Baron

You hate these Anarchs. Every last one of them, with their nattering about freedom and equality, when so many of them have never truly known its opposite. Enlisting as a code talker in the war was supposed to be your escape from crushing poverty and random violence by the white hicks in the neighboring towns, but instead it was your downfall. You caught the notice of an antitribu Tremere, one of Goratrix’ foul brood, who was researching Diné medicine and its potential power againstthe marauding Lupines of the Southwest and their cagey intermediary Screech.. When he learned your father was a hatáli, he forced the sacrilege of the Embrace on you and set you to helping him adapt your people’s practices to his disgusting sorcery. Just what the hell it was that killed him that night, you don’t know or care — but this was the only Cainite community you could flee to where nobody’d ask who you were or what blood. At least these fools are deluded enough to buy their own rhetoric, which makes them easy to manipulate. In fact, in the decades-long process of trying to build a safe, impregnable fortress of Domain, you seem to have become the bastards’ leader. Fine. If they’re willing to be your personal army in exchange for your telling them it’s rain when you piss on their boots, you can oblige.