The Brujah

The Brujah are a clan of Idealists, Utopianists, and Philosophers. Dreaming of harmony between all things, and fighting tooth and nail to ensure that even in the darkest of nights, there is a place for such. Or so they have spent the last thousands of years preaching, despite all of the evidence to the contrary. In reality they are punks, rabble-rousers, and rioters. The path of the clan of Rebels is paved in bloodsoaked stone. Idealism is dangerous, infectious, and tantalising. They are cursed to spend every night trying to break the immortal shackles of kindred society.

Theirs is the fury of the downtrodden, the beaten, and the oppressed. Sheer optimism in the face of the darkening world around them. The Brujah see themselves as a voice of those who have none, a fist for those who cannot fight, and a boot on the neck of the oppressors. In bygone times, they were the beating heart of the Anarch movement. Ironic, really, given that there were just as many of them kissing the boots of the Ventrue. Trying to change things from the inside, as they would have it told.

There are, obviously, two sides to every coin, and a multitude of faces to every clan. Where you would be inclined to find Punks and Rebellious idealists amongst the Brujah number, you are just as likely to discover politicians, altruistic business folk, or extremists.

You can incite a rage in one Brujah, even mock them for their history and misunderstanding the world: but they are never alone. Where you find one, there are always more just a whistle away, waiting to get the job done if need be. Be wary of the human face a monster might wear, when trying to sway you to their cause.

Disciplines

Celerity, Potence, Presence.

The Gangrel

The lone wolf can only wander for so long, before it finds a pack to travel with or a land to call its own. Outcasts, rogues, vagrants and hunters, the Gangrel are a Clan of survivors, who have no time for elitism, or those who look down on the experiences of another. They do not abide by the laws of the countries in which they live, or the land in which they wander. The Feral will not be tamed by the words of a petty prince, or a snivelling Baron. Carrying with them the stories of the civilisations they have crossed through, and the wisdom that comes with seeing where the foolish have failed.

The world, no matter how dark, is nothing to be shied away from. The ethos of the gangrel is to embrace even the darkest facets of themselves, even if that means welcoming their beast with open arms. When dragged into this unlife, they are subjected to rituals and rites: that range for desertion, to a fight for dominance with another fledgling. It is of little consequence if they fail, because in the eyes of their clan they would never have survived long anyway. This darwinistic nature of theirs is reflected in their unique abilities of the blood, and how they use it. A gangrel has little attachment to their human form, if they would be better suited to survival in the shape of a wolf, or need to manifest claws in order to win a fight, then will happily do so. When you are living in tune with the natural world, it becomes rather easy to accept the beast. Anything they deem worthy of owning is theirs, and you will have to fight them to claim it as your own. They will take what they want, and protect it.

Disciplines

Animalism, Fortitude, Protean.

The Malkavians

Clan Malkavian are a collective of individuals first and foremost. Much more like a dysfunctional family than anything else, they are comprised of seers, doctors, occultists and zealots. Where others may perceive enigma, riddle, and confusion: they gleam a stark and terrifying truth about the world. Unravelling the mysteries of the night by intuitively pulling on a thread, and seeing what around them begins to unfurl. The Children of Malkav are at their core, solvers and creators of problems.

For months and aeons, they have been the seer on the shoulder of kings, the collectors of trinkets with a common meaning, and the discerners of the best path forward. For seconds and lifetimes they have often been ignored. In the age of information, and the politicisation of every spoken word, the clan of the moon are the ones who see through the shit, and observe the predicted conclusions with rapturous applause.

Truly a clan of individuals, Malkavians are as likely to be an educated Doctor in life as they are to be a priest, or a nightclub owner. Condemned to forever find themselves perplexed with a nature they can never quite grasp. A genius perpetually on the verge of a breakthrough, and prisoners who can simply never escape their sentence.

