Sao Paulo by Night Alpha Eng

Sao Paulo By Night – Page 1
Sao Paulo by Night

Property Rights & Disclaimer
Sao Paulo by Night is an unofficial campaign and roleplaying book that
works as a complement to Vampire the Masquerade – 5th Edition. The
rules and concepts in this book are a property of the copyright owners,
globally and in Brazil, according to the legislation regarding the subject.
Hereby, I declare that I have no claim or intention to use or distribute this
material for any economic gain without the due consent or authorization
of the owners of the copyrights concerning Vampire the Masquerade, such
as White Wolf and Modiphius Entertainment.
As a World of Darkness fan, I recommend you do buy the official material,
from which all of the ideas in Sao Paulo by Night were inspired by!
The thematic in Sao Paulo by Night may contain sensitive topics that
require discretion from the players and storytellers, such as sex, drugs and
violence, demonstrated in rather explicit ways. Before addressing such
subjects with your fellow players, I recommend you to read and follow the
advices contained on the Appendix III of Vampire the Masquerade’s fifth
edition – Advices for Considerate Play.
On Vampire - The Masquerade, your goal is to interpret and role play a
monstrous, and sometimes bestial creature, which does not imply, at all,
on reproducing these types of behaviors outside of the simulation and role
playing environment.
Please enjoy and entertain yourselves!
Ismael Victor Rodrigues Alves

Table of Contents
Introduction .................................................................................................... 5
History ............................................................................................................. 6
Part One – The Bloody Birth – 1542-1892 .................................................... 6
Part Two – Busy Dying – 1890-1990........................................................... 12
Part Three – Business as usual – 1990-2019............................................... 18
Part Four – Epilogue – The backwards of the backwards ....................... 24
Geography ..................................................................................................... 27
Part One – Downtown ..................................................................................... 27
Part Two – Higienopolis ................................................................................. 31
Part Three – Morumbi and South Side ........................................................ 32
Part Four – Southwest Side ............................................................................ 34
Part Five – Ipiranga and East Side ............................................................... 37
Part Six – North Side ....................................................................................... 39
Part Seven – Liberdade .................................................................................... 40
Part Eight – Guarapiranga Water Reservoir ............................................. 42
Characters ..................................................................................................... 43
Brujah .................................................................................................................. 44
Gangrel................................................................................................................ 54
Hecata .................................................................................................................. 60
Lasombra............................................................................................................. 63
Malkavian ........................................................................................................... 68
Nosferatu............................................................................................................. 78
Toreador ............................................................................................................. 84
Tremere ............................................................................................................... 89
Tzimisce .............................................................................................................. 93
Ventrue .............................................................................................................. 102
Caitiff ................................................................................................................. 109
Chronicle Suggestions in Sao Paulo ......................................................113
Lost Artifact ..................................................................................................... 113
Secrets of the Crypt ........................................................................................ 115
The Ivory Steps ............................................................................................... 115
Bridges or Walls ............................................................................................. 116
Savage Cannibalism ........................................................................................ 117
Power Void ....................................................................................................... 118
Colonization ..................................................................................................... 118
Clan Wars ......................................................................................................... 119
Sao Paulo Stories .......................................................................................121
In the Oven ....................................................................................................... 122
Downtown Steakhouse .................................................................................. 126
Recruitment and Selection ............................................................................ 129
The weaknesses of the blood ........................................................................ 133
Refferences and Reccomendations .........................................................137

Introduction
“Non ducor, duco”. Inscriptions on the City of Sao Paulo’s Coat of arms.
The biggest metropolis in the modern American continent, the greatest
urban perimeter in Brazil and Latin America, as well as its largest
financial hub and one of the most globalized cities in the world, Sao Paulo
has more than 465 years of history. From its foundation until the modern
nights, the city has been the stage for several bloody and brutal conflicts,
since its very birth.
Even though many times obfuscated by the natural, touristic and
historical beauties of its closest metropolis, Rio de Janeiro, Sao Paulo
offers, as well, a huge diversity of urban areas, inhabited by a distinct
number of social classes, and surrounded by a myriad of environments.
These environments can easily include historical buildings, skyscrapers,
luxury mansions and dirty, dangerous slums, to where one can transport
himself on helicopters or other clandestine ways.
Home to princes and beggars, the city has celebrities and shadows
amongst its crowds, as well as grotesque serial killers and pure, innocent
souls, from every possible cultural, historical, religious and economic

origins, all of them living daily in the same common social and urban
spaces.
In between all of these personalities, the World of Darkness that embraces
the city reflects with precision its differences, dilemmas, dualities and
conflicts, thus allowing for the creation of chronicles that involve, many
times, the thematic of quests for power, political quarrels, ideological and
philosophical antagonisms between the inhabitants of the World of
Darkness. Violence, in such chronicles, can be the final solution, or the
cause for even more degradation of the environments and agents involved
in the narrative.
As carved in the city’s coat of arms, Sao Paulo is not led, but leads…
History
Part One – The Bloody Birth – 1542-1892
“Come to me, Eldest night and identical,

Queen Night born dethroned,
Night, from within, like silence. Night
With the stars, fast sequins
On thine dress, fringed of Infinite”. Alvaro de Campos (Fernando Pessoa)

What you remember is that it was only your tenth night as an immortal,
and where was your sire? Did he abandon you? Was he having a revenge?
Did he gave up on your unlife? Just now, when you’ve learned something
about your powers? Was it fear or hatred upon you?
When rage started to dominate you, you could feel your blood boiling
inside your veins, as if fury was possessing your very soul to make it burn
from horror, panic and some kind of lust for revenge. Now the world was
going to fall down on your knees. If you weren’t just handcuffed to an iron
bed, and with your mouth gagged by a metal mask. What strange torture
chamber is this? Its ceiling resembles slightly the one of an empty
warehouse, constructed in metallic materials.
With a pinch of curiosity and a smile upon her face, an Asian woman and a
middle-aged man observe you, as your blood is almost exploding your
veins and whole organism, while you shake and tremble, in vain, trying to
escape the trap, they’ve put you on.
- At least we’re not the Second Inquisition, the woman says. The more
anger you feel, the more useful you’ll be to us and to your own self, soon
enough!
The man keeps watching the whole situation with a noble attitude,
without saying a word about what his companion said. Looking with more
detail towards him, you can perceive he is quite athletic, judging by his
clothes and the shapes of his body.
- Very well, says the man. Our first encounter might have shown itself
quite violent and terrifying to you. However, you’ll thank me when the
time comes, for this opportunity. In the modern nights, the younger ones
have been calling me 7. Sooner or later you’ll understand why.
- You’re important to our goals, just like all of your kind, who share the
same blood, the blood of our unlives. You were born to have the world at
your feet. And you will set yourself free after hearing the history of the
birth of our nation. Agreeing or not, you’ll always have our perspective in
mind, and your unlife will never be the same again.
- Arriving in Sao Vicente in 1542, the Cellula Mater, even though as a
work of pure chance, caused me to present the world with a spirit of
rebellion and conquest that, until these very nights, never met its final
death…

While the middle-aged man kept talking, entranced in his own speech,
strangely you started to feel the rage, hatred and fury of your blood
diminishing, giving place to a wish for knowledge and focus. The
influences and powers to which your organism are susceptible were still a
mystery to yourself.
Such was the presence of the speaker, that for a brief moment, you
thought you dreamt of his narrative. It was a story of pioneering,
extermination, and rivers of blood running across a virgin wildland. The
man standing before you was one of the first to conquest the lands of Sao
Paulo and Brazil, arriving to the region carrying only his luck and faith,
but encountering opportunities and wealth that left a mark in history for
centuries, like deep scars on Brazil’s throat.
While 7 continued his narrative, you absorbed it in a sober, but quite
hypnotized way, especially due to the images he painted through his
memorable Portuguese accent.
Wild beasts torn apart by gunpowder, mountains hiked with bravery and
strength, and innumerous nocturnal pilgrimages, on extremely low
supplies. The denuding of forests, night after night, the search for
precious stones and rare spices. The minimum contact with other rational
beings. Stars as the ceiling for reflection and planning, and sealed tents
guarded by the day. The mission was a classified objective of the crown,
and only Joao Dias, 7, then, a mercenary, was authorized to know what it
was about.
Then the first contact with the natives happened. In one of the
deforestation nights, some men watched them through the foliage. The
smell of fresh, new and virgin blood, so different from the European blood,
was enough to summon the beast even from within the cold and rational
Joao Dias, and throats were slit that night, heads impaled, and whole
bodies torn apart, until the source of all the blood was found.
Obviously, the mission had a change of goals since that night, from the
search of spices and metals, to the search for slaves. Even though the
proportion of slaves kept by Joao Dias and his men to their own selves
was of one at each five.
- Every farmer needs his cattle, my boy! Continued Joao Dias, while even
his serious partner smiled discretely. The death of humans was a cause of

great satisfaction to them, even on alarming rates, what, later, you’d
understand, is a major difference between their ideology and the
Camarilla’s.
In between Joao Dias’ trips, in and out of the Piratininga Highlands, the
construction of several churches was starting to bother him.
The church, as a means to conquest the minds of the Brazilian people
through faith, defended the freedom of the natives and all other slaves,
giving them means to study religion and to sustain themselves, with small
amounts of lands and resources. It wasn’t hard to find who was taking the
river of blood towards the opposite direction of Joao Dias and his
associates – his former compatriot, during the mortal life, and now
Archbishop Raposo Correia, Lasombra primogen on Brazilian lands.
The main objective of Raposo Correia was to transform that new land into
a spiritual reference of oblivion and vampiric rites, welcoming all his
brothers from the Sword of Caine.
But what would become of that land, under the leadership of the Brujah?
The Sabbat, already weakened in Europe, wouldn’t allow an easy fight,
and even on such an unguarded land. Three churches. Seven churches.
Twelve churches. The preaching of forgiveness and kindness. We shall set
this land free from all the whips and all the exploitation. Come to us, oh
children…
- And just like that, the bastard convinced them! Raged Joao. We had to
kick him out some time, you know, I don’t have a doubt you’d have done
the same! Look at his eyes, Patricia, hypnotic, static, like yours…
- Then the first battle started, upon our new world. If you only knew the
fury…
- The hatred we felt by discovering that the Sword of Caine infiltrated our
lands, our shout for freedom, like a silent cancer… And in those nights,
the Sabbat was an enemy to fear for, the momentum of destruction they
were at, after the Convention of Thorns, was threatening to consume the
whole world, and even their selves.
- Raposo Correia had 12 apostles in those times, some vampires, some
kine, and others, just blood bonded junkies… And their lust for Sao Paulo
was very, very real.

- The war started by the extreme borders of Brazil, from our epicenter,
with the Sabbat making their expansion towards the east and the north,
and us, towards the west… but we hit a wall, on those nights, because of
the Tordesillas Treaty. The Sabbat kept to their selves the Bahia of All
Saints, and a heavy influence on our neighbor, Rio de Janeiro. We
tactically took advantage of the Spanish truce, far from the influence of the
Lasombra, to expand our capital, aiding on the creation of the movement
of the Flags and Entries1, towards opening a new avenue of freedom to
our dream.
- And we were more than right… for in that direction; the Jesuit missions
were also expanding, along with neonate Lasombra who were exploring
the blood of the natives, and tainting their souls towards servitude…
Therefore, as soon as they met our troops, they found their final deaths.
Back on those nights, we drifted apart from the Camarilla and some
annoying traditions related to the masquerade. In the beginning, some
Gangrel preferred to abandon the cause, because of their political
positions towards the Ivory Tower. But they left in peace. Having friends
down south and east would always be useful, to keep the mad Sabbat at
bay, and sustaining our dream: The New Carthage…
- Even though they baptized our highlands as Sao Paulo, some decades
later, under heavy influence of the Sabbat and the Church, we were
successful on expelling them away from our territory. They tried to
strangle us, financially, by abolishing slavery.
- Without a doubt, our fury and the way we incite it in on mortals had a
very reverse effect to their cause. We expelled the Jesuits. Reason
dominated religion and fear, just as it did over the Christian and Cainite
hypocrisies. In this moment, I realized we could rise the Brujah Empire
right here, right in the middle of this dark new world of ours…
- And, in 1808, the Portuguese royal family moves to Brazil, confirming
our thesis, even though coming along with new threats, both from the
Camarilla and the Sabbat… in a quick movement, we aligned ourselves
with the first sect, watching over a future that would come with the
Brazilian independence, in 1822. The shout of the Ipiranga, Dom Pedro,
the First, the ironies around the nickname of Dom Joao VII, as of today,
1 Pioneering Brazilian movement that had the objective to expand the Portuguese empire
borders, financed by the Portuguese crown; started in the16th century.
some know me just as the seventh… we made Sao Paulo, Ipiranga, Brazil!
And for more than a hundred years, we’ve been deepening the roots and
foundations of this land…
- And the blood of our kine pulsed so much, that immigrants from farther
places of the world started to look for opportunity here, the abundant
hunting grounds… and his speech was interrupted by loud, hollow noises
of gunfire from outside of the storage.
Your numb, dominated senses could barely recognize where you were.
You could barely get aware of your surroundings. Was that Brazil? Syria?
Lebanon? For some reason, both of those last countries came to your
mind. Suddenly… why?
- You’ll find our cause, brother, said Joao Dias. We are anarchy. Then the
rest of your experience turned into a blank, sudden void.
When you saw yourself back on your filthy street and your secret haven,
you reached to your pockets to catch your cellphone. Unlocking its screen,
only a last call number was seen: 7. Then you realized that, whatever
happened was real, such as your encounter with the legendary Brujah.
The impact, the fury, the idealism… everything was so brilliant! However,
hunger struck you on the very depths of your soul… it was necessary to
think on how to find fresh blood, where to go, what to do, on that time of
the night… all of these thoughts consuming your sanity.
The hours, the sun, beggars, whores, sirens, horns, and now, so much
hunger… hunger… and hunger… and Sao Paulo raping your ears one
more time.

