The product of Catholic abuse on a native woman. Raised in captivity for much of her young life under the control of a twisted Priest. After her mother snapped and attacked that twisted Priest, Yanci's young life began to spiral out of control. The Priest killed her mother and began a long series of "punishments" for Yanci to answer for the "crimes" of her dead mother. When some of the other older women at the Mission tried to step in, the blood shed only continued. The violence and blood had broken something in the Priest, and that would leave Yanci in a cell for most a year before the Spanish gave way to the Mexican, and the Mexican caught up with the little Mission in what would one day be known as Southern California.

Eva came with the Mexicans, and the Mexicans were happy to let Eva deal with Yanci and the old women of the Mission. When the Mexicans and Eva departed the Priest was dead, Yanci and the old women of the Mission directed to a nearby Rancho for shelter and employment. They stayed at the Mission until a few years later when Yanci would see Eva again, this time under moonlight and after burying the last of the old women. Yanci's life ended, and her unlife began. What followed was as gentle a beginning into the Kindred existence as Yanci can imagine their being. California was wide open and easy pickings for Kindred, and there were few enough of them back them. While Eva would stay at the Rancho of Don Sebastian with Christopher for long stretches of time, Yanci would learn to roam farther and farther.

She began, then, to lay the groundwork of a network of contacts from every level of society within California. Yanci's young unlife was filled with connecting people and groups, both natives and outsiders, and the girl would blush if the full scope of her role in bringing about the United States into California was known. The right whisper, the right connection, the right amount of trust with the right people; Yanci was a natural at networking and working those networks of people for desirable outcomes. She became invaluable to her sire and grandsire once the duo conceived the artistic vision of what they would tongue-in-cheek refer to as "the City of Angels."

When the duo started their second great project, Hollywood, Yanci was tested like never before. Hollywood was people and networks, but these people were different than the Californians Yanci was used to. Though it took her years and years at Eva's elbow, Yanci finally began to learn what it took to achieve similar results in Hollywood. Though various humans can claim to have created it, the field of Talent Management, managing Hollywood talent in such a way to optimize their talent and studio investment, was very much so the first Talent Manager in Hollywood. By then Eva was already talking about a global movie making effort. Though Christopher Houghton disagreed, Eva began to receive visiting Toreador from other parts of the world, most notably Italy, creating a back channel of establishment Kindred from Europe and a new avenue for Yanci.

She would spend much of the decades after WWII mostly based in Italy with filmmakers such as Federico Fellini, watching American films at the time and trying to guess which ones the Kid had influenced and which ones Eva had influenced. After a few years the difference between the two began to be as wide as a Michael Bay film and a Quentin Tarantino film of modern nights. In the late 60s Yanci would return to Hollywood, finding a very different kind of situation than before. The Kid and Eva's working relationship had frayed to the point where the Kid withdraw from Hollywood and began attaching himself to various Anarch Barons and Princes and the kind of Kindred politics that went in the face of everything he and Eva, and by some extension Yanci, had been building all the years together.

It was artistic betrayal in favor of Kindred politics, and the original sin that would lead to Eva diablerizing Christopher the Kid. Soon after the Coterie became a thing with the addition of the Ventrue Rachel and the Brujah Andre. When Mateo, the Tremere, joined them later it felt as if he had always been part of their little group. The Coterie grew closer and and more directly involved in the power structures of LA and SoCal over the next 50 years, as Christopher the Kid grew less and less connected to reality, let alone managing affairs. When his madness had fully manifested the Coterie acted in self defense, and Eva ended it.

The resulting fallout has seen each member of the Coterie not Eva work overtime to keep all the plates spinning. Yanci finds herself managing Hollywood like she once managed golden age studio stars. She's busy, but if there's any part of SoCal life that is insulated from the current chaos it's the glitz, glamour, and money of Hollywood.

A young black man who had a life not unlike other black Brujah that originated in the United States at the time; a former slave turned soldier in the American Civil War. Andre reckons it has something to do with the nature of the American Civil War; the kind of bloodshed and violence rarely seen in the history of the planet. While he would only later learn of the Kindred manipulations during the Civil War, nothing about the conflict felt "right" or "just" to him during those living days. It was only after Andre and a handful of his remaining black unit protecting a vital supply line from a Confederate attack, a heroic effort that would lead many a Union officer to see black troops as more than manual labor, that life would begin to get weird for him.

His unit was the only real family he'd ever had; the other slaves he'd been raised with were as bad as they were good, more than happy to snitch on you or blame you for something they done if it meant you got whipped and they got extra food. In the war his unit looked out for each other, even their white officer wasn't no bad man, and did what he could do for them before he was injured. Although their unit would be reinforced, their was always another Confederate charge on the supply line. The Confederates enjoyed fast, mounted, attacks. Andre, in particular, had gotten good at spotting them early. Some joked he could sense 'em, that he could sense any coming fight.

It was in the middle of the night that Andre would be embraced by his sire. Andre would lose his sire in the mountains of Tennessee, presumed dead after coming into conflict with Garou. He would drift south, from smuggler's cove to mining camp to hunting lodge, always dragging along the edge of society until he would finally submit to curiosity and enter into the city of New Orleans. It was in New Orleans that Andre would come into contact with Crispus Attucks and begin his training as a spy, though Andre's natural talents were always with fighting and small unit tactics. Through Attucks he would be introduced to Jeremy MacNeil and Marguerite Foccart, and would eventually follow the former when they heard of anarch uprisings out West.

In Los Angeles Andre found a home. Though Jeremy and Marguerite would get swept up in their dramas, Andre found himself happy to embed himself into black communities; something the two white Europeans who looked like characters off a romance novel cover could never do. He would then find ways to ingratiate himself to other minority communities, from Mexican to Asian. He sparked up an interest in martial arts, but left it at idle interest at the time while he began to see what was becoming of minority communities and how they were isolating in their own neighborhoods. Like how his Union army unit had become a family, so too would the minority community gangs become a combat family.

