly, and hung with seasonal flower decorations.

              Tilghman has become known for its charity and public-spiritedness. There have been carnivals to raise money for African famines, lobbying campaigns for environmental protection for the bay, and, at the monthly blood drive in the town hall, every adult in town lines up to help others in need.

              The only hint that anything is amiss are the animals. From slobbering Labradors to stray cats, from otters in the bay to seagulls in the sky... they all look at people with an unsettling gaze, as if there is an arcane intelligence within the beasts, critiquing the town and looking for flaws. These are Helen's secret police. They look for visitors with good genes who are introduced to local harlots, as part of Helen's eugenics program. Visitors with lots of money, brains, or good looks may even be Dominated into buying a house and relocating to Tilghman full time, taking the place of a less valued previous resident.

              Those locals who don't measure up are dealt with harshly. Those who are grumpy or impolite are corrected and assisted in becoming a more pleasant neighbor, with brainwashing of a cult-like efficiency. Anyone with true criminal or antisocial tendencies is fed to Helen's pack of ghouled Papillon, who buzz through the unfortunate like a pack of piranha. Last year, there were bad words grafittied on the back door of a local business. Helen found the miscreant and had his mother rip out the delinquent's eyes; the vandal was eleven years old.

              If you'd like an audience with Helen Goldsborough, just go to Tilghman and stroll along the brick lanes and peek over the white picket fences. She'll be the old woman in the big floppy hat, kneeling on a foam pad, pruning shears in hand. If you're polite and pleasant, she'll return the favor and invite you to help in her garden while you chat. If you are rude, however, well... you can help her garden in another way.

              Her hydrangeas get such a beautiful color when fertilized with vampire ashes.


              • 223) An Old Clan Tzimisce, trained as both a tracker and detective. He calls himself "Houndmaster", because he's never found without at least one large, trained hound by his side. Ever since his mortal youth, he found dogs more agreeable than people. On this, he and his sire were in accord, which is what attracted the latter to the former. That, and the youth's skill at finding creatures...and people.

                Skilled in Animalism and Auspex, he is sent forth to various cities, on a mission from his sire. That mission being to find Sabbat vampires (especially Vicissitude using Tzimisce), sniff out their havens, study their movements, and know their ways. Collect as much data on the Sword of Caine and the "diseased" main Clan Tzimisce, and report it to his sire. Other agents will know what to do with the information.

                He's only rarely met these other agents, in league with his sire. On occasion, he's needed to directly convey information or help them scout Sabbat havens. Or obtain and deliver body samples or favored objects, collected by birds or rodents (never his prized ghoul hounds). Who are these people, his sire works with? At first, he thinks Ordea League, looking to muscle out the Sabbat at last. Now, he's not so sure. These other agents are strange, and manifestly not Tzimisce, Old Clan or otherwise. They invoke strange powers, or have an unnatural air about them.

                Only once, he shook the hand of one such agent. Unconsciously, he derived an impression of them using Psychometry. It was dark, foreboding, and had the essence of the grave. Through the flood of stimuli, three words could be made out: "True. Black. Hand."

                He doesn't know what it means. But he cannot help wondering. It won't be long before the urge to investigate this mysterious "True Hand" becomes overpowering.


                • Bluecho

                  I like #223 a great deal. OCTz make excellent spies and trackers. It's an excellent concept for a pc. It has a broad mission to fulfill, while operating more-or-less independently. Well done.

                  Fun note: "True. Black. Hand." is grammatically ambiguous. Is it a true version of the black hand, or a hand which is truly black? I think the sect planned it that way.


                  • Well, I didn't use this for my PC, so I thought I might as well throw this in here.

                    224) Rack owners, Keepers of Elysium, and Harpies tend to be highly empathic, energetic, dynamic people with strong aesthetic sense and instincts for trends and popular culture...and as such they tend to be of passionate, driven, and humane clans like Toreador, Brujah, Malkavian, maybe even the more fun among the Gangrel and Ventrue. Not this one -- nope, this one's a Tzimisce.

                    When the Camarilla moved in, this Tzimisce gave a message and an offer: they're neutral, pledged to neutrality, their domain is neutral, and anyone (other than Tremere) who obeys the proper etiquette is welcome to use their space to feed and negotiate. No competition under any circumstance will be tolerated, and will be met with the harshest reprisal. In exchange, the Tzimisce tracks prestation independently and stays out of city politics.

                    Sure, some among the Camarilla and Anarchs made plays against the Tzimisce; surely enough the Tzimisce was good to their word, but never escalated conflict beyond turning would-be rivals into delicately-crafted "do not fuck with me" statements. The Tremere flipped their shit over it, but they had as much success dislodging this Tzimisce as anyone else. But once again, even in the face of Tremere fuckery, the Tzimisce remained good to their word.