Part Two – Busy Dying – 1890-1990
“He not busy being born is busy dying”. Bob Dylan, It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only
Bleeding)
You were going to need a little more effort if you wanted to enjoy this
new opportunity to its best. Still unrecovered from your alleged
kidnapping, a couple of nights before, you go out just in time to observe
the living creatures of the night, darkness, and all of its delights. With the
best clothes you found in your wardrobe, and even feeling relatively
elegant and presentable, you leave your haven towards Oscar Freire
Street, at a modern and spacey bistro, in the heart of the Jardins
neighborhood.
The walk beneath the full moon, through some unsafe streets, before
Oscar Freire, doesn’t scare you anymore. In fact, a rougher approach from
someone else might suit you just fine, saving the necessity for hunting in
busy and crowded environments.
But the looks of the suspicious people seem to be avoiding you tonight.
Where are all the wise guys from the place? They even seem to fear or
respect you. Would that be self-trust, or something related to your
encounter with Seven? Is it them?

You arrive at the bistro and ask for a glass of wine, even though the smell
of the drink sicken you to the core, as if you were on a hangover, or if you
were a recovering alcoholic. Nevertheless, you would drink that ashtray
tasting wine to blend in, until any interesting resonance called your
attention. Any opportunity, anything that would rise from normality and
boredom.
This new unlife was strangely reminding yourself of your own youth,
when, while searching for casual sex with strangers, sometimes only the
search itself used to set you free from tediousness, even though it all
ended up in some fucked up brothel or an after party full of junkies and
their disgraceful addictions. However, not tonight. Not anymore, not in
the world of darkness.
Outside of the bistro, an SUV Cadillac, one of those seen driving
presidents all over America, but seldom seen in Brazil, parks in front of
the place. Through the darkened windows of the restaurant, your
improved sight can just catch the moment when the passenger
disembarks.
The driver opens the door, and a tall, blonde woman with short and curly
hair, gets down from the car. Her silk dress is of a high standard design.
By entering the bistro, her necklace and earrings make the whole
environment glow, obfuscating even the hanging chandeliers. Her pale
skin is almost invisible and transparent. Her heavy makeup and luxury
clothes though, did a very nice job hiding her ghastly visage. After
analyzing all these facts, you realize you’re the only one in the room who
is so hypnotized by the woman.
In an unexpected conclusion of the situation, the tall, thin woman in her
thirties suddenly sits at your table, drinks your wine, and lays her red,
deep eyes on you, with an icy smile, followed by a whisper:
- Ciao. Chiara Della Passaglia.

You say your name, the Italian whisper still echoing inside your lungs and
ears, like a beautiful and morbid song. Her reddish blue eyes still hovering
over you.
- If I could give you a hint, I’d tell you that, if you cross two more blocks,
you’ll lose the opportunity to hunt how you should. Do you want to see
the plastic city, or the real one? Sao Paulo is the same for over a hundred

years. If you know where to go, and who to talk to, it’s the safest night in
Brazil. Bene… and negotiating too. I know you’re not here for the wine.
How about that, a free sample of what you really want? Not here though,
because we’re on a bordering area.
Intrigued by curiosity, or maybe feeling low willpower to refuse such a
strong presence, you follow her outside of the bistro, leaving a hundred
reais bill for the glass of wine, without asking for change (and trying to
impress).
Chiara puts on her cardigan over her long and thin body, while pressing
her fingers against the screen of her smartphone, outside of the bistro.
While you’re watching the street and its elegant passers-by, a little bit
happier and drunker than when you arrived, the Cadillac parks with its
lights blinking, and the uniformed driver gets down the car once more, to
open its doors for you and Chiara.
The doors close behind you, like a tomb, leaving the noise and Oscar
Freire’s lights silent, like an ancient memory in the mind of an elder who
is about to pass away.
- Consolação, said Chiara, making the driver take the next turn, slowly
and mechanically, sliding like a swan through the chaotic traffic of
Rebouças Avenue.
Some blocks away from the cemetery, the driver opens the SUV doors for
you and Chiara to step down, and takes the car towards the old street,
going south, and downtown.
After a couple more minutes of walk, and realizing your agony has grown,
Chiara opens up her purse and offers you a flask of blood, which you take
from her hands and drink, to calm your nerves. The flask looks like one of
those 18th century medicines, delicate, gentle, shiny and smooth. Suddenly,
things start to make sense again. She nods and smiles ironically at you,
her eyes now more blue than red.
Before an old building, looking like a forgotten government agency from
the fifties, Chiara takes an iron key out of her purse and fits it in a gothic
gate, which opens electronically.
- Presto. She waits for you. I’ll introduce you both.

After talking, Chiara’s delicate, but firm hands, conduct you inside the
dark building, like a gentle push inside a concrete coffin, and you know
that getting out is not an option anymore. With little strength on your
legs, you move across the building’s hall, like a castaway on the ocean
waves.
An employee, wearing an elegant suit, inside the elevator. He presses the
button for you and Chiara: 13th floor.
Arriving on the 13th floor of that strange building, going through the
elevator doors, you see yourself in a luxurious environment, with red
carpets, long, grey curtains made of heavy fabric, and noble, ancient
furniture… leather couches, marble statues, and pieces of art, everything
exposed to visitors not coming around anymore, for at least some decades.
The thirteenth floor was decorated as if it was an office, a meeting room
from the 17th century, or maybe just a museum. The atmosphere was
heavy with mold, dust, spiders and danger, even though relatively clean
and preserved, given the age of everything inside.
Was it just the darkness? The morbidness of the paintings and their
romantic scenes, the colors of Goya? The statues, did someone make them
out of real bodies, skinned them alive, and gave them torment in the form
of pain and agony forever?
When you looked back and didn’t find Chiara any more, or any other sign
of life, the first thing that came to your mind was who was the elder or
methuselah that owned the place. Was it one of those fatal enemies from
other centuries around the corner, waiting for the right time to diablerize
your young blood?
- I see you are an art connoisseur yourself, the way you appreciated some
of the best pieces of my personal collection, said the voice of a young girl,
distant in the darkness of the floor. However, when you turned to your
back, there she was, just a little bit above your chest.
What your eyes witnessed was a challenge to your deepest knowledges of
the World of Darkness. The hidden fury, the mystical power and the
strength that were coming out of that teenage, frail girl, on her sixteens,
kept you paralyzed. Your breath failed you, as if a hand crushed your
lungs and your throat at the same time. You’ve never been so intimidated
by a vampire on such a way before, and felt so powerless.

- Emilia Della Passaglia, from the Giovanni Family, she said to you,
reaching out her hands, covered in white, immaculate gloves, and going
for a quick bow, as women did in courts of medieval kings.
Her hair was of a dark, lively brown, reaching her shoulders. The clothes,
strangely resembling a queen from Versailles, with a red, royal dress,
white gloves, bracelets and a pearl necklace, matching her pure white
shoes, shiny like a crystal. As if tied to an invisible leash, you followed her
footsteps and sat down on a large, leather couch, and she sat on a higher
chair, as a throne covered in satin, right in front of you.
The moments in which you were waiting for her to speak were like
eternities stuck in the wall clock, hardly dragging its golden and marble
pointers towards oblivion.
- Here, with us, you’ll have luxury, wealth and fresh blood, whenever you
want and pay for. Sao Paulo was never a Camarilla domain, or the Baron’s,
since our family arrived. Not the real city, where everyone walks through,
where everything came from. Those who want to achieve real glory know
that. They come to the Hecata. And we take them to the gates of death
and the abyss, if they want. Even death, cainite, bows towards our family.
The paleness of her skin was even more ghastly than Chiara’s, but her lips
were deeply and intensely red, reminding your mind of the purest blood.
- We’ve been here since the decade of 1890. And, even though hell and
pain seem to follow our blood wherever we go in the world, we’ve been
managing to bend this city towards our will. Who dares to challenge us?
We know peace brings more profit than war, but war also pays off high
enough.
- We saw the Sabbat screaming for vengeance through the events of
Brazil’s Independence, making them charge towards our gates with
satanic fury. We also saw the attempt of a New Carthage crumble upon
our feet in 1932, and Dom Joao Dias’s exile give the city back to the
Sword of Caine and Raposo Correia. Sinister nights, of much blood and
almost no laws at all.
- Under the Sabbat, our Cemetery of Consolação grew a lot, such as our
Elysium and all its servants that walk beneath the sun. In our domain of
the city, all can freely walk and trade. Downtown has always been Sao
Paulo’s neutral zone, and always respected as such. We do not respect the

masquerade beyond the minimum needs, but we also do not have the
stupid boldness of the neonate Lasombra or Tzimisce, exposing ourselves
to the human wrath… this is not medieval Russia.
- Living among the newly invented railroads, growth of the press, and
world wars, we learned how to connect with the entire world, especially
the Far East, with whom you might trade with, in Liberdade, if you
want…
- And after almost a hundred years of our peaceful and profitable
understandings with the Sabbat, the unthinkable, the unpredictable
happens – their utmost and total destruction. All of their primogens, all of
their thralls and ghouls, wiped by the hand of the Camarilla. A war so
intense, intimidating and dangerous that it has been unforgettable, as
much as it is almost unbelievable, since the beginning of the nineties,
when it started and ended.
- To me, Giorgio and Chiara, as for the anarchists under Joao Dias, the
terms of trade have been more expensive. Since the domain of the
Camarilla, the laws have been tighter. The neonates seem to like them as
the winner side, though, as our clan suffers with the European problems of
these nights… but everyone still comes to us. They make their pilgrimage
towards me, their maestro, as they always did, for more than a hundred
years. They never stop.
- You, cainite, will come to me. Remember, we have what you need. We
can buy and we can sell. The Camarilla are the police, the judges. We are
the market. Nobody goes shopping in court or in the police station.
- Come downtown and learn about our history. Talk to any Nosferatu
about us, and they’ll enlighten you even more. Talk to us first if you want
to go to the graveyard. We can show you a world beyond darkness, the
darkness’ dark, beyond the shroud. Do not forget…
While Emilia finished talking, with her morbid lips still open, a shy and
dying light glowed in the other end of the hall, from where you came
before… impelled, you walk towards the dim light, after bowing and
saying goodbye.
In just a few moments, you were back in the streets again... and a victim,
almost as a gift, waits for you in the alley, with its blood pulsing hard in

and out of his heart… a victim that will probably never see the light of the
sun again.
Part Three – Business as usual – 1990-2019
“But how can we let them go on this way?

