[hider=Herr Hofmeister]
Name: Luther Hofmeister
Age: Actual Age of Approx. 800 years, Physical Appearance Age of 30
Species: Kindred, Clan Tremere
Powers/Skill: Uses Auspex, Dominate, and general Thaumaturgy like many of the Clan, but places particular emphasis on Thaumaturgy's Paths of Movement of the Mind, Conjuring, and the infamous Lure of Flames.
Generation: 8th
[hider=Appearance:]
Luther stands at an average five foot ten inches and with a proportionate, if undefined, body shape and muscle tone characteristic of a healthy bookworm. His hair has rested in the same careful cut trimmed and shaped around his head since the days natural blood flooded his veins, with a carefully-sculpted beard defining his upper lip, jawline and chin in a similar fashion.

For normal wear among the Kine and those Kindred not of the Clan, Luther dresses in a finely-tailored, Austrian-made three-piece suit consisting of a blood red collared shirt, and matching black tie and trousers. His usual footwear are firm, polished leather jackboots, and he regularly dons a long, gray double breasted coat. A ring bearing the symbol of Clan Tremere adorns his left ring finger.

When among others of his Clan and blood, his outfit becomes much more traditional. A set of flowing red-gray robes give him the usual scholarly appearance expected of the Warlocks, if a bit old-fashioned for many of the newer members.
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[hider=Personality:]
Luther Hofmeister is an old Kindred, and it shows. He carries himself with wisdom, authority, and a healthy dose of arrogance characteristic of all Elder Kindred. He does not consider himself to be wholly above all others, however, and has high respect and courtesy to those who have proven themselves capable, reliable, and hard-working. He has a personal fondness for those who show themselves to be open to study of the mysteries of the universe, whether they be Kindred or otherwise, and adores sharing trivial knowledge of the occult arts and mystic sciences with those of similar ilk, though the secrets of real power remain with him.

When it comes to Clan Tremere, its ilk, and their secrets, he's a vehement loyalist to the bitter end. He continues to practice their customs and traditions even in the face of the collapse of the Clan, and his wandering across the globe is as much a catalog of the status of the Tremere in various corners of the world as it is a quest for knowledge and survival. The pyramid hierarchy may have had its blood bonds broken, but in the mind of Herr Hofmeister, it is alive and well.
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[hider=Biography:]
Luther’s history stretches back to the Middle Ages, to the very beginning of Clan Tremere. Unlike the other Kindred clans and bloodlines, the Usurpers tie their history to another supernatural element of the night, the Mages of the Order of Hermes and their former House Tremere followers. Luther’s foray into the supernatural began here, as one of the last members inducted into the ranks of the Mages of House Tremere, and thus one of the last Embraced into the numbers of Clan Tremere. The conversion to Vampirism took from House Tremere the source of their original Hermetic magic, the spiritual Avatars that allow a Mage to work their forces. With the physical death of their bodies, the Mages of Tremere also experienced the loss of their Avatars, for the soul connection forged could no longer exist without a soul.

This loss is something that has driven Luther’s career ever since. Having been a member for only the briefest amount of time before his Embrace, the loss was sudden, and has clung to the edges of his mind for nearly a millennium now. As the newly-founded Clan studied their condition and learned to manipulate the powers of vampirism, many in the Clan desired to find a way to either use the powers of their condition to forge new connections to Avatars in an attempt to restore their magic, or to emulate their lost abilities through the use of Vampiric powers such as the signature Thaumaturgy discipline the Clan had developed. Among those who worked Thaumaturgy in an attempt to recover or replace their lost magic was Luther, and this desire quickly helped him climb the ladder of the forming Tremere Hierarchy.

Over the centuries, Luther would begin to study and help shape several of the Paths of study known to Thaumaturgy users. Over time, the Paths would begin to diverge from traditional assumptions about Blood Magic, and begin to resemble the magic lost to the Clan years ago. The abilities of telekinesis, conjuring matter from thought, and even creation of fire became known to Luther, but still the connection to a new Avatar eluded the Kindred of Clan Tremere.

As the modern era grew ever closer, Luther’s studies kept him more and more involved in the chantries of Europe, with his conventional understanding of the global environment horribly outdated. Perhaps this is why the attack on the Vienna Chantry in 2008 by the Second Inquisition took him by such shock. While many Kindred of the Clan met their final death in that attack, he was able to slip away undetected, and begin to make a retreat across the lands.

In the twelve years following the attack, Luther’s journeys took him first across Europe, and then over the Atlantic to the United States, all the while stopping at any and all Tremere Chantries and havens he could uncover or remember, gathering records and forging contacts within the survivors and remnants of the Clan. As he ventured, he quickly grew to understand the world as it was now, and how to handle situations he never would have imagined in older nights or while cooped up in Vienna. As he trekked across the US and learned more from the American Tremere, he found himself drawn to the city of Los Angeles, one known for changing hands rather often. But between the battles of the Camarilla, Sabbat, and Anarchs, there was always a constant. The Tremere Chantry of LA. The next, and possibly last, stop on Luther’s journey.
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[hider=Stalks-The-Booze]
Name: Stalks-The-Booze, goes by Mitch outside of Garou-savvy circles.
Age: 40 in both looks and reality
Species: Werewolf
Powers/Skill: Favors Gifts that aide survival on the streets and general sewing of chaos and havoc. He's also one of the lucky Bone Gnawers with a long-lasting possession to their name: A rusted, hollowed-out Volkswagen Type 2 that doubles as a place to sleep. Don't ask about the fuel, though.
Tribe/Auspice: Bone Gnawer Ragabash

[hider=Appearance:]
In his natural Homid form, Stalks-The-Booze is a gruff middle-aged man of vague Slavic descent, who hides his defined face under a shaggy, grimy mane of long black hair and beard. His large, wiry build is hidden behind dirt, grime, scars, and a hunched posture that belies his six foot three height. His only outfit is a hodgepodge of patchwork trousers, worn and rugged combat boots, and at least three coats over a ragged turtleneck. A winter beanie cap lines his head, and every pocket and groove seems to store a myriad of seemingly-useless items of questionable value, though one staple is a hip flask that seems near-bottomless whenever he drinks from it.

