recursal/Fanatic-Fandom huggingface dataset:
Bianca

**Bianca** is a Vampire from Clan Brujah.

## Biography

Life and unlife blurred into the same for you-- you never really felt alive even in the days when you still breathed and ate and made love.

You worked a nondescript job as an office manager and followed all the requisite fads: fitness, diet cola, designer clothes, wine and gourmet ingredients.

None of it fulfilled the basic emptiness that had become your daily routine. At times you were simply bored with life while at others it simply left you wanting...more.

That's why your sire chose you for the Embrace. While you had come to characterize yourself as another vacuous, empty youth, he could see your disappointment and thought that you would make an ideal addition to the ranks of the Kindred. You met him at a New Year's party, kissed him at midnight and met the new year as a vampire, never looking back at what your life had been.

Becoming a vampire has been simultaneously the best and worst thing that has ever happened to you. Only now do you see the things you had taken for granted.

On the other hand, you no longer have to worry about saying or doing "the right thing," because of your force of personality.

This has bred a cruelty in you, though, which you have secretly begun to fear - it has taken your death for you to truly feel alive, but now you miss what life had to offer.

You are the veriest Kindred socialite, attending prestigious parties and escorting Cainites and kine to whatever events you feel would benefit from your beauty and wit. Other young Kindred, though, do not have your refinement.

They don't understand that the world needs people like you to provide them with a glimpse of the wondrous. You're such an important figure that you don't even do anything: You're the idle rich, making the most of your undead gifts.

Unlife is yours for the enjoyment and anyone who tries to say otherwise suffers the entirety of your derision. Others exist to serve your desires or sate your hunger. You can be cunning and cruel or tender and compassionate and everything in between but only at your whim.

Completely emotional, you often find yourself in unpleasant situations of your own making, but isn't that what unlife is for?

**Equipment:** German sedan on short lease, enormous designer wardrobe (updated weekly), PCS phone, uptown condominium, high yield mutual fund portfolio

## Stats

**Nature:** Curmudgeon

**Demeanor:** Bon Vivant

**Clan:** Brujah

**Generation:** 11th

**Physical:** Strength 1, Dexterity 2 Stamina 3

**Social:** Charisma: 3, Manipulation 3, Appearance 3

**Mental:** Perception 2, Intelligence 4, Wits 2

**Talents:** Dodge 1, Empathy 3, Expression 2, Intimidation 1, Leadership 1, Subterfuge 3

**Skills:** Crafts 1, Drive 1, Etiquette 2, Performance 1

**Knowledges:** Academics 3, Finance 2, Investigation 1, Law 1, Linguistics 1, Occult 1, Politics 3

**Backgrounds:** Allies 2, Contacts 1, Fame 2, Generation 2, Influence 1, Mentor 2, Resources 4, Status 1

**Disciplines:** Celerity 1, Presence 2

**Virtues:** Conscience 2, Self Control 4, Courage 4

**Humanity:** 6

**Willpower:** 5
Lauren (Ventrue)

**Lauren** is a vampire from Clan Ventrue.

## Biography

Nothing about your Embrace ever signified that you'd be destined for anything other than the most common and unpleasant unlife.

It was a prosaic affair; Your sire met you at a nightclub, convinced you to return to his lair, fed on you then Embraced you in a fit of self loathing and remorse.

How utterly uninspired. So mundane, in fact, that you didn't even feel much sympathy for him when he met his final reward.

In fact, your sire was more lackadaisical than anything else.

Sure, he instructed you in the ways and traditions of the Kindred.

He explained the noble legacy of the Ventrue, which was actually a bit ironic, because he was neither rich nor particularly guileful.

He even warned you of the dire amaranth --- much to his own dismay.

When you parted ways, you fell in with a crew of anarchs for a while.

Not that they were particularly useful, but they did let you in on the truth about diablerie.

The night you went with them on one of their elder raids was the night your eyes truly opened.

Within a month, you visited the same fate upon your own sire.

And then another Kindred, And then another...

You are a rogue and an anathema, availing yourself of the blood of elders in your own quest for power.

Those who know you for what you are usually hate you, but you know they feel that way because they fear you.

In your mind, you are bold and innovative, throwing off the hypocritical social contracts the elders impose upon their childer to protect themselves.

To others, you are the Devil herself, waiting in the shadows with a smile to collect their souls and send them to Hell.

In fact, you know that it's only a matter of time before someone "does something" about you or the Beast claims you utterly --- but you'll be damned if you'll give up easily.

Until them, it'll be one wild, bloody ride.

You drink the vitae of Kindred for the rush.

In fact, you don't even limit yourself to lower generation blood anymore.

Sometimes, you drink from Kindred just because their blood is so much more delectable than the thin, soupy blood of mortals.

You hunt other Kindred with stealth, catching them in the late hours as they return to their havens or before they depart for the night.

You've given your coterie no reason not to trust you -- well, besides the fact that they're terrified that you'll come after them one night --- but you can see the suspicion in their eyes.

It used to make you feel remorseful. Now it just makes you dismissive of their cowardice.

**Equipment:** Note pad with scribbled reminders and clues about other Kindred's havens, stakes, ornate knife, Jaguar stolen from a diablerized elder
Peter

**Peter** is a Corax.

## Biography

They had names for you back in school: Snitch, Sneak, things like that. Part of it was because you were smaller and skinnier than the rest of the kids, and thus different.

