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Thomas Lambert
Scan-150428-0010
Vital statistics
Position Unknown
Clan Ventrue
Age ~300
Status Ancilla
Physical attributes
Height 193
Weight 100

In Game KnowledgeEdit

  • was Independent for many years before joining the Camarilla
  • acquainted with Camarilla etiquette and the authority of certain positions
  • rumored to hold some kind of a position within the Ventrue society
  • lost his eye in some sort of ritual that went wrong
  • although his attire would suggest otherwise, he is still a proud Ventrue with manners and ideology expected from a fully groomed member of his clan
  • learned Necromancy from Metatron before he joined the Sabbat
  • accepted into the fold of Camarilla Zagreb on the night of 25.04.2015, with the Regent and Primogen Tenebris as his Patron
  • fond of strategy games, and various mental challenges in general
  • has been practicing medicine throughout his whole unlife, specialised in Kindred physiology
  • has a tendency for cryptic speech and philosophical debates about death
  • seems more cold and detached lately, closely monitoring the actions of other Kindred
  • used a necromantic ritual on Lazić , as retribution for an attack on his honor

Harpy RumoursEdit

Fresh hearsay:Edit

  • Does he personally have something against Malkavs? Or is it just the Chaos within them that is rubbing his inner Ventrue wrong way?

View from WithinEdit

A step is taken, with no commotion
Marching forward, but bereft of motion
His strength waning, unable to profess
With desperation the wind chimes, soulless.

These shackles waltzing with violence
Attracting the audience of none
Gazing, into the potent silence
The wanderer endures, his hope is to roam.

To find solace, an ardous task
The daymare monarch gripping tight
Blessed by the void is his husk
Infusing the spirit with draining blight.

Once his, now fleeting
The judging time a commodity
Phasing just at arms reach, grinning
In this hell with no currency.

A step is taken, with no commotion
Marching forward, but bereft of motion
His strength waning, unable to profess
And still the wind chimes, soulless.