The reign of terror corruption must end
And we know, deep down, there’s no other way
No trust, no reasoning, no more to say”. Iron Maiden, Afraid to Shoot Strangers
One more time, you see yourself before an unknown environment, with
unknown people, treating you like radioactive material, hospital garbage
or something of the sorts. The building you find yourself in, apparently
out of a trance, is a luxurious corporate complex.
The hour is late in the night, for the small amount of traffic you can see
from the outside. The only people walking through the marble hall of the
building, and beneath its fancy chandelier (lightened up by LED lights),
are strong bodyguards, seemingly carrying guns. By your side, two of the
unfriendly corporate thugs invite you inside the panoramic elevator,
without making a sound.
Inside the elevator, a petite, blonde woman on a white leather jacket,
looking like everyone else’s boss, holds the doors with a notebook on her
hands, to which she looks while avoiding you at the same time, frantically,
before you make your way in.

The appearance of the building is of the highest standards, but also quite
generic, which gives away the address of the place very quickly. It is
probably not far from Itaim Bibi, Vila Olímpia and such. The only thing
you can think about is the address you’re at, for now. Escaping is unlikely,
for a neonate not more than a month old. Are these vampires? The
Sabbat? The Camarilla? Gehenna? The Inquisition?
Buried inside your thoughts of death, torture and panic, you almost forget
about the small woman, now smiling next to you.
- Of course we are the Camarilla, she answers you, smiling sarcastically.
I’ve once been just like you… or not! But lucky you, luck you, talking to
her just like that. Hashtag good vibes, amigo! Good luck… Now wait a
sec…
And she turns herself to her notebook, just as quickly and sudden as she
gave you that odd speech.
33. It’s the floor where the elevator door opens. Your strange guide goes
out walking through the hall, looking at cameras and her computer’s
screen, like she was searching for some sort of ID confirmation. Maybe it’s
a security system, you think.
Suddenly, the doors, decorated in a rococo style, open up to you, while the
blonde woman abandons her tasks and, winking, wishes you good luck,
completely ignoring the context that makes everything look like you’re
being held against your will.
What’s left of a heart inside your chest seems to tense up, just like your
muscles. The roof looks like it’s coming down above your head, but you
still manage to control your anxiety and walk upon the opened doors.
You’ve been there before, haven’t you? Now, this could be it, the turning
point… and you hear a soft female voice, in the end of the long hall, like a
gentle thunder echoing inside your body.
It’s impossible not to appreciate the beauty of the hall you walk through,
fearful. Soft, pink painted walls, large tables illuminated by candle light,
big and delicate potteries, ancient like they were sitting in the room for
over a thousand years; beautiful fruits over the table, on diverse sizes and
colors, surrounding many wine glasses with red, sweet smelling human
blood. The whole scene looked like a painting, an invitation towards a

dangerously seductive world, from which you couldn’t go back if you went
further down.
The only modern detail in that room was the two cameras in the back,
discrete, but visible. The floor ended in an open terrace, from where the
wind blew the curtains behind the mysterious woman that watched over
you, with a glass on her hands. In the same terrace, you could also see four
more bodyguards in their uniforms, patrolling with rifles in their hands,
slowly, but in a strangely coordinated, army-like march.
From the bottom of the room, the woman whose voice shook your whole
body rises. Of a medium height, she gets up from her sophisticated, silk
stuffed chair, wearing a simple white dress, but gracious and elegant,
softly dancing with the wind by the sound of an imaginary symphony of
seduction, intimidation and terror.
Her red, curly hair shined by the melancholic candle lights, like a crown
over her body, which supernaturally advances in your direction as if it
didn’t need to touch the floor in order to move, such was the swiftness of
her movements. As she approached you, once again you felt the sensation
of your heart freezing, and an unnatural cold for the tropical climate of
Brazil, paralyzing your muscles.
Her eyes watched over you, as if they wanted to burn your soul’s deepest
secrets with a scorching spotlight. Grey, stormy eyes, sometimes red,
sometimes blue. By having a sudden rush of bravery, you looked back into
her eyes, and you learned her name: Inés, the city Prince, under the
Camarilla.
- Very well, she spoke, at last. It spares introductions. You have psychic
disciplines, interesting, neonate. And why are you here, before me, you
must be asking yourself? Drink first. Your energy is getting so low. We
have plenty for our guests, she says, handing over a chalice from the table
into your hands.
You feel insecure, still dominated by some kind of fear, but intimidated to
drink, almost without a choice, before Inés’ apparently calm eyes. Your
acts, by then, looked as if someone else did them.
- Excellent, she said, while you drank. Now we’re sure that our
conversation will be reminded by you later, and that you won’t forget

anything that happens tonight, anytime after you leave. Welcome to Sao
Paulo’s Ivory Tower, neonate.
- The kine that you sucked dry a couple of nights ago, though I know you
have no knowledge of it, was a big problem to the Camarilla. I don’t
believe in luck or coincidences. Your murder has opened the doors for a
dialogue between our organization and you, directly, so that we might do
business together. By this time of your unlife, you know that having
friends in high places can make a hell of a difference, don’t you, childe?
- Very well. I’ll tell you a little bit about our organization, its goals and
ideals, for I believe it will make you sympathetic to our point of view.
- When I arrived in this city for the first time, the portrait of its nocturnal
unlife was a desolating one. Even though it was only the fifties, the
domain was filled with newspapers, journalists, photographers and all
sorts of kine, in panic, spreading rumors about blood sucking, cursed by
God monsters, and all other kinds of fearful whispers. The city, as you
already know, was under the Sword of Caine, and here and there under
Emilia and her Giovanni family, both sects relatively comfortable with one
another, even though her speech these nights might try to deny it or hide
it.
- On those nights, the focus of the Tower was on maintaining its domains
around the developed economies, which were relatively unharmed since
the Convention of Thorns. However, World War II awoke our elders to
the subject that we needed to expand, conquer, broaden our hunting
grounds and prepare ourselves for a sound possibility of decadence in
Europe, Japan, and even America, after Pearl Harbor.
- South America was an interesting possibility then, with potential to
fulfill our expectations.
- For quite a while, I watched Sao Paulo grow, from Santiago, for
inhabiting in this city under the Sabbat’s brutal raids was almost
impossible. While the city developed, our sect started to conquer small
domains in distant neighborhoods, until we established ourselves as a real
threat to their chaos in the eighties and nineties, through the battles and
the war you probably already heard of through Joao or Emilia.
- Those brainless monsters, how they were enraged... Their paths, the
beast, their grotesque rites, Raposo Correia and his deep, disgusting

shadows, engulfing everything around them… They got Robert in the Sé
Cathederal…
Suddenly, Inés’ strength looked like it escaped away from her body, as if
she was a machine running low on battery. The thoughts of violence and
destruction trying to consume her, making her pale skin and eyes turn to
a deep, disturbing red… her hands, softly shaking.
Restoring control of herself after sipping a little bit of blood from her
chalice, she smiles, showing off her fangs, like a wolf who just killed its
prey after a long and painful winter of hunger and despair. Then, she
continues with her speech.
- We had no other choice but to counter attack. The Carandiru massacre,
as you remember, being born in Brazil while you were part of the kine.
Back in those nights, the Sabbat didn’t infiltrate the high circles of
Brazilian power anymore, like the military or the church, but dwelled
among the drug lords, crackheads and organized criminals, which they
believed would be the new rulers of Sao Paulo, and Brazil as a whole.
- In order to defeat enemies who made use of unconventional practices, no
ethics and no rules, we had to bring the war on their terms, what was not
understood in the US and Europe, by that time. I must admit that, in
order to destroy the Sabbat, Emilia and the Anarchs were very helpful and
important. In the beginning of the 90s, the mission was already
accomplished.
- The cleansing of Sao Paulo could start, at last. In order to keep peace
and safety for all kindred, we had to enforce the laws of our traditions,
strictly. Some of our former allies have been complaining about it, yes I’ve
heard. By the way, where has Joao Dias been…?
- Anyway. We won the War for Sao Paulo. We understand that this city
could not be what it is without the enforcement of laws and the respect for
the masquerade. We are superior to the kine, and that is obvious. The
Sabbat knows it, and the anarchs know it too. It doesn’t take a genius to
acknowledge it. What they all don’t know, is that we live in a symbiotic
relationship with the kine. We need each other. Without humankind, the
sun would wash us all away.
- I know you agree with us, neonate. We can accomplish so much more;
also, skilled workers are more than welcome and well paid too. Preserve

the masquerade. Cling to your new powers, but also, to your humanity.
Hunt with responsibility. Do not make justice with your own hands. At
the Elysium, in the Camarilla, you will have a voice. Go in peace, childe…
Tonight, we thank you. We will be vigilantly watching over your next
steps.
By the time Inés stopped speaking, your eyes started to get heavy and
bothered with the room’s lights, which seemed to be brighter and
brighter. Inés’ white dress reflecting inside your head, as if she was an
angel straight out of heaven, to bring you justice, destruction, final death,
how you wanted to run away, but now, now you couldn’t. Torpor
dominated your body, her fangs smiling cruelly above your head...
That was probably some hours ago, or some seconds, you can’t recall. The
night sky and the stars now were above your head, shining. You’re back to
your haven’s street. Did they drug you, or hypnotize you? Hard to say,
but why inflicting so much violence and intimidation on someone who
didn’t resist, at all? The Ivory Tower sure knew how to put on a rough
act, you thought. These guys are dead serious about their masquerade and
law stuff, whatever it all really means.
They know more about yourself than you do. An organization, so old and
so strong. Refusing their invitation would be a point of no return. Joining
them, well, you couldn’t go back from that also. You lock down the
windows and doors from your haven, while the sun was starting to rise
from its grave, into the dirty, polluted, toxic dawn of Sao Paulo, still
frightened, and caught in the web of so many predators around you…

Part Four – Epilogue – The backwards of the
backwards
“And he who comes from the dream of another happy city

Learns fast to call you reality
For you are the backwards of the backwards of the backwards, of the backwards”.
Caetano Veloso, Sampa.
The strong wind and summer rain cause a mayhem in town, just in the
beginning of the night. The cold-water drops, from the marquis above
you, actually warm both of your cadaveric, ice-cold bodies. The stormy
winds were like a flash, a memory of mortality, now so distant. The
furious horns, chaos, people in a hurry, up and down.
You watch the red and orange dusk colors of the city just like someone
who watches an old comedy movie again, a good movie, but for the fourth
time. This is not your life, not your worries, not your fucking problem
anymore. It is a fiction of worms and shit, right below your feet.
Lucas also watches the avenue, with a sarcastic smile. The razor, his hands
and his white suit, all still covered in the blood of the victim from whom,

together, you drank to the last drop. His straight, black hair was soaked
from the tropical thunderstorm, but he didn’t seem to mind it at all.
By contemplating the city’s horizon, and its vast infinity, both of you
shared the thought you were its kings. Masters of the eternal night, it
was. You could go and get anything, from anyone. Wealth, torture,
pleasure, a hundred years of it all. To master the darkest secrets of the
whole domain. Why not?
Thinking about the domain, now many questions rise to your thoughts,
leaving you unanswered, as the rain drops through your face:
- Why such a centuries old struggle between the Camarilla, Sabbat and
the Anarchs, in a faraway place like here? Which relics and dark beings
inhabit Sao Paulo, beyond where the eyes can see?
- Is it real that Emilia and Joao Dias are the only living primogen in
town? What’s behind the Bandeirantes Monument? Is it true that a
Gangrel methuselah knows a whole different history of the city, but lies in
torpor somewhere? Or is it true that wraiths and specters dwell in the
Monument, shackled under the power of mighty necromancers who
protect them?
- Is Sao Paulo a home for a gargoyle and dark cults of western and eastern
blood gods, who teach us to resist fire and staking? Are there secret tomes
from the old paths of enlightenment, below the Sé Cathedral until these
very nights?
If, in your unlife, you obtained the answers to some of those questions,
your power would grow, and your road into eternity would be so much
glorious than just feeding every now and then... Would you be allies with
a Tzimisce, or a puritan Ventrue, or maybe both? Everyone together in
order to help you? If there really are Tzimisce around here… Who trusts
the legends of the Caitiff from Baixo Augusta and the other thin bloods?
Scumbags!
By visualizing the avenues and their crossings, and thinking about their
names, which you know so well, you remind yourself that Sao Paulo can
take you to the Middle East, Japan, China, Italy, Portugal and the US.
Ukraine, Russia, India or Pakistan? Just around the corner, while Latin
America watches over your head, all the time.

