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1001 interesting character ideas

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  • #16
    19) A Ventrue who has a loyal-to-a-fault identical twin brother who performs his brother's plans and job during the day to uphold the Masquerade.

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    • #17
      20) A Lasombra Antiribu has discovered the last remaining descendants of her pre-embrace Mortal family. Desiring a way to bring them back to their ancient glory and to give herself a challenge, she has decided to start with the youngest who is a child prodigy. By posing as the little girl's imaginary friend that is made of a face and mass of swirling shadows, the Vampire hopes to guide her to glory.

      EDIT: For extra fun, have the Nosferatu from #17 be an old rival and thorn in the side for this character.
      Last edited by Yaoi Huntress Earth; 07-16-2016, 04:39 PM.

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      • #18
        21. A Giovanni of mixed European and Chinese descent who basically has decided to adopt a kind of mad scientist Bond villain mystique to himself. He uses a combination of Dominate, Presence, Necromancy, and the wealth of his family to live the dream of being a criminal mastermind as well as mad scientist. The other members of his clan find him quite queer but vastly entertaining. Double points if he's ninety years old and inspired Ian Fleming (A NWO acolyte) from the time they lived in Jamaica together.

        Author of Cthulhu Armageddon, I was a Teenage Weredeer, Straight Outta Fangton, Lucifer's Star, and the Supervillainy Saga.


        • #19
          22. A handsome Thin Blooded woman or man who just survived losing their entire crew to other vampires and has been barely surviving from night to night. They've decided to offer themselves to one of the PCs in hopes of getting their protection. This includes, explicitly, the option to feed on them and use them as their faux concubine and servant. They'll even willingly blood bond themselves to the PC in desperation.

          Author of Cthulhu Armageddon, I was a Teenage Weredeer, Straight Outta Fangton, Lucifer's Star, and the Supervillainy Saga.


          • #20
            23. Elzbieta Checinski always trained hard. Since she was a little girl in Wloclawek, Poland, she was always at the gym before dawn. She attended school as usual, albeit with advanced classes and advanced pressure. Then she returned to the Youth Athletics Centre in the afternoons. Whether on the mats, the parallel bars, balance beam, it didn't matter. Always perfect. Always agile. Always strong. Or else. Her mother, her coach, and most of all, she herself would allow nothing else. Training, training, training. Competitions both thrilled and terrified her. Finally, there were other gymnasts as gifted as she, but none were as driven. She beat them all, right up until the Olympic trials at Warsaw.

            The competition was nearly over, and she was well ahead. Elzbieta swung herself around the uneven bars as precisely as a ticking timepiece, but as fluidly as silk sliding down a staircase. Perfect swing, perfect flip, big smile, in the air, soaring like a cloud... and "Gwsno!", she screamed aloud. She hit the mat at a bad angle, stumbled three whole steps to the left and hit the floor. She didn't notice the fracture until she tried to stand. It was a compound fracture. This wasn't just the end of her Olympic dreams, but the end of everything. Of who she was. Of what she was. She was 15 years old.

            Elzbieta went on to study medicine at Jagiellonian University. She specialised in sports medicine and biochemistry. When the soviet bloc fell apart, she moved to London to teach biology, chemistry and coach phys ed at a school for over-privileged girls. She despised the Sloane Rangers in her classroom and on her playing fields. They were weak, lazy, overfed and undisciplined. So she pushed them until they either failed or improved. In twenty years of teaching few improved.

            For one girl it was too much, the constant criticism, the veiled disdain. She cracked completely and killed herself. She mentioned Elzbieta in her note. This was bad enough, but her mother was an MP of the governing party, a backbencher, yes, but still... Elzbieta found herself unemployed. She was lucky not to be prosecuted.

            She had failed again and was crushed. The family of the girl had an old alliance, though, who in payment for a debt accrued in the court of George IV had promised to look after them. He approved heartily of Elzbieta's style. This ancient aristocrat was a vampire. And now, so is Elzbieta.

