Wilhelm-August Scheer
Vital statistics
Position Seneschal
Clan Tremere
Age 846
Status Elder
Physical attributes

In-game knowledge Edit

  • An Elder of the Clan of Tremere, apparently over 800 years old. Hails from Vienna.
  • Was an Mage before embrace, specializing in Alchemical studies.
  • Claims to have participated in numerous wars, wielding his trusty too-large a blade. Has numerous scars on his body to prove it, one could have seen a massive claw marks raked across his chest, a large brand in the sign of a cross and several nasty cuts on his upper arms. Certainly not a peaceful quiet history of cotemplation behind this Kindred.
  • Has an unusual martial air around him for a Warlock, yet is knowledgeable as any Tremere - a warrior-scholar of old.  Books appear to be written in strange languages and with vivid drawings of monsters and horrors. One neonite, wisely, refused to read from them.
  • Apparently this kindred now stands as a byword for scheming and malevolence. Has gained more fear and respect than many in the Imperium of Shadows.
  • Highly involved in local and regional politics as well as deeply intertwined in the Shadow Court of Darius. 
  • Obviously quite close with several high-ranking kindred in the Imperium of Croatia. Also, well known in other Domains. 
  • It is rumored he holds a high office in the clan structure of the Tremere. Words were whispered of "High" this and that.
  • A fanatical follower of the Camarilla, with extensive knowledge of its customs and history. His puritanical dedication has left many kindred in aghast and awe. Must be his Tremere upbringing or has he mixed the two?
  • His hatred for Independents is well known. Rumoured to have murdered several free kindred that were roaming the Domain of Zagreb. These rumours are repeated in hushed voices in the Elysiums of other Domains. Yet, several kindred claim to have seen him deal with some of the independent clans, a most peculiar thing indeed.
  • Likes fire. Which seems to be a recurring theme with this kindred, even his threats are fire-based. Had a big flaming sword which he lost. And subsequently replaced with an even bigger mace. In recent nights he expressed a preferrence to shadows as well.
  • The stench of charred wood seems to accompany this kindred wherever he goes and his hands now bear fire-and-ash marks - a most disturbing sight, indeed.
  • Rumored to have a collection of remains belonging to kindred that somehow wronged him. His collection includes a metusaleh, Giovanni, Tzimisce, Caitiff, and several pesky neonites.
  • Likes to re-tell old war stories - they almost always include very vivid and violent descriptions of combat and slaughter. Almost always unhonorable ones - tales of traps, of cunning deceptions, of unceremonial slaughter of defenceless or innocent bystanders. Seems this kindred has a darker past than thought of before.

The Harpy Rumors Edit

Fresh hearsay:Edit

  • According to some he showed unwavering neutrality when managing the topics of the Croatian Conclave. Yet, other decry this and believe him to be quite obviously biased. But never to his face. 
  • Apparently well known as a hunter of Infernal soul-sucking Salubri in other Domains. 
  • Rumored to have been the mastermind behind several important dealings between powerful Clans important to the Region.
  • The reptile has been replaced with a shambling humanoid form, inscribed andscarred with occult sigils, bound in thick, rusted chains. He refers it it as "Cherubael". Whatever that (or who) is.
  • Apparently his hatred for the Independents escalated, especially for those claiming to be blood sorcerers. He murdered such a kindred and claimed to have acted to preserve the honour of the Domain of Zagreb. Eyebrows are raised in such a claim.
  • His demeanour changed. Alot. Now his mannerisms are downright sinister with an occasional speck of honour and protectivness. Woe to those that harm the values he protects. Indeed fate has taken a dark twist with this Kindred.