In Glabros form, Stalks-The-Booze's hair and beard grow even longer and more ragged, which helps hide some of the more monstrous features of the form that teeter along the edge of the Veil. His layers of clothes help accommodate for the increased muscle mass and tone as well.

In Crinos form, his clothes and human hair give way to the standard werewolf form, covered in shaggy, knotted gray-black fur. While many of the Garou War forms take the shape of hulking beasts that could tear a car in half, Stalks-The-Booze's War Form is a fair bit more agile and limber of build, lending to the nature of the Bone Gnawers and the Ragabash as sneaks and stalkers of the dark.

In Hispo form, Stalks-The-Booze resembles a massive prehistoric Dire Wolf, though with a similar bent on agility and stealth like his War form. The  fur of this form begins to take on more of a gray hue, with much of the black being relegated to his head and back.

In Lupus form, Stalks-The-Booze's limber build and gray-black fur give him the vague, if not wholly convincing appearance of being more of a wolf-dog hybrid than a pure wolf. Only the dimwitted, poor-sighted, or careless would completely buy such a disguise, but many would be surprised at just how often it works.
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[hider=Personality:]
Stalks-The-Booze is almost the perfect definition of a Bone Gnawer Ragabash, or at least what those familiar with the terms might expect. A drunk, homeless bum with a penchant for theft, vandalism, destruction of property, and a spirit that's more than a bit too in-touch with the Wyld. Stalks-The-Booze is well aware of the type of personality he gives off, and he leans into it [i]hard.[/i]

To those he doesn't have a vested interest in, he's just a mangy wolf-dog who cackles like a hyena, sticks his muzzle where it doesn't belong, vanishes at the first sign of trouble, and reeks of hard liquor. To those who've earned it, he's a shrewd spymaster, cunning fighter, wise critic, and a master boozebrewer.

In his own heart, he's an unconventional thinker who feels the best savior of the Garou Nation, and humanity as a whole, is saving the supernatural world at large from the humans themselves. To him, every human who's ever staked a Leech, burned a Witch, or excised a Spirit is a hole in the veil that needs patching, and if that means working with Leeches, Witches, and Spirits to do it, then by Gaia and Rat it'll be done.
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[hider=Biography:]
Before his First Change, Mitch was already fitting the stereotype of a Bone Gnawer rather well. A high school dropout making ends meet by selling recycling cans and scrounging junkyards, it's a wonder the Gnawers didn’t already have him around as Kinfolk before it happened. But it's easy to lose track of one man in the streets of LA, especially when he hasn’t yet transformed into a hulking wolf-monster. But when he does, it’s like a neon sign saying “Come get me!”

The Tribe found Mitch in the scrapyard of one of the city’s train depots, tearing a pair of guard dogs to ribbons. After the Garou equivalent of an argument, they finally brought him back to his natural Homid form, and dragged his unconscious body back to Tribal grounds. After waking him up with a boot to the head and a splash of god-knows-what, they gave him the rundown and introduced him to his family.

It wasn’t long after that they set him upon his Rite of Passage, and it was certainly one befitting the Tribe. The goal was to strike a blow at one of the corporate holdings of the Wyrm-controlled Pentex organization. The target was a massive triple-trailer transport truck full of King Breweries-brand Wyrm-tainted booze. Mitch and his first pack needed to find a way to dispatch the cargo before it made its first dropoff. What should have been a simple case of “Hijack the truck and drive it into the bay.” became a whirlwind adventure of “Drive across the city chasing this damn truck.”

It was during this trial that Mitch picked up the same trusty van he still operates today. Having just lost track of the truck, Mitch rushed his pack to a nearby car graveyard, where he jump-started an abandoned van, loaded the pack inside, and began tracking down the truck in question. Cutting through alleys, weaving through traffic, and using the guidance of a friendly spirit, they managed to follow the truck to a dockside convenience store.

It was there that the pack quickly stopped the delivery of the first shipment, the pack’s Theurge worked a Gift to drive any existing Wyrm spirits from the drinks, and a cinderblock on the gas pedal drove the now-clean shipment into the waters of LA’s oceanfront. Upon returning to the tribal grounds with the driver’s company ID as proof of their feat, celebration for passing the Rite was dolled out, and Mitch became known to others of his kind as ‘Stalks-The-Booze’ for his efforts in tracking the cargo truck.

In the years that have passed, he’s worked his way up the proverbial totem pole of the local Sept, taking the position of Warder and thus garnering a bit of room to work and operate independently, directing younger warriors and operatives in the Sept while working his own plans and schemes. His unconventional views on cooperation with others of the supernatural spawned from this, and as a long-term cover to those he doesn’t want prying in, he quickly took up the guise of a drunkard, learning many a Gift that help summon food and drink for a ‘party’ atmosphere, using the back of his van as a makeshift home distillery, and even making a fetish out of a dinged up, old hip flask to infinitely refill itself(unbeknownst to others, it’s only full of booze when someone that’s not Stalks holds it)

As the new decade opens, and the city once again becomes rife with conflict and strife, Stalks-The-Booze begins working his plans into action, hoping to rally together both his Sept and other creatures of the shadows to strike against those that would see them all destroyed.
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