After WWII Andre began to cultivate the gangs of LA, while other Brujah worried about revolts and Kindred politics, Andre kept his focus and began to expand his operation by taking in returning WWII G.I.'s and their new training/knowledge hard earned on the battle field. Andre began paying attention to nearby military bases, and in shadowing a military training exercise out of curiosity, he would run right into the Toreador Yanci. The girl talked him out of any conflict; she was no threat unless he harmed her. Andre made a joke about not being scared of a Kid. Yanci invited him to Malibu, where he would meet Yanci's sire, Eva.

Eva and Andre spent days talking about Los Angeles, what would become of it. Eva envisioned a day when the gangs and minorities would get their Hollywood spotlight. Andre laughed off the idea almost immediately, but the Toreador's vision was so strong, so fleshed out, that after the week was over at her beach house even he had to admit it sounded possible. With a shake of hands, the two decided to join forces. While Jeremy tolerated, maybe even liked the Kid a bit, Eva gave MacNeil a wide berth. Over time Andre left MacNeil's camp and joined Eva's, quick to point out to his former traveling companion that Eva was not the Kid, and the gulf between them was widening.

In the late 20th century, Eva's ideas of minority spotlight became a reality. Rodney King changed the entire equation, and by the time rap game began to explode, Andre was already doing what he could to keep the gangs sharp but the bloodshed from inflicting too much damage for their own cause. During the 80s he had garnered an interest in Private Military, and was able spend time learning new training and tactics and weapons, himself. With Eva's money the two would begin several PMC companies through puppets and ghouls, the final layers to a "combat network" that reaches from street gangs to PMC units as well armed and trained as most Special Forces units in the world. One of these units is visible from time to time on Catalina Island, and it's believed they control the local police on the island, as reports indicate it's nearly impossible for a Kindred to get on the island and remain there without being isolated and ejected by the police, or if it comes to it, the unmarked commandos in black.

Rachel Fields very much remembers her life. She had a happy childhood and a privileged upper middle class upbringing. She excelled academically and at first considered she may make her life in the field of analytics. It was a trick of fate that saw her witness a race crime and decide to seek a more proactive career, rather than something as reactrive as data analysis despite her love of math. It wasn't until college at Harvard that she realized she could largely do both: she could become a lawyer and litigate for various analytics firms. Shortly after graduation she assisted in the creation a predictive model for mid-level consumer markets.

From that point on, Rachel was tracked. She liked to dress in "timeless" modern fashions. She composed herself very honorably, and was determined to make a productive mark on the world to further society, not to drain from it. She quick witted, intelligent, and even natured. Between her law degree and her specialty in analytics, there was even greater interest in the girl. The first interest she got after her law school graduation was as a legal assistant with the NSA, helping to navigate complex agreements by the NSA and tech firms within the MIT atmosphere.

Then one night it all changed. She entered her loft apartment and found people in fancy corporate clothing waiting for her patiently. There was something about them Rachel never did like, but something in the back of her mind told her to keep it quiet, to listen and determine from the information and facts what the best course of action was. Her visitors were amused yet had no patience for her to say yay or nay; they required her expertise and contacts. The Ventrue elders present allowed the Ventrue's, and by extension the Camarilla's, chief analytics mind Thaddeus Carter embrace the girl. Though newer he was more accomplished than many Kindred far older and was of the blood of Hardstadt.

Thus began a beautiful work partnership. The predictive models the two created from Camarilla data and intelligence have helped the Camarilla immensely in North America and all over the world. The more they worked, the more renown Thaddeus and Rachel found themselves achieving. They wrote the new playbook on how the Sabbat operated and how best to beat them back. As much as Thaddeus seemed to appreciate the favor given to him by Ventrue elders, Rachel found herself not caring. If Camarilla and Sabbat had been dancing this dance for as long as they had been, Rachel failed to see how even a "new playbook" would end the conflict. She wasn't interested in that dance.

Out of appreciation for their partnership Thaddeus supported Rachel when she asked to leave. The Clan decided for her it would be best if she relocated to Vancouver and assisted the Prince there. Rachel gained a profound education in Lupine/Kindred relations during her time in Vancouver, although she found the Ventrue Primogen in the city to be tiresome, and eventually she simply left for Seattle without any permission from those above her in the Clan. While Alec Cross and she got along famously and the relationship allowed Rachel to get close to tech giants like Apple and Google and Facebook, she spent more than a few years in Silicon Valley before meeting a Kindred that seemed unlike any she had ever met before.

The Kindred was a model, or a sorceress, it was hard for even a mind trained as well as Rachel's to follow the vague story and at times confusing, or conflicting, details of the story. Yet never once did Rachel find herself doubting the words of the Kindred woman she had met. When several Hollywood movie stars appeared at the hotel bar Rachel had met the Kindred woman at and the stars instantly went to greet this mystery Kindred woman, Rachel's curiosity forced her to ask plainly: Who are you? What are you?

In her time with the Ventrue and Camarilla, and it's rigid structures, a Kindred like this woman seemed surreal. So by the time she got the story of the woman, from early California to early Los Angeles to Hollywood, and a name, Eva, Rachel had decided where she wanted to be and what she wanted to do. Rachel would visit Eva in Los Angeles, and immediately begin helping the woman by assessing her legal staff and seeing where they could improve. High upon Catalina Island where they watched the sailboats in the waters just off the island look like twinkling stars in the night's sky Rachel and Eva spoke about Hollywood, and it's future with the very tech giants Rachel had just spent years getting to know and working with here and there.

