I took my first life before I was even born.
I was to have been a twin, but my umbelical cord became wrapped around my brothers neck, and he was not born alive. It was years before my alcohol-sotted mother confessed this to me, and only in her panicked and grieving reaction to my constant references to 'my brother,' whom I had seen and spoken to and played with since birth, not knowing that he remained unseen to all others, that he was in fact, a soul without form.
After drugs and therapy, I learned not tell anyone of Serge, or our games together, and indeed, where it not for his comfort and words in that time, I might have forgotten who I was entirely, lost myself and become a shuffling soulless drone, like so many chemically-deadened youth of this generation.
Eventually my mother passed away, but it was a matter of little grief for me, as her spirit had died at my birth, and I had never known the woman she was in life. My father was an important man, some would say, an ambassador, and with the death of his wife, he found himself forced to take his barely-known son 'on assignment' with him. I ended up in Port-au-Prince, raised on Embassy grounds by a staff of locals, not seeing my busy father for days at at time. I found that the local staff understood many things that my mother's upper-class neurotic post-industrial friends could not see, and they told me of the loa and the dark paths between the worlds of flesh and spirit.
I swallowed up their teachings, and travelled the world after university, learning all I could of the spiritual practices of a hundred lands, and many years later, once again in Haiti, attending the funeral of my own father, the darkness came forth and swallowed me up in return. The dark lady said she was a 'Samedi,' named after the Baron who ruled the lands of the dead, and my brother whispered excitedly that this could be our chance, a chance for him to walk the flesh in a body of his own (rather than inhabit mine, as he often did).
I walked, eyes open, into the dark, my brother holding my hand as always, and together we made this last journey, after a lifetime of wandering.
[Powers described in VtM terms, those listed but not described or marked with an asterisk he has not yet mastered.]
Necromancy
Dark Blast
*Zombie Horde (Shambling Hordes)
By infusing my own mystically-potent vitae into a corpse, I can awaken a form of unquiet life into the flesh of the departed, and use them as my servants. I have chosen to so retain the services of three of my tutors in the dark arts, a mestre of Condomble, a wangateur of the Palo Mayombe faith and a Vodunist bokor. After all that they have shown me, it seems only fitting to allow them to accompany me throughout eternity.
*Gloom (Vented Wraiths)
More the echoes of spirits long since degenerated into mindless rage and gibbering madness, I have chained a half-dozen such to my own soul, to unleash with a gesture and a word upon those who move against me. These spectral fragments, appearing only as shadowy fleshless skulls, relentlessly tear at the very souls of those I unleash them upon, and return to do my bidding in moments.
*Enchant Undead (Dark Connection)
Strengthening the connection between the worlds of the living and the dead, I can impart additional potency to my undying retainers. My Shambling Hordes are infused with the stuff of raw pandemonium, which they spew forth as gouts of sickly greenish ectoplasm that brings a touch of entropy to the living world, causing violent and destructive reactions to matter, living or not. The rusting blades of my 'Grave Knights' are twisted and transformed into shining soulsteel, while their ages-dead bodies are infused with the dark energies of the underworld, which they can project in nihilistic spasms.
Life Drain
*Grave Knight (Oathsworn Servants)
Centuries ago, mighty warriors swore blood oaths to their kings and pharoahs, foolishly offering to serve them even beyond death itself. By calling up the souls of these ancient liege-lords, and learning to mask my own spirit as theirs, I can summon up their devoted champions, fooling these deathless slaves of honor to centuries more of faithful service…
*Soul Extraction (Shadow Twin)
I have learned to conjure up a shadowy vestige of my undead servants, capable
of it's own unique dark powers, that I find curiously reminiscent of the magics
of the Circle of Thorns.
*Lich (On Coming Forth by Day)
Success at last! Serge walks the earth, his spirit manifest, not merely drapped in the rotting shell of some other person. He brings with him from the Shadowlands many fearsome abilities, as he has trained as assiduously as I, mastering dark arts on the other side of the dark river that has for so long (but no longer!) separated us. The stronger I make his connection to the shadowlands, with my own necromancy, the more of this dark power he can tap, throwing horrific visions and calling up nameless horrors that grapple and bind those who stand against our shared power.
*Dark Empowerment (Dark Conjunction)
I can infuse the dark waters of duat directly into my deathless servants, granting them further necromantic potency, with even the mindless zombies developing the power to draw the life-force out of their foes, and the oathbound servitors recalling more of their living skills with the twisted unholy mockeries of their once-noble blades that they now wield in my service.
Dark Miasma
*Twilight Grasp (Theft of Vitae)
Combining the overly-complex teachings of the Tremere blood-magicians and the mystical insights of the Lasombra who call themselves the 'Disciples of the Abyss,' I have learned to draw forth not merely blood or vitae, but the very empowering essence that gives it vitality, and draw it unto myself. The pain, I am told, is disorienting, and unfortunately, I have yet to master the process, and some of the vital essence I am stealing is lost, bestowed upon those who cleave closely to my person. While an unintended effect, it serves to 'heal' my lifeless minions, and any who fight alongside me, adequately.