For kindred, truth is anything but objective. For a Malkavian, the truth is all they know, but they can never speak it clear enough for anyone else to comprehend. A fractured mirror, after all, can be pointed at an image, and show its observer a thousand possibilities. Many make the mistake of simply relegating all Malkavians to the sidelines: but would you be content to see the world without all its nuance?

If you intend to play a Malkavian character or one who is associated to the Malkavians we insist you read our stand point on mental health click here.

Disciplines

Auspex, Dominate, Obfuscate.

The Nosferatu

The poor, downtrodden, snivelling Nosferatu. They are truly the most unfortunate bunch of Licks. So malformed by the corruption of their blood, the Nosferatu have been hunted for as long as they have existed. Information gatherers, technicians, licit traders… The Rats are always in the know. In centuries past they made themselves indispensable to Kindred society by trading in secrets: running the show from shady back rooms and through whispered conversations.

The Camarilla, The Anarchs, The Sabbat… the Nos will more than likely outlive them all. The Horrors have made warrens - homes - in all of them. When you are shunned by a world of monsters, simply because of how you are cursed to be, their sects begin to mean less and less, and a place to belong becomes essential. The Humane amongst Kindred, the Nosferatu have exactly what others are lacking - a fundamental common cause, and camaraderie. The Ratways, sewers, and abandoned hovels in which the Clan of The Hidden make their beds, keeps them hidden. Keeps them safe. Protected.

They are cursed to appear as horrid, deformed, and wretched as they are inside. A Nosfertau’s body writhes, breaks, shifts, and warps upon their Embrace. It is much more obvious to see why a rat might call themself a monster, when they are reminded every time they are unfortunate enough to see their reflection. When others are more disgusted by you than you could ever be, and you are deemed too unsightly for courts of monsters: you make it your business to have as much dirt on them as possible. Just in case. After all… you have what they lost the day they died… honesty.

Disciplines

Animalism, Obfuscate, Potence.

The Toreador

Socialites, Divas, and Artists make up the diverse ranks of the Toreador. There is beauty in all things, and the Clan of the Rose are committed, intentionally or otherwise, to viewing these darkest nights through an aesthetic lens. The Artists long hunger for perfection, and can spend centuries trying to relive a moment of ecstasis to no avail. They are a reminder of the destructive capability of art in all forms, cursed to take centre stage in that tragedy. There is something divine and irresistible about the tortured and fractured minds of the world they walk through. It is this beauty that they become obsessed with.

To dismiss the Toreador, would be to ignore the power that they carry with them. It is no small feat to entertain and enthral the undead. With a song, a Rose can enchant a room; and with a dance they can start a war. It is no surprise that in eras past, when the world was run from ballrooms and in high courts: that the Toreador were the undisputed linchpins of high society. The ability to make the deceased cry, laugh, and love - to make them feel what they lose upon embrace - is the crowning glory of the Hedonists.

Innocence is but a plaything for them. What is lost can never be regained, and that precise moment in which it is obliterated, is a constant source of fascination for Clan Toreador. Ever selective with who they welcome into their ranks, there is something truly unique in every Sensate. A special perspective, a kernel of spectacular capability: an echo of kaleidoscopic beauty. There is tantalising beauty in the darkness, and the Toreador can all but taste it. A shame, then, that no muse is eternal.

Disciplines

Auspex, Celerity, Presence.

The Tremere

Every clan has a storied and sordid history, etched into the tapestry of their memories and blood. The Tremere are young, by this metric. But their history is twisted, filled with malice, and betrayal. The specifics may vary, but what is widely held to be true, is that the Tremere were not born. At some point in history, lost to the records of those they usurped, the Hemetics stole their gift of the embrace, and warped into a bastardisation. Whilst some may still hold them in contempt, their skill with blood, occult rituals, and magic makes them indispensable to those in power. Frankly, they have always been too useful to eradicate.