Although Rachel informed Clan Ventrue of her intentions, she has never heard back from them. When she has it has been non-responses, committing to neither casting her out of the Clan or giving her any kind of permission. The most they've done is express disappointment in her choices, and extend to her that they have confidence that she is not going to divulge any sensitive information she may have from her time working with her sire and their project regarding the Sabbat. As such Rachel occupies an immensely bizarre position with Clan Ventrue: someone with intimate knowledge that walked away from the path the Clan put her on and yet has been allowed to simply keep walking.

Some suspect this really is because of what Rachel might know. Others suspect it's because of the high profile relationships with Kindred and Kine of North America that she's developed. The wisest, however, point to one relationship in particular: Eva. The Camarilla, and especially the Ventrue, have long acknowledged Hollywood's role in maintaining the Masquerade. They have an appreciation for the great works that have been done, and especially keeping with the Traditions. Yet no elder is fool enough to think for a second the Camarilla doesn't wish they could add Eva, or her works, to the selection of tools at their disposal. Perhaps Rachel is a way to do that. Prehaps Rachel is really more of a Camarilla spy than a wandering Ventrue.

Maybe time will tell.

One of the few survivors of the Los Angeles Chantry since he was not present at the time of the mystery attack upon it that took nearly all members of the Tremere Chantry. Since nothing was taken or destroyed the sudden dissappearace of the other members of the Chantry left a mystery that Mateo tried to investigate, but either he simply lacked the knowledge or there were precious few traces left of the killer or killers to be investigated. Although Clan Tremere itself was hesitant to send in any help since the Free State already had a reputation, had already taken the lives of many Tremere, and was descending into violence even as Mateo reached out.

Mateo found himself reaching out to Anarch leaders for any assistance, but they either played coy or didn't care. Only after asking around did someone appear to him; three someones. They sat down at a table he had sequestered himself to in the back corner of a dive bar Mateo had grown to favor. Just sat down like they belonged, as affable and charming as any Kindred he had ever seen. Two women and a man, and almost immediately they introduced themselves: Yanci, Rachel, Andre. They knew who attacked his Chantry, but in telling him, they explained, they would have to tell him the whole story.

That was the evening Mateo became one of the few Kindred in the world to know about the truth of Los Angeles and Hollywood, about Christopher and Eva.

Mateo is the childer of Lucas Halton, a 9th Generation Tremere and the former Prince of Houston. A 7th Circle High Apprentice at the time of the attack on the Los Angeles Chantry, Mateo spent much of his life in Mexico as a son, brother, and medical student at various universities. It was traveling in Texas when Mateo sat in on several 'mystical parlors' on Galveston Island, and there he first met Lucas. They spent much of the evening making sarcastic commentary at the expense of the 'mystical' charade they were bearing witness to that evening. Lucas would talk Mateo into staying on Galveston Island, sparking a friendship that would culminate in Lucas embracing Mateo a year later.

Mateo's initial unlife was difficult, and he would find many of his fellow new Apprentices committing suicide as they struggled with the cold reality and hard demands of Clan Tremere. But Mateo had both intellect, talent, and enough interpersonal skills to survive until he found his footing. From there he became even more of a devoted academic in unlife as he was in life, being allowed access to various paths of Thaumaturgy to see which he had the most aptitude and talent for. Much of his unlife remained the paths and his study of them until he was promoted a few times, Lucas calling on Mateo to assist in the guiding of what would become one of the largest cities in North America with Houston.

At the loss of his sire, Mateo was asked to transfer to the Los Angeles Chantry. A dangerous proposition, it was explained to him, given the nature of the Free State and the fact that the Los Angeles Chantry had to exist as an "unofficial" chantry. Mateo was happy to have a new role after the loss of his sire, and soon settled in just fine at the Los Angeles Chantry. It took him longer than he would have liked to settle into the city, he found it far more unpredictable than Houston and South Texas. Mateo was pleased that the Tremere of the LA Chantry were mostly open-handed with knowledge and encouraging.

The sudden attack broke blood bonds, such as they had been broken when his sire was lost. Mateo felt too alone, too isolated, in the wake of the attack. When the three Kindred sat themselves down as his back corner bar table, it was a mixture of dread and hope he had felt. The trio offered him a place to stay, a safe house of theirs they could let him borrow for as long as he needed. The large male, Andre, assisted Mateo in relocating many of the Chantry's secrets to a secure location. Andre invited him to meet the other member of their coterie, and Mateo agreed. Far up in the Hollywood Hills, behind a white stucco wall and black gates, on a canyon road that winded this way and that for miles, they arrived at a large house that seemed to Mateo to be all glass walls.

He met her in front of one of those walls of glass; the one in the massive, sprawling, sitting room with the sunken floor and the Hollywood style. Then and there was Mateo finally confronted with the bare truth: there would be no justice for his Chantry. They would not move on the Kindred behind the attack, they as a group were too close to offending party, and doing so would incite the kind of conflict that could easily break the Masquerade. All Eva could offer him were answers and friendship, and one day, she promised, justice. Mateo thanked her and left that night. He would return in following nights, spending time with the mystery Hollywood coterie. It was a high, though the coterie worked to influence and control Los Angeles and Hollywood with an impressive dedication they were fun, they were kind even to their ghouls.

It was bizarre. It wasn't long before Mateo found himself smiling more, and enjoying conversations that lasted all night. When Mateo made the decision to leave Clan Tremere it was because he had found a new belonging in the mystery coterie of Hollywood. Mateo and Eva's friendship would deepen greatly as he began to teach her Thaumaturgy, their library of artifacts and knowledge growing in time. Mateo would even be taught a few things himself; the Path of Technomancy would become an obsession and specialization of his, giving Mateo a new role in the city. The Free State had become a haven for hacktivist former Tremere, and now Mateo had the resources and network to keep track on all the various coteries and cells in and around the city.