Old news:Edit

  • When somebody messes with members of his domain, he gets quite inflamed!
  • He claims he hears screams at night and that the shadows are crying all around him like tenebrous funeral trumpets... Is he sure it's not just some Acolytes he locked up somewhere in the Chantry and completely forgot about? But really, he's always the only Tremere on the Elysium, I wonder if he's lonely in the Chantry, too? Maybe his constant loneliness is taking its toll, so that's why he hears all those moans and cries?
  • Romantique of Zagreb Coterie
  • It seems that his education of Neonates has continued. Pointers given to the Sheriff, for example, have been acted upon almost momentarily.
  • His elaboration on history of Tremere was truly magical. His words truly elucidated for Neonates a truly amazing story of clan/house Tremere.
  • Obviously dragons aren't enough for this Elder! I heard he has a grandiose idea of opening a Zoo for mythical creatures. There would be Cerberus and Hydras and Chimeras, oh my!
  • Has been seen carrying a giant diamond and talking about his laser and secret laboratory. What is he a cartoon villain? He already has a cape, so only thing missing is a mustache so he can twirl it menacingly!
  • I finally understand why this elder is such a sweet-talker and a great conversationalist! Secret is that he practices his rapport with his sword! He chit-chats with his blade! Shoots the breeze with a saber!
  • He is such an upright follower of Camarilla that a broom gets him showed up its ass so that it keeps straight. And he broke Elysium? What is going on?
  • A warned Elder becomes a deputy Keeper? What will we see next? Don't get me wrong, there is no greater stickler for details than him and he will do his job more than adequately, but, was he the first choice? Or were there, how shall we put it, more ethereal candidates?
  • Two times in less than a month an incident in the Elysium! Yeah, he may say that bomb was a training exercise, but who really believes it? Especially considering that Metronome, kindred making all the ruckus in recent months, has entered Elysium stealthy without any problems and under the Keepers "watchful" eyes!

A View from Within Edit


The bandage held. It was sweaty and bloody, covering the deep axe wound almost completely. One could smell herbs, blood and pus beneath it. Yet it worked. Arnulf felt better every night because of it. He was sure. The hag assured him, nursed him, made him feel like a child being nurtured by a gentle mother. She even refused payment. Arnulf thought he was dead after being left in the mud by those brigands. Damn them and their tariffs. At least he was alive. "How long was I here?, Arnulf wondered. "Days? Weeks?". A soft creak interrupted his thoughts. Through the ragged curtains Arnulf could see the last rays of the sun bouncing off the metal cup next to his bed. The crone is back. He tried moving but the pain in his back and legs was too much. The doors squeaked and she slid into the room, her lithe feet moving too gracefully, too precise. "Dear Arnulf, are ye better tonight?", she asked in a soft voice. Her eyes darting warily towards the last rays of the sun. As soon as they were gone, she darted towards the bandage. Unfolding it and removing the necrotic flesh, and cleaning the wound. She whispered what could be guessed as a prayer but Arnulf could not understand a thing. A christian cross could be seen beneath her long, pale, bony fingers. Arnulf felt better. No. This time he actually saw her prayers knit the flesh of his chest, he saw, bewildered, the meat regrowing faster than possible. The wound was closing, weeks worth of rest done in a couple of seconds. He felt invigorated. Pain now a distant memory. He rose from the bed. Weak but determined he spoke the words with a grim finality. "Master, it is her." At that moment, figures clad in dark chain and darkened steel burst into the small clogged, filthy bedroom. Wielding swords of fire and death, their forms obscured by red and black cloaks daubed with occult sigils. They hacked at the helpless crone with brutal blades, the first chop severing her hands held aloft in merciful prayer, the second swing lodging the large blade into her temple, the third brutal swipe lopping off an arm which flew in a wide arc across the room, turning into ashes before it even touched the ground. A figure loomed over the incapacitated Salubri, wielding an oversized flaming sword. With a savage, fanged grin, he brought the blade down hard, and with a meaty chop turned the gentle healer into a pile of ashes. Arnulf smiled and knelt before his Master, knowing full well they had the whole countryside left to clear. They had work to do.