Back in the days when you were a mortal, the thousands of murders and
crimes of the city got you worried sick. Now, they are your perfect
disguise. The Brazilian corruption used to give you violent nausea, now
it’s your every night ethics. The politics, the dirty deals, those are still
tough to swallow, even now… but who knows, next night you might give
it a chance at Elysium?
The paths of purification and the roads of the beast spread under the rainy
night streets... you can choose any of them, if you can handle the toll. Will
you learn from the old masters of the dark, or open your own path of Flag
and Entries, bathed in blood, rage and deep fog?
- I think we deserve another drink tonight! Lucas wakes you up from your
reflections… and you follow him into the night, with all the remains from
your dead, rotten heart, between the fog and the dim traffic lights,
searching for the next goal, the next prey, under the melancholic
symphony of water, concrete and steel…

Geography
“Whoever becomes master of a city accustomed to live in freedom and does not
destroy it, may reckon on being destroyed by it.”
Niccolò Machiavelli
In this section of Sao Paulo by Night, we present general guidelines about

the regions of Sao Paulo in the World of Darkness. In addition, you can
check Appendix 1 for the city map and its divisions among kindred and
their sects, concerning the Camarilla, Anarchs and Independent vampires.
Part One – Downtown

Since the middle of the nineteenth century, the Della Passaglia established
themselves in the region of Consolação, which holds ground to the first
cemetery of Sao Paulo, and one of the most interesting on the manner of
its architecture and inhabitants. Century old tombs and crypts are the
most singular objects within the Cemetery’s morbid and decrepit, even
though, discrete, landscape, inside the neighborhood of Consolação.
From the end to the start of the Consolação Street, the Della Passaglia
hold a wide and diverse number of access routes and domains inside
Downtown Sao Paulo, a region that holds the origin of the city’s greatest

achievements and disgraces on the course of its history. After the
destruction and decay caused by historical conflicts, sky high rates of
criminality, and the change of the city’s development axis towards the
south and west sides, the Hecata had a golden chance to expand their
domains and influence.
The Clan of Death consolidated their hunting grounds through the
purchase of land and properties with a very low cost, and almost no
competition at all. Kindred and kine alike can perceive the results of their
influence, on the number of unsolved murders, gangs and addicts flooding
the streets with death and putrefaction, both physical and moral.
One of the region’s points of interest is the city’s first Elysium, kept by
Chiara, Emilia Della Passaglia’s second in command, in the Sao Paulo
Room. The Elysium is a famous orchestra hall, in the middle of the region
known as Crackland, where junkies and undead servants, bound to the
Hecata, created freshly from the corpses of Consolação, and other hustlers,
prostitutes and petty criminals, haunt the streets, as a demonstration of
the clan’s power and aggressiveness.
Undead zombies scorch the streets of downtown, even in plain daylight,
under the commands or nightmares of Emilia, tearing apart many
innocent and drunk passersby, and also the ones who are too high from
other substances, to realize where they’re stepping in. The owners and
employees who dare to open and maintain small businesses within the
region are already completely used to the brutality and utter carnage of its
streets, and its nightly routine of gore and disembowelment.
The mortal authorities, such as the police, the municipal guards, and even
the army, have completely abandoned the majority of the downtown
region, especially Crackland, to its own devices, no matter the
governments who are in charge of the city. Brazilian ideologies and
politicians are always available to negotiate bribes and take whatever the
despicable hands of the Giovanni family can offer to them.
Most of the people, who die around the downtown Elysium, these nights,
are recruited to be part of the rotten hordes commanded by the Hecata,
and the ones who die of violent deaths hold special places among their
disgraceful ranks of undead ghouls. Few are the ones though, who live too
many nights to understand how their necromantic rituals really work.

In the Golden age of mobility and social media, rare footage of downtown
can be found online, especially at night. Few are the kine who dare to raise
a cellphone, tablet or camera within the domains of the Hecata, without
being beheaded, gutted, stabbed or, if lucky, just mugged in plain sight of
civilians and policemen, who’ll turn their eyes and pretend everything is
just fine, carrying on with their strange routines.
A teenager haunts the streets of the region, walking around with teddy
bears and porcelain dolls on her pale hands, amongst the most vile and
vicious murderers, cannibals and drug lords. Her clothes are fine and
luxurious, as if she was a living painting out of a Rembrandt or a
Caravaggio. A snow-white princess, shining, between blood, guts and
dust, never dirty, never stained. As she passes by, hordes lay on the
ground and worship the goddess Emilia, the one who provides the
precious blood, crack, cocaine and protection from the rest of the whole
fucking world of kindred, kine, memories and emotions. The only fucking
person who could numb their personal hell into a blunt shot, snort or fix
made of pure oblivion and nothingness.
Although the threatening reputation of the region scares many kindred,
particularly those of thin blood and the clanless, pacts, alliances and secret
agreements are, very often, sealed in downtown Sao Paulo. The Sao Paulo
Room Elysium, the first one, remains, until this very night, a bastion of
protection and respect for divergent opinions and ideologies of the
undead, where they can debate and trade among themselves and with the
Hecata.
Within the Consolação cemetery, one can read the darkest lost tomes of
rituals, cross the veil towards the land of the shadows and explore it, and
talk to specters and wraiths, if they can handle the hard work to do so.
According to the legends, a gargoyle itself guards the burial grounds, as a
gift from Tremere who once inhabited the city, to the Della Passaglia.
Speculations and myths, one might say. The Toreador love the tales
though, since many writers among the kine wrote poems about it in other
times.
The player who ventures within downtown might find the ghost of
Álvares de Azevedo wandering around the Viaduto do Chá, and other
haunting visions, disturbing and sinister, especially if you wander without
the knowledge or consent of the Hecata.

For the Nosferatu, the region is one of the few places in the world where
they can freely walk among the kine by night, without the threat of
breaking the masquerade. The amount of fear, abomination and disgust
that the inhabitants of downtown are used to, with or without the
presence of the Nosferatu, wouldn’t change without their presence in the
fauna of the dangerous and toxic nights. The kindred and kine who dwell
among downtown are too tough, too raw and too deadly to feel defied by
an ugly face and ragged clothes, so they say.
The Nosferatu, though hideous, can be of great assistance to the players in
the region, aligned to the Camarilla or the Anarchs. Everything has a
price though.
On the other hand, the region seems to repel all of the thin bloods and
Caitiffs, who found in the Oscar Freire and Augusta Streets, havens or
beacons where they can make contact with higher generation vampires,
search for their sires and enjoy the night in an apparently neutral and
peaceful environment. However, are those streets really such a quiet, chill
zone? Most elder vampires define these streets as something more of a
grey area, with informal frontiers, and hunting grounds for some who
seek for “something more”, whatever it is.
A last point of interest, or disgust among so many atrocities, is the
Cathedral of Sé. Corpselike whores now dominate the once fearful domain
of the Lasombra, the eradicated Sabbat, and the Archbishop Raposo
Correia. In the Sé square, vile creatures addicted to a strange composition
of crack and vitae, which can be injected or sniffed, mock the old rituals
and profane undead who used to hunt around the area, tearing apart and
brutalizing everything around the church, but its structures.
The Hecata, according to other kindred, are trying to understand why the
church is still safe from everything else, until these nights, and everything
inside it, including what is in its bowels underground. Is it the powers of
the murderous, alien abyss and invocations made over centuries and
centuries, still protecting its roots in Sao Paulo? Only those intimate with
the oblivion and its deep darkness could tell… The Hecata themselves,
still fear the consequences of trying to dominate the church, according to
some kindred close to the famiglia.

Part Two – Higienopolis
Under the permission of the Camarilla and the protection of the Hecata,
the family friendly neighborhood of Higienopolis and its whereabouts has
become the secretive center of power and influence of the Lasombra,
represented by the vampire known as Antoine Lévi.
The aspect of the place doesn’t seem to represent any danger, and easy
prey wander through its streets at night, seemingly without any
protection. The rich mortals who walk the streets of Higienopolis, many
of them wealthy and highly born, may not represent much of a threat on
their own, but can easily overpower any neonate with their power:
connections, private security teams and a very united network of
neighbors with cutting edge surveillance.
Antoine Lévi, through ghouls and other vampires, also has his own
information and surveillance network within the domain, working 24/7 to
avoid outsider’s interferences on his profane studies of the abyss.
The curse of the vampire presence creates a positive effect on the
protection of the area, since any interference caused by messy killings or
forbidden hunts result on very quick and clean deaths for the ones
responsible for the mistakes. Higienopolis, curiously is one of the areas
where the Hecata themselves encourage the strict protection of the
masquerade, as the Camarilla would.
There are many points of interest in the region, such as abandoned
schools, black synagogues, and some of the oldest houses in Sao Paulo,
where bizarre mortals, ghouls and other monsters dwell, available for the
PCs to feed from, if they dare to. The region also comprehends grey areas
close to Avenida Paulista, and a bit further down from Consolação, where
one can hunt with discretion, but escape quickly towards downtown if
everything goes south.
Players in the region could feel an intense presence of tentacles trying to
grab them from the shadows, voices out of nowhere and specters trying to
dominate or influence their thoughts, if they lack the ability to control
their willpower and minds. SI Squads roam certain micro-regions of the
neighborhood in order to put down any supernatural beings that present
unusual behaviors while on their sight – it is possible that the civilians
their selves might help the SI on executing strangers to the area.

Part Three – Morumbi and South Side
One of the regions with the highest level of violence and conflicts in the
dark Sao Paulo, many of which start and end inside the borders of its
South side, the neighborhoods of Morumbi, Brooklin, Santo Amaro and
their surroundings are considered a city within a city.
The access to the South side of the city, for its chaotic and dense traffic
that only slows down on the later hours of night, keeps many of those who
work and make their livings in the region within its borders, in order to
avoid the painful traffic jams. Living among its ranks, are national

celebrities, such as actors and flashy entrepreneurs, but also the miserable
inhabitants of the city’s largest slum, Paraisopolis, working for the rich
citizens’ houses and companies, while sustaining their selves outside of the
walls and bubbles made by the higher society dwellers.
Due to the strategic influence of Paraisopolis inside South Side Sao Paulo,
granting access to escape routes and large amounts of anonymous kine,
the Camarilla tries to create mayhem inside the favela through the kindred
of the Clan of the rose and some allied, or mercenary, philosophers,
especially among the funk parties that dominate its streets, also known as
fluxes. Within these clandestine and dangerous parties, many inhabitants
of Sao Paulo try to find happiness, adventures, drugs and all sorts of
forbidden pleasures.
The Camarilla is very interested in controlling the corporate side of this
part of the city and its skyscrapers, luxury hotels and malls. The Ivory
Tower knows that, once they dominate those enterprises, they’ll also be
able to completely expel the Tzimisce who dwell among the secretive
manors of Morumbi. Many of the fiends came straight out of Eastern
Europe, fleeing from the horrors of their sires, the Black Hand or other
monstrosities associated with the infamous Gehenna.
Kindred spread terrifying legends about the horrendous rituals of
vicissitude practiced on the region, inside isolated mansions that have
been keeping abominations hidden from the rest of the world, for
centuries. Apparently, many police officers who patrol the region are
blood bound to the Tzimisce, and reprehend any suspicious acts within
their masters’ heavily defended domains. The fiends’ promises of
immortality and transcendence have corrupted the law enforcers, years
and years ago, and their violence never reach the wealthy men, women
and kindred who dwell in the region.
Rumors among kindred and kine even relate police stations as façades to
torture camps, gas chambers and clandestine laboratories, used by the
demons while performing their bizarre activities.
Many of the Toreador who visit the region and learn to like it tend to
show behavioral tendencies towards degeneration and vices, such as
nymphomania and the wielding of guns, the cult of violence, panic and
destruction. Such unusual aesthetic passions match perfectly with the
inclination of the Brujah towards raw destruction, assault and abuse.