Mateo stood with the coterie as Eva came into conflict with Kid, and was there as he saw Eva give the Kid final death and the Tremere of the LA Chantry some measure of justice.

While it's hard to tell exactly what her position is within the group, one thing is clear: Gwnedalyn Vance is a mortal member of the clique. In true Hollywood fashion, Gwendalyn Vance started out as a small town girl lost in a small town, go nowhere kind of life. Though her parents were, more or less, loving and well adjusted, nothing would stop their daughter from her dreams of Hollywood. After graduating high school, and majoring in Drama at a nearby small private college in the Pacific Northwest, Gwendalyn took her old Honda and made the trek to Hollywood.

It took her a little less than a month to get attention, even if it wasn't the kind of attention she was hoping for. At a party held by industry wanna-bes and grifters, Gwendalyn was drugged by a 'producer' in film, really a YouTuber trying to make the jump to online porn videos. Gwendalyn was so far gone, she doesn't remember walking out into Echo Park traffic, or nearly being killed by a passing car. When the wanna-be tried to drag her out of the street, telling concerned pedestrians to calm down, he was her boyfriend and she was a drug addict, it was either chance or fate that Eva caught a glance of the girl when passing by.

From that moment, on, the connection between Gwendalyn and the elder Kindred was intense. The most impressive thing to Eva about the girl? Gwendalyn refused any Hollywood favors. She wanted to audition on her own, she wanted to scrap and claw to every unspeaking extra in a bad commercial part she could get, with hopes and dreams for more one day. Ironic that a struggling, working actress that also works as a waitress would become so close to the Kindred that created and run Hollywood from the shadows.

In time Gwendalyn came to know what Eva was, and to meet the rest of the Coterie. When Eva entered torpor after diablerie of Christopher Houghton, Gwendalyn stayed in touch with the group, and from time to time still saw them. She got a speaking role in a failed pilot a year later, the cruel sting of the pilot getting passed on by Netflix stung, it was recently awakened Eva who appeared to comfort the girl. In their first evening together in too long a time, Gwendalyn offered herself to Eva...not sexually, but as a meal. Though initially reluctant, Eva admitted Gwendalyn was very much her 'type': a serious artist at heart and a great beauty. Since that night Gwendalyn has become Eva's favorite mortal, and they don't go a week without seeing each other.

Ghoul, blood doll, is hard to tell. Eva seemed intent on embracing the girl, before Gehenna, and now it's anyone's guess what the fates have in store for the girl in the end times.

.
“Your body is dying...pay no attention.”

The unforgettable quote from Interview with the Vampire resonated -oddly enough- within the woman’s otherwise agonized thoughts as she remained curled up in a fetal position on the cold, filthy tile floor of an unfamiliar kitchen in an equally unknown apartment. A place she will most likely never forget. A place she should have never found herself anyway in the late hours. The darkness. The horrible smell of trash, old bleach, spoiled milk, blood, and death. But not fresh death. Rather a creature whose body was rotten from long ago and far past its expiration date. The room had been full of them only minutes before, but now it was only...the silence. All but her heart, as the pumping slowed to a halt, and the once mortal coil she lived with for twenty-six years continued its transformation into something entirely more impressive. Perhaps even more monstrous. What was happening on that night? And more so, what had happened to the large man who caused this shift of lifestyle? A paradigm that was once laid out for the young woman, now turned to a path of uncertainty. The attackers, who had come out of nowhere, resulting in a scar across the woman’s face that may never heal.

And the creature...the hairy beast who saved her from a gruesome death.

How does one find themselves in such a situation?

It only makes sense to go back to the beginning.

-----------

Situated between the megacities of San Francisco and Los Angeles, and bordering Yosemite National Park, Nicole was born to a middle class family in the relatively sleepy town of Fresno. Daughter of a retired police captain, and a flower shop owner, the girl was - at times- standing before a crossroad, wondering just where to go with her life. She respected both of her parents occupations, as law enforcement and entrepreneurship were no easy tasks, however, after graduating highschool, it seemed that her father’s line of work had the most influence during her life and the Fresno Police Academy was the next major step on her journey. Was it something she dreamed of? Not necessarily. But she was never quite sure what her dream was, and simply settled for familiar territory.

Fast-forward seven years, arduous training, political bullshit, misogynist leadership, and generally gathering as much street knowledge as possible, and Nyx found herself in Los Angeles, or more specifically, West Hollywood, working undercover for the LAPD’s narcotics department for a few months. New to the division, but not the life of a police officer, the woman certainly proved capable enough in cracking a number of smaller pending cases that had otherwise baffled the local precincts. Perhaps the chaos and massiveness of Los Angeles simply needed a fresh perspective from a small-town girl, or perhaps, there were greater forces at work. Either way, Nicole was given the chance to strike at the heart of a blackmarket operation, as a meeting with the suspected ringleader was set into motion, with the young woman going as the “potential buyer”.