                    It may be a little weird having a member of the Camarilla's most avowed enemy clan, and a vampire who's still technically blood-hunted in the city, being the exclusive owner of the Racks and the Keeper of Elysium. But the reality is, pragmatism always triumphs, and it would be a bigger pain in the ass to get rid of this Tzimisce and deal with the fallout, than it is to just let them be. Honestly, the Tzimisce's a more effective and efficient administrator than any Toreador or Brujah could ever hope to be, and younger vampires certainly seem to appreciate its avowed and demonstrated impartiality, which has led to substantial gains against typically biased city leadership.

                    For the Tzimisce, it's a cunning survival strategy based on weaponizing two personal quirks. The simpler to explain is they're privacy-obsessed even by Tzimisce standards, and can barely tolerate leaving their own domain let alone setting foot on others'; it's advantageous to curate one's own domain into a space others will choose to come, on the Tzimisce's terms, than leave. The harder to explain is the Tzimisce is obsessed with numbers, mathematics, and statistics; finances, social capital (prestation), gathering data about current trends, modeling and predictions, game theory.

                    The Racks and Elysium are in the Tzimisce's mind one giant aquarium: watch, gather data, see if they can predict what happens next, and refine models for future predictive value. Tapping on the glass, or allowing others to do it, agitates the specimens, ruins data collection, and interferes with modeling behavior; something the Tzimisce will not tolerate. After decades (centuries?) the Tzimisce has grown quite skilled at observing and predicting mortal behavior and trends, and runs their domain with surgical efficacy.


                    • [Let's get a little silly, shall we?]

                      225) A Malkavian who dresses and talks like a pirate.

                      Yes, really. Honestly, it's not even the strangest thing to come out of Clan Malkavian.

                      However, he's not exactly a mindless stereotype of a lunatic with a gimmick. He only ACTS like he is. His madness is not that he's delusional, thinking he's a pirate. His madness is an obsession with a dream...and of revenge.

                      In life, he worked for years to build and run a small pirate-themed amusement park. It had boat tours, sailing around the local lake, a couple roller coasters, a seafood restaurant, an arcade full of pirate-themed games, and a big stage for putting on shows, in the shape of a pirate ship. It wasn't the most extravagant place in the world, but it was the best the city had for a good long while. The kids loved it, and the teens came around because at the time there wasn't much else to do (and, again, it had an arcade). Most of all, it was HIS.

                      Then the new highway came in, making it easier than ever to get from this city to the neighboring one. It just so happened that said neighboring city built a big, huge amusement park. Competition would have been difficult enough - for a while his place survived mostly on attendants who didn't want to drive too far - but then the recession hit. The big park could weather the downturn well enough. The small pirate park could not. He shut the gates after years of continuous service, heartbroken.

                      He was wandering the empty park one night, half-drunk and contemplating suicide, when his sire found him. An out-of-towner, who took shelter in the defunct park. They got talking, he cried as he told his story, and the Malkavian offered him the Embrace. For what reason, no one can say. Pity perhaps? As a potential tool in the Jyhad? Because the Malkavian believed in this man's dream? Or simply on a whim?

                      Whatever the case, the old park owner runs around town, decked in pirate costume from when the park was functioning. Talking like a pirate, including a thick wall of period-accurate lingo. Other Kindred rightfully consider him a non-threat...which is exactly how he likes it.

                      See, this Malkavian has plans. He wants to not only get his old park up and running again, he wants to get revenge on that rival amusement park one city over. This requires both resources and connections. And the ability to come and go in that domain as he pleases, without arousing the suspicion of its resident Kindred. Ruining the reputation and operation of an amusement park requires time and effort, as well as the ability to get authorities in charge - safety inspectors, local news, parents groups, etc. - to pass judgement on that park, and find it wanting.

                      Plus, that rival park is the domain of a different vampire. To prosecute his revenge, he'll have to wade knee deep into the Jyhad. But this ol' sea dog ain't afraid to get wet, y'arr!


                      • 226)

                        Shirley Potts was born in Shaker Heights, Ohio, in 1930. Her father was a pharmacist, and her mother had been a high school math teacher before Shirley was born.

                        Shirley's life changed forever in 1937 when Dr. Potts was struck by a streetcar and killed. Widowed during the depression, her mother had to go back to work as both a substitute teacher and a stocking clerk at Sears. Shirley spent many long hours alone after school waiting for her mother to return from work. Shirley kept the house, though that didn't take long, as it was a one room apartment over the garage of a distant relative. Every night, at nine-fifteen, her mother would trudge home up the bus stop, and eat the meal Shirley had made for her.