            This concept can go a couple of directions. She could now be a Ventrue who feeds exclusively on weak, lazy girls, while training the creme de la creme to serve the Camarilla. She could as easily be an Old Clan Tzimisce who takes on proteges who she pushes either to personal perfection or destruction, working on techniques to improve the human race as a whole. She could be a Toreador obsessed with gymnastics, now freed from the limitations of her ruined knee, but while ironically immortal, appearing too old to compete. She could also be a Tzimisce, using her fleshcrafting skills to create the perfect athlete, whether they want to be "perfected" or not. Personally, my favorite option is for her to be embraced as an Assamite. She would make an excellent trainer of foot soldiers.


            • #21
              24. Oh, Bob Krebsbach is a heckuva a nice guy, dontchaknow? He was born in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, to an insurance salesman and a school nurse. Bob had two sisters. All three of them were above average in school, though nothing to get full of themselves over. He named his dog Bilbo and earned a trophy for participating in youth league softball. He played oboe in the Concordia College orchestra, and earned a degree in accounting. He married his wife, Joanie, bought a three-two craftsman in the Kenwood section of Minneapolis, and they had two kids. He works at the Lutheran Brotherhood, managing a pension fund for hospital employees in St. Paul. Joanie is a regional manager for the Minnesota DMV. Every Sunday they went to church at St. Luke's ELCA and sat in the second to back row. Joanie always made Krumkake with snickerdoodle filling for the Christmas Eve coffeehour, and a red, white and blue Jello salad for the July Fourth picnic.

              Bob's a modest guy, always averts his eyes when he says hello and doesn't go for a lot of hollering or whooping it up, but that night... when those three ruffians showed up at his door? Well, the family had just sat down to a tuna hot dish and the Vikings were on their second down when the door burst open. Bob jumped up and ran for his gun cabinet. One guy, the big one with the weird eyes, threw Bob down and started biting at his neck! Can you imagine? Well, Joanie raced for the gun cabinet herself. Bob felt cold and slipped into a sludgy semi-consciousness. Joanie loaded the deer rifle with trembling hands, flipped the safety and pulled the trigger as a second biker charged towards her. His skull exploded across the stenciled ducks on the kitchen wall. The last thing Bob remembered from his breathing life was feeling empty deep inside and seeing Mister Weird Eyes explode inches from his face.

              Some of the blood from Joanie's shot must have gotten into Bob's mouth, because he came to a few seconds later and entered a frenzy. He tore the third guy limb from limb, and when Bob finally calmed down, they all tried to figure out what had happened.

              It took a few nights of trial and error, but the Krebsbach's quickly figured out their new reality. They met up with some local anarchs who pieced together what had happened. The Sabbat pack that attacked were wanderers looking for food and short term shelter. Bob had been accidentally embraced by a Brujah antitribu. The Prince accepted him quickly, hoping Bob's mild manner would help quiet down some of the more raucous Brujah. For Bob's part he doesn't like that the "Prince" has such an outdated, anti-democratic management style, but figures that, really, it's none of his business. It's been two months now and the local Brujah have accepted Mr. and Mrs. Krebsbach grudgingly because they are tremendous help with the minutiae of nightly existence, like filing taxes, paying the utility bills on hang outs, and procuring fake IDs. They attend all local rants, when they can get a sitter for the kids. They don't really fit in, but they also don't actively offend anyone. They just stand there in the corner, looking like a page from the Lands End catalog, smiling as mildly as they can.

              Clanmates who know their story all think of Joanie as the real badass and assume she is ghouled; she is not. Bob is afraid to do so because, for one they never went for that kinky stuff and for another, Joanie is pregnant and it might be bad for the baby. She is just starting to show, and un-life in the suburbs is about to get very complicated, indeed.


              • #22
                25. Dr. Gabriella Williams was born in the Germantown section of Philadelphia, the daughter of a dentist and an HR manager for PSFS bank.

                She always got good grades at Philadelphia's Friend's Select School, and her parents hoped she would become something dependable and practical, like a physician or possibly a lawyer. After earning a BS in Biology from Temple, though, instead of applying to medical school, she entered the University of Pennsylvania's Anthropology graduate program, with an emphasis on the early development of religion in the Eastern Mediterranean. Her doctoral thesis involved a new translation of inscribed hymns from Egypt, Phoenicia and Judea showing parallels in early fertility cults dealing with the intrusion of Indo-European Tiwaz sky god figures. Only one person has read it since she wrote it ten years ago: a Setite elder on a recruiting swing through Philly.