The Warlocks used to conduct themselves in accordance with a complex chain of command. Theft breeds paranoia after all, and in order to keep their inner workings clandestine, The Thaumaturges ensured that they were bound - no, enslaved - to each other. A hierarchy enshrined in blood, and order. In a perfect world, they would have never made enemies. But, the arrogance of the deathless is well-known. In 2008 the core of their Pyramid was levelled in a cataclysm at the hands of the Second Inquisition. How they knew where to attack remains a mystery. Maybe one of their own simply had enough of the despotic nature of their superiors. Ironic, that the Betrayers may have been betrayed.

In losing their lofty seats, and entrenched rituals that bound them to each other, the Broken Clan’s blood is now simply too weak. Comeuppance for their long list of sins. They can no longer bind each other in blood,or create ghouls. Never again will an Occultist control through their Vitae. Some Tremere demand that the Pyramid be rebuilt, brick by blood stained brick. Others, claim liberation from the shackles, and long to build something new in the ruins. Something better.

Disciplines

Auspex, Blood Sorcery, Dominate.

The Ventrue

Knights, Monarchs, and Leaders. This is the self-stylised imagery of the Clan of Kings. The Ventrue consider themself destined to rule the night, from lofty heights and the upper echelons of whatever society they choose to sink their fangs into. After all, someone has to be in charge, and no one else would do the job right. Every era in history, every empire, every business - the Ventrue have ruled the nights with a sturdy voice, and an iron fist. The very existence of the Camarilla, and the traditions it holds to be true, are the magnum opus of the Tyrants...

But, as if often the case, sometimes you cannot be a Monarch in a court of Blue-Bloods. Sometimes you need to leave your Ivory Tower and find something different to rule. Amongst the Anarchs, the Blue-bloods are despised, and rightfully so. To those outside of their clandestine hierarchy, it seems bizarre that they would choose to live apart from the Camarilla that they have ruled for nigh-on a thousand years, and instead fight it. The Brujah, the Duskborn, and many of the Low-clans observe them as a relic of a bygone era. But, if the Ventrue are anything, it’s competent.

You cannot have society without order. Without a distinct paradigm. Without rules. If there are any of the Damned that have this instilled in their vitae from their very embrace, it is The Monarchs. It is no surprise, to them at the very least, then that often when it comes to dividing up resources, allocating funds: deciding which disgusting Lick gets what - that the Ventrue are almost always the ones cutting up the pie, and taking a sizeable chunk for themselves.

Disciplines

Dominate, Fortitude, Presence.

The Ministry

If you ever find yourself indeed of something illicit, The Ministry are the ones who can find it for you. These self-stylised Liberators are made up of no small amount of heretics, iconoclasts, and the corrupt. They exist to subvert the pillars of the world in which they are cursed to live, and dabble in the devilish. Nightclubs, Churches, Therapy offices: they prowl the crevices of society, to break the chains that bind themselves and anyone that crosses their paths. As a Clan, they sit upon the shoulders of the righteous or committed, whispering temptation into their ears: corroding the manacles of traditional morality.

Secrets, drugs, humans - it is all the same to The Ministers. Liberation comes in many forms afterall, and who are they to withhold that from anyone else? In fact, they are more often than not happy to do the work for you! Everyone has a vice, and a price, afterall. Intertwined with the Clan itself, is a Cult devoted to this very notion. A multi-cultural temple dedicated to iconoclasm and heresy as far as any other institutional faith might be concerned. Those who align with The Ministry’s cultic faith, are devoted to releasing the world from the constraints of what they consider to be “mistaken” religions. Perhaps in recognition of the potential hypocrisy - the Church of Set remains open to all, and even members of their own clan do not have to adhere to its rules.

Nominally Anarch - having been refused entry to the Ivory Tower - some Serpents spend their time trying to uncover secrets that could unravel the institutions of the world, to build a newly liberated utopia. Others spend their time on the ground, doing all they can to free the minds of those they come across, through whatever preferred means. Equal parts preachers and devils - salvation and temptation. They dig their fangs into the underbelly of any city they enter, indispensable in their ability to enable dissent and revolution. If there’s one thing they are known for, it’s discretion.