The rest came from the fact that, well, you were a snitch — and a damned good one. You knew which boys were sneaking dirty magazines into the locker room, who was smoking pot after gym class, who was doing whose homework — all of the things you could turn into a little ready cash by a judicious application of blackmail.

One of the teachers whom you snitched to on a regular basis (only on the guys who welshed or tried to beat you up; you had your rules) thought it might be worthwhile to try to direct your tendencies, and got you onto the school paper. It clicked for you, and from then on you wanted nothing more than to be a journalist. New York Times columns, Pulitzers — you could see them all. You graduated and soared into college, impressing journalism professors and turning the campus paper into your personal playground. Everything was going according to plan. Everything was cool. Then you had your First Change, and everything went to hell.

After finding yourself sitting on top of the English department building wearing a full suit of feathers, you realized that suddenly your neat little plan for your life didn't work any more. There were other things to consider, a bigger picture to observe. So you changed your direction. After finishing your degree, you went straight to the newspaper tabloid rags and applied for a job. Bemused that a graduate of a prestigious program like yours would want to work for the Weekly Inquiring News, the editor of the first rag you hit snapped you up. Since then, it's been nothing but Jesus in the kudzu and Elvis at the swap meet, but you're happy and well hidden.

You're trolling for information on the unlikely in a sea of the impossible. Sure, you get stories about sweet potatoes that look like the Virgin Mary, but every so often some valuable info comes along. Plus, you're in a perfect position to disseminate information to the WIN's subscriber base of Corax. Let's face it, no other tabloid services that market niche as well as you do. You've got the Socratic method like a virus —questions, questions and more questions. There's always a crunchy truth center you can dig out from the chocolate coating most people provide, and you don't care if you get messy finding that one magical nugget. Some people are put off by your abruptness; others find you refreshingly direct. As long as you get the story, though, you don't care if people think you're an alien from the planet of the exploding penguins — you've got priorities.

**Equipment:** Mini recorder, pilot PDA, lockpicks, camera
Thom

**Thom** is a Gurahl.

## Biography

Your family owned and operated a rafting service in the Pacific Northwest, so you developed a love for the "great outdoors" early ln life. Most of your weekends involved some sort of wilderness activity, either learning the family business or taking solo camping excursions.

During one of your trips into the woods, you stumbled upon an ill-kept camp, drawn by the smell of rotting meat. When you found the cache of newly stripped hides, you recognized the work of poachers.

You can only surmise what happened afterward. Your body exploded into something monstrous, and you savaged the camp, ripping down tents and breaking equipment with righteous wrath. Unfortunately for them, the poachers returned in the midst of your furious assault. They had no chance.

When you regained control of yourself, you knew that your life had changed forever. You plunged deeper into the wilderness, traveling farther from civilization than you had ever gone before. At night your dreams replayed the horror of your murderous rampage. You dreaded what lay at the end if your journey, fearing some punishment for your violent and uncontrollable actions. Instead, you found your Buri-Jaan.

Now you work as a wilderness guide, taking individuals and groups hiking, backpacking, rock-climbing and white-water-rafting. You try to impress upon your customers the importance of respecting nature, because you fear what might happen if you ever catch them ignoring your warnings. Whenever you encounter poachers, trappers, or clear-cutters in your territory, you dispense with the warnings.

Your occupation provides you with the opportunity not only to teach humans the proper respect for nature but to protect your chosen lands and creatures from human carelessness and maliciousness. You carefully study the people you guide, noting the ones who fail to meet your standards and taking steps to eliminate the threat they pose. You no longer reproach yourself for removing human litter from the face of the Earth.

Your love of nature shows clearly in your actions and your speech. Drops hints about the "dangers" that befall those who desecrate the natural world and waste its precious resources. Don't apologize whenever you do give way to your anger.
Tall-Red-Tree

**Tall-Red-Tree** is a Bone Gnawer.

## Biography

In the big city, folks think you're just some yokel who doesn't understand the modern world. They think you're strong, dumb, and naive, just because you come from the country. Hell, you come from way out in the country

You were born a red wolf in the hills of the Appalachians. As soon as you could shift into a burly, red haired Homid-- and find some clothes---you wanted to explore the city and see what you could see.

Work was easy to find, since someone was always in need of cheap labor for heavy lifting or unskilled construction. You weren't too good at holding on to the money you made, but you got by. For a while, you worked for some men who gave you a lot of money, mostly for breaking legs and roughing people up.

Those boys weren't right. When other Garou found you, they found other ways to reward you for your work.

Yeah, they also want to break legs and rough people up, but you suspect they're doing it for better reasons.

You like a good tussle, and you're good at rasslin'. At 6'4" of solid muscle, you have trouble finding anything that fits you better than a jumbo tee shirt and denim overalls. After years as wolf, you don't bother combing your hair or trimming your beard, and washing is still something of a novelty for you. But your packmates respect you because you've got a genuine talent.

You're dumb as a sack of potatoes, but at least you're honest. You may not be educated, but you can sense when someone's not playing right by you. Life is simple to you, and you can't see why everyone else around you has to make it so complicated. Speak in simple sentences, and get to the point in any conversation you have, and howl in glee when you get the chance to fight. You make it a point to (literally) leap into any brawl ahead of anyone else.

