Claudia Caine
Posts : 4897 Join date : 2010-01-30 Age : 36 Location : France
| Subject: Clan Stereotypes on each other Sat May 14, 2011 10:58 am | |
| Alright, this is part of the Clan descriptions, but it deserves a topic on it's own, cuz it makes me lulz, and I love lulz. I'll make this exact same topic on the OOC section for the RP, as this is a global view ; some local alliances do not fit these stereotypes ^^ - Brujah:
Assamite: They fell too far from the tree to have a place in our world. Followers of Set: Oily bastards. I have to wonder what they're hiding if what they don't mind showing you is so heinous. Gangrel: They fight well, and they're willing to go to the wall for what they believe in. Maybe we'll join them if they leave the Camarilla. Or maybe we'll leave first. Giovanni: I'm not sure what their angle is, but if it involves dealing with the dead, it can't be good. Lasombra: Swing first and ask questions later when dealing with these Kindred, or they'll talk you into slitting your own throat. Malkavian: They're completely batshit, but at least they don't immediately hate you based on who you are. Nosferatu: Geh! Still, they hit as hard as we do, and they know everything, so it's probably best just to be civil with them. After all, the poor bastards need all the friends they can get. Ravnos: Touch my shit and I'll rip out your fucking heart, Eurotrash. Toreador: Have any of these Kindred ever actually done anything? Or do they just snipe at each other every night? Tremere: It's like someone Embraced a bunch of D&D geeks and told them their spells were real. Tzimisce: Take 'em or leave 'em. The one I met seemed more trustworthy than most of my Camarilla "Kindred," but I can't help but think it's because she wanted something. Ventrue: These fascist assholes are complete hypocrites, just like anyone else with a bit of power to throw around. My sire says they fucked us over a while back. Paybacks are hell, motherfuckers. Caitiff: I have a couple of friends among the Clanless. We are the only clan that treats these unfortunates as equals. Camarilla: The lesser of two evils - at least they're better organized than the Sabbat. Sabbat: Then again, there's something to be said for decisive action.
- Gangrel:
Assamite: Jackals playing at being lions. Brujah: So much fury for so little gain. Followers of Set: They stink of disease worse than most of us do. Then again, we're all corpses. Giovanni: Who cares? What do they have to do with us? Lasombra: Honest bastards. Competent bastards. Bastards nonetheless. Malkavian: Either they know the greatest secrets, or they've played us all for fools. Whichever, I keep my distance. Nosferatu: Wise observers and useful allies. Still, I wouldn't choose to lair in a pest-hole. Ravnos: That these honorless bitches dare to claim kinship with us is an insult. Toreador: Pointless waste. Tremere: They are not vampires, try though they might. The reckoning has merely been postponed. Tzimisce: Pointless waste. Ventrue: Their foolish power,games keep the others preoccupied, and so we tolerate them for now. Caitiff: We bear the blame for many of these wretches. Ultimately, though, they must make of unlife what they can. Camarilla: A blood-wind harbinges the coming hurricane; perhaps it's time to leave the shack before it crashes down around us. Sabbat: We stay and go, spare and kill as we choose, O Black Hand.
- Malkavian:
Assamite: So. That's done, then. Brujah: I want to like your average Brujah, but his skull's just so damned thick that he can't crack it open and get at the good stuff he doesn't even know he's got in there. So forget him. Followers of Set: I can't understand them. Aren't they mad yet? Don't they understand what they've seen? Goddamn. Goddamn. . . . Gangrel: They aren't animals, no matter what people say. Look under the skin of the corpse, then look under the layer of beast-thought, and what do you find? A secret worse than man, corpse or animal? Yes! Yes! Giovanni: What price did these idiots pay for their inside gossip? It's yesterday's news; anybody can find it if they listen, and the Giovanni have sold their souls for it so they can call it their "big secret;'Feh. Lasombra: (an explosion of helpless, hysterical giggling, swelling up into full throated laughter) Nosferatu: They've just about mortified enough of their own flesh to blast through the wall of delusion from the other side of perception. They're onto something, but who knows if there'll be anything left of them when they get there? Ravnos: Call us deluded? Go look at a Ravnos for a while. Toreador: Puppets who pull the ii own strings, or offer them to anybody who wants to make them dance. Tremere: They are on to us. Tzimisce: Penguins. They decided they like the water SO much, they traded in their wings for flippers. And they were so close….. Ventrue: They will never accept it, no matter who tries to hand it to 'em. Well, don't say we didn't warn you. Caitiff: From their number will the Herald emerge. Camarilla: It's like The Haunting of Hill House, but you can't wait for the ending, where they wake up and realize what they are! Sabbat: It's more fun when you don't try so hard.