A few days before the meet -and simply wanting to unwind after a long day- Nyx met a few friends and coworkers at a quaint pub in Fairfax on Melrose Avenue, hoping to drown the stress and anxiety she felt at times on the job. It wasn’t the best idea for a cop, but it sure sounded great at the time. While sitting at a small table near the back corner of the pub, chatting it up with the others, Nicole couldn’t help but glance across the room, almost as though a subtle voice compelled her to do so, as she nervously curled a lock of her shoulder-length auburn hair around an ear. It felt...right. The feeling of possibly knowing the young brunette who sat at the bar nursing some sort of refreshment and exchanged eye contact. Within a few moments, Nicole excused herself, asking the others if they wanted anything from the bar, before heading over there, solely focused on the beautiful woman with the intoxicating smile. Very few friends even knew much about her personal life, especially when it came to relationships or sexual preference, but it all didn’t matter at that moment. There was only her and the mystery woman, and Nicole was intrigued. Stepping up to the bar next to her, she ordered for her friends, to at least keep up the appearance that she wasn’t just strangely drawn to a random female. Small talk or otherwise, they both spoke, Nicole finding herself smiling and blushing more than she had in a long time, caught off guard by the compliments and subtle flirtatious gestures from the woman who called herself “Eva”. After what could have been a solid five minute conversation, Eva handed Nyx a black business card, with a beautifully crafted lavender-tinted “E” emblazoned on the front, with parting words to contact her if she needed anything.

Nicole didn’t quite know what to think of that -just meeting her and all- but she smiled and nodded, before heading back to her table with a new pitcher of beer in her hands and a contemplative expression. Her friends gave the woman their own suspicious looks as to wonder what was going on between the two. One could only imagine.

The Animal I have Become.

The evening of the meet put Nicole in the heart of Park Mesa Heights, one of the roughest neighborhoods in South Los Angeles, and one of a dozen or so areas where cops were found brutally murdered with very little trace of the culprits. Unexplained shit was the norm it seemed these days, so Nicole wasn’t surprised that her backup -two unmarks- were mostly reluctant to take the job considering where the meet was taking place. But, early intel reported very little gang interference that night, so they had to take the opening while it was still possible. With backup flanking both sides of the condemned tenement along 15th Street, Nicole made her way to the second story apartment, as instructed via the dealer’s email, stepping over piles of trash, sleeping, drunk, or high vagrants, and dead rats before knocking at the door which opened within moments.

Greeted by a tall, muscular, bearded man dressed in mostly leathers and covered in tattoos, Nicole followed behind and locked the door per his request. The place was in shambles as one would expect from a building that had been considered “unsafe to occupy” for years, but it looked as though plenty of undesirables took shelter regardless of the concerns.

“I’ll cut right to the chase.” The large man stated, crossing his arms. “I’ve been watching you for awhile, and I know all about you.” He paused for a moment, before allowing a smirk to cross his lips. “Officer Stathos.”

Nyx wasn’t prepared for what had just happened, and her body tensed, her poker face giving away more than she probably hoped for. How the fuck does he know? Was there an insider feeding this shithead police-sensitive information? But he couldn’t know that much. Clearly it’s a bluff.

“Look, I don’t kn-”

“Don’t bother denying it, Nicole. I have literally every piece of intel on you that goes all the way back to mom and pop’s home in cozy Fresno.” He shrugged, while his voice remained even-toned and nonthreatening. “The bottom line is, you’ve got guts, you’re a good cop, and I want you.”

The woman cocked her head slightly, and was just about to say something, until he continued.

“No, not in the way you’re thinking, my friend. You’re not my type.” He snickered, taking a few steps closer. “More like, joining a family who will stick by you through thick and thin.”

The woman wasn’t quite sure how to respond, so she simply didn’t, but rather backed toward the door. Locked. Fuck.

“Now I know this is all a little unorthodox, but I assure you it’ll be over before you know it.” The bearded man kept his arms crossed as he stepped closer.

“Look, just stay the fuck away from me!” She exclaimed, slowly reaching for the 9mm tucked behind her.

The other simply shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that.” He responded, and before the firearm could be presented, supernatural speed positioned him directly at the woman’s side, knocking the weapon from her hand and pinning her against the door with strength that felt like the weight of a garbage truck had pressed down against her torso.

“You can struggle...” The man growled, his eyes glowing a subtle amber as he pierced her own frightened gaze. “But it’ll only make what’s coming next all the more painful.”

“Wait-”

Before further protest, a sharp pinch surged through the flesh on her neck, the muscles tensing, causing the woman to recoil and attempt to pull away from the iron grip of the large bearded man. But the short-lived pain quickly turned to a pleasurable experience as her body slowly relaxed, and the blood being siphoned from the open artery flowed freely and with little resistance. Her mind, body, and soul would all succumb to the song of the kindred. The Kiss. The Embrace. What felt like an eternity had only been a few moments, but the vampire who would become her Sire carried the woman to the center of the living room and laid her down onto the floor, before opening his wrist to allow his new Childe to feed. And feed she did, without much hesitation in fact, as though the very lifeforce which coursed through his veins called out to her. Beckoning her to become one. One flesh. A pact that would be unbreakable until Final Death.

In a sudden turn of events, the front door of the apartment was kicked in and off its hinges, and three figures -silhouetted by the light of the street ambience- rushed in, catching the Gangrel off guard. The lead assailant, a hefty dark-skinned brute with a shaved head and gold teeth snarled baring fangs as he leapt with inhuman speed at the bearded vampire, knocking him against the adjacent wall. The large Gangrel recovered quickly, landing on his feet and springing forward with ebony claws out and rage in his expression. The altercation between the two seemed to go on for what could have been mere seconds at their rate of acceleration, with growls, hisses, and the crunching of bone and cartilage with each exchange of punches and kicks.

And there was Nicole, her body slowly going through the agonizing physical and psychological transformation of vampirism, was of little use in an otherwise vulnerable state.

But, it mattered not, for as quickly as the fight started, it ended, with the Gangrel being held by the other two attackers, and the leader pulling a large iron rod from his coat and placing it over the heart of the bearded one.

“How did you find me?” The Gangrel hissed through clenched teeth.

“No one dips out on the Sabbat.” The dark-skinned man growled before driving the rod through the other’s chest, eliciting a blood curdling howl before his body went limp. “Take that punk-ass outta here.” He spat. “I’ll deal with his bitch.”