**Equipment:** Overalls, rope belt, T-shirt, sack of potatoes, jug of moonshine (made from said potatoes), rock (cleverly hidden in a sack of potatoes), pro rasslin' magazine

## Stats

**Breed:** Lupus

**Auspice:** Ahroun

**Camp:** Hillfolk

**Physical:** Strength 5, Dexterity 3, Stamina 4

**Charisma:** 2, Manipulation 2, Apperance 2

**Mental:** Perception 4, Intelligence 1, Wits 3

**Talents:** Athletics 2, Braw 3, Dodge 2, Empathy 1, Intimidation 3, Primal Urge 3

**Skills:** Animal Ken 2, Crafts 2, Melle 3, Survival 3

**Knowledges:** Enigmas 1, Medicine 2, Occult 2

**Backgrounds:** Kinfolk (Hillfolk) 5

**Gifts:** Hare's Leap, Falling Touch, Resist Toxin

**Rage:** 5

**Gnosis:** 5

**Willpower:** 5

**Tribal Weakness:** +1 DIFFICULTY TO SOCIAL ROLLS WITH OTHER TRIBES
Ivy

**Ivy** is a Ratkin.

## Biography

You started your crusade to defend the Earth because of New Age beliefs and good intentions. You've always wanted to do the right thing. Now years of involvement in environmental groups have left you bitter and disgusted. Grassroots political movements did nothing. Door-to-door fund-raisers just made other people rich. Formal protests just landed you in jail, while the corporations kept getting richer and richer. Desperate times called for desperate measures... and desperate tactics. You now pass judgment on the corporations that poison the world. You've taken to methods and philosophies that give the environmental movement a bad name. Too damn bad. Sabotaging and stealing equipment is just the beginning . Maybe a few pawns get injured, but that just helps scare them off their jobs. If they're wounding the Earth, then you've got every right to act in self-defense. Your favorite targets used to be large business that wanted to make a profit from logging and mining. After you were Infected, your belief became even more extreme. The humans, that race you abandoned when you first Changed, really have no right to the planet at all. Someone is responsible, and someone must pay. If necessary, they all must pay.

Maybe some of the werewolves would be proud to know you. More likely, you'd scare even them. You used to believe in the Gaia theory, but now you know the Earth Mother doesn't give a damn about you. All of her lost children have to look out for themselves. Others deal in law; you deal in justice. You're eager to investigate any large corporation that profits from the misfortune of others. Unfortunately, you can't make a long-term career out of it on your own. Instead, you've got to find a rat pack who accepts your views. As part of your Contract Rite with them, you'll aid them in their goals if they'll occasionally lend help with yours. As long as you get your revenge a few times a year, you'll stick around. Mock the law; it's frustrated you for far too long. Watch patiently when you see injustice. Then start planning revenge. Become visibly upset when you see pollution, trash or urban blight. Hold your anger in check... until you need it. You've got to watch and wait, earning your deceit's respect until you can lead them on your next crusade.

**Equipment:** ten-year old van covered with environmentalist stickers, several cases of literature and pamphlets, safely hidden weapons of mass destruction
Isabella

**Isabella** is a vampire from Clan Tzimisce

## Biography

She called you a prodigy. Your teachers thought that a girl who wasn't shy about her world champion smarts was obviously disturbed.

All they did was nag you about those "disrespectful devil worshipers who probably smoke the drugs" friends of yours.

But she recognized right off what you'd known all your life -- that you were first origins thinker born since Socrates.

Like you, she knew life was short.

Her Embrace came at just the right time.

She preserved you at the height of your formidable powers, with the maturity to see things as they are plus the youth to change them.

Your sire was a rare breed herself, a koldun. She said you were the first mortal in 500 years she thought worthy of her secrets.

And she prophesied that you would surpass her.

Growing up in Mexico City, you always wondered how you'd make something of yourself.

Now, you know. It pisses you off that the end of the world will preempt such potential.

Sometimes, you just want to find the nearest Antediluvian and show it what happens when you vent.

You are one of the Sabbat's few young koldun.

You serve as your pack's priest -- a wise and wicked mother hen who collects new ignoblis ritae from every pack she meets.

Older Cainites regard you as an impetuous fidget. That's just their obsolescence talking.

In the Final Nights, the Sabbat belongs to the young.

You are a prodigy nearing full bloom.

While the forces you command occasionally overwhelm your judgment, those who know you expect you to become a giant within the Sabbat --- a candidate for the consistory, perhaps.

But you don't waste time with a future that can't exist.

As far as you're concerned, the Final Nights are here.

You respect the august history of your clan but aren't beholden to it.

Observe the traditions that work for you, and remix the ones that don't into mind blowing theories of your own.

Right now, you're testing some ideas that are something like Metamorphosis as conceived by Lilith, but your outlook changes monthly.

If you have a failing, it's that you progress so fast that you never get comfortable where you are.