- Nosferatu:
Assamite: This is bad. This is straight-up, fucked-up bad. Roll around in sewage; maybe they won't wanna bite you. Brujah: They talk a lot about equality and egalitarianism and other bullshit, but they flinch like the rest. Followers of Set: What have they got that we need: Money: Hah. Fancy clothes: Hah. A comfortable apartment: Hah. Lovers!?: Hah!! Can't corrupt what's already filthy, gardenslugs. Gangrel: They understand - more than the others do, at any rate. We don't talk much, and the silence speaks volumes. Giovanni: You know that odor that comes off my skin after a good rain: That Giovanni I met had that coming from the inside. I smelled it coming out ofher mouth when she sucked up to me about "partnership." Lasombra: Mean, mean bastards. Can't even trust the shadows when you're around 'em. They won't go down first or easy, I'll tell ya that now. Malkavian: There's a nasty smell on the wind, and it's not us. Watch 'em, obsetve what they do. When you can't see 'em anymore, run or hide. Ravnos: Easily dismissed. Way, way too easily dismissed.I'm beginning to think we may have made a bad, bad mistake here.. . Toreador: These pusbags sure make themselves easy to hate, don't they? Tremere: You really thought abracadabras and eye of newt would let you dive in the deep end of the Jyhad : Idiots. Have fun in Hell. Tzimisce: In theory, I can appreciate their conceit of being monsters through and through. Unpretentious, in a way. In practice, they're fucked-up bitches, and I hate 'em. Ventrue: Little Lord Fauntleroy sat on a throne, Little Lord Fauntleroy died there alone Caitiff: Kick or be kicked, Lickboy. I know which one I'm going to do. Camarilla: Come on down here and give me that order again, Mr. Prince. Yeah, didn't think so. Sabbat: Do they really think that what they do is liberating:
- Toreador:
Assamite: There is beauty in what they do, make no mistake, but it is a beauty best observed from a distance. Brujah: On the first night, their passion terrifies. On the second night, their passion fascinates. On the third night, their passion inflames. After that...frankly, their passion begins to bore. Followers of Set: It is inevitable, of course, that persons of epicurean refinement will in the course of eternity engage in dealings with those of. . . unsavory character. Record well any transactions made, and repay all favors promptly. Gangrel: As charmingly untamed as a tiger; as worthy of consideration as a housecat. Giovanni: They dress splendidly and are charmingly mannered. Why, then, do they frighten me so? Lasombra: Their Miltonian conceit is dreadfully provocative, or provocatively dreadful, but they take it all so seriously. Malkavian: The fractured kaleidoscope of their thoughts is enchanting at first glimpse. Gaze at it too long, though, and one grows prone to terrible headaches. Nosferatu: Odious beasts! And to think that they are allowed in the halls of culture! Oh, how gauche.... Ravnos: The subiects of many delightful stories - well, delightful so long as one does not also feature in the tale. Tremere: One deals with the butcher and the bureaucrat because they provide useful conveniences. One graciously acknowledges services efficiently performed. One does not, though, invite the hired help to the soiree, nor take kindly to party-crashers. Tzirnisce: T o experience this clan's alien fruits would be almost worth the price. Remember well that "almost," dear. Ventrue: Every masterwork must have its frame; every bust must have its pillar. This the Ventrue understand, and they perform their functions admirably. Caitiff: Really. Who let them in ? Camarilla: Through its auspices may Kindred and kine harmoniously coexist, each benefiting from the other's presence. Sabbat: Why would I wish to spend eternity wallowing in gore?.