Disciplines

Obfuscate, Presence, Protean.

The Lasombra

Amongst Clan Lasombra, you can find the apex of social predators. Monstrous, vicious, and unforgiving; behind every paradigm shift, stands a magister - ensuring their own victories from the shadows. They want not for crowns, thrones, or kingdoms: but rather superiority in their own dark ambitions. Previously, they were pioneers of the Sabbat: and when they saw the sands shifting beneath their feet, the Turncoats had no qualms in jumping ship to the Camarilla, where they could manipulate peons and pawns under a new guise. Might makes right, after all.

This attitude permeates every aspect of a Lasombra’s existence. They will sire those with potential for greatness - and should they fail to prove to be exactly that, their childe are likely to be extinguished. There exists no friendship in the clan of Night. Only competition. They take their stock from bullies, manipulators, entrepreneurs and soldiers: anyone with a strong drive, a cutthroat attitude.Within every Turncoat, is a tie to the darkness of the world. An inky, encompassing, and inescapable facet of their being. With it comes great power. They cannot risk an incompetent or weak individual having access to the boons it grants. The Abyss mystics have guarded this clan secret for generations of unlife, and do so with great impunity.

To find a Lasombra in the Anarchs is rare, but perhaps not unsurprising. Maybe they did not impress their sire, and ran to the ranks of the Unbound for safety. Or, maybe they have some ideological ambition to prove - that they are better than the Camarilla Turncoats and post-sabbat Keepers: and want to burn it all down from the front lines. In any case, it is wise to be wary of those who have stared into the Abyss, and come back.

Disciplines

Dominate, Oblivion, Potence.

The Banu Haqim

Sometimes transgression is unforgivable. Sometimes crossing a line must be paid for in blood, regardless of the consequences. The Children of Haqim know better than most, that if you allow monsters to break the rules, they will do so over and over again. Lawyers, Arbiters, those who abide by a personal moral compass. Amongst their ranks you can count sheriffs, scourges, assassins and vigilantes: every Judge has their code, and it is no surprise that there exists moral absolutists in a post-embrace world. In their blood lies a certainty, a compulsion to right wrongs, and balance scales.

In the past, the Mediators acted as tailor-made weaponry: mercenaries for a cause, who would swiftly enact judgement on those who violated the laws of whatever society they were born, and later embraced, into. Standalone in their efficiency, those who count themselves a member of Haqim’s brood know that first and foremost actions always have a consequence: and they have no qualms in embodying that retribution. It is little shock, that amongst their number you can count many who ascribe to religious and ethical codes. There is some comfort in knowing that you are a monster, but feeling assured in the notion that at the very least there is an external leash keeping you in line.

There exists a closeness amongst the Assassins. Their Clan is bound in knowledge of what is right: shepherded by their Antediluvian Haqim (when he wakes) and his Childe Urg-Shulgi, who walks the earth with an unwavering fury. Their Elders are Old Testament, fire and brimstone. They expect their Childer to act the same. Unsurprisingly, their clan are nominally Camarilla: finding purpose in strict rules, another code to live and die by. Yet, not all align with the rules of ancient men, and dusty tomes. Those of the Banu Haqim who walk amongst the unchained, do so with self-assured conviction. Eventually, even the Camarilla and Elders must be brought to trial for their sins.

Disciplines

Blood Sorcery, Celerity, Obfuscate.

The Hecata

Most Kindred have a childlike understanding of death, as far as The Hecata are concerned. It is one thing to simply be undead, but another entirely to make death your business, purview, and jurisdiction. A sect in of themselves, these Necromancers take their line of work very seriously, revelling in the morbid curiosity that comes with mastery of that which has passed through the shroud. They are a clan out of a mix of choice and necessity. For the majority of Kindred history those which now make up the Hecata were but bloodlines, cousins to one another in purpose, with distinct lineages and attitudes towards their art. Scholars, Occultists, Ritualistic dabblers in Necromancy as well as Priests and tenders of the dead, and even Bankers all now find home in the ranks of The Family.

