4

Every vampire is re-born into a bloodline that some scholars and cultists believe to be a direct lineage leading back to a progenitor of the biblical age: Caine himself. Clans have formed around these bloodlines, each possessed of certain gifts. These abilities are passed on from sire to childe, always marginally diluted the further their generation is removed from the clan's founder. You didn't choose the clan you were brought into, but you adapted well enough over the decades, mastering the abilities of your clan to the best of your ability. Corliss has seemed pleased with your progress, and when Corliss is pleased, you slumber more soundly.

Sewer Rat," the other clans call you derisively when your back is turned, but you find it difficult to hold their disgust against them. As a Nosferatu, the gift of Corliss's Embrace was a piercing firebrand of agony as your body twisted into a distorted mockery of humanity. You no longer remember what your face looks like—you've long-since set aside any notions of vanity—but you often catch a glimpse in the quickly masked reactions from Kindred of the effete aristocracy. Unable to hide the reality of your monstrous deformities, you are largely condemned to exist beneath the city in a maze of tunnels and sewers with the rest of your kin.

One of your deformities stands out above the others as a defining grotesquery.

Despite your deformity, there is a redeeming factor to the Nosferatu curse. Your highly attuned affinity for animals has attracted a most ferocious and loyal companion, confidant, and spy: your pet rat. You never anticipated developing a bond with such a creature, but it heard your call, and unlike so many others, the rat decided to stay of its own free will, becoming your only companion as loyal as your personal servant, Gerard. In an effort to humanize the small creature, you gave it a name.