                        During the long, quiet hours between school and dinner, Shirley read books leftover from their former lives. By the time she was 9, she had worked her way through Organic Chemistry and Calculus II. She got excellent marks in school, though her teachers barely noticed the shy, bookish girl. She never raised her hand in class, though she always knew the answers. Teachers never called on her, since they knew Shirley knew the answers. The teachers were too busy helping the students who needed help.

                        By the age of 12, Shirley got permission from her mother to ride buses unattended, which allowed studying at the public library. She needed little time for her schoolwork, as she usually worked her way through her courses by October each year. No, she studied her own subjects. She would wander the stacks, running her hand along the book spines. She loved how every book had a Dewey Decimal number on it, so it could be in the correct place every time she looked for it. It was so neat and tidy. A whole world in straight rows, cross-referenced, and summarized in the card catalog. Soon, Shirley had exhausted the Shaker Heights library,and switched to the big library downtown.

                        In high school, Shirley got straight A's, but really excelled in math. It was like the demimonde of a library: orderly and organized, but with fun back-currents and surprising interactions to find. She wanted to be an engineer, but her school only offered shop classes, mechanical drawing, and applied physics classes to the boys. Girls were relegated to home economics. Disappointed, Shirley applied to engineering colleges in he senior year, but lacking the background coursework she was not accepted. She adjusted her academic plan.

                        Shirley graduated with a dual degree in Mathematics and Library Science from Western Reserve. That summer, her mother had a heart attack. Shirley would have to take a job offer from Cleveland city hall, organizing files, to pay the rent. Her mother wasn't the only one with a broken heart. Shirley had never really thought of marriage, but how could she ask a man to support her mother. She resigned herself to a life as an old maid.

                        From 1952 to 1997, Shirley worked that civil service job. She became head of the records department, fanatically keeping all the data up to date and stored in the latest format. Whether with microfiche or mainframes, there wasn't a record in Cuyahoga County she couldn't find. Her co-workers knew her as a quiet boss, the sort who walks up behind you and startles you with a mistake she sees over your shoulder. She retired on a modest pension, and lived in a small brick house whose floors groaned under the weight of bookshelves, dusty computer equipment, and small appliances she was fixing for her neighbors.

                        That's when the Camarilla decided to retake Cleveland. The Tremere had set up a provisional haven in an electronics store near Shirley's home. One evening she went there to buy a new rheostat for the widower Mr. Saluski's toaster oven. Her sire was behind the counter, organizing files on suspected Sabbat safehouses. Not noticing Shirley, he was startled when she said, "That property on Quincy Avenue is labeled wrong. It's in Central, not Fairfax."

                        She had assumed he was working on a real-estate search, and he was impressed she had caught the flaw from across the counter. After a week of polite examination of her skills, he ghouled her. After another week, he gave up trying to keep secrets from her. Given full access to Camarilla resources, she proved instrumental in the Camarilla's assault in Northeast Ohio. She combed through city, utility, and financial records to find likely Sabbat holdings. She cooked up reasons for daylight code inspections and utility interruptions.

                        The Camarilla assault failed, but the sect decided to maintain a beach-head in Cleveland with a full Chantry under the library of Case Western University. Shirley was embraced and got to work researching the sect's enemies in town, and across the globe.

                        She focused her development as a vampire on her disciplines. She uses Auspex to boost her ability to comb through records and find flaws in security systems. She insisted on learning Focused Mind as her primary path as soon as she heard of it. Her main weapons, though, are handful of rituals, including Bureaucratic Condemnation, Expedient Paperwork, and Deny the Intruder. She hopes to learn Technomancy and Conjuring.

                        Shirley is not afraid of field-work, if she needs physical access to records. In fact, she finds it the best part of her job, going out to see how other people have set up their systems. Now, she just needs a coterie who can assist her in her missions.

                        No record is safe with Shirley Potts on the job, whether it's repair requisitions for cemeteries damaged during mass embraces, or the health insurance records of vampire hunters. She may look like a little old lady, with a pen hanging on a lanyard around her neck, but she is a serious bureaucratic badass.

                        Her main flaw? Mister Saluski is still waiting for his toaster oven.


                        • #227 Caitff, embraced to be saved from the terrible car accident that could have cost his/her life. Learns how to be a vampire, how to hunt, how to hide.
                          Finally his/her sire brings him in an hospital where he/she finds

                          #228 His/Her Boyfriend/Girlfriend, in a coma since the accident. The ony chance to save him/her is Embrace.