Following the disappearance of Augustus Giovanni, premiere Graverobber and patriarch of the oppressive Giovanni Clan: the noose-grip of La Familia on the necromantic bloodlines was loosened. Where once there was control, there was chaos, as bloodlines that had been in hiding took their revenge, and vied for dominion over the shadowlands, and each other. At some time in the 2010s, a mysterious methuselah under the name of The Capuchin demanded an end of sorts to this farce: calling a Family Reunion, and inviting all of those with dominion over death itself to attend. Following this meeting, Clan Hecata was formed.

TThere is no uniformity to the Hecata: it is in fashion more Sect than Clan. They are not all bound by blood, but a sheer reverence for death itself: and hold no allegiance to The Camarilla or Anarchs They are made up of aged scholars from ages passed, psychopaths would kill for the sheer thrill of it, spiritualists who understand the necessity for death and its in the world. Be they Dunsirn, Giovanni, Harbinger of Ashur, Milliner, Descendant of The Baron, or another bloodline: The Graverobbers are dangerous, connected, and wield a power unlike any other found amongst the Kindred; so potent that even the other undead give this independent sect of vampires a wide berth. They are death itself.

Disciplines

Auspex, Fortitude, Oblivion.

The Tzimisce

Ownership. That is what defines the Tzimisce. Full of avarice, and a territorial fervour, the Dragons sit upon their possessions as if guarding a hoard. It is one thing to have something, or someone, but it is another thing entirely to own it. The act of embracing another individual, or turning them into a thrall or ghoul, is no different from claiming them as an object of your possession as far as The Fiends are concerned. They would rather burn their havens, businesses, Childer, or being, to ash and cinder before they allow anyone else to claim what they deem is rightfully theirs.Slumlords, oligarchs, business owners, military commanders, and bearers of grudges. The Stokers are despotic, embodying the philosophy behind “scorched earth”.

This voracious possessiveness extends not just to the external, but also to their own minds and bodies. A Tzimisce is unable to comprehend that they could be owned, or adhere to the constraints of anyone other than themselves. Some spend decades asserting true control over their bodies: shedding the shackles of traditional physiology. Through the art of Vicissitude, or Fleshcraft, they warp their own bodies into terrifying forms. In the cases of some, they seek metamorphosis: to transcend the vampiric condition and its limits. Is it surprising that often, they choose to alter their Childer and ghouls in a similar fashion.

Many of the Clan find a hard time getting along with the ancient beings that make up the ranks of their Elder brood. How dare they seek to control the youth, as if they are lesser, nothing but peons and tools. At home amongst the Anarchs, they fight out of sheer disdain for their hated sires. No longer claiming towns, castles, forests: they have modernised to fit the world as it is now. The Anarch Revolts began with them, and the Fiends will bear this grudge until there is nothing left to control them. Be that Camarilla, Second Inquisition, or Dragon.

Disciplines

Animalism, Dominate, Protean

The Caitiff

Long deemed the harbingers of the end of days - The Caitiff understand what it means to be deserted by others that should understand them. For the majority of kindred history their existences were myth. A century ago, their number was miniscule: but as the eternal night draws on, and the potency of blood lessens, they grow larger by the hour.Amongst their number, these Misfits count accidental embraces, disappointing childe, Shovelheads, and Licks weak enough in the blood to resemble no true clan. They have no common curse, no similarity of disciplines between them. And yet, unlike their newer Duskborn Siblings, they are very much still true vampires. The Camarilla will not have them, the Sabbat treated them like disposable cannon-fodder: and so it was inevitable that they would find a home in The Unbound. Who else would even care?