​"Franco! Quickly! Before they spot us!" he sent the telepathic incentive. Franco darted under the cover of darkness across the silent Praca do Rossio. It was almost dawn, and the last wisps of night were slowly ebbing away and yielding to the cursed sun. Franco was a Tremere, for all intents and purposes at least, an apprentice of the Third Circle. He was also a traitor, giving away arcane secrets to the Uninitiated outside the House. Franco made it safely across the square and rushed into a small alley where his comrade, Apprentice of the Second Circle, Wilhuff Schaar, was guiding him. "We must take the side-streets to the docks. Keep out of sight and follow me. Stop for no one." He slid away pulling Francos cape. "Has my identity been compromised? The Ventrue found out, haven't they?" - asked Franco. "Yes, my dear friend. The Regent requested your immediate transfer, to keep you out of enemy hands. You have been a valuable asset to the House and Clan and we can't squander our best, now can we?" -Wilhuff answered. "T-thank you for helping me, my friend, I knew I could count on you."- Franco answered. "Franco, you would do the same for me. Besides, now you owe me. A lot." - Wilhuff grinned then he darted through another alley, keeping Franco close. They made good progress, evading a couple of the City Guard patrols, most likely manned by Ventrue ghouls. Soon the docks were in sight and salvation awaited. The stunted prow of the "'Nina" gleamed ahead, it was a caravel, that was to take Franco to Italy and then to Wien by land. "Franco, get the rowboat in place. Use your mind, quickly, it is dawning!" - Wilhuff directed him. Franco complied and the pair was on their way towards the caravel. A gentle push or two from Franco's telekinetic powers sped their way and they were soon climbing aboard. The deck was empty, seems no one was aboard, or at least everyone was sleeping. Wilhuff pointed to the captains quarters and signaled for Franco to enter. As soon as he entered he heard Wilhuff closing the doors and locking them behind him. His preternatural sight soon adapted to the dark , registering four figures standing grimly, blades drawn. " Wilhuff, YOU-!", a blade rammed through his back and all the way through his chest, the point of the rapier glinting with Vitae. Wilhuff whispered coldly in Franco's ear: "There can be no traitors to the House. Die now, scum." The figures lifted their swords and started hacking. They continued until there was nothing left, save ash and blood smeared on the walls of the small cabin. One of the figures approached Wilhuff, carrying the sigil of the Regent. "Thank you for your assistance, Regent Wilhuff, we apologize for not revealing the traitor sooner. We promise it will not happen again." - the Lisabon regent apologized. "See that you do not. I would hate to travel this far again just to take you back to Wien. You are excused, I have a boat to catch." - his blood red eyes glinted in the dark as the Tremere coterie left.


The Tapistry stirs yet again.

With a familiar feeling I slip into the Aether, moving, swimming, feeling the strands of Fate like a spider would feel its prey. Fortuna is a fickle mistress these Nights, its webs are a murky water akin to an industrial waste pond. I've rarely seen Her like that. Reminds me of Wilhelmshaven and of that fateful night...concentrate...focus...Hod, Yezod, Malkuth, Binah, Chokhmakh, Keter...

I intone the mantra, again and again, sharpening my wits, trying to pierce the muddy waters of Fate. There is an almost imperceptible scream on the edge of my preternatural ken. She is indeed cruel.

I ascend.

...Binah, Chokhmah, Keter... A monotone wailing of cows led to slaughter, a rush of rich blood on the marble steps, hectic tickering of a million tiny claws on glass, the muffled blaring of brass trumpets...





What is there in a cainite's life besides that?

I descend.

The city is restless. I touch the minds of the Kine I pass by. They feel it too. But they are droned. The screams numb their minds and dull their senses. But deep down, THEY KNOW. The primal part of them knows. It slips them cracks of truth, yet they are too blind to accept it... Your life is not yours, you live anothers life, meat for the slaughter, blood for the king-that-cometh...

I wonder, is it fear? Or the known inevitability of ones demise and utter hopelessness that is its eternal bride?


Some sparks shine in the Night brighter than the others. I feel those minds like small embers in an deep ocean. Warm stones of Life, gentle and yet sharp to the Minds Eye. A keen scholar, ponding over his work, shame he is too distraught to know he's dying...louder... A concerned mother, standing vigilant over her offspring, perplexed by her devotion...louder... A street thug getting off from a heroin high, the bloody brass-knuckles in his jacket stir my hunger...LoudeR...A politician, gambling away his stolen riches, a waste of a Fools Gold...LOUDER...

We are all Kings in our own Nights, in our own murky Ponds of Fate, our own Spiders in our own Webs, intermingled within Webs, within Ponds within...


...Shadows strike at me, batter my crimson form...

They convey the meaning, not through words, but through impossibility of hope and infinity of despair...




I struggle against the lethal coldness of the Abyss, it's dark embrace betrays a cruel, ancient intelligence behind it. Crushing me to a singularity of non-existence...


...Malkuth, Chokhmah, Keter...


...Hod, Yezod, Malkuth ...