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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.