                Gabi had gone on to earn an MDiv from Harvard, and an associate pastor position with a Unitarian church on the Main Line. One evening, while locking up the rectory she was approached by her eventual sire. She assumed he was a homeless immigrant until he started chatting about early Levantine history. They talked all night, switching freely from English to French, from Aramaic to NT Greek. When he asked her riddles in Hebrew, she countered with dirty jokes in the Noban Tamen language. They discussed the cosmology of proto-Egypt and the mathematical correspondences of poetry written in Hebrew during the Babylonian captivity.

                They were both impressed.

                He ghouled her, then eventually embraced her. She resigned her ministerial position, of course, but taught some night classes at the Community College of Philadelphia. Meanwhile her sire taught her the basics of Setite religion. On a particularly sacred night he invited her to a ritual at the Setite Temple in Reading, PA. She was not impressed. Half way through a particularly torturous translation of an early Cushitic hymn she cleared her throat and raised her hand:

                "Oh, for God's sake! Set was not a snake god or a god of corruption, he was thunder and foreigners and typhonic beasts. Snakes were a whole other god, Apophis or Apep. You've read too much Conan! And, while we're on the subject his entire character changed within recent historical times. Hello! There was no actual Set! Oh, and these so-called ancient garments we put on are from at least three different eras of Egyptian history, and the priest is wearing a polyester Turkish nun's habit from the fifth century CE. The opening prayer could only be performed in front of a congregation of at least 700, and was definitely not meant to be posted on the wall in a torn out piece of notebook paper! Do you people know anything about Egypt other than what you saw in the Mummy movies? And turn on some damn lights. Yeah, yeah, sunlight burns, but you can't see nothing in here, which is good since that banner of hieroglyphics, translates as "Our Lord Set ate celery but enjoys a nice beer once in a while if he doesn't have to work the next morning" You people have been played!" She hastily pulled on her jeans and Temple sweatsuit, flicked on the fluorescent overhead lights and stormed out.

                The entire congregation of five sat stunned, broken and not knowing what to do next. Her sire met her at the street corner, laughing like a hyena. She has spent her time since as an avowed Setite atheist, interpreting her clanmates' faith in purely modern sociological, anthropological and psychological terms. Somewhere along the way, though, something strange happened. Her sire started teaching her Setite sorcery and it works, of course, and when she rationally dissects the rituals to strip them down to the thaumaturgical essentials, they still work. But the strange part is that when she only performs the "extraneous superstitious parts", she suffers horrible nightmares for days afterward. They are always similar. A terrifying man is chasing her on a large boat. It can be a yacht, a ferry, a paddle boat or a 19th century slave boat, but the man is always the same. He's a foreigner with red hair, swings a mace and when he screams there is thunder. Inside of Gabi's soul.


                • #23
                  Gabriella is now in my campaign.

                  Author of Cthulhu Armageddon, I was a Teenage Weredeer, Straight Outta Fangton, Lucifer's Star, and the Supervillainy Saga.


                  • #24
                    26. He was born Frank Harold Simmons, but his fake ID says "Francis Harriman Simmons IV", even though his father's name was Jim.

                    Frank wasn't born poor, exactly, his family was downwardly mobile upper middle class. He reached back to his great-grandfather, "State Senator Francis Harriman Simmons III" when he changed his name to something more impressive. FHS IV, on the other hand, is the scion of a wealthy, if little known, political dynasty.

                    Frank attended PS 81 in the Bronx, while FHS IV studied at Deerfield, or in some versions Exeter. Frank took a few classes at CUNY, in Metallica t-shirts and riding the MTA. FHS IV claims to have attended Middlebury College, full of alligator shirts and BMWs.

                    Everything about MHS IV is a lie. A lie that was believed just long enough for him to be embraced as a 9th generation Ventrue, during the fight for Manhattan. He had a very brisk agoge, but took to Dominate well.

                    He spent most of the campaign hiding out in a bodega on 103rd street, but he did manage to Dominate several other fledglings into remembering some valiant act or another.