- Tremere:
Assamite: What is there to say? If they have thwarted our sorceries, then we have no choice but to erase them from the face of the planet as quickly as we can -- or convince others to do it for us. Brujah: Time has been cruel. When first we met, the Brujah were the scholars of our kind. Now they have crumbled to a sorry state, and we have taken up the flame of knowledge in their stead. It is only fitting, but it somehow seems wasteful. No matter. Followers of Set: Damn them! Always prying with their slitted eyes and forked tongues, and always slipping back into the darkest corners, smiling the whole time! What do they know? Gangrel: These beasts feign loyalty, but are all too willing to hand us over to the Tzimisce if an excuse presents itself. We must be certain always to remain stronger than these hyenas who blame us for their old, poorly healed wounds. Giovanni: They have made some rather impressive inroads into the arts, in a narrow-minded, limited sort of way. Still, it would seem that necrophilia is as unhealthy for the undead mind as it is for the living. Lasombra: For all their pretense of sophistication, their willingness to lie down with the Tzimisce clearly reveals their true savagery. Malkavian: Their prattle of "insights" unknown to us grows tiresom very quickly. But however poor dinner guests they may be, they are seers of exceptional clarity. There's a trick to such perceptual shortcuts, and we can yet discover it. Nosferatu: Some tasks are too noisome even for us, and the Nosferatu make appropriate lackeys to these ends. Ravnos: They may fancy themselves magicians after a fashion, but give me 10 minutes with one of these charlatans and we shall see whose art has the true power. Toreador: They are Aesop's grasshopper; we are the ant. They think to justify their immortality with their art and their parties, but the cold times are coming sooner than they think. Tzimisce: One of the first lessons we all learn is that these Old World monsters still want nothing more than to rend our flesh from our bones. If that is the tune they prefer, we shall see how they dance when their rotting mansions are burning down around them. Ventrue: These creatures obsess over control but have no sensibility for the finer points of power. Caitiff: The other clans scorn our lineage, yet look how many of these bastard children they create. Camarilla: There is strength in a tower, no matter how decrepit some of the bricks be. Sabbat: They fancy themselves free? Fools.
- Assamites:
Brujah: Whatever gods we shared in the past, we have nothing in common now. Followers of Set: To sup with snakes is to invite their poison to your table. Gangrel: I would almost forsake the tainted blood of animals, but my need is great. Giovanni: Let them traffic with their dead, but never suffer than to stain pair domain with their debased presences. Lasombra: Untrustworthy and vulgar - but they are nonetheless game of our best employers. Malkavians: Their blood brings madness when it stains our lips. Avoid them, lest you be tainted with their derangement. Nosferatu: Their hideousness hides a semblalace of honor and, thus, they are fools. Ravnos: I find the sounds of their exsanguination more musical than their ugly Gypsy songs. Toreador: A pursuit of beauty is luxury and, therefore, wasteful. Tremere: We shall never again bear the indignity of their sorcery. The only good Tremere is the one you kill on the road back to Haqim's bosom. Tzimisce: I am surprised that our mutual hatred for the Warlocks doesn't make us better bedfellows. It is irrelevant, however, as these relics mean nothing to the modern night. Ventrue: Though they give us leave to practice our rites in cities they control, it was nevertheless the Blue Bloods who contrived to place us under Clan Tremere's curse. Caitiff: Worthless chaff, fit only to be separated from the wheat. They are rarely missed, though their weak blood does us little long-term good. Camarilla: Their nights are numbered, and we shall never forget the shackles they placed upon us. Sabbat: Too callous and classless, and so dead-set against heeding their elders' advice that they remind one of adolescent children.