Caution is more than recommended for players walking around these
parts of town, and money in the pocket, as well as a gun hidden in your
waist, can avoid final death most of the times, if you’re smart and fast
enough to use them.
When the soccer stadium of Morumbi receives events such as soccer
matches and international concerts, it can prove to be a nearly endless
source of blood to the cainites of the city. But it’s also very important to
remember that you’ll be satiating your hunger under the eyes of very
territorial beasts, with rules much darker and stranger than the
Camarilla’s.
On the extremities of the South side, a phenomenon discovered by
Tremere’s House Carna is causing distrust and polemic among Sao
Paulo’s kindred: the alleged mass embrace of thin bloods, many found very
far away, in Augusta Street and Oscar Freire. Some of those who claim to
have been embraced in Grajaú and Parelheiros don’t even know what they
are, or their sires, or even what is a ‘sire’.
The Camarilla, the Della Passaglia and even the anarchs who are closer to
their Brujah leaders, strangely deny the mass embrace rumors, to the
mistrust of other kindred…
Part Four – Southwest Side
The Ivory Tower’s domain in the city of Sao Paulo stretches its arms all
along the rich and huge region that follows through the margins of

Pinheiros River, through Vila Madalena until Moema, going through the
areas of Pinheiros, Jardins, Itaim Bibi and Vila Olimpia. The area has
many geographical subdivisions between its main affiliated clans: the
Malkavians, Toreador and the Ventrue.
The heart of the Camarilla domain is the Southwest neighborhood of
Itaim Bibi, where many of the Brazilian corporate elite live their lives and
unlives, watching over the rest of the city from within their steel and glass
luxurious buildings.
Back in the 1950s, the chaos of corporate skyscrapers, helicopters and
bulletproof cars were not the region’s main characteristic as they are on
the modern nights. Many of those who nowadays run some of the biggest
financial empires of Latin America were not in the region trying to
dominate the world, as they do now.
When Brazil started to open its economy and democracy in order to trade
with the rest of the world, by the late 1970’s, a Ventrue from Mozambique
expanded his operations in the city. With him and his innumerous cover
up companies came the legion of construction pipes, concrete and steel
that dominated the golden age of Sao Paulo’s real estate development,
between the decades of 1980 and 1990.
Acting through extremely professional Money laundering schemes
between Portugal, Mozambique and several tax havens in the Caribbean,
the Ventrue Gonçalves Pereira was the General of what would become the
Camarilla’s offensive to take over the city from the murderous claws of the
Sabbat, in the mid 90’s.
Nowadays, Gonçalves is Sao Paulo’s seneschal, and the one responsible for
the economic assets of the prince and the Camarilla, as well as the safety
and loyalty of all kindred under the Tower.
Such as Gonçalves, Southwest Sao Paulo is the main pillar of the
Masquerade, the establishment, law, power and order.
An island of steel and bulletproof structures inside Brazil’s impressive
social misery and inequality, the Southwest side of Sao Paulo has human
development indexes from the likes of Zurich and Chicago, which are
outstanding even when compared to other wealthy regions of the city and
state of Sao Paulo.

To live and walk among the city’s elites is not for everyone. Many who
wander around the richest streets of the metropolis are not even
Brazilians, being a perfect pick for the Ventrue and their exquisite
demands for blood, when they don’t want to request the services of the
Della Passaglia for their blood dolls, every now and then.
Prince Inés usually summons the city’s kindred and visitors in the city’s
main Elysium, located in Faria Lima’s Museum of the Brazilian House,
within a region that has every inch watched and surveilled by Camarilla
ghouls and vampires. From Elysium, the Prince declares blood hunts
against the enemies of the Tower, and neonates receive the blessing and
permission to stay and hunt in the city grounds, when she decides so.
A true Camarilla member or its ghouls know, though, that informal
meetings of the sect happen very often in different mansions of Jardim
Europa, especially in streets over packed with private security, carrying
huge amounts of military equipment and guns. Entering one of those
streets, in the wrong night, and at the wrong time, just like in the favelas
of Rio de Janeiro, can cost a cainite nothing less than final death, within
minutes.
Towards the West side of the region, Pinheiros and Vila Madalena are the
place to meet the city’s members of the Clan of the Rose. Art Galleries,
Michelin starred restaurants and the finest clubs, are where everyone
wants to be seen taking selfies to their Instagram pages. Nocturnal
passions, sweet euphoria and a light sense of drunkenness are common
feelings in this part of town; many enchanted by the perfumes, others by
designer drugs, and the prettier, youngest members of the elite, bonded by
the degenerate blood of their cruel sires.
On the other extreme of the region, beyond the corporate glass and steel
tainted by the Ventrue, is Moema, the Malkavian part of the city; a chaos
of avant-garde buildings that include hospitals, religious temples and cult
night clubs for those who want to venture into something less
mainstream. Due to its geographic location, the neighborhood gives
access to areas that don’t hold many vampiric domains, thus granting easy
blood and a chance to hunt without the boring rules that the Ventrue
impose.
Within the streets of Moema, only the ones who live there for a long time
know exactly the best paths from point A to point B, due to the ever

changing, chaotic urban expansion of the area. An important route to
Congonhas Airport is also a very strategic feature to the area dominated
by the Clan of the Moon.
The aforementioned airport is still free from the SI’s surveillance and
soldiers, and is often used by the Camarilla, when in need of
reinforcements from other cities, or for the transport of princes, archons
and other authorities and their retainers.
The best thing to remember about this whole region of the city is that any
violation or disturbance of the Masquerade is quickly punishable by final
death. For the Camarilla, so it should remain, since the region represents
the ambition of every kindred within the city, and all the glory and
benefits that a throne can grant to an eternal tyrant.
Part Five – Ipiranga and East Side
At a very historically important area in the city, birthplace of maybe the

first neighborhood in town, Ipiranga is where the Anarch Brujah
consolidated their domain, with their own Elysium, inside the Paulista
Museum, in the Independence Park. The Museum is also known as
Ipiranga Musem, and has been closed to (mortal) visitors for the last
years.

The inhabitants of the region have a tendency to take their conflicts away
from their domains, especially towards the neighboring East Side, the
most populous area of Sao Paulo, which as the traditional Mooca
neighborhood as its main gateway. Long gone are the nights where the
Ipiranga River – translated as Red River, in the native language of Tupi –
was filled with blood and bodies, and the Brujah reigned recklessly, almost
free from any threats.
In the modern nights, due to the huge urbanization and influx of tourists
in the region, the Brujah usually hunt in abandoned industrial complexes,
old factories and dimly lit parks, or even secretly trespass other clan’s
territories to wreak havoc and drain humans dry. The reason for their
usually well-behaved manners is mostly the strict set of rules – and
punishments – imposed by the Baron Dom Joao Dias under the domain of
Ipiranga.
Just like in Itaim Bibi, the level of surveillance and security in the area are
very high, and breaking the masquerade can result in a severe beating by
the raging gangs of Brujah, who are constantly searching for a reason to
get into a fight, when they can outnumber their victims.
When nearest to the local Elysium, though, the Brujah take on their most
philosophical and intellectual natures, passionately dedicating their selves
to discussions regarding the history of Sao Paulo, the Baron’s deeds and
the possibilities that the city still nurtures, regarding the clan’s and the
sect’s ambitions. On such occasions, one wouldn’t get in trouble with the
Brujah, unless… you’d dare to disagree with them on any of the subjects
they’re discussing.
Ipiranga’s Museum vast collections are the cause of envy, even to
prominent Toreadors or Ministers, and few cainite eyes know the whole
spectrum of artifacts stored in its chambers. Walking around this
particular Elysium, without previous communication or permission, are
also reason for severe beatings and final death, also allowed by the
Camarilla, as part of an old agreement between the Anarchs and the
former sect.
Despite a reasonable level of peace between the Ivory Tower and the
Anarchs, rumors are spreading among kindred, about a Toreador who met
final death on the borders of the neutral grounds of the Museum, staked
and left for sunlight, though investigations are currently classified

information for members of all sects. One thing all kindred do know for
sure, though, is that a new war would be very profitable to some of the
city’s most influential vampires.
Even though the region has an apparently pacific and relaxing vibe,
sparks and tensions are always around the corner, as vagrants, spies and
double agents watch every step taken by kindred and kine as they pass by.
If those sparks were to become a fire, it would be the city’s biggest
explosion, since centuries past.
For those who truly want to escape any possibility of conflict, the Zoology
Museum is an interesting option to interact with the city’s kindred, and
independent Gangrel from other parts of the country, who have or had a
connection with the old Brujah movements, who ruled the city in the past.
Many prominent Outlanders, some who were Joao Dias’ comrades in the
Entrances and Flags movement, still roam around the region, trading
information and favors, by their old traditions, and not overwhelmingly
surrounded by so much glass and steel as they would get in Downtown
and other areas.
Part Six – North Side

After the events of the Carandiru massacre, where the Camarilla made use
of extreme and unprecedented war tactics to annihilate the Sabbat from
Sao Paulo, the North Side of the city has become an unfertile and
dangerous ground to kindred activities. Given that the region has become
a feared ground due to the final deaths of all sects and ideologies, the kine
and their dull lifestyle now dominate the neighborhoods of Northside Sao
Paulo.
Faraway from the Cathedral of Se and other obvious religious centers
once or now dominated by vampires, the traditional churches from the
region apparently receive direct support from the Vatican for their
financial “needs”, and an unjustified touristic activity around the cafes and
restaurants are recently intriguing the residents of Santana and its
whereabouts.
According to some messages intercepted by independent Nosferatu,
Northside Sao Paulo has been strongly influenced by the Second
Inquisition, even though many kindred roam around the area without fear
of being harmed or harassed by mortals whatsoever. Some though, already
relate that some friends or coterie members disappeared without a trace
after hunting in the region, which hasn’t been proclaimed by any sect or
clan.
Human activity thrives in the area, after kindred have abandoned it for
more than two decades. Some even claim that other supernatural beings
dominate and hunt around some further away regions of the North Side.
The Tremere deny it, but the Nosferatu pay high amounts of cash, or
blood, for further information about these rumors.
One might be enchanted by the lack of bureaucracy and violence to feast
in the blood of the region’s inhabitants, but is it that easy, or are you being
a bait for the SI to study, analyze and destroy? Whatever you think, that’s
a high stake bet to take, with even higher rewards to claim… if you dare.
Part Seven – Liberdade

The Liberdade neighborhood is a domain influenced by the Hecata in
downtown Sao Paulo, though their influence is informal, and more related
to the Clan of Death’s long time relationships and contacts in the East.
The narrow, dirty streets of the area, full of small rooms and rental
apartments, are perfect havens for neonates of Clan Nosferatu in the city,
who take advantage of the darkness and broken lamps of its streets at
night. Their attitude though, is quieter than the one of their peers’
downtown, due to the neighborhood being a neutral ground, formally.
The neighborhood of Liberdade is geographically strategic inside
downtown, due to the view it grants of many tourists and underground or
alternative routes inside the fortresses of the Hecata, who maintain
neutrality on the ground, but aim to take another piece of land into their
safe havens, without complaints of the Camarilla or the Anarchs.
The Hecata do not appreciate the recent migration of clan Nosferatu, and
their fellowships with internal relations stronger than any sect’s. The
Clan of Death and their ghouls are very cautious when dealing with the
situation, though, for they know that any misinterpretation on the region
may cause major diplomatic and strategic damage regarding the parts
involved, compromising their complex and fragile agreements regarding
the territory of Sao Paulo.
Independent sources within the kindred community of Sao Paulo even say
that the power of the Hecata now lie dependent of their bloodline who
remained in Italy, due to the brutal situation that the Della Passaglia
suffered in the hands of the SI and other enemies they made throughout
centuries of complicated deals, vendettas and promises. But are these
sources reliable?

Part Eight – Guarapiranga Water Reservoir
The natural reserve of Guarapiranga, though not formally a part of the

city of Sao Paulo, is an environmentally protected area, southwest of
Santo Amaro, and an extremely important region towards the distribution
of hydric resources to Sao Paulo. As a leisure center for outdoor activities,
free of urban environments until where the eyes can see, the region is a
popular haven to the Gangrel who decided to stay in Sao Paulo, and,
according to the local legends, completely destroyed the native Garou
population, who knows how and why, and even if it’s true.
Vampires of such power to eradicate a whole population of werewolves
must be of extremely high generation, Methuselah and Antediluvian stuff.
Some say diablerists, others claim they were highly ranked infernalists,
and the Gangrel claim… they were just like any other Gangrel defending
their turf from dirty, hungry dogs.
When entering this domain, the player and their coterie must be on the
defensive, because even though breaking the masquerade will not be the
greatest of your worries, the Gangrel are wild and brutal, and they will
not tolerate strangers hunting and gathering information inside their
sanctuary grounds without their strict authorization.