The woman’s body continued to react to the vitae introduced into her system minutes early, even as she stared up at the man looming over her with a poisonous grin, trying to formulate words of help or to plead for her life. She had no idea what was transpiring at that moment. Was she drugged? Had she been hit by something? Her head throbbed, muscled convulsed, and veins burned with a fire from a thousand suns. The Gangrel’s own blood was killing every cell in her body, reforming organs and tissue into something else. Something...monstrous.

“Pathetic lil dog.” He shook his head mockingly. “Not even worth my time, but can’t leave any loose ends.” He said, pulling a military grade tactical knife from his coat. “And yo a fuckin’ huge loose end. And don’t think your friends are coming. Nope. I’d say they're out for the count. For good.” A wry grin crossed his dark lips. “Fuckin’ mortal pigs.”

“But-ah, I’m gonna take a lil souvenir before I slice yo pretty ass up good.” The dark man leaned over the woman and grabbed a handful of her hair, running the blade across her scalp as Nicole’s own hand grabbed on his wrists. Strength was slowly forming in her muscles, but not enough to do anything worth keeping the stranger from cutting away a few locks of hair from the side of her head.

“Fuck you!” She vomited out the words as blood streamed from the corners of her lips, feebly attempting to punch her assailant in the head with her free hand. One. Two. Three. The punches did nothing as the dark man smiled, taking his own hand and raking clawed fingers across part of her face and head, which caused the woman to scream in pain as the inherent poisons aggravated the wounds.

“Ev’ryone has their kinks.” He chuckled, hovering the tip of the blade over the exposed and bloodied throat of the woman. “Mine just happens to be causing pain-”

But before the vampire could finish, he sniffed the air and quickly turned his head in surprise only to notice a creature, whose stature reached the ceiling, looming behind him. Although it was too late, as the hairy beast thrust it’s large clawed hand forward, grabbing the head of the Sabbat creeper, and slamming him against the floor with a force that sent a rumble across the apartment. Again and again the Werewolf plowed the head of the other against the splintered hardwood floor until the body went limp, and no longer was the vampire a threat.

The towering creature allowed a low growl to slip through it’s huge muzzle as it merely stared at the female neonate laying at its feet, her own eyes glared back with a mixture of confusion and rage.

“You’ll need this, and I suggest you get the hell out of here soon.” The beast said, tossing a blood pouch which landed next to her before effortlessly hoisting the dead vampire up and over its shoulder and heading out through the door.

“Ah...and let Eva know that my debt is paid.” It concluded, disappearing into the darkness.

And so we end where this began. On the floor of a place unfamiliar to her, staring through eyes that did not belong to her prior to the Embrace that changed everything. The blood pouch had been ripped open easily enough, and a woman who’d never thought drinking blood of any kind would be a treat, guzzled the two pints down as though it would be her last. It began it’s mending of wounds, although the scars on her face would never truly heal fully. And it didn’t take long for at least the hunger, the rage, and the instinct to want to rip something apart to subside as the vitae ran its course, nourishing as best it could. Extinguishing the beast within that so badly wanted to claw its way out of the darkness.

Not today Satan. But maybe tomorrow.

Hands trembling, Nicole sat up and reached for her phone, calling both men who were to be the backup for the operation that was clearly a total cluster fuck. It wasn’t even real. It was all a sham, and the woman fell for it, hook line and sinker. There was no answer from either cell, and while shaken and confused beyond belief, she needed to know, and so she stood and made her way out of the apartment complex to where the unmarked cars were to be positioned. And there they were. The cars. The corpses of both officers. A bullet to each of their skulls. Their lives ended due to a big joke.

And Nicole was the punchline.

She wanted to cry, but could not. Tears that were once something familiar to her had disappeared. There was nothing but agony and guilt. She reached into the car and grabbed the police radio, calling out for emergency assistance due to two police officers down. The whole operation was a bust. It didn’t matter who knew about what anymore. It was all a setup. Who could she go to? Sure as hell not her Captain. Nicole couldn’t stop shaking. It wasn’t the hunger from her new unlife, it was fear of the unknown. Fear and uncertainty of anything anymore. The initial transition from mortal to kindred was no easy thing for the psyche to wrap around. None of it should be what it is, but it happened. Although...what happened? What was happening to Officer Nicole Stathos?

That night fear compelled her to flee. To run far from where all of this had gone down. And so, with a heavy conscience she leapt into her car and peeled off into the coolness of the night. Back to her apartment. Back to the familiar turf of West Hollywood.

Luther stands at an average five foot ten inches and with a proportionate, if undefined, body shape and muscle tone characteristic of a healthy bookworm. His hair has rested in the same careful cut trimmed and shaped around his head since the days natural blood flooded his veins, with a carefully-sculpted beard defining his upper lip, jawline and chin in a similar fashion.

For normal wear among the Kine and those Kindred not of the Clan, Luther dresses in a finely-tailored, Austrian-made three-piece suit consisting of a blood red collared shirt, and matching black tie and trousers. His usual footwear are firm, polished leather jackboots, and he regularly dons a long, gray double breasted coat. A ring bearing the symbol of Clan Tremere adorns his left ring finger.

When among others of his Clan and blood, his outfit becomes much more traditional. A set of flowing red-gray robes give him the usual scholarly appearance expected of the Warlocks, if a bit old-fashioned for many of the newer members.

Luther Hofmeister is an old Kindred, and it shows. He carries himself with wisdom, authority, and a healthy dose of arrogance characteristic of all Elder Kindred. He does not consider himself to be wholly above all others, however, and has high respect and courtesy to those who have proven themselves capable, reliable, and hard-working. He has a personal fondness for those who show themselves to be open to study of the mysteries of the universe, whether they be Kindred or otherwise, and adores sharing trivial knowledge of the occult arts and mystic sciences with those of similar ilk, though the secrets of real power remain with him.