- Followers of Seth:
Assamite: It seems that our brothers have forgotten all their teachings at the merest taste of a drop of vitae. And what implications this has.... Brujah: They have forgotten more lessons than they've learned. Once worth a touch of respect, now... nothing, really. Gangrel: Cunning in a savage sort of way, but lacking even the common sense of a wild dog. They have nothing we require, and are valuable only as an,abject lesson in control. Giovanni: Dangerous rivals, although they balance such crassly material priorities along with their search for enlightenment. Lasombra: Children of the void, though still fresh from the mother's teat and new-weaned on stolen vitae. Only the eldest among them have any idea of exactly what power they evoke. Malkavian: Dangerous. They are the keepers of truths perhaps even older than we. Fortunate that the other clans are foolish enough to dismiss the mad ones' prophesying as delusion and rambling; were they wise enough to listen, Set's time might well have come before we were ready. Nosferatu: A not-so-subtle reminder of what we all are, and why it is pointless to play at anything else. Ravnos: Concern yourself not with the wandering adolescents of this clan; they are foolish and ignorant of their true lineage. It is the head of the rakshasa that bears watching, and its eyes have opened again. Toreador: Such ardor is... admirable. I could become drunk on a Toreador's passion, and might drain him dry trying to fill myself with it. Tremere: How like a precocious child, with spectacles perched so seriously on his nose and a heavy book in his lap! Ah, but this little darling might eventually prove dangerous, and so requires a patent's gentle guidance.... Tzimisce: Self-titled dragons who nonetheless crawl nightly on their bellies and feast on dust. They are crafty, but not so crafty as we. Ventrue: They dislike us and spread slander against us, for they cannot accept that we are elder and of greater birth than they. Abide a while yet, and their rule will stop persecut- ing us soon enough. Caitiff: Like the others, save more easily led. Their thin blood betrays the Cainites' essential weakness. Camarilla: For all its skill at Grafting Masquerades, it cannot see through its own veils. Sabbat: A frightful mask does not a monster make. It simply makes a victim easier to spot.
- Giovanni:
Assamite: Their recent change in disposition makes me nervous. Brujah: So much noise, and yet so little signal. Followers of Set: Although they hail from the lands of the dead, there is little we can glean from them without tainting ourselves in the process. Gangrel: Ultimately forgettable; we rarely cross paths. Lasombra: They'll stab you in the back, but that's because they know how Kindred games are played. Malkavian: The insight they offer is rarely worth the excruciating company they provide; I wonder if the "madness" is a simple sham to reduce their foes' defenses. Nosferatu: This blighted clan has proved dangerously adept at uncovering secrets. Make no enemies among them, lest: you became the subject of their attentions. Ravnos: No good can come of a Kindred who claims lies as his sire. Toreador: Effete and indolent, the Toreador nonetheless wield appreciable assets. Tremere: Slippery as eels, the Tremere are guilty of the same crime as we, yet they mire themselves in the same politics that damn them. Tzimisce: An arcane, if outdated, evil. Ventrue: They spend too much time cultivating their image as martyrs to get involved with something that truly matters; they lack direction. Caitiff: Inconsequential and poorly bred; they are more mosquito than vampire. Camarilla: Large, foolish and predictable. Like American government. Sabbat: Smaller, more foolish and less predictable. Like Italian government.
- Ravnos:
Assamite: They've become even worse ghuts than ever before. The only good thing about them is that now the other clans hate and fear them so much that you can easily get plenty of cold bodies between yourself and one of these devourers. Brujah: Go ahead and let them rattle their cages. If they bend the bars, we'll follow them out - and if the zookeeper shows up, they're the first to go. Followers of Set: What is everyone so afraid of? Even a deal with the Devil isn't so bad if you read the fine print. Snakes can't poison me, and I don't have a soul to lose. Then again, if thought the same as me, I wouldn't have "preferred customer" status. So let 'em cringe. Gangrel: Ourpoor cousins, if that's possible. They dig themselves holes in the mud and drag their matted asses into the city only when the Camarilla whistles 'em up. Lapdogs gone feral, and who needs that kind of pet? Giovanni: A family as much as a clan, same as us. Give 'em space, and maybe they'll do the same. If they don't, pack 'em off to hell. They'll be happiest there, anyway. Lasombra: They look pretty soft, but these are some hard bastards, that's for sure. They ain't the new kid on the block, and they don't play kid games. (shrug) You gotta respect that. Malkavian: They see too damn much and don't buy into anybody's delusions but their own. Don't like them, not one bit. Nosferatu: Their eyes and ears are just too damn sharp for their own good. Be a shame if something... happened to those catacomb crawlers. Toreador: Poet shirts, wine and roses, leather jackets, artsy tattoos. Kill me if I ever start acting like one of those limpdicks. Tremere: Our fellow sorcerers, conjuring up solid results to own hadows. Of course, they haven't half the edge we do - I'd be more afraid of my cousin's ghost-fire than the clumsy pyrotehnics of a Warlock. Tzimisce: There are some real impurities in these bitches' blood. I say Caine took a shine to a monster some time ago, and the Tzimisce are the result. Ventrue: Bow if you have to, scrape if you must, and slit their throats for the blood if you can. Caitiff: Like suckers, there seems to be one born every minute. Camarilla: Everything we need, boxed up like a Christmas present. Sabbat: They claim to love their existence. Amazing, then, how much their actions smack of self-loathing.
