The poor, downtrodden, snivelling Nosferatu. They are truly the most unfortunate bunch of Licks. So malformed by the corruption of their blood, the Nosferatu have been hunted for as long as they have existed. Information gatherers, technicians, licit traders… The Rats are always in the know. In centuries past they made themselves indispensable to Kindred society by trading in secrets: running the show from shady back rooms and through whispered conversations.
The Camarilla, The Anarchs, The Sabbat… the Nos will more than likely outlive them all. The Horrors have made warrens - homes - in all of them. When you are shunned by a world of monsters,
simply because of how you are cursed to be, their sects begin to mean less and less, and a place to belong becomes essential. The Humane amongst Kindred, the Nosferatu have exactly what others are lacking - a fundamental common cause,
and camaraderie. The Ratways, sewers, and abandoned hovels in which the Clan of The Hidden make their beds, keeps them hidden. Keeps them safe. Protected.
They are cursed to appear as horrid, deformed, and wretched as they are inside. A Nosfertau’s body writhes, breaks, shifts, and warps upon their Embrace. It is much more obvious to see why a rat might call themself a monster,when they are reminded every time they are unfortunate enough to see their reflection. When others are more disgusted by you than you could ever be, and you are deemed too unsightly for courts of monsters:
you make it your business to have as much dirt on them as possible. Just in case. After all… you have what they lost the day they died… honesty.
Disciplines:
Animalism, Obfuscate, Potence.