When it comes to Clan Tremere, its ilk, and their secrets, he's a vehement loyalist to the bitter end. He continues to practice their customs and traditions even in the face of the collapse of the Clan, and his wandering across the globe is as much a catalog of the status of the Tremere in various corners of the world as it is a quest for knowledge and survival. The pyramid hierarchy may have had its blood bonds broken, but in the mind of Herr Hofmeister, it is alive and well.

Luther’s history stretches back to the Middle Ages, to the very beginning of Clan Tremere. Unlike the other Kindred clans and bloodlines, the Usurpers tie their history to another supernatural element of the night, the Mages of the Order of Hermes and their former House Tremere followers. Luther’s foray into the supernatural began here, as one of the last members inducted into the ranks of the Mages of House Tremere, and thus one of the last Embraced into the numbers of Clan Tremere. The conversion to Vampirism took from House Tremere the source of their original Hermetic magic, the spiritual Avatars that allow a Mage to work their forces. With the physical death of their bodies, the Mages of Tremere also experienced the loss of their Avatars, for the soul connection forged could no longer exist without a soul.

This loss is something that has driven Luther’s career ever since. Having been a member for only the briefest amount of time before his Embrace, the loss was sudden, and has clung to the edges of his mind for nearly a millennium now. As the newly-founded Clan studied their condition and learned to manipulate the powers of vampirism, many in the Clan desired to find a way to either use the powers of their condition to forge new connections to Avatars in an attempt to restore their magic, or to emulate their lost abilities through the use of Vampiric powers such as the signature Thaumaturgy discipline the Clan had developed. Among those who worked Thaumaturgy in an attempt to recover or replace their lost magic was Luther, and this desire quickly helped him climb the ladder of the forming Tremere Hierarchy.

Over the centuries, Luther would begin to study and help shape several of the Paths of study known to Thaumaturgy users. Over time, the Paths would begin to diverge from traditional assumptions about Blood Magic, and begin to resemble the magic lost to the Clan years ago. The abilities of telekinesis, conjuring matter from thought, and even creation of fire became known to Luther, but still the connection to a new Avatar eluded the Kindred of Clan Tremere.

As the modern era grew ever closer, Luther’s studies kept him more and more involved in the chantries of Europe, with his conventional understanding of the global environment horribly outdated. Perhaps this is why the attack on the Vienna Chantry in 2008 by the Second Inquisition took him by such shock. While many Kindred of the Clan met their final death in that attack, he was able to slip away undetected, and begin to make a retreat across the lands.

In the twelve years following the attack, Luther’s journeys took him first across Europe, and then over the Atlantic to the United States, all the while stopping at any and all Tremere Chantries and havens he could uncover or remember, gathering records and forging contacts within the survivors and remnants of the Clan. As he ventured, he quickly grew to understand the world as it was now, and how to handle situations he never would have imagined in older nights or while cooped up in Vienna. As he trekked across the US and learned more from the American Tremere, he found himself drawn to the city of Los Angeles, one known for changing hands rather often. But between the battles of the Camarilla, Sabbat, and Anarchs, there was always a constant. The Tremere Chantry of LA. The next, and possibly last, stop on Luther’s journey.

In his natural Homid form, Stalks-The-Booze is a gruff middle-aged man of vague Slavic descent, who hides his defined face under a shaggy, grimy mane of long black hair and beard. His large, wiry build is hidden behind dirt, grime, scars, and a hunched posture that belies his six foot three height. His only outfit is a hodgepodge of patchwork trousers, worn and rugged combat boots, and at least three coats over a ragged turtleneck. A winter beanie cap lines his head, and every pocket and groove seems to store a myriad of seemingly-useless items of questionable value, though one staple is a hip flask that seems near-bottomless whenever he drinks from it.

In Glabros form, Stalks-The-Booze's hair and beard grow even longer and more ragged, which helps hide some of the more monstrous features of the form that teeter along the edge of the Veil. His layers of clothes help accommodate for the increased muscle mass and tone as well.

In Crinos form, his clothes and human hair give way to the standard werewolf form, covered in shaggy, knotted gray-black fur. While many of the Garou War forms take the shape of hulking beasts that could tear a car in half, Stalks-The-Booze's War Form is a fair bit more agile and limber of build, lending to the nature of the Bone Gnawers and the Ragabash as sneaks and stalkers of the dark.

In Hispo form, Stalks-The-Booze resembles a massive prehistoric Dire Wolf, though with a similar bent on agility and stealth like his War form. The fur of this form begins to take on more of a gray hue, with much of the black being relegated to his head and back.

In Lupus form, Stalks-The-Booze's limber build and gray-black fur give him the vague, if not wholly convincing appearance of being more of a wolf-dog hybrid than a pure wolf. Only the dimwitted, poor-sighted, or careless would completely buy such a disguise, but many would be surprised at just how often it works.

Stalks-The-Booze is almost the perfect definition of a Bone Gnawer Ragabash, or at least what those familiar with the terms might expect. A drunk, homeless bum with a penchant for theft, vandalism, destruction of property, and a spirit that's more than a bit too in-touch with the Wyld. Stalks-The-Booze is well aware of the type of personality he gives off, and he leans into it hard.

To those he doesn't have a vested interest in, he's just a mangy wolf-dog who cackles like a hyena, sticks his muzzle where it doesn't belong, vanishes at the first sign of trouble, and reeks of hard liquor. To those who've earned it, he's a shrewd spymaster, cunning fighter, wise critic, and a master boozebrewer.