- Lasombra:
Assamite: Useful tools, though a bit too... independent of late. Brujah: Their fiery passion, once harvested, makes a wonderful means through which to use them toward your own ends. Followers of Set: Hmm... How best to keep them in Egypt? Gangrel: Easily excited; terrible, monstrous foes. Agitate them and turn them loose on your enemies. Giovanni: The tree that does not branch hides rot within. Malkavian: Madness sometimes offers insight, but usually simply obstructs those who would glean its benefit. Nosferatu: Useful as flies on the wall when you need them, but Nosferatu tend to draw too many flies themselves. Ravnos: Rather than deal with them directly, it's best to goad them somewhere else and let whoever dwells there address the problem. Toreador: They possess the most tortured of unlives, and devious minds often lurk under their flighty facades. Tremere: Inelegant, yet effective in their own way. Their continued existence certainly keeps the Fiends' attentions constructively channeled. Tzimisce: Valorous allies and venomous rivals, often simultaneously. Ventrue: Their potential is dissipated by their weakness. They squander their curse by lurking among mortals. Caitiff: I find it unimaginable that any of these survive past the initial disappointment of learning what they are. Camarilla: Acceptable, if you're talking about a kine institution. If you're a blood-sucking devil of the night, though, why hide train those upon whom you prey? Sabbat: If it would merely listen a little better, it would almost lie worth the effort we invest in it.
- Tzimisce:
Assamite: Once again the Turks howl outside the gates. The Final Nights must surely be nigh. Brujah: Like ourselves, they have been unjustly toppled. Unlike ourselves, they have not adapted well at all. Followers of Set: A worm, some say, can be cut in two, or even minced, yet each piece will wondrously grow whole once more. Can the Setites do likewise, I wonder? Gangrel: Already the hunting hound paces its kennel. Soon it shall come and lick the feet of its old master. Giovanni: Why do they obsess over states of being that, as immortals, we need not deign to trouble ourselves with? Lasombra: They are shadows in truth - menacing but ultimately ephemeral. Still, ofttimes it is easier to accomplish tasks under cover of cloaking darkness. Malkavian: The aphorism that genius and madness lie close at hand was assuredly coined by a Lunatic wretch who wished to concoct an excuse for his infirmity. Nosferatu: No matter how one twists, they always return to their original state. Fascinating. Ravnos: No one merits fiercer punishment than the uninvited guest. Toreador: So lovely, so pliable, like dolls! Their most charming gift, though, is in the screaming. Tremere: They wished for immortality; now they have it. Realize, upstarts, that agony properly administered can make an instant seem like an eternity, and that an eternity of eternities is a long time in which to suffer. Ventrue: If one chooses, improperly, one can at least uphold one's error with dignity. The Ventrue embody much that is noble about the Damned, and so, when the time to destroy them comes, we will allow them to die the long way, with honor. Caitiff: Most were created rashly; as such, few are of any use save as objects of study. Camarilla: The cauldron in which the Ancients hope to cook a bloody stew. When it is tipped over, the others will see, and thank us. Sabbat: Flawed, but our greatest - and only - hope nonetheless.
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