                    After the "battle", having earned his blood, FHS IV decided a quieter domain would take the mortal out of immortal and moved to Wichita. There were only 9 other Camarilla kindred there, 3 of whom rarely attended Elysium. He BSed his way into some status, ingratiating himself with the Princeling, who was 10th generation and therefore manipulable with discreet use of Dominate. FHS IV spent five years building up his image as the oldest money on the Great Plains and a strong blooded asset to the Camarilla. FHS IV dominated every kindred in town at one point or another into spreading to their respective clans outside Wichita highly exaggerated tales of his prowess.

                    Then the Sabbat came to town. They roared into Elysium at the Orpheum Theater on motorcycles, swinging chainsaws. FHS IV slipped right back into Frank mode. He dominated a dozen mortal passersby to throw themselves into the fray. This created enough confusion that both sides utterly destroyed one another while Frank hid in the basement. Frank realized that as the sole survivor there would be an investigation. It did not look good that an ambitious Ventrue may have sold out the domain.

                    He tracked down the three semi-autarkis who escaped the carnage and Dominated them into testifying they were, in fact, there that night and saw FHS IV use powerful disciplines to pound the Sabbat into the ground, and then sob openly at the loss of his beloved fellow Kindred.

                    Frank breathed a sigh of relief that he wasn't caught in his cowardice, again, but then something far scarier than the Sabbat came to town: a Justicar with full retinue arrived. To Frank's surprise and unending terror FHS IV was named the new Prince of Wichita.

                    Running a domain through an Alternate ID is not for the feint of heart. Neighboring Princes from Tulsa, Kansas City and Topeka have all visited and seemed mildly suspicious, or maybe Frank is just paranoid. He keeps seeing mortals on the street who might kind of resemble one of the witnesses from the Battle of the Bodega, having regained their memories. He needs to rebuild the local domain through embraces, but anyone he chooses would eventually see through his lies. Frank's Humanity has take a beaten. The Masquerade in Wichita is stretched paper thin. He keeps running out of blood as he ghouls half the city. Oh, and the Sabbat are still circling.

                    Frank is in waaay over his head.


                    • #25
                      1) "Environmental Services Engineer" that has been cleaning the University's library for 30+ years. No one seemed to notice the amount of time he spent late at night reading in the rare books collection and in the archive, and no one has ever seen the "tricks" he learned as a result. Except for his sire, who stumbled across him levitating his mop one night while on the hunt for a particular piece of lore.

                      2) Homeless vet living under the highway interchange downtown, a metal plate where an IED took part of his skull and night terrors where the war took part of his soul. Something's been watching him for weeks, following him as he forages for supplies in the streets and alleyways. That something introduced itself the night he killed a feral dog for food, and it knew his name. Now the foraging is easier, but there's a new war to fight.

                      3) The family's golden boy, fresh from a year spent abroad celebrating his graduation from an Ivy League university. Some cash flow problems ended his first business before it even began, but an attorney claiming to represent a new investor has offered a very appealing deal that will fund his next venture for years, if not longer. The only catch: he will have to cut ties with his family and focus on the work, at least for a "little while".

                      4) She was tired. Tired of a life that did nothing but beat her down, tired of a shit job that paid her just enough to keep going but not enough to have hope, and tired of running from mistakes she should never have made. And she wasn't even 30 yet. When she thought she was dying the that back alley she was relieved. Now that she's upright again, she's angry. Angry that peace was taken away from her, angry at the wasted years, and angry at whatever did this to her.

                      5) Her great uncle was a legend among the family. 103 years old, still working, and making sure they never wanted for anything. No one had seen him in at least 50 years, not since he went overseas and made his fortune, but he kept writing letters to everyone without fail. When the plane ticket with her name on it arrived in his latest letter there was no way she could refuse. Her parents are sad to see her go, but they know that he has big things in store for her.
                      Last edited by Dismas; 10-25-2016, 02:44 PM. Reason: Autocorrect screw-up.


                      • #26
                        I have to say 26# probably has all of his secrets known by the Ventrue but they admire his Flashman-esque chutzpah.

                        Author of Cthulhu Armageddon, I was a Teenage Weredeer, Straight Outta Fangton, Lucifer's Star, and the Supervillainy Saga.