                          • 229) A Ravnos embraced as a little girl (~10-12 years of age), who specializes in Animalism and Chimestry. Always accompanied by her pet black cat - named Secret - that is missing an eye.

                            Coming from an abusive household, the girl found a kitten one day and kept her in secret (hence the name) from her violent father. Inevitably, the cat was discovered, and the father tried to kill it. Hence, the missing eye. She ran away with the cat, sobbing and without a clue about what to do with her injured cat (or, indeed, where she would even go).

                            Unfortunately (or fortunately), the scent of Secret's blood attracted a Ravnos that had fallen to Wassail. The girl tried to protect her cat, and was drained for her trouble. She died muttering "it's not fair". Somewhere in the Wight's broken psyche, a shred of...something...stirred. Was it guilt, at having killed a child? Was it a memory of long-ago injustice? Was it merely a hint of whimsy? Whatever the case, the Wight embraced the child, and lingered only so long to see her rise as an undead.

                            The girl's Ravnos weakness manifests as a drive to met out Justice. Her first nights as a vampire were spent haunting her father's house, using her way with animals and illusions to psychologically torment the man. Feeding on him when he slept (or lay passed out drunk on the couch), so he was perpetually tired. Having his food and possessions gnawed on by rats, and his car and windows defiled by birds. In the dead of night, he would see figments out of the corner of his eye, or hear noises he could not place. They wheeled him off to an asylum within months, and the girl was, at last, free to wander. Justice was served.

                            Walking the streets at night, she is accompanied by her one-eyed cat ghoul. Her favorite hunting tactic is to have Secret hide, and then pretend to be a lost child looking for her cat. Those who offer to help, she leads on a performative search, before allowing them to "find" Secret, then letting the person leave unmolested. She can gather all the animals she requires, so the girl is never in danger of going hungry. Those who refuse to help, she stalks from afar, sneaking up and feeding from them; a just reward for callous indifference (also, the loss of the contents of their wallets). In the sadly not uncommon event that the individuals seek to take advantage of the little girl, she never goes without backup close at hand. Her favorite allies are alley cats, and flocks of night birds, ready to claw and peck assailants. It's almost a mercy for her to deliver the mind-numbing Kiss, taking their blood (and usually all their clothes and possessions) as punishment.

                            Her innocence is a double-edged sword. She's not malicious by nature, but she's perhaps not cognizant of her potential for cruelty. The treatment of her father was (arguably) less terrible than it could have been (and equally arguably he perhaps deserved what he got), but it shows how much harm she could do, given the right motivation or lack of understanding. Here's hoping she either matures, or gains a Mentor who can guide her. If nothing else, Kindred society is loathe to allow an uncontrolled child vampire to run loose, unsupervised and dispensing "justice".

                            Also, there's the matter of her Wassailed sire. The more she learns of vampires, the more she will realize how dangerous it is, not only for her to ignore her Humanity, but to allow that old Wight to unlive. Did it get put down already? Or is it still out there, waiting for someone to end it? Will that someone need to be her?

                            Can judgement truly be passed down on a being who understands not what they do? And does that question apply more towards the Wight, or to her?


                            • I feel like taking a break from my usual "block of text", character concept posts in this thread.

                              Today's post is a lightning round. Very brief vignettes of stuff that, while fun, probably doesn't need so much depth. In honor of the Day of the Dead, I'm making a loose-knit pack of Sabbat residing in Mexico. Frankly, their stories could happen anywhere.

                              (Usual disclaimer: this thread is over three years old. If I accidentally recycle an old idea which bubbles up from my subconscious, forgive me.)
                              230) The Terrified Attack Dog Chato was raised in a crime-ridden neighborhood and had to front tough, since the time he was seven and his older brother broke his nose fighting over a snack cake. In truth, he was constantly, secretly, terrified. He joined a gang, rose through the ranks, leaving behind a trail of crazed, blood-splattered violence. A City Gangrel of the Sabbat embraced him. Chato has been True Sabbat for a few years, but feels left out among his clan. The rest have learned to take animal form, and make (cautious) fun of him for not running with them as a wolf, or bear, or cougar, or whatever. Last night, Chato finally managed to turn into an animal! He was so happy. Then he realized his fight form was a Pug dog. His flight form? A fucking goldfish. He is considering walking into the sun.

