"Make fun of me one more time and I’ll hug you, you prissy bitch."

The Stiffs

If the Nosferatu are repulsive and the Harbingers of Skulls are hideous, a word hasn’t yet been invented to describe the Samedi. Resembling nothing so much as walking, rotting corpses, these odd vampires take their name and their origin from the Caribbean and the religion of vodoun (popularly known as voodoo). Baron Samedi, in legend, was a loa of death and ancestor worship. The vampires that bear his name and visage (for Samedi is often portrayed as a corpse, albeit not one so disgusting as the Stiffs) also often share his rude, blunt demeanor. In fact, a vampire going by the name of “Baron Samedi” seems to be the founder, or at least the oldest extant member, of the bloodline.

The Samedi might seem to be an offshoot of the Nosferatu, but their powers of Thanatosis — a Discipline dedicated to manipulating dead flesh — speak of a connection to the Giovanni or their doomed predecessors, the Cappadocians. If that is the case, though, the Samedi and the Giovanni went their separate ways long ago, for neither has anything good to say about the other. The reason for this enmity is not something that members of either line discuss in public, but the Giovanni apparently have a history with Baron Samedi himself. The Baron, still active in the bloodline’s
affairs, refuses to discuss the “deal” that he had with Augustus Giovanni, but it must have been something of gravity for the mutual dislike to persist.

Samedi take the roles of enforcers and assassins in Kindred society. They don’t do it on ideological grounds, like the Assamites, and thus they find work with Kindred who want to get what they paid for. The Samedi do not take contracts against Nosferatu or, strangely, Giovanni Kindred without a heavy fee, speaking to some regard or fear of these Clans. As with so many other facts about their
line, the Samedi have nothing to say on the matter.


Samedi occasionally join the Camarilla or the Sabbat, but for the most part they consider themselves independent.


Saying that a Samedi resembles a rotting corpse is, sadly, in no way a euphemism. Their flesh is soft and tends to leak fluid if poked too hard. Their ears and noses rot away (but still function normally), and tiny bits of their skin tend to slough off and regrow. Skin retracts from the eyes and teeth, giving them the appearance of grinning skulls, but too much meat clings to the cranium for them to achieve the cleaner horror of the Harbingers of Skulls. Some Samedi are leathery and dry, like unwrapped mummies. These Stiffs still stink, but their stench is more reminiscent of rotted
flowers and old decay than fresh putrescence.


The Samedi make havens in places where a moldering corpse and its stench aren’t out of place. Morgues, mortuaries, graveyards, and meat packing plants house the occasional Samedi. Some members of the bloodline choose to dwell below ground like the Nosferatu, but this does lead to conflict between the Stiffs and the Sewer Rats.


The Samedi are a relatively young line. No Samedi older than 250 years is known to exist. Most of the older ones hail from the Caribbean islands or the southern United States. Neonate Samedi don’t always share this connection to vodoun, but frequently were close to death (one way or another) before the Embrace.

Character Creation

While Physical Attributes are a priority for those Samedi working as killers and enforcers, many Samedi lean toward Mental Traits. Samedi rarely have the Herd or Resources Backgrounds, and
their standoffish and solitary nature means that Mentor and Allies are equally rare.

Clan Disciplines

Fortitude, Obfuscate, Thanatosis


The Samedi, as mentioned, are putrid beyond words. Samedi characters have Appearance ratings of 0, and automatically fail Appearance rolls.


The Samedi are too rare to be organized. They might cross each other’s paths occasionally and trade stories, but no plan or schedules exists for these meetings, at least as far as anyone outside the
bloodline can tell.


Camarilla: Careful. These jokers have a built-in reason to set us on fire, and they aren’t afraid to use it.
Sabbat: They’re more honest than the Camarilla, anyway. But I smell like a dead asshole already; I don’t need to actually be a dead asshole.
Giovanni: Just because you’re older than me don’t mean I give a fuck what you think, dago.

The View From Without

Camarilla: We’re all agreed that our continued survival rests on the mortals not knowing about us, right? How about we get rid of the walking, talking, Masquerade breach?
Sabbat: They follow the Baron, I prefer to dance with Erzulie. But it’s nice to know that the family still talks.
Giovanni: So they can stuff shit into their dead stomachs. That’s not Necromancy. That’s, like, biology.

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