**Equipment:** Various koldunic implements, Mossberg shotgun, ceremonial knife, Vaulderie bowl, rucksack, full of clothes and books
Swims-the-Small-Seas

**Swims-the-Small-Seas** is a Dimwater Rokea.

## Biography

Swims-the-Small-Seas is a cub shark, capable of swimming in fresh and salt water. An especially aggressive Dimwater, he would often swim upriver in many continents, looking for Qyrlings that might escape the notice of the Rokea. One day, he followed a small cargo ship into South America along the Amazon river. The ship was crawling with Qyrlings, and he realized that the ship's cargo was probably tainted as well. When the ship docked, Swims-the-Small-Seas found himself in a war camp, full of humans dressed identically, carrying odd, foul-smelling weapons. He didn't know quite what was happening, but he understood some Spanish and caught the words *guerra* (war) and *lobo* (wolf). Investigating further, he discovered that these men were tearing apart the jungles and that their efforts were slowly but steadily tainting the river. Swims-the-Small-Seas decided he couldn't allow this, and, staying in the jungle, he attacked and killed many of the men. But there were always more, arriving by boat, and eventually they began sending deformed, disgusting monsters as well. And Swims-the-Small-Seas kept meaning to go back to Sea, but there was always more work to do in the jungle....

Time went by, and one day, months after he had arrived, Swims-the-Small-Seas changed to Gladius form again to battle the despoilers. After tearing them apart, he heard people coming. He knew from their language that they were natives, not soldiers, so he tried to change to Homid form so as not to frighten them unduly ... and found he could not.

The Rokea had lost his shapeshifting powers forever, having stayed away from Sea for too long. His ability to survive in fresh water allowed him to keep his Gnosis, but he could not longer assume Swimming Jaws, his natural form. Terrified and a little unhinged, he crashed into the jungle, vowing that if Sea wished him to stay here, he would, and he would kill any human who dared despoil the Small Sea. The war rages on in the Amazon, and sometimes the Garou come upon bodies torn apart by a shapeshifter with jaws like they have never seen. Most Garou blame the Mokolé, but some tell stories of a monster come from the river to take revenge upon Pentex... and they don't know how right they are.

## Quote

*"I know your here Qyriling."*

*"Why....how?"*
Stephen (vampire)

**Stephen** is a vampire from Clan Ventrue.

## Biography

As the third son of a very religious conservative, middle class family, you grew up in churches.

Of course, you went the opposite way: leftist, atheist and argumentative.

Then it was time for life in the real world. You started working for a weird one --- a mysterious, eccentric businessman you never saw in person for the first year.

He was interesting work, analyzing business plans and corporate takeovers, liaising with lawyers and representatives from other companies.

Strangest of all, the businessman had numerous ties to various church groups and he donated money to every denomination in the city.

When the night came that your employer finally revealed his Ventrue nature, you were naturally more frightened than intrigued.

By the following sunset, you were immortal, and your soul was (theoretically) damned forever.

For the first time in your life...er, unlife, you're doing something that would make your father proud: Your a preacher.

In fact, thanks to your Kindred abilities, you're one of the best, most highly attended preachers in the city.

Thousands flock to hear you tell them the word of God... and who to vote for and what to think.

As your flock grows, your inner circle of adherents grows as well.

Men and women are willing to lay down their lives for you and follow you against Satan's armies.

Even politicians are coming to you, asking you to help get out the vote for their cause.

And you thought Sunday school was pointless and boring.

Your influence within the local religious community has raised more than a few eyebrows.

As a high profile, public figure, you're attracting more attention than most of your elders consider wise.

Once your Kindred powers become great enough, you can disappear safely behind the scenes.

But for now, they require your personal attention and touch.

You started your religious career as a firebrand and rousing speaker, and you can still preach a killer sermon when you need to.

Now, though, you've toned it down a bit, becoming the respectable zealot.

You speak softly, with a voice calm and treacle, deceptive words.

Think Jerry Falwell and Mr. Rogers rolled into one devilish persona.

**Equipment:** Cross, Bible, cell phone and electronic organizer with the number of every Republican leader in the city
Hairless-Dog

**Hairless-Dog** is a Metis Red Talon.

## Biography

Born the offspring of a Red Talon female, you never knew who your father was. Why the pack let you live, you still do not understand. You were never one of them--- never even allowed to be. They threw you scraps from their kills when it was clean that you would starve otherwise, but that was the only kindness they gave you.

Even your mother was distant, raising you until you were old enough to be chased away, alone. You wandered and managed to hunt on your own for a time. You wandered north and found other Garou, Children of Gaia, Bone Gnawers and others. Many offered to take you in, claiming that they felt no aversion to metis.

You were sorely tempted by their kindness but couldn't accept it. The hatred and shame that your Red Talon pack had instilled in you was too great to allow you to accept.

Besides, you have a strange kind of pride and believe yourself, despite your hairless body, to be superior to these mongrel tribes.

You are a bitter loner, forming only transitory associations with other Garou. You are full of hate for the Wyrm, the Red Talons, all other Garou and even yourself. Your performances as Galliard are strange.

Most often you sing for yourself, for audiences find your songs disturbing. It has been said that you have great insight, but you don't care for such accolades. You have no fur, as Gaia has no forests; you are an omen of things to come, and your songs speak of the Apocalypse.

You accept your position as scapegoat in other packs, and don't care any longer what others think of you. If you must nip at the scraps of a kill, then so be it. with your greater understanding (but no greater sympathy) of humans, you are invaluable to a pack of lupus and have served as guide in the past.

You are surly and biting. You can be funny, but your humor is always black. Snarl a great deal, and deliver withering looks to any other characters who make bad jokes.