Characters
“What is this that stands before me?

Figure in black, which points at me…
Turn around quick, and start to run
Find out I’m the chosen one… Oh no!!!” Black Sabbath, Black Sabbath.
In this section of the book you’ll find the stories and descriptions of the
playable characters built for the chronicles of Sao Paulo by Night. The
character sheets are the Appendix 2 to this book, as well as the full
relationship map between all characters (Appendix 3), their childer, sires
and ghouls.
In this crucial part of the chronicle, the city’s history mixes with its own
World of Darkness protagonists, who describe it through their personal
views and dramas, passions and expectations regarding the vast domain,
where they interact with themselves and with the players, be it in a
friendly or a hostile way – depends on the night.

This chapter is organized by clans, but know that this is definitely not the
only one way to see the complex relations of kindred and their interests
and goals in the dirty, fluid and dark nights of Sao Paulo.
Brujah
Dom Joao Dias, the Seventh
Only in the night, one will find the opportunity to set himself free and to
be reborn.
The silver drizzle and the flight of the owls in the night are an
announcement for new discoveries, adventures and battles unto virgin
territories overseas. There is always a new place to conquer, new
discoveries to make about the nature of men and beast.
The fascinating and morbid places where dark creatures lurk and dwell all
over the planet!
Independence and death, curiously, to Joao Dias, the Baron, the Seventh,
walk side by side in his own World of Darkness, like identical twins born
from the twisted womb of the same mother.
“We have to fight, restlessly, to protect both concepts of

freedom and death, and their experiences, for without death
and independence, nothing else makes sense.
A little bit of chaos, as order, is the essence of our dark and

somber experience within eternal darkness. Rules and
conventions cannot suffocate the raw power of Nature.
The element of surprise is the only law for the survival of the
fittest and the triumph of the dominant beings over the
endless and tormented spiral of entropy, which seeks to engulf
and destroy everything. We shall resist!”

Dom Joao Dias, Anarch Manifesto. 1828, Sao Paulo,
Brazil.
Iberia already offered everything regarding sins, blood, wars, whores and
rivalries to Joao. A notable bohemian, bastard and hateful villain all
around the highest and lowest social circles in the societies of Portugal,
Spain and Greece, the dark knight was already giving in to the spleen of
Lisbon around 1520, and also to the studies of more philosophical
activities, such as poetry and anthropology. Such was his state of mind in
those first years after his embrace – getting his soul drunk with peace and
rest, in a last fado of darkness.
- Fuck all this shit! Was the last thing he spoke after waking up in a night
of the year 1540 by Lisbon’s docks. High from low quality booze and
opium, and feeling pain from numerous bruises on his body, he realized he
was actually inside a royal caravel, ready to set sail and explore the world
towards who knows which colony.
Some nights later, many sailors started to feel strange and suspicious of
the mysterious man who did the job of three by night, but didn’t do any of
his daily duties, with the blessing of the ship’s captain. Most of these
sailors didn’t arrive at their final destination, anyways.
- It’s not a life for wimps and pussies! Were some of the brief and only
considerations Joao Dias used to say to justify his unusual behavior
around mortals. These queers go mad for any bullshit, missing their little
doll houses back in Portugal. Then he asked for another drink, and started
another gamble against someone else. His pipe was a bottomless one, such
as is appetite for endless arguments, against everything.
Until his arrival in Brazil, Joao became loved and hated, and earned the
trust of his fellow sailors, probably due to blood bonds and the
irresponsible use of Presence.
On the first explorations made to expand the newfound colony of Sao
Vicente, in 1542, Joao’s might and courage were crucial in the first
conquests of gold and slaves, though the profit division was always
unclear, and questioned by the local church and its leaders, the order of
the Jesuits. Their reasons would become clear in a near future after those
first years.

Soon after his arrival in Sao Vicente, Joao Dias became one of the first
soldiers in charge of the Entries movement, an entrepreneurship
responsible for numerous deaths among the native Brazilian population, as
well as some deaths among his compatriots. For the Portuguese crown,
the profits coming out of the gold exploitation were not expressive, but
for Joao, the gains measured in blood, land and influence grew
exponentially, making him become a Dom (formally or informally, no one
knows until these nights), and a sire for the new virgin land.
As the Piratininga High plains started to edify its first buildings, at a
territory further down the inner lands, the strange man who only
attended meetings at night was already a reference for the local
population. Within the locals, thirteen monks who arrived earlier started
to grow unrestful about the new baron and his power over the small
villages around the area, since they were the only ones, for years, with
domain over the kine and their dark secrets.
The Lasombra established themselves in the region since 1533, in the
pursuit of a Gangrel fugitive and seeking to reunite with nature and deep
untainted oceans. Though a part of the coterie stayed in the high plains,
other members continued their pursuit for vengeance against the powerful
Gangrel, venturing further inside Portuguese, Spanish and Flemish
missions around the coast of Brazil, Italy and Greece. One of the infamous
clan members who sat ground in Piratininga was the Sabbat’s Archbishop,
Raposo Correia.
After the clash of Joao Dias, then an independent Brujah, and the Sabbat
pack led by Raposo Correia, the first nights of mayhem almost destroyed
the village both claimed as their own domain. In fear of losing his recently
gained fortune and influence, Joao Dias managed to contact some of the
most important businessmen and mercenaries of Portugal to his aid.
Among the summoned, was Fernao Vieira and his son, Antonio Raposo
Tavares, convinced by the opportunity of profit in the newfound
movement of the Entries, which would become the Entries and Flags
movements, after the arrival of the famous explorers.
After the assemblage of an army made of troops of European mercenaries,
Brazilian and African slaves, and the death of Fernao Vieira under
mysterious circumstances, in 1628, Antonio and Joao decided to expand

their conquest towards lands forbidden to the Portuguese, under the
Tordesillas Treaty.
Dom Joao Dias swore to his mortal partner that nothing would stand
before their initiative, no man, church, monster or heretic would stop their
empire.
With the passionate help from other Portuguese Brujah at night, the
Flags and Entries movement achieved an absolute success. Whole tribes
were decimated, including, among the dead, Jesuit priests and the
Lasombra hidden amongst them, in Spanish lands. The tortures that the
Sabbat shovelheads suffered after eight nights, before being diablerized,
scare thin bloods and neonates until the modern nights, when they’re told
about the Brujah and their brutality.
After the episode of the destruction of the Jesuit mission, an all-out war
was declared between the Sabbat and the village that became Sao Paulo.
The name of Sao Paulo itself was a statement of this war, sometimes
silent, sometimes chaotic, and watched by eight churches founded with aid
of old world Sabbat gold, while Antonio Raposo Tavares tried to expand
his operation further north, unsuccessfully.
As the movement of the Entries and Flags grew around Sao Paulo and
within the city, so did the Church, and agriculture, spread its colonization
across the native land as a parasite, eating its host from the inside out.
The vampire wars were now part of this parasitic disease that came with
the Portuguese explorers decades ago, now with a dynamic of its own, and
not so dependent of the courts and favors of the old continent.
When the new colony started to grow more and more important during
the early Nineteenth century, an event overshadowed the usual conflicts
between mortals, vampires, religion and bourgeoisie: the travel of the
Portuguese court to Brazil, in 1808, aiming to stay in the colony
indefinitely, running away from Napoleon’s wrath.
Now would the new nation give its first steps towards global glory and
acknowledgment, making its protagonists kings and emperors of its
shadows?
For Dom Joao Dias, that was destiny. Sao Paulo would become the New
Carthage, and nothing in the world would stop his twisted dream.

After the arrival of the royals in 1808, and still weakened by the event of
the Expelling of the Priests, where the Brujah fought almost to their final
deaths in the defense of Sao Paulo, the Lasombra gave up the domain. On
their forced truce, the Sabbat packs went to Rio de Janeiro and Bahia,
from where they would try to regroup and avenge their foes, hiding
among the shadows of larger cities and their noble inhabitants, more
prone to religion than Sao Paulo’s bourgeoisie was.
The Sabbat didn’t know back then, but fleeing was a very strategic
miscalculation: for by the margins of the Ipiranga river, on September 7th,
of the year of 1822, the Brujah conspiracy declared their resounding
political success on making Brazil an independent country, as declared by
Dom Pedro, the First.
Such was the influence of Dom Joao Dias in the country’s independence
that the cainites of the domain started referring to him as Dom Joao VII,
an ironic comparison to Dom Pedro’s father, Dom Joao VI. Only neonates
of Sao Paulo, in the modern nights, don’t understand why every Kindred
in the city call him the seventh, or seven, but that was the origin of his
alias.
Under his barony, that was already an ideologically anarch domain, the
city thrived, triumphed and expanded its territory through the fury of
agriculture and the first coal industries ever to be installed in Brazil. Some
Gangrel disliked the large urban development over their havens and
hunting grounds, and silently disapproved of the Baron’s ambitions,
moving to Rio Grande do Sul, Espirito Santo and Minas Gerais, looking
for deeper connections with their inner beasts, and nature.
But just when most Gangrel left, the Della Passaglia Family, a Hecata
group with trade allegiances with both the Camarilla and the Anarchs,
saw an opportunity in the growing city, due to its strategic location
within South America. The treaty between the Hecata and the Anarchs
was a success during those years, profanely written in blood and
necromancy.
Therefore, the domain, under heavy Kindred influence and manipulation,
grew more and more in size and economic power, making the Seventh’s
dream into a closer reality, and even much bigger than he thought before;
a Brujah Nation, composed of the whole State of Sao Paulo, and
commanded by the city. Now the whole world would know and aim to live

under his dark New Carthage, protected by its unparalleled military, and
amazed by the finest intellectuals among Kindred and Kine.
Back in those nights, the constitutionalist movement was born, as Dom
Joao Dias’ newest, and most definitive, enterprise.
In the decade of 1930, the Seventh already had an extensive amount of
tools and strategies at his disposal, being able to achieve his goal as a new
tyrant of a ruthless empire, and sustaining his position of power for
centuries ahead. It was the right time to act.
By making use of his political powers, acquired over many years of
influence on both kine and kindred societies, Dom Joao Dias once again
organized a movement of independence, but now of the State of Sao Paulo
over the recent Brazilian Republic. It was an opportunistic movement,
channeled by the anger of the Sao Paulo elites against the end of the
Coffee and Milk agreement, which favored the states of Sao Paulo and
Minas Gerais on presidential successions through decades.
The economic crisis of 1929, destroying thousands of jobs and fortunes,
and the success of a military coup d’état were more than enough for a
Brujah to manipulate huge crowds towards his macabre goals of
domination.
For the bohemian Dom Joao Dias, despite his image of a hedonist
philosopher, chaos, violence and blunt destruction always made perfect
scenarios to his never-ending power games. Back in those nights, his eyes
burned like bonfires of insanity and cruelty, lusting for power and glory
over everything else.
During the Revolution of 1932, blinded by his enormous greed, the
Seventh didn’t expect the Sabbat would strike him back with full force, in
a blazing attempt to avenge their banishment from the domain so many
years ago. Under the spotlight, Joao Dias received heavy attacks from
every possible state around Sao Paulo, since the Sabbat had already spread
their tentacles over every major city of the country, especially Rio, Belo
Horizonte and the Northeast. Hordes of Tzimisce and Lasombra
shovelheads attacked Sao Paulo at once.
For the Sabbat, Joao Dias’ attempt of Independence wasn’t a new move, as
it was in 1822, and the Sword of Caine saw it as a perfect opportunity to

stick their claws in the last domain they didn’t influence in Brazil, back in
those nights.
All of Joao Dias’ childer met their final deaths during the republican air
raids over Sao Paulo in those nights, and the elder himself frenzied to the
point where he almost lost his inner struggle with his beast. Many
kindred thought the Brujah became a Wight during those nights, and
after the events of his defeat, his rationality, according to vampires that
belong to 7th’s inner circle, was never the same again, as well as his
control over his temper.
Between the end of the 30’s and the 80’s, after the democratization of
Brazil, when the Camarilla started its subtle campaign towards the
domination of Sao Paulo, the Baron has a very obscure and mysterious
past.
Many say that his obsessive pursuit towards recreating Carthage caused
conflicts, coups d’état and civil wars around the world, in places like
Cambodia, Ukraine, the Balkans, Central Africa and Hong Kong, always
creating animosity between conflicting ideologies. Others say he simply
entered torpor, torn by his enemies and his own mind.
When the Camarilla wanted, and finally was able to dominate the city of
Sao Paulo with its heavy iron fists and laws, under the claim that one of
the most populous cities of the world should be an example of a perfect
domain under the Masquerade, Joao Dias accepted his role as a partner in
the new business. Even though he wouldn’t be a lonely tyrant anymore,
his position was very well payed with spoils of the victory and the
concession of a large, historically important territory.
The final death of Raposo Correia, the Sabbat Archbishop that was
expelled centuries ago, and who took his domain back to the Sabbat in
1932, was a direct consequence of Joao’s influence. The circumstances of
Raposo’s final death were very close to the infamous torture committed to
the Lasombra neonates in the Jesuit missions, during the first era of Joao’s
reign of terror. So the Anarchs say in the modern nights.
On the modern nights, the Seventh is a legend in the domain, but few
cainites have actually seen him in the last twenty years. Rumors about
him and his inner circle of kindred claim he felt the beckoning and went to
the Middle East, to fight in the Gehenna wars. The fear and code of honor

his image inspire, though, always cast doubt on the rumors that he doesn’t
spend his unlife in the city anymore, and the truth about where he is, is
always cause for intense debate between the kindred of Sao Paulo,
especially among neonates.
Joao Dias is a master of the social and intellectual skills, but his true
might lies in his combat and war tactic abilities. His eyes shine red, with a
deep and daring gaze, which sometimes inspire thoughtfulness, and
sometimes, true inspiration and illumination on the ones around him.
There’s no disagreeing, though, among friends and foes, that Joao is a
truly remarkable presence, wherever he goes.
A song for inspiration: Holy Wars... The Punishment Due – Megadeth.
Patricia Ayumi Nakamura
Patricia Ayumi Nakamura was born and raised in the neighborhood of