                        • #27
                          27) the kinfolk who is now a high humanity vampire (usually Gangrel) who still try to stay in contact with the "furry side of her family" and wants to keep the peace between Garou and Cainites (results may vary)

                          28) The Lasombra Antitribu who was opposed to the Diablerie of [Lasombra], made some enemies in the future Sabbat and decided to basically disappeared from vampiric society. A few centuries later everybody either forgot about him or think he's dead, but he is still hiding somewhere, paranoid, pretending to be from another clan.


                          • #28
                            CTPhipps: I'm not sure which is scarier for #26, that the Justicar knew Frank was a brilliant liar, cheat and thief and figured he would fit in well on the Camarilla team; or that the upper echelons of that team were so incompetent as to not realize the scam. Either way, Frank is Prince of Screwedtown.

                            Dismas: I really like your #3, which would be #29 overall. If the Golden Boy is desperate to gain approval from his family and the only way to do so is to cut all ties to his family it creates a classic dilemma. Lots of possibilities!


                            • #29
                              #34 Judy Campanelli was born in the usual way, in the usual town of Rockford, Illinois. But everyone said she was not a usual girl, though she never had any idea what they were talking about. Sure, she was a bit lanky, and dressed exclusively in sweaters or t-shirts and ankle length dresses from the Goodwill. She loved the works of L. Frank Baum and Anne McCaffrey, Pablo Neruda and Bill Sienkiewicz. She learned to play every Beatle song ever published on her zither. She won the scrabble competition at her local Mensa chapter eight years running. Judy attended role-playing game conventions in the 80's when she would often find herself in a room with 300 other people, all men. Somewhere along the line she earned a Masters in Medieval Studies and adopted four cats, whom she named Frannie, Larry, Stu and Harold. She knew she was quirky and self-actualizing, but why did people treat her like an escaped mental patient?

                              She suspected that no one would think she were strange if she were a man, hrumph. Her sire saw something in her, though, and sat her down one night to explain the pluses and minuses of the embrace. It was especially risky because his clan was Malkavian and all Malkavian fledglings go insane, sometimes a little and sometimes a very, very lot. It was a choice he left to Judy. She accepted the embrace and it went seamlessly.

                              She felt no difference at all. Her sire warned her of the impending craziness and explained the basics of vampiric existence for a few weeks, then left her to fend for herself. She did well, having read more vampfic than most, but there was one problem. She felt exactly the same, mentally. Oh, there was the Beast, frenzies, some sensory overload from Auspex, and the Hunger and she had to give up her cats when they kept hissing at her, but felt no crazier than ever. She decided she must be a Caitiff, but she had taken to the Malkavian disciplines with gusto, so she figured she was, ummm, a Malcaitiff?

                              The other vampires she met at Elysium just roll their eyes and laugh when she explains that she's a Malcaitiff because she's not crazy. "Not crazy? Oh, honey...", as they take her hand in a condescendingly empathetic way.

                              What do they see that she doesn't see?

                              Is she having fugues and acting crazy then forgetting it? Couldn't be, because she installed a high end video system in her haven to observe her own behavior. Maybe it's an aspect of her affect she can't see. So, she took some night classes in abnormal psychology and theater arts, but all seems to check out there. Maybe a nervous tic or verbal pattern problem, but she recorded 1000 total hours of her social interaction with cameras a ghoul set up everywhere she went and saw nothing unusual when reviewing the tapes.She had a theory for a while that it was a taint in the blood of Malkav, so she cycled through starving herself, then feeding only on the blood of people others identified as highly sane. She accidentally torpored twice from this experiment, but it convinced her either the blood wasn't tainted or couldn't be cleansed. It remains a mystery.

                              She received the blood of Malkav and feels entirely the same as ever. What does that mean?


                              • #30
                                Originally posted by Nosimplehiway View Post
                                Dismas: I really like your #3, which would be #29 overall. If the Golden Boy is desperate to gain approval from his family and the only way to do so is to cut all ties to his family it creates a classic dilemma. Lots of possibilities!
                                Thanks. I realized that I screwed up the numbering about half an hour after I made the post. All of them were pulled from games I've played in (and only one was mine). The Golden Boy was a Tremere played by a friend of mine, whose first business was intentionally ruined by his Sire in order to manipulate him in to accepting the "investment" offer. The local chantry needed someone to help improve its financial situation, and he was their man.