The only folly you tolerate is your own. You are very sensitive to comments about your metis nature, and can be quickly driven to Rage at those who make them.

**Metis Deformity:** Hairless

**Equipment:** A bag full of various clothes and basic human gear. A book of beautiful, glossy wolf photographs.

## Stats

**Breed:** Lupus

**Auspice:** Galliard

**Physical:** Strength 4, Dexterity 3, Stamina 4

**Social:** Charisma 1, Manipulation 3, Appearance 1

**Mental:** Perception 2, Intelligence 3, Wits 3

**Talents:** Alertness 2, Athletics 2, Brawl 3, Dodge 1, Expression 3, Intimidation 3, Primal Urge 2

**Skills:** Animal Ken 1, Drive 1, Performance 3, Survival 1

**Knowledge:** Enigmas 2, Medicine 2, Occult 2, Rituals 3

**Backgrounds:** Past Lives 2, Pure Breed 2, Resources 1

**Gifts:** Beast Speech, Scent of Running Water, Sense Wyrm

**Disfigurement:** Hairless

**Rage:** 5

**Gnosis:** 3

**Willpower:** 4

**Weakness:** WYLD AFFINITY: CANNOT REGAIN GNOSIS IN CITIES
Lex

**Lex** is a band leader and an Akarui a lancet fish.

Art by Adaru32

## Biography

At age 19, Lex developed a 3 member band named Electric Fish where he would record and ultimately release his songs keeping his Sakana heritage a secret.

## Personality

Lex is very mysterious and rebelious as well as being a very private person like Phil
Albus

**Albus** is a Child of Gaia.

## Biography

Your metis birth was a source of confusion and pain to you from the start.

At least your mother tried to keep you --a thankless task, to say the least, further complicated by her duties away from the sept. Your mind, Mom told you, was darkened, and fits of madness take you now and again. It made childhood...difficult.

Your First Change was during a fit; you don't even remember it, can't recall whether you became wolf or human.

With that, your mother surrendered you to the other metis of the sept. They became your new family, introducing you to your auspice duties and the rites of Mule. You hope to do both them and your mother proud by being the best Ragabash that you can be, fits of madness or no.

You exemplify the No-Moon as contrary and questioner of the ways -- perhaps a little too much. At moots you recite a strange kind of inverted Litany, insisting that strangers should be allowed to walk into caerns unannounced and that Garou should have sex with each other! When the backward interpretation of the Litany is helpful, you are there to say it was the truth all along.

When it isn't --- well, that makes the Philodox look good, right?

You're contrary, but not as a joke; you legitimately believe that playing devil's advocate is a good and necessary part of any important decision. Tell stories in a reversed way so as to highlight the cruelty and prejudice of Garou (and human).

When you creatively misinterpret things that you see or that people say and do, allow them to misinterpret you and your ideas: fair is fair. Act contrary about half the time, and refuse to be predictable; always keep them thinking about what you're saying. Anyone can laugh at you, but they should feel a little bit uneasy at the same time. No one save yourself really Knows when you're mad (or do you?).

**Equipment:** Staff, army surplus hand-me-downs, battered lunchbox full of trail mix and luncheon meat

## Stats

**Breed:** Metis

**Auspice:** Ragabash

**Physical:** Strength 2, Dexterity 3, Stamina 2

**Social:** Charisma 3, Manipulation 3, Appearance 2

**Mental:** Perception 3, Intelligence 2, Wits 5

**Talents:** Alertness 1, Brawl 1, Dodge 3, Empathy 2, Expression 2, Primal Urge 2, Subterfuge 2

**Skills:** Etiquette 2, Performance 2, Stealth 1, Survival 1

**Knowledges:** Enigmas 1, Law 2, Linguistics 1, Occult 1, Politics 2, Rituals 2

**Backgrounds:** Fetish 1, Rites 3, Totem 2

**Gifts:** Create Element, Open Seal, Resist Pain, Persuasion

**Wisdom:** 1

**Rage:** 1

**Gnosis:** 3

**Willpower:** 4

**Tribal Weakness:** WEAK VEIL: WITNESSES AT +4 ON DELERIUM CHART
Elijah

**Elijah** is a Ananasi.

## Biography

All your life, you have tried to make things better. Oh, it wasn't that they were bad before, they just weren't quite right. When you were five, and you went to kindergarten, naptime was your lest favorite time of day, because the teacher would never listen to your ideas on how to arrange the mats.

That didn't last long, however, and soon there were many people that were paying attention to what you did, and what you drew. They called you a prodigy, an artist's artist. The type that could easily change the world of art. You were taken out of regular school, and put into private institutes designed to nurture your natural talents. That didn't last long either.

Your teachers and your parents both started to lose patience with you.

Always questioning what others did. Always telling your teachers that their methods were inefficient. Always seeing the problems, and wondering why no one else could spot them. By the time you entered college, and awakening came on you, and your body started to become something not at all human. The great order of things suddenly was made clear to you, and you understood that the world was exactly as you always saw it: flawed.

Now, you try to make difference. You have worked your way up to the position of art director in a major advertising agency, and you are trying to make your little corner of the world perfect. Unfortunately, not everyone seems to agree with you. Not that it matters much; after all, what do they know?