*Tar Patch (Duat's Mire)
Between the living world and the 'Shadowlands' of the spirit-world is a membrane of sorts. Some call it 'the Shroud,' and envision it as a shimmering curtain of night, but like the Egyptian death-priests who first discovered it, I see it as a river, called Duat by those priests (and later the river Styx by the Greeks). The black water is a dark cloying hungering thing, greedy to suck the living into it's chilly depths, to spit forth only corpses. I cannot bring Duat so fully into this world, but I can strengthen it's pull ever so slightly, causing all in an area to be enmired in it's black tides, and to feel the strength of life drawn from them, so that any blow that brings them closer to death seems magnified, for the waters of death are indeed already tugging at their heels…
*Darkest Night (Haunting)
The blackest of all spirits are called by some Spectres ('spettro' to the Italian Giovanni). By bringing such an entity forth, I can cause it to assault the senses of a target, and all around it, leaving them nearly blinded by horrifying visions and a wrenching feeling of unease, as the spectre tears at their person from within, trying in vain to find a home for itself in the world of flesh.
*Howling Twilight (Torporous Reprieve)
As Kindred, death does not come so easily to us, but sufficient injury, or lack of sustenance, can bring about years of Torpor. Calling up the black waters of Duat, I can sweep it widdershins around myself to tug at the vital forces within all, living or undead, and draw that energy into the fallen, to cause them to rise, revitalized and ready for action once again, while leaving the unwitting donors staggered and sickened by the sudden draining sensation. Those closest to Duat are instead 'pushed to shore' by a black tide, regaining consciousness, while those still standing are robbed of vitality as if by a spiritual undertow, to 'pay the ferryman' so to speak, for this second chance at life.
*Shadow Fall (Mists of Oblivion)
The Shadowlands are a dark and indistinct place. Sounds echo strangely and are muted and distorted, colors fade and seem sickly and even the sense of touch is affected, so that it seems that all one can feel is a numbing chill and aching discomfort, punctured only by moments of sharp pain. Radiant light is sucked up in the darkness, and if a fire was brought across, it's heat and vital energies would likely be drained away within moments. By bringing this quality to the material world, I can cause shadowy mists to obscure my passing, and that of my cohort, while simultaneously sucking the energy out of any assaults on my person, as forces are drawn away into the spirit realm, leaving potent attacks but a fraction of their strength by the time they reach my skin.
*Fearsome Stare (Teachings from Beyond)
The very first lore I learned was to look beyond and cast my sight into the spirit world. It is a journey that not all return from, and few are unchanged by the sights they see there and the dreams that die with this bleak realization. It takes the will of a true practitioner, an adept, to impose this clarity of vision upon another, or, in this case, a group of others, leaving them trapped in horror, staring upon the unfiltered grim finality of the land of the dead. An attack upon them may snap them out of this long enough to strike back a single time, but the visions are compelling, and they are drawn back into this grotesque shadow play, unable to turn away from what they are being shown.
Petrifying Gaze
Black Hole
*Dark Servant (Stygian Shadow)
A surprise even to me, the land below has *native* creatures, not ever spirit of man, nor beast, but instead dark mists rising from the waters of the stygian depths, with a malign and unfathomable intellect all their own. I have learned to entice one of these creatures that have never known living breath into our too-warm too-bright too-loud world, at least for a short time. It follows it's own agenda, and attacks living things indiscriminately, unlike my obedient legions (and cooperative, if somewhat strong-tempered, sibling), making it something of a wild card in my hand...
*Assault (Entropy's Embrace)
Death comes for us all, but with a small nudge, the energies of Oblivion can be focused and directed, to assist one's minions (and allies) to tear down the structures of the living world and bring decay and destruction to all around them. These unwholesome energies also tend to fill those so 'inspired' with a grim satisfaction and a lust for blood, which also serves my purposes.
*Tactics (Striking True)
All living things have weak points that are easier to strike, places where the defenses of the living world are thin and death can most easily find purchase, and by calling up preternatural insights from beyond, I can instruct my allies to find these points, allowing them some small assistance in striking even seemingly-well-defended foes.
*Recall Friend (Night's Call)
Pulling another through the shadows is oddly easier than it is to step into the night myself. It seems that no living (or formerly living) thing can readily step into the waiting arms of Oblivion, and yet we have no such qualms about seizing another by the chains of spirit and yanking them bodily across the bleak wastes. I would give much to learn of a way to abort the process in mid-transport, leaving the 'friend' stranded in the Shadowlands, to be blown apart by the reeking breath of Apophis…
*Teleport (Shadow Step)
By stepping into the Shadowlands for a moment's time, I can cross great gulfs of space in the blink of an eye. Even one such as myself cannot remain there for more than an instant, as the energies of Oblivion hunger even for such flesh as mine, and would strip me to the bone if I remained, but in just seconds, I can allow the dark currents to sweep me a hundred yards before resurfacing in the living world.
*Swift
Even in my later years, nothing cleared my head like a good jog in the chill night air. These days I have more need for speed, as I have found things in the night scarier even than myself.
*Hover (Wings of Night)
The underworld has no up or down, and movement as a thing of spirit is merely an act of will. I cannot yet cross over in the flesh, but I can suspend myself on the cusp of life and death, and let the dark river carry me ever-so-slowly along, even straight up into the air, for the river goes everywhere that death itself can reach, and exists at every point in our living world...
*Loa Bone
*Goldbricker Rocket Pack
*Drop of Power
*Drop of Resistance
*Drop of Vitality
*Shivan Shard
*Stolen SMG
*20th level costume (Mask of a Thousand Faces)
Eternity has it's price, and the price I paid left my body ravaged and transformed into the very semblance of death itself, leathery and as dark as stained oak, tattooed with veves and drawings meant to evoke kinship with (or, more accurately, fearful obedience from) the spirit-world. But the minds of mortals are ill-suited to seeing the things of the Shadowlands, of which I am now surely one, and so I have learned to let them see me as I once was, an older man in a well-pressed suit, a scholarly gentleman of sorts.