In his own heart, he's an unconventional thinker who feels the best savior of the Garou Nation, and humanity as a whole, is saving the supernatural world at large from the humans themselves. To him, every human who's ever staked a Leech, burned a Witch, or excised a Spirit is a hole in the veil that needs patching, and if that means working with Leeches, Witches, and Spirits to do it, then by Gaia and Rat it'll be done.

Before his First Change, Mitch was already fitting the stereotype of a Bone Gnawer rather well. A high school dropout making ends meet by selling recycling cans and scrounging junkyards, it's a wonder the Gnawers didn’t already have him around as Kinfolk before it happened. But it's easy to lose track of one man in the streets of LA, especially when he hasn’t yet transformed into a hulking wolf-monster. But when he does, it’s like a neon sign saying “Come get me!”

The Tribe found Mitch in the scrapyard of one of the city’s train depots, tearing a pair of guard dogs to ribbons. After the Garou equivalent of an argument, they finally brought him back to his natural Homid form, and dragged his unconscious body back to Tribal grounds. After waking him up with a boot to the head and a splash of god-knows-what, they gave him the rundown and introduced him to his family.

It wasn’t long after that they set him upon his Rite of Passage, and it was certainly one befitting the Tribe. The goal was to strike a blow at one of the corporate holdings of the Wyrm-controlled Pentex organization. The target was a massive triple-trailer transport truck full of King Breweries-brand Wyrm-tainted booze. Mitch and his first pack needed to find a way to dispatch the cargo before it made its first dropoff. What should have been a simple case of “Hijack the truck and drive it into the bay.” became a whirlwind adventure of “Drive across the city chasing this damn truck.”

It was during this trial that Mitch picked up the same trusty van he still operates today. Having just lost track of the truck, Mitch rushed his pack to a nearby car graveyard, where he jump-started an abandoned van, loaded the pack inside, and began tracking down the truck in question. Cutting through alleys, weaving through traffic, and using the guidance of a friendly spirit, they managed to follow the truck to a dockside convenience store.

It was there that the pack quickly stopped the delivery of the first shipment, the pack’s Theurge worked a Gift to drive any existing Wyrm spirits from the drinks, and a cinderblock on the gas pedal drove the now-clean shipment into the waters of LA’s oceanfront. Upon returning to the tribal grounds with the driver’s company ID as proof of their feat, celebration for passing the Rite was dolled out, and Mitch became known to others of his kind as ‘Stalks-The-Booze’ for his efforts in tracking the cargo truck.

In the years that have passed, he’s worked his way up the proverbial totem pole of the local Sept, taking the position of Warder and thus garnering a bit of room to work and operate independently, directing younger warriors and operatives in the Sept while working his own plans and schemes. His unconventional views on cooperation with others of the supernatural spawned from this, and as a long-term cover to those he doesn’t want prying in, he quickly took up the guise of a drunkard, learning many a Gift that help summon food and drink for a ‘party’ atmosphere, using the back of his van as a makeshift home distillery, and even making a fetish out of a dinged up, old hip flask to infinitely refill itself(unbeknownst to others, it’s only full of booze when someone that’s not Stalks holds it)

As the new decade opens, and the city once again becomes rife with conflict and strife, Stalks-The-Booze begins working his plans into action, hoping to rally together both his Sept and other creatures of the shadows to strike against those that would see them all destroyed.

Mihail was born on January 1st, 2000, in Brașov, Romania, not too far from the birthplace of Vlad the Impaler himself. The Dobrescu Family had been prestigious vampire hunters dating back to the 1300s, and so Mihail knew about the World of Darkness from a young age. Despite the supernatural bonafides of his vampire-hunting father and Romani mage mother, his parents had no interest in the young boy pursuing the family business. The supernatural world was dangerous, and they did not wish to force the responsibilities of a hunter or mage onto the young Mihail. It was unavoidable that Mihail grew up aware of supernatural beings, but he was largely indifferent to their existence.

Perhaps due to some blessing given as a reward for past deeds, or some distant giant-blooded relative, there had not been a Dobrescu man in the last three hundred years who had not grown to be at least 6’8. The young Mihail was no exception. Despite the sport not having much of a following in Romania, Mihail naturally took to basketball. By the time he was 15, his skill and athleticism led his highschool to two local championships, and he’d received offers from American athletic prep schools.

But, as tends to happen with the supernaturally-inclined, tragedy struck. After two consecutive blocks from Mihail sealed a particularly close game against a divisional rival, Mihail and his mother Malina returned home to tragedy. Mihail’s father had been butchered in gruesome fashion, his body left crucified in the front hall in some sick mockery of religious imagery. Written on the ground in blood was an oath of vengeance, vowing to exterminate every member of the Dobrescu Family line in retaliation for all the vampires killed over the centuries. Malina and Mihail sold their property and fled the country shortly thereafter.

After finishing his last two years of highschool at a midwestern athletic prep school and attending two years of college at Duke University, Mihail declared for the 2020 NBA Draft. He was selected late in the first round by the Los Angeles Lakers. After a short stint in the G-league, Mihail began to find success as a rotational power forward and center for the reigning NBA Champions.

Roughly two months ago, Mihail had his breakout game. With the Lakers down by 21 points at the start of the 4th quarter and the stars out due to injury, Mihail was given significant minutes for the first time. He recorded twenty-two points, eleven rebounds, five assists, and four blocks in just twenty minutes of total game time. He played for the entire fourth quarter, bringing the Lakers back to eventually win the game 111-106. For his efforts, local media dubbed him “Count Blockula” due to his Transylvanian heritage.

Though he cannot explain this publicly, Mihail despises the nickname because he believed that when he came to Los Angeles, he would be done with vampires and the paranormal entirely.

He was wrong.