Although you long for order, your behavior reveals your true aspect. You constantly change things to be more "orderly" or "spotless" but it's not your fault that your definition of "orderly" changed from day to day. You're really hard to work with, but your flashes of insight and constant fuss budgeting do tend to keep your work on the cutting edge. Your subordinates and artists may want to kill you, but they can't deny that you wind up making them all look pretty good.

Everything that you touch has to be perfect. It isn't too difficult to try, now is it? If people don't know how to make things right, tell them. Even if they're doing all right, you can probably still give them good advice. Don't worry about making people (or other Ananasi) angry, because you are doing all of this for their own good. If they can't understand this simple fact, just explain it to them. Slowly and patiently.

## Trivia

* Elijah's spider species is a black widow
Timothy (Gangrel)

**Timothy** is a vampire from Clan Gangrel.

## Biography

Violence is it. There's nothing you like better than wading into a fight, arms and legs flailing about and whacking everything in sight. The trouble with being a mortal, however, was that one good fight could get you in more trouble than you wanted.

You tried all the socially acceptable avenues --- sports, the military, marriage-- but even being a cop didn't give you all the opportunities for beating heads you wanted.

Then a skinny old lady made you a proposition you couldn't refuse.

After throwing you around your apartment for a while, just to give you an idea of her strength, she made you a ghoul, and set you loose battling something called the Sabbat.

You went about your work with pleasure, and she was so pleased with your success that she gave you the gift of the Kiss.

While you still work with your Mentor on occasion, you've found that there are foes everywhere for you to fight.

Indeed, the Camarilla seems to have made a point of amassing as many violent foes as possible, and you couldn't be happier.

Generally the sect leaders condone your actions, since you usually fight anarchs, but you've learned there are some times when even a vampire should avoid a fight.

Still, on the whole, you see yourself on the right course -- leg breaker now, Archon tomorrow.

You pick fights at a moment's notice. You know you're good enough to win most of them.

Even if you're not, you'll still have fun until you lose.

You're willing to work with anybody to further your purpose (fighting) but know better than to advertise your role in starting the battles.

Not all Gangrel are laconic outsiders.

You're very social, and other people generally enjoy your presence -- until you start beating on them.

Try and talk other people into starting fights, and then act as though you're either coming to their aid or pounding on them to preserve the Masquerade.

Your coterie should respect you for your power, but know better than to get into a fight against you.

**Equipment:** Any weapons you desire (though brass knuckles are your preference), Yamaha Venture, leather jacket.
Alex

**Alex Fairbanks** is a Wendigo.

## Biography

Your metis birth was a source of confusion and pain to you from the start.

At least your mother tried to keep you --a thankless task, to say the least, further complicated by her duties away from the sept. Your mind, Mom told you, was darkened, and fits of madness take you now and again. It made childhood...difficult.

Your First Change was during a fit; you don't even remember it, can't recall whether you became wolf or human.

With that, your mother surrendered you to the other metis of the sept. They became your new family, introducing you to your auspice duties and the rites of Mule. You hope to do both them and your mother proud by being the best Ragabash that you can be, fits of madness or no.

You exemplify the No-Moon as contrary and questioner of the ways -- perhaps a little too much. At moots you recite a strange kind of inverted Litany, insisting that strangers should be allowed to walk into caerns unannounced and that Garou should have sex with each other! When the backward interpretation of the Litany is helpful, you are there to say it was the truth all along.

When it isn't --- well, that makes the Philodox look good, right?

You're contrary, but not as a joke; you legitimately believe that playing devil's advocate is a good and necessary part of any important decision. Tell stories in a reversed way so as to highlight the cruelty and prejudice of Garou (and human).

When you creatively misinterpret things that you see or that people say and do, allow them to misinterpret you and your ideas: fair is fair. Act contrary about half the time, and refuse to be predictable; always keep them thinking about what you're saying. Anyone can laugh at you, but they should feel a little bit uneasy at the same time. No one save yourself really Knows when you're mad (or do you?).

Staff, army surplus hand-me-downs, battered lunchbox full of trail mix and luncheon meat

## Stats

**Breed:** Homid

**Auspice:** Ragabash

**Physical:** Strength 2, Dexterity 4, Stamina 2

**Social:** Charisma 2, Manipulation 3, Appearance 2

**Mental:** Perception 3, Intelligence 3, Wits 4

**Talents:** Alertness 1, Athletics 1, Brawl 1, Dodge 3, Primal Urge 1, Streetwise 4, Subterfuge 3

**Skills:** Drive 2, Etiquette 1, Firearms 1, Repair 1, Stealth 3, Survival 1

**Knowledges:** Investigation 1, Law 2, Linguistics 1, Medicine 1

**Backgrounds:** Kinfolk 3, Mentor 2, Totem 1

**Gifts:** Smell of Man, Open Seal, Camouflage

**Rage:** 2

**Gnosis:** 3

**Willpower:** 6

**Weakness:** WHEEL OF SEASONS: WEAKNESS VARIES BY SEASON
Sees-Prey

**Sees-Prey or Sees-Prey's-Oceans** is a Rokea.

## Biography

Sees-Prey is a great hammerhead who is known for being intelligent (like Blood-Scent) and crafty with weapons he is very arrogant and distrusting on humans he hates them and feels like pieces that are picked up from the ocean floor. He is rarely on land and when he goes on land, it's to Hunt with his slew.