The inexorable march of time is a wonderful thing for the Panders. Once they had ran - squirrelled themselves into the Anarchs out of pure fear for how they would be treated elsewhere - now they find themselves the building blocks and foundation of a sect that knows what it wants, and how to get it. In decades past, they were playthings for beings of thicker blood, condemned to do the dirty-work of others, thrown away in the aftermath. Now, they are an army in their own right, bound by their hatred for those who have mistreated them. And, by God, are they going to take the fight to whoever stands in their way. Maybe there was something in calling the heralds of the end times afterall…

Disciplines

Any 2 Disciplines (Except Blood Sorcery, Oblivion and Thinblood Sorcery)

The Duskborn

If the Caitiff are an omen of Gehenna, then it might stand to reason that these Thinbloods are the end-times given form. Held in little regard by many Kindred, these Dampires barely resemble their full-blooded Pander brethren. They lack the ability to manifest true gifts of the blood, yet carry with them a beast and a hunger for vitae like all other kindred.If the Blood of true clans is thick, theirs is water, and it runs through the streets of Bristol like a plague. The elders feared their arrival, and some even saw it coming: and yet their birth was seemingly inevitable.

Dubbing themselves The Duskborn, their generation is so low that many do not even consider them anything more than ghouls, despite the existence of their beasts. Some can walk in the sun, digest food, breathe - maybe even breed naturally. This makes their existence a very threat to the status quo, even for their older Caitiff siblings. Unlike those with more potent blood, they have taken to seeing their new state as a blessing. They are neither human, nor Kindred: and some believe themselves a necessary step in post-human evolution.

In place of true Disciplines, they have the bastardised powers of warping the Gifts of their vitae - and the ability to emulate powers far greater than even some elders, given access to their blood. This power - Thin-blood Alchemy - allows some of the Mercurians to steal the powers of others. No matter how they come by it, through Diablerie, or trade - this boon of the Duskborn means that they can punch above their weight. It is complex, and unlike disciplines must be learnt in a truly scientific fashion - but remains undeniably powerful. Underestimated for now - there is much to be said for those that can exist in both worlds. Of course the Elders fear them! The Abominations are closer to human than they could ever wish to be!

Disciplines

Thinblood Sorcery

The Ravnos

Most Clans have no reason to believe in Gehenna, let alone fear it. Antediluvians are but myths: boogeymen and stories to keep neonates in line with clan rhetoric. Unfortunately for the Ravnos, this couldn’t be further from their truth. The Weeks of Nightmares was catastrophic for The Daredevils. Their progenitor awoke, decimating the clan to sate its bottomless hunger: before meeting final death. Those who were fortunate enough to survive, through sheer luck, guile, or pure skill, are left scarred by the horrors that they witnessed. They know the true face of fear, and will spend the rest of their unlives reliving the terrifying events during their nightmare ridden, daysleep.

What are The Ravens to do with this knowledge then? Those who have outlasted their brethren spend every waking hour of the night aware that they are on borrowed time. When you’ve seen the boogeyman, you have nothing else to fear. No master, no chains, no need for caution. They turn instead to performing daring feats, taming animals of incredible power, charming the most brutish of individuals: and going where others will not. Existing outside of typical clan politics, and sect wars, they would rather help others fight their pointless battles, than get involved themselves. If you need someone to go through no-man's land, to send a message to your enemy, it best be someone without fear. And why would a Ravnos be scared of a slimy Lasombra, or despotic Ventrue?

Unique to their blood is the ability to conceal and manipulate the truth of the world from others. They can pull illusions from thin air, vivid and terrifying. They can show others their own personal nightmare if need be, to get them out whatever fix they might have found themselves in. Masters of illusion, escapism, and reality defying feats: is it any wonder why those who walk the earth now survived?

If you intend to play a Ravnos character or one who is associated to the Ravnos we insist you read our stand point on appropriation click here.

Disciplines

Animalism, Obfuscate, Presence.

The Salubri