Bom Retiro, one of the largest Asian cultural centers of Sao Paulo, and
had a quiet childhood alongside her parents and a younger brother. The
family had a routine established around the management of their own
grocery store, at a traditional street.
When large supermarket brands established themselves in the
neighborhood, Patricia’s family started to struggle financially, making her
grow into a shy and introspective teenager, obsessed by the need to be
approved by a traditional university, in order to solve her parents
problems once and for all.
In the 90’s, Patricia was indeed approved as the best applicant for a
bachelor degree in computer science at the University of Sao Paulo (USP),
and in 2004 she already had a master’s degree and an independent startup
company in the financial industry, even though she was the only partner
at the business back then.

Patricia’s overwhelming ability to solve financial and technological
problems by the engineering of high complexity softwares rewarded her
company as one of the most demanded businesses in Faria Lima, and by
the age of 32, she could easily retire and provide to her family for the rest
of her life. Her gross revenue, within a single fiscal year, was enough to
buy more than 30 grocery markets of the same size as the one her parents
still managed.
However, in 2013, an unexpected event would change Patricia’s life
forever, right after she left a happy hour in Avenida Paulista with some of
her clients. Two robbers attacked her by the back, hitting her head with a
punch in an attempt to steal her belongings. Though she felt the pain, she
quickly reacted with hard kicks she learned from capoeira and muay thai
training.
The turning kick she landed on one of the robbers was so hard that the
coward slipped in the middle of the street, and was decapitated by a
passing vehicle. The other coward fled like a scared mouse, while
Patricia’s body was completely covered in blood from her head injury and
from the body of the thief she killed.
The impressive view of her aggressor’s headless body shaking and
bleeding on the ground never left Patricia ever since. From that moment
on, she became obsessed with revenge, and lusted for the blood of
criminals and cowards, while she couldn’t stop thinking anymore about
how many women she could save by slaughtering such motherfuckers as
the ones who assaulted her.
The other people on the street by Patricia’s side, after understanding the
scene, applauded her attitude, also in pure hatred and anger against the
impunity and protection that the Brazilian law gives to such vile bastards
out on the streets. A good criminal is a dead criminal, people said to
Patricia, offering her a glass of water, a place to sit down and think, and
even a ride home.
After being charged for manslaughter, but answering for the crime
without being arrested, Patricia truly decided to get involved in a political
fight against the Brazilian judiciary system, in order to protect victims of
rape, domestic violence, mugging and all sorts of crimes against women,
animals and children.

She had to do something to punish those that the justice protects. For her,
it was enough living in fear of men, of evil bastards with nothing to lose,
protected by a rotten system sustained by her own taxpayer money.
From that day on, she delivered the last tasks from her former company
and invested her fortune abroad, in order to generate a huge and steady
inflow of income, to finance her new enterprise: political activism.
Guns for women, women and children protection, defense of the private
property and anti-government movements thrived during the same year
she dedicated herself to such causes.
Between 2013 and 2015, Patricia was already an established leader behind
many riots and anarcho-capitalist groups that dominated the agenda on
the internet, attracting more and more young people to join her causes,
including some who desired to launch a violence wave in the country,
slaughtering every politician, judge and bureaucrat in the streets.
What Patricia didn’t know is that her internet blogs and pages had very
interesting readers, among them, the Brujah from Ipiranga and Joao Dias
himself, who thought of the furious young girl as a perfect childe, and
maybe even a perfect successor to carry on with his dark dream, from
centuries ago.
Months later, Joao Dias embraced Patricia into the Brujah clan at a
crowded and violent protest in Avenida Paulista, close to where she was
attacked, years ago. Right after the embrace, he took the frenzied Brujah
to Ipiranga Museum, trying to calm her down in order to explain the
whole situation to his childe.
After destroying some parts of Joao’s collection in the museum, Patricia
stopped frenzying and was able to rationalize and understand Joao’s
objectives and worldview, becoming his second in command in the
modern nights.
Her main goal is to make Sao Paulo into a new country, free from the
coward and elitist club of the rotten Camarilla, whom she maintains a
neutral business relation, but ideologically associate with the parasitic
bureaucrats she once sworn to exterminate.
After the embrace, Patricia didn’t abandon her ideals of moral and justice,
being allowed by the Baron to wander in Sao Paulo’s nights searching for

criminals to brutalize and tear apart, leaving their mutilated bodies in the
streets to make a statement, and to solve what the judiciary system
doesn’t. Her favorite targets are rapists, pedophiles, bullies and abusers.
Patricia knows her job of cleansing the Brazilian society might take
centuries, even as powerful immortal, but her rage and utmost dedication
towards her goals have never been so strong. In between her patrols, she
also serves as Joao’s tech support, which takes a lot of time, since the most
technological gadget the elder used to have was a compass.
Patricia’s alias on the internet is NAP, her name’s initials, which is also
associated with the eternal “naps” she forces upon her enemies.
A song for inspiration: Beneath the Remains – Sepultura
Gangrel
Emma Fleming
On the 17th day of April, in 1951, Emma Muir became Emma Fleming,
wife of Howard Fleming, a clothes sales clerk and importer in Glasgow,
Scotland. Back in that rainy Saturday of the Lowlands, she was only
nineteen.
In the fifties, life couldn’t be more boring than that of a traditional
housewife. Masses at Sundays, tea with the wives of her husband’s friends.
Domestic activities, taking care of her sons – she already had two, by the
age of twenty-four – her husband’s proud heirs.
The only moments Emma could dream and hope for new adventures were
the ones she spent watching TV and listening to the radio. Ten years after
being married, Emma already knew much about strange lands like India,
Brazil and Argentina, without ever going there; not because she didn’t

want to, but because her husband insisted in not taking any risks on third
world countries, filled with pest, disease and thieves.
But Emma saw herself falling more and more in love with that strange
land beyond the sea, called Brazil, the more she learned about it. Beautiful
people, a new tropical kind of jazz called Bossa Nova, and endless summer
beaches in Rio, where everything looked like a postmodern Greece where
people spoke Portuguese.
In 1965, with her children already grown up enough, Emma finally
convinced her husband to visit Brazil, on a trip through all of its main
touristic courses. Emma promised to make the trip more interesting by
relating to her husband everything she already studied of ecology,
sociology, language and religion.
After arriving in Rio, Howard contracted an unknown disease, and had to
go back to Glasgow to be treated by the family’s doctor. After all, he
would not risk the chance of having medical treatment in Brazil. Emma,
on her turn, would not go back. This time, she would not follow suit.
It was her first vacations away from Scotland in almost fifteen years. She
would continue that trip alone, even though she would get the utmost
reprobation from her family and her boring tea society, priests and
annoying children. Fifteen days of freedom, one for each year chained to
that goddamn island full of alcoholic, disturbing men. Now, it was the
summer of her life.
By walking a few blocks away from her hotel in Copacabana, the blue
eyed, pale red haired woman was always on the spotlight, but she didn’t
care. She said “olá, obrigado and bom dia” and smiled, walking away like a
bird outside of her cage. No one would dare to steal or harm her; the
world was at her feet.
On the fourth day of her journey, Emma visited a sacred ground of the
candomblé religion, where the holy man, possessed by a powerful orisha,
recommended her to go to Sao Paulo, which she did without hesitation.
The weather in the new city was colder, and so was the population and the
overall treatment. The traffic was much more aggressive and faster.
Skyscrapers threatened to tear the sky apart everywhere. Then she found
out about the water reserve at the extreme south of the city, where birds,

rivers and ancient trees made the perfect spot for those seeking spiritual
healing.
Emma camped in the sacred grounds of Guarapiranga, far from luxury
hotels and from the city, having her own thoughts and stars as a ceiling.
She was going back sooner; it was enough. She didn’t have to submit her
family to more pain and anxiety just for personal achievements and
enlightenment. However, the pain of going back to her monotonous life
was already hurting her chest, tearing her wild heart apart. When would
she have another chance like that?
In the midst of the rich and beautiful nocturnal life, even with all its
dangers and fears, Emma remembered the stories of the Irish and Scottish
priestesses she learned from her family, and how people worshiped them
as the true keepers of the forest and the night. Her people’s religions and
rituals were a part of an old and frail balance, slowly fading away in the
middle of modern life, just like Guarapiranga, in the middle of Sao Paulo.
Far away in the waters of the dam, she saw a woman in a white dress and
dark skin, walking over the waters like Jesus. Who was that? Emma
thought, as the woman called out her name. When she arrived, Emma felt
the blood inside her veins freezing, and her limbs paralyzing.
Her eyes were red like sunset and war. Emma was sure that the woman
was a supernatural being, or maybe, even divine.
- Iansã, Iemanjá, I’ve had many names before, my child, said the strange
woman. None of these names describe my true nature. I also used to be
called Yara, and I remember this name fondly…
Beholding so much power and influence, despite the fear, Emma truly felt
the need to follow that goddess wherever she would go. The feeling
resembled relief and peace, like she never felt before. So Emma was
embraced as a Gangrel, after two nights spent with her new sire, in order
to join her as a guardian of those sacred lands, rivers and forests, since her
sire couldn’t defend that whole territory anymore, given the rage and fury
of the urban expansion imposed by the kine.
During the 70s and the 80s, both Emma and Yara hunted together and
successfully protected their domain from kindred and kine alike, until
Yara felt the call to go away towards new territories, allowing Emma to