## Personality

Sees-Prey is not very approachable. He rarely shows emotion, giving a cold impression to others. His manner of speaking tends to be very blunt, even insulting, and his comments are often coarse or inappropriate. He is not above provoking or belittling those who oppose or irritate him. His sense of humor tends toward the vulgar, insulting, and dark. All of this makes him unsettling to a great number of people. Although he rarely shows it, Sees has a strong sense of morality and empathy. One of his most defining characteristics is the great value he places on preserving Rokea life.

## Quote

*"Sometimes sacrifices need to be made"*

*"Human life is shit."*

*"Humans are nothing but fools"*
Roar of The Sea

**Roar of the Sea** is a Rokea.

## Biography

As a shark, Roar-of-the-Sea is a 10 foot smooth great white shark. In Homid form, he is a well-tanned, handsome sailor in his early 40s. He dresses for the weather normally, but always carries a small pouch strapped to his side.  (The pouch contains a change of clothes, his passport, and a bit of cash should he ever have to flee the area quickly. It's designed to be swallowed via the Gift: Gulp.)

You would have never have believed survival could be so much work. After all, all Sea told you was not to die. She didn't say to go swimming about fighting things or diving to the mercilessly cold depths to learn secrets

No, thank you, you prefer it up here on land where it's warm and you can frequent the docks, either looking for fresh fish or hookers.

If the hunting parties find you, you are ready to leave and find work elsewhere.

Roar-of-the-Sea, or Rory to his mates on the docks, is a lazy shark. His old slew used to say that if not for the telltale shape of his head, they'd guess he was born of the nurse sharks that lie on the sea floor. Roar-of-the-Sea just didn't feel that chasing after trouble was a great idea, so he said that he preferred searching for the answers to mysteries. This gained him quite a bit renown as an innovator, but he was not happy.

Finally, he swam ashore and discovered that, ironically, he could avoid his responsibilities by getting a job, Rory was a betweener before the betweener war started, and therefore some slews have tried chasing him down. He has avoided them so far, mostly through luck.

## Stats

**Breed:** Squamus

**Auspice:** Darkwater

**Species:** Great White

**Nature/Demeanor:** Conniver/Builder

**Physical:** Strength 3, Dexterity 2, Stamina 4

**Social:** Charisma 4, Manipulation 5, Appearance 3

**Mental:** Perception 4, Intelligence 3, Wits 4

**Talents:** Alertness 3, Athletics 2, Brawl 3, Dodge 2, Empathy 1, Expression 2, Intimidation 3, Primal Urge 3, Streetwise 1, Subterfuge 1

**Skills:** Drive 1, Firearms 1, Seafaring 2

**Knowledges:** Computer 1, Liguistics 1 (English), Politics 2, Rituals 2, Science 1

**Backgrounds:** Allies 1, Resources 2

**Gifts:** Chill, Fast, Sense Threat, Silent Sending, Spirit Speech, Enter Unsea's Soul, Gulp, Piercing Shriek, Restless Waters, Unsea's Blessing, C'et's Mysteries, Swim Through the School, Sea's Breath

**Rank:** 4

**Rage:** 4, Gnosis 5, Willpower 7

**Rites:** The Rite of Rokea Blood, The Rite of Sea's Distant Voice, The Rite of Passing the Net

**Fetishes:** None

## Trivia

### Extra Info

The slew might surmise that Rory has mated with a nearby human (which he has) and they might therefore be able to track his offspring. It so happens that Maria Louis, a prostitute in Robe, is carrying Rory's child. She doesn't even know it yet, however.

## Quotes

*"I love this woman."*

*"Yeah. I'm lazy so what?"*
Charles Grammercy "Eel"

**Charles Grammercy** is a Chimera and a moray eel.

## Biography

### Image

Eel is thin in appearance with sleek green skin. His body is entirely hairless with his face rather resembles a moray eel.

Virtually every joint in his body has fins on the ends of them. The fins are something new to Eel. He has yet to decide whether he likes them.

You practically purr when you talk, and you like the way you look. You are extremely grateful to Pentex and will gladly do anything for them.

### Background

When the doctors told Charles Grammercy ha had only a few months to live he took it poorly. Who wouldn't? When the IIiad Project offered a slim chance of recovery, a chance to beat the thrice-damned AIDS virus that was destroying his body, Charles jumped at the chance,

The Chemical stew he was injected with was incredible. His entire body felt revitalized. It was less than a week later that more serious changes started to occur. Charles is very grateful for the second chance at life...even if the life is destined to be very different from the one he once knew.

Charles is willing to do anything at all for Pentex. They saved him from his worst nightmare; a slow agonizing death. Charles was always the type of man who preferred the idea of "going out in a blaze of glory."

His original team, was First Team Number 36.

### Other Names

* Viggo
* Charles
* Chuck
* Eel man
* Crazy Eel man
Shadow-Of-Darkness

**Shadow-Of-Darkness** is a Silent Strider.

## Biography

You remember little of your pre Change life: scratches behind the ears, saucers of milk, children's laughter on the dales, the rustic comfort of a Midlands cottage.

You remember the events leading up to the Change quite well: the slashes on the walls as the Wyrm things forced their way in, the saucers of milk turned rivers of blood, the children screaming on and on and on, the cottages and its inhabitants torn asunder and left in mangled ruin.

