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Clan: Followers of Set
Demeanor: Bon vivant
Concept: Irish Mob scion
Physical Strength 2, Dexterity 2, Stamina 2
Social: Charisma 3, Manipulation 3, Appearance 4
Mental: Perception 2, Intelligence 4, Wits 2
Talents: Alertness 1, Brawl 1, Dodge 1, treetwise 3, Subterfuge 3
Skills: Drive 1, Firearms 2, Performance 2
Knowledges: Academics (Egyptology) 4, Computer 2, Investigation 3, Linguistics 1, Occult 3
Backgrounds: Allies (Don Lambert, Catherine McGrath, David Stonetree) 3, Contacts (Egyptologists, Night Janitors) 2, Generation 2, Herd 3, Influence (Newspapers) 1, Resources 3, Retainers (Sebastian Colt, Philip Shape) 3, City Status 1
Disciplines: Serpentis 1, Setite Sorcery (Path of Duat) 2
Virtues: Conscience 3, Self-Control 3, Courage 4
Morality: Humanity 6
You haven't heard of the Boston McGraths? No, I guess you wouldn't have. As Irish Mob families go, we aren't exactly high-profile. We prefer to lurk in the shadows. I guess I get that from my mortal and immortal blood.
That doesn't mean we weren't in the thick of every kind of dirty business you can think of, though, just that we had better middlemen and lawyers. Gambling, rum-running, drug-dealing, prostitution, you name it, we did it. After five generations, we had a huge New England mansion and the kind of purchased respectability that goes with a bank account in the nine-figure range. I hated the whole stinking set-up since I was about thirteen, but there wasn't a hell of a lot that I could do about it. I lost myself in two things - sex, and books. I loved history, especially ancient history. Especially ancient Egyptian history. I couldn't explain the compelling fascination it had for me, but I was already studying it at college level, in my own time, by the time I'd graduated high school.
I'm smart - smart enough that I could get into Harvard with a combination of my brains and my family's connections. Thanks to my long-term obsession with the subject, I was something of a star student. I actually collaborated on several published papers by my second year of study. I was genuinely, truly happy... mostly.
There was only one problem. I didn't like having my family paying the tab for it all. My late, unlamented father sneered at me about that. How was I going to pay my way without their help, he asked me? Since I'd been a teenager the only things I'd been any good at were reading history books and screwing, and he didn't see me making money out of either. I hope the bastard's spinning in his grave in the knowledge that he gave me the idea for a career as a stripper and porn performer. Thus was born "Kent Min". (If you're wondering how I chose my porn star name, Khent-min was the ancient Egyptian center of worship of the fertility god, Min, who is usually depicted as a man with a - well, look it up on the web if you can't figure it out).
My father and uncle ran the "family business" between them after some fairly bloody inter-familial murders a couple of decades before. They stayed on top through terror tactics - so you can imagine how pissed they were at having the heir to the throne appearing in porn, especially when I didn't confine myself to straight porn. The dabbling with cocaine was another black mark - our family shipped the stuff, we didn't use it ourselves. That was for losers. I was threatening to turn them into a laughing stock, and that was something they couldn't afford to let slide.
I deliberately set out to piss them off, and I succeeded. What I didn't expect was for the bastards to go after my friends, the people around me, instead of me. Two of my buddies were taken out by high-velocity sniper rounds; they died in my arms. And something in me snapped. I would have sold my soul to get even with those sons of bitches.
And I did.
I didn't know who my sire was at the time; I thought he was just a drug supplier in the decadent circles I was moving in. But he was a good listener, and he found me at the exact moment when I wanted, needed, to spill my guts.
He listened to me, and asked me a simple question - if someone gave me a deadly poison, would I use it to commit patricide?
Yes, I said, without hesitation.
He smiled, and handed me a vial. Derived from the venom of a cobra, he told me; with a little something extra to give it added bite.
I went home. My father and uncle gave me an ultimatum - I quit what I was doing right now, or they would kill everyone around me, slowly and painfully. I acted beaten, cursed them, even shed a tear or two, but finally gave in. Neither of them noticed what I'd put into their bourbon in the few seconds I'd turned my back on them.
I walked out of their study, walked towards the front door, and kept on walking. I heard them start screaming behind me as I got into my car. I didn't stop. My one regret is that I couldn't watch their final moments.
You're thinking that I'm a pretty cold, ruthless bastard, right now, aren't you? Yeah, well, I come by that honestly, through my blood. And I don't mean my Setite blood.
The patricide was a Setite entrance exam of sorts, though I didn't realize it at the time, of course. To be honest, I wasn't expecting to survive long once the family found out - with the guilt I was feeling over having gotten my friends killed, maybe it was an indirect kind of suicide attempt. But my sire had other plans. To him, I'd proved to be a perfect childe - ruthless, morally decadent, and yet deeply steeped in the lore of ancient Egypt.
The Embrace saved me from a family-sponsored hit that was, as I'd expected, already out on me. The family was contacted, and told I'd been killed in a mugging gone wrong. Several of my relatives came to the morgue to view my corpse. I had the incredible urge to sit up like the monster in the horror flick and scream "Bhwaaaaa!" in their faces, just to see how they'd react - but I didn't.
And they say that we Sand-Snakes don't have regrets.
Once I got over the despair and guilt and started thinking straight again, it was too late; I was in too deep ever to dig my way out again. I threw myself into my studies, this time aided by Setite clan archives holding secrets that no mortal historian had ever seen. My sire started teaching me the basics of the clan's sorcery; he was an indifferent sorcerer himself, so he was amazed at how fast I picked it up. He was also amazed when I discovered, in the Harvard online archives, a Setite Sorcery ritual that he hadn't been aware of; a simple blood magic rite that created beer which a Kindred could drink.
Big deal, you say, what use is that? You'd be surprised at how many Kindred miss beer, though. You'd be less surprised at how many of them find it useful to be able to drink it - and not just pretend to - when they're hunting vessels in nightclubs
From that thought was ultimately born Akhmim (also a name I chose; it was another name for Khent-min, back in ancient Egypt).
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It's a strip joint with a difference; vampires can actually get drunk there, not just pretend to. Because of that, it's a popular vamp hangout - and as the only guy who knows how to brew the magic beer, I'm a popular guy, even though I'm a snake.
The entire Setite "corruption" gig doesn't really float my boat, but the "liberate the spirit" philosophy is something I can buy into a lot more easily, so I can participate in the local cult's rituals with some kind of sincerity. For now, I've got a mix of success and youthful inexperience on my side, so my "doctrinal lapses" are tolerated, but I don't know how much longer that'll last. And I don't know what I'll do if it comes to a choice between protecting my people - the strippers, the bar staff, the ones who work for me and expect me to look after them - and the demands of the local Temple.
Well, actually, that's not true - I do know. As my father and uncle discovered, snakes are poisonous, and they bite. And I've already made a decision that anyone who messes with people I care about is going to feel that bite.