                              231) Pedo's Nightmare Lydia, who was embraced at sixteen, is a Toreador antitribu, and sex worker on a mission. She spends her nights displaying her underage wares on the dance floors of the seediest tourist bars of Acapulco. She closes the deal out back by the dumpster. She really enjoys finding a married businessman looking for teenaged side-fun on vacation, and punishing him for his pervy sins. Usually she just feeds and leaves a hickey or two for him to explain to his wife. On occasion, she has bitten down a lot harder than she needs to for a simple feeding. Then the gringo can go explain what happened to an ER doctor sewing up the bloody stump.

                              232) Chat Show Accuser Jorge Osito was a household name in Mexico. With a cuddly dad-bod, sparkling eyes, and a boyish grin, no one minded when he picked some random person and exposed all their most personal trash on his daytime talk show. He started out as an investigative journalist with high ideals and nearly supernatural instincts for uncovering secrets. He wound up peddling everyone's deepest shames to pay for his mansion in Polanco and a fleet of fancy sports cars. He exposed husbands who weren't the father, mothers who slept with their sons, politicians who took bribes to ignore murder, and priests who rubbed little boys. About half of what he "exposed" was true, but, hey, what mattered was telling a compelling story to get ratings. In that department, he was king. After investigating a biker bar in Hermosillo, the owners decided they could use Jorge's detective skills. He is now a Nosferatu antitribu who digs up secrets on Camarilla and Anarch licks. Sometimes for blackmail, sometimes just to see what happens when he reveals them. He still wears designer labels and drives a Maserati, even if his looks are long gone.

                              233) Reluctant Daughter of Privilege Leona was a brilliant, but deeply insecure, PhD candidate working on a thesis about the social psychology of small working groups in NGO settings. Her sire accidentally embraced her while feeding on this random nerd. Not wanting to admit such a rookie mistake to the rest of the Amici Noctis, he claimed it was on purpose and tutored her as his prized pupil. Luckier still for Leona, her sire was Gratiano de Veronese. Her sire has left town and Leona is leading her own small pack. She is terrified of someone seeking out her blood. She desperately hides her lineage from others, but that's becoming harder and harder. Leona has been pondering her sect allegiance. The Camarilla seems to actually value those with pedigree...

                              234) Woman, Taken by the Wind Estrella de Rhiannon spent her days in the late 60s and early 70's wandering Mexico and the Southwestern US in a hippie van, telling fortunes for spare change, and discussing Carlos Castaneda while waiting tables in college towns. She was shovelheaded during the Festival de Avandaro, a 1971 music happening with hippies, bikers, and leftie students. Now a Malkavian antitribu, Estrella usually presents as a gently smiling hippie in flowing silk gowns, sewn thick with silver bangles. She sings a little Fleetwood Mac on street corners, reads a few palms, and firmly refuses to take part in any violence. She says, "All violence is damage to the universe, and, so, damage to yourself. Why can't you see that?" Every so often, however, when the spirit strikes her, she enters a week-long vision quest. These visions tell her of a person, mortal or vampire, who needs to die for the greater good. When these visions strike, she will do anything... anything... to complete her mission. She becomes a terrifying spirit of vengance, like something from a Greek myth, and is amazingly good at identifying targets. She has targeted secret hunters, Camarilla ghouls, and even a family of Spiral Dancer kinfolk who all needed killing. Now, she has had a vision of Pierre Bellemare, a powerful Sabbat of Montreal. In the past, her pack has always admitted (after the fact) that Estrella had chosen targets wisely, but killing a fellow Sabbat for no reason? It just isn't done.

                              235) Should Have Kept the Receipt Don Fredo trained as a plumber and a construction worker. He saved up his money and bought an apartment house. He fixed it up and bought another one. Then another, then another, then a strip mall, then an office building. By the time he was 40, he had become a rich man who commanded whole sectors of the economy. He had hundreds of employees and dozens of overseas bank accounts. He had a new wife every five years, and nothing but the best cocaine. Unfortunately, at 63, he was diagnosed with terminal cancer. He had long heard rumors of vampires in Mexico City, and sought them out for a cure. He was ghouled by a Lasombra fledgling, and bankrolled her pack for twenty years in exchange for vitae. The pack was destroyed by a pack of Garou, and Fredo was desperate. He found a vampire and begged to buy the embrace from him. He gave the vampire every penny he had for an eternal life of power and respect. It was only after the fact that Fredo realized he had been robbed. The sire had the most watery of blood. Now, Fredo is a penniless thinblood... a joke among real vampires. He despairs he will never be a True Sabbat.
                              Last edited by Nosimplehiway; 11-01-2019, 06:37 PM.


                              • Originally posted by Nosimplehiway View Post
                                His flight form? A fucking goldfish.
                                Huh, I never realized this before, but a vampire fish probably wouldn't suffocate on dry land!