The smell of your owners' blood inflamed you, and you swelled to a size rivaling the now disemboweled ponies twitching in their intestines in the yard outside. You pounced into the Wyrm things, and your world faded to a bitter red haze flavored only by the sour foulness of the things' flesh shredding under your jaws.

The intruders lay dead, but so did your owners. Your instinctive Howls of the Departed combined a sentient being's grief with a loyal dog's sense of failure. The mournful noise attracted the attention of a passing Silent Strider, who took you to a caern.

But you didn't want another home or another family. Bidding the Garou farewell, you set off down the lonely roads. There were other monsters out there -- you could smell them. You would die before you failed again.

You embody the ancient legends of the Black Shuck: the grim supernatural hound on the mere. You are a guardian through and though -- a predator of predators. You are adept at solitary survival on the streets and in the wild alike; you have slain monstrous foes in silence, not 30 yards from where a party of Boy Scouts lay laughing and telling stories around the campfire.

You are even lonelier than most Striders, and even less hopeful. (If only the humans knew what lurked just out of sight --- why aren't they more careful?) Still, the dog within you is strong, and it is your function to be the humans' eyes, ears and --- when necessary --- teeth and talons. You have grown distant and detached from humans and Garou alike, but occasionally approach someone small and innocent, like a young lost child, play with him and gently shepherd him back to his anxious family

Your gentle demeanor sheds like your fur when facing Wyrm things; for them you have neither patience nor mercy.

**Equipment**: Spiked collar, tag bearing the inscription "Corky."

## Stats

**Breed:** Lupus

**Auspice:** Ahroun

**Physical:** Strength 3, Dexterity 3, Stamina 4

**Social:** Charisma 2, Manipulation 2, Appearance 2

**Mental:** Perception 4, Intelligence 2, Wits 2

**Talents:** Alertness 3, Athletics 2, Brawl 4, Dodge 2, Empathy 1, Intimidation 2, Primal Urge 3

**Skills:** Animal Ken 3, Stealth 5, Survival 3

**Knowledges:** Enigmas 1, Investigation 3, Occult 1, Rituals 1

**Backgrounds:** Allies 1, Pure Breed 3, Rites 1

**Gifts:** Heightened Senses, Razor Claws, Sense Wyrm

**Rage:** 6

**Gnosis:** 5

**Willpower:** 5

**Weakness:** HAUNTED: STEPPING SIDEWAYS BOTCHES ATTRACT GHOSTS
Splatters-Blood

**Splatters-Blood** is a Bone Gnawer.

## Biography

You were the baby of the family, the runt of the litter. Everyone assumed that you’d die first, being the weakest and the sickliest. Then a group of street punks found your birthing lair and decided to have some fun. Each and every one of your sisters and brothers was taken, one by one, and tortured in one manner or another.

They were thrown under oncoming cars, dropped from the tops of buildings, or hung like grisly garlands from streetlights; every one of them was killed.

Then they did something terrible to your Kinfolk mother, something you have trouble remembering but which still motivates you to this day.

For some reason, the gang thought the way you cowered in the corner (all pale and pink and "runty" as they called you) was cute. They made a big mistake -- they spared your life.

You grew up on the streets, but every time you thought yourself close to death, a friendly hand would take you, lead you indoors and give you a warm place to sleep and food to eat. Soon you began to recognize the scent of these friendly folks -- all of them belonged to the same pack, it seemed.

Your friends' hospitality coupled with your own regimen, allowed you to become one of the larger dogs in the city.

You eventually dominated all the street dogs serving you. That was when you went through your First Change. Alone on the streets, naked, you discovered that humans had a tendency toward torturing their own kind as well. It did not go well for your attackers. for you took the form of Rage and destroyed them.

You are a vigilante of the street. You've seen both sides of the Garou coin and you're familiar with what happens in the city. You're also familiar with what serves as justice, and you recognize that you're the only one that can bring swift retribution upon the heads of certain offenders.

As a secret member of the Hood, you have made contact with other Gnawers who feel the same way you do.

You do not threaten the Veil. You wear a black trenchcoat that is dedicated to you. You are equally at home in either Homid or Lupus form. You search the city, peering into humans' souls, judging their innocence and value based on what you know and what you hear from the Barking Chain. You deliver justice at all times, if you can help the weak against the violent, you do.

**Equipment:** Black fedora, trenchcoat, light pistol, handcuffs, matches.

## Stats

**Breed:** Lupus

**Auspice:** Philodox

**Camp:** The Hood

**Physical:** Strength 3, Dexterity 4, Stamina 3

**Social:** Charisma 3, Manipulation 2, Appearance 1

**Mental:** Perception 4, Intelligence 2, Wits 2

**Talents:** Alertness 3, Athletics 1, Brawl 2, Dodge 3, Intimidation 2, Primal Urge 2, Streetwise 2

**Skills:** Animal Ken 2, Firearms 2, Leadership 1, Stealth 3, Survival 3

**Knowledge:** Enigmas 2, Investigation 3, Law 1, Linguistics 1

**Backgrounds:** Allies 3, Contacts 2

**Gifts:** Sense Wyrm, Truth of Gaia, Scent of Sweet Honey

**Rage:** 3

**Gnosis:** 5

**Willpower:** 7

**Weakness:** +1 SOCIAL ROLL DIFFICULTIES WITH OTHER TRIBES