embrace two childer, Livia Pavuna and Melissa Amorim. The two childer
were biologists who shared the same passion for the protection of that
natural territory as her sire.
Kindred society in the 90s recognized the three Gangrel as the Trinity,
and respected their domains as neutral among anarchs and the Camarilla.
The recommendations and advice given by the trinity are taken into high
account by the city’s Kindred, especially when regarding ways to deal
with, and avoid, the Kine and the Second Inquisition.
Emma and the Trinity’s view towards unlife was very close to what she
discovered as the Lhiannan bloodline, a legend she finally understood,
after embraced. If she and her sister’s strengths and weaknesses were
really bonded to their hunting ground, it remains a mystery, one they try
to solve by dwelling deeper and deeper into ancient rituals and obscure
mystical practices.
Emma’s beast mark are jaguar spots and dark shapes on her back, as well
as huge predator fangs, which she proudly exhibits when hunting inside
her territory with her sisters, in order to emphasize her matriarchal
power.
Still honoring the oath she made to her sire, Emma and her childer protect
the territory in a very fierce and ruthless way. Whoever dare invading
their domain without authorization, or by mistake, will not be received as
Emma was, many nights before.
A song for inspiration: Breezeblocks – alt-J
Marcos Almeida
In the year of 1983, by the age of 23, Marcos Almeida was a rebel without
a cause in the city of Sao Paulo. Living in the streets in the 80s was no
easy task, especially being a fan of heavy metal, sex, drugs and chaotic
destruction of people, places and his own self.
The Young man spent his time between earning enough money to go to
gigs of Iron Maiden, Judas Priest, Alice Cooper and AC/DC, or their
cover bands, smoking weed and fixing cars with illegal parts, fake license
plates and nitros, for anyone who would pay him enough. Without a
family to care for him, and being a school dropout, that was the best life
Marcos thought he could get, at the edge of Sao Paulo’s society.
By the start of the 90s, Marcos already had two children with two
different women, and the pressures of his urban life drove him towards the
road, dominated by his love of cars and a darker, more silent lifestyle,
among drunks and outcasts. When listening to his favorite music for
hours on the road, no one bothered him. He could stop and sleep wherever
he wanted to, having only his delivery schedules as a guideline, while
traveling all over Brazil. He financed himself a truck after a couple of
months living his life on the road, and saw it, as is first business ever.
Now he was a successful man, an entrepreneur, he used to say to himself,
as an excuse not to kill himself from an overdose or anything else while
back in the city.
By sleeping on gas stations all over the states of Sao Paulo, Rio de Janeiro,
Minas Gerais and Espirito Santo, Marcos started to know many different
people and their interesting lifestyles, many inclined towards goals that
didn’t include money, status, families or materialism. Many lived to satisfy
their own vices, need for freedom, and connections with nature, silence or
their own sins.
The life on the road is another kind of life. The city itself is but a means to
an end, and a necessary bond with the rest of the futile civilization. Three
days in a big city were more than enough to deliver the TV or the
washing machine to the stupid dude who worked in an office and was
cheated by his wife. The day after he left, the asshole would probably
drink himself to death after finding out, with clean clothes from his new
washing machine.
So Marcos thought, while he congratulated the stupid son of a bitch for
his preference and his fucking awesome achievement. Congratulations sir,
he said, with a cynic smile that meant everything he had on his mind,

before finally going back to the road, and out of that huge pile of shit and
stupid people.
In a night of 1995, Marcos decided to take a break during the New Year’s
Eve Holiday, himself, a bottle of Cachaça, a little bit of weed and two
packs of Marlboro Red. Whatever he could fish in the Guarapiranga
reservoir would be his dinner, and next day lunch. He would be back on
the road only in 1996, which actually didn’t happen.
After relaxing, lying on the grass at night after smoking a joint and
having a few shots of Cachaça, Marcos heard intense bird noises around
him, but found some joy in the whole situation, laughing to himself while
taking for granted that he was very high.
By midnight, though, Marcos saw a beautiful dark skinned woman,
predatory and morbid, standing before him covered in Bird feathers over
her athletic and wild body.
- Livia Pavuna, follower of Iemanjá, saravá stranger!
- Saravá, answered Marcos, still high and skeptical about what his eyes
were showing him.
After the two had a friendly chat and Livia asked to sleep in his truck,
Marcos willingly let her in. After all, she looked just like a hippie rich girl,
trying to find herself in the world. When Marcos got back to his truck
later in the night, when he thought she was asleep, she was getting
dominated by her beast, showing vulture claws and owl eyes on a very
distorted body and face.
Her teeth, sharp as shark’s, struck Marcos’ throat as he was shocked and
paralyzed, and she drank almost all of his blood in order to satiate her
deep hunger. As Marcos struggled for his life, birds, snakes, rain pouring
and drops of blood against metal were the only noises heard in that bleak
Guarapiranga night.
After satiating her hunger and taking comprehension of what she did,
Livia decided to embrace Marcos to save his life. After all, he was a lost
man, but a wild-hearted one, who could reinforce the Trinity in their
mission of protecting their domains. Her animal instincts now urged Livia
to protect her childe and defend his embrace to her sisters. She would

teach him about the Camarilla, the Anarchs, their own neutrality and
hunting habits. He was her responsibility from now on.
The Trinity’s pack accepted Marcos as one of them, and thus he stayed
among them for the first ten years of his new unlife. After a while, he
started learning more from the owls of the forest than from his blood
sisters and the conflicts among them. Craving again for peace and silence,
Marcos hit the road once again, sustaining his unlife as a worker for the
circulatory system, carrying bodies, blood dolls, blood packs and runaway
vampires in and out of Sao Paulo.
His domain was the road, even though some sort of beckoning was always
bringing him back to Guarapiranga and his sire Livia. One place he
couldn’t bare to stay though, was the city of Sao Paulo itself and its
disturbing noises, smells and confusions. He couldn’t simply hunt and feed
there. The loathing he felt in the various Elysia he’s been to, always
brought back memories of Brazilian politics, high society and a lot of
scumbags who thought only about their own fucking selves. Unbearable.
Fuck the Camarilla, fuck the Sabbat, and fuck the Gehenna, fuck them all.
There was still the Atlantic Forest and the road to hunt and feed in, and
those domains belong to no one but his Gangrel brothers and their eternal
freedom. If he had to change his philosophy, it wouldn’t be without a good
fight. If the fight were to be lost, his fate would drive him towards other
roads, no matter how dark they were.
A song for inspiration: For Those About To Rock (We Salute You) – AC/DC
Hecata
Emilia Della Passaglia
The little empress, as known by the Hecata, saw interesting business

opportunities in Brazilian lands, aiming to create a strategic stop between
the west and the east, free from interference of other European vampires
and their conflicts and decadent traditions.
Acknowledging the increasing dangers to their business by the expanding
wars between the Camarilla and the Sabbat, the Giovanni family allowed
Emilia and her childer to seek new domains in South America, and to
choose a place that would suit their interests for money and knowledge of
oblivion and necromancy.
Joined by Giorgio and Chiara, her trusted childer and alleged parents in
their masquerade among kine, the sinister Family arrived in Brazil in
1892, in Santos’ Harbor, and established their selves in a mansion by
Consolação Street in Sao Paulo a few nights later – a perfect place by the
city’s only public cemetery, back then.
The Della Passaglia was one of the first families embraced by the
Giovanni in the early 16th century, given their remarkable ability to
finance successful expeditions to the east with the goal of trading spices,
opium and, after embraced, exquisite blood dolls and refined occult
artifacts, mainly bought by the Italian, Spanish and Dutch Ventrue.
As a means to avoid members of his Family in resisting the embrace,
Roberto Della Passaglia embraced the family’s primogen, Emilia, so she
could embrace the rest of the family, who idolized and believed their 18-
year-old genius daughter, no matter what she said, recommended or did.
After many nights and centuries of conflicts between the Hecata and many
other kindred and kine, only Emilia remains as one of the original
members of the Della Passaglia family, since her parents and sire all met
final death on complex schemes of treason, vendettas and obscure alliances
and trades.
After arriving in Sao Paulo with the authorization of the Baron Dom Joao
Dias, the Giovanni promised neutrality towards the conflicts of the city.
The Della Passaglia were open for business with anyone interested in the
powers of the abyss and the dead. Their promises and knowledge were
more than enough to allow them to crave their rotten claws in the city,
from where they never left, like many other immigrants from Italy and
Japan in the twentieth century, some of which came directly influenced by
their trade.

Consolação cemetery started to grow increasingly more after their arrival,
during the twentieth century, and not only because of the growth of the
urban population.
Emilia’s short mortal life during the sixteenth century was marked by an
austere education, by the fashion of the Italian bourgeoisie of those days.
Even as a teenager, she had perfect etiquette, as well as fluency in English,
German, Japanese and Spanish languages, besides Italian. When she was a
child, she could also witness and learn about her father’s business and his
meetings, which most of the times involved killing, manipulating or
getting rid of corpses in the family’s basements.
Being a premature child since a very young age, she also had special
interest in philosophy and history, and read many books about it
whenever she could, especially those involving occultism.
Even though she was an extremely smart teenager, Emilia had
psychopathic behaviors, and a total lack of empathy towards every human
being around her, who she saw as mere tools towards achieving her
personal goals and exquisite demands. The powerful and ruthless family
she was born, and embraced by, definitely also contributed to their only
daughter’s tyrannical personality.
Ever since she was a child, Emilia accustomed herself to a queen-like
treatment by her family members and employees, and always had a hard
time dealing with situations where she could not be ahead of the rest, or
privileged.
When Roberto embraced her, she experienced extreme pain for the first
time of her life, but did not seek revenge or turned against her sire. She,
instead, proved herself an extremely obedient and dedicated student of her
family’s real businesses, embracing both of her parents as demanded, and
already with her eyes set on building herself an empire that would bend
its knees to her as its one and only eternal queen.
Emilia perceived the opportunity of colonizing a new continent as a
golden ticket and the most prominent mission of her new unlife, and
dominating Sao Paulo and Brazil remains as her ultimate objective until
these nights.
All of Emilia’s relationships are mechanic, and everyone is expandable to
her. Hordes of putrid undead, who roam around her domains through day

and night, protect their creator, especially around Crackland and Sao
Paulo’s orchestra hall, the Hecata Elysium. Many cainites see her domain
of the undead hordes as a means to compensate her weaknesses regarding
physical abilities, under developed due to the early age when she was
embraced.
Another fact that corroborates the theory of Emilia’s physical weakness is
the close relationship she maintains with her childer, Giorgio and Chiara,
who look very physically strong and ruthless, even before they were
embraced, on the times when they worked as private securities to the
Della Passaglia in Venice, around the 1750s.
Emilia knows a lot about mortal and kindred societies, politics, and
religions, having no respect at all about any of those institutions, which
she sees, as anything else, as mere tools to use in achieving her objectives
of conquering positions of power.
Legends among Sao Paulo’s kindred also relate that Emilia occasionally
summons the ghost of Alvares de Azevedo to advise her, which wanders
around the family’s corporate headquarters in Avenida Paulsita, according
to some vampires more proficient in the use of Auspex.
Emilia is cold, psychopathic and obsessed with power. She understands
very clearly that her relationships focus on business, and business only,
making it clear on all of her interactions. Standing in her way or invading
her domains without permission will end in nothing but the ultimate
destruction, without any doubt.
A song for inspiration: You Want It Darker – Leonard Cohen.
Lasombra
Antoine Lévi

Most Lasombra are no longer part of the Sabbat after the mass
destruction caused by the Second Inquisition to the cainites of the sect in
Europe, becoming, in the modern nights, faithful only to their own selves
and their own survival.
After a great hunt in the now dangerous territory of Paris, Antoine Lévi,
French cainite from Jewish origins, saw Sao Paulo as a possible safe haven
from mortal and Sabbat inquisitions and persecutions.
Therefore, he came to Sao Paulo in a safe international network
maintained by the Della Passaglia, in a private plane from France, which
costed him his property and domain in Tiffauges and its whole arcane
library. The trade also involved an agreement of protection from the
family against the other sects in Sao Paulo, especially the Camarilla and
their specific laws about Lasombra in their territories.
Since 2005, Antoine dedicates his unlife to the study of the abyss, the
shroud and its influences in the material world, through a cult of mortals
and kindred dedicated to the Kabbalah in Higienopolis.
Antoine, the exiled, as the kindred of the city know him, has considerable
influence on occultists from Sao Paulo, given his knowledge of the
supernatural, and his dedication on the studies of the subject. Emilia and
the Hecata, for many times, act as patrons to his research, in order to have
a glimpse of his discoveries, which he shares with them, but not without
some reluctance. According to some Kindred, the biggest payments
Antoine provides to the Hecata come from his concluded researches
regarding necromancy and resurrection of corpses.
In the modern nights, Antoine’s investment on fleeing Europe has been
paying off, and his environment is perfect to the continuing studies of his
dark arts.
In the last years, the tentacles of the shadows have been slowly
swallowing the central region of the city, even though many of its
inhabitants are not realizing this fact.
Kindred who speak about Antoine, usually analyze his agenda as alien, and
mainly related to the abyss, oblivion, and supernatural studies only, since
he does not get involved in vampiric politics, if it doesn’t concern his dark
studies.

Antoine has a very silent voice, and a strong French accent, making him
hard to understand, one of the reasons why the knowledge he shares is
even more valuable. In this manner, most of his words cast a hypnotic
attention of those around him when he speaks and transmits his occult
thoughts.
Embraced in the 1950s in the city of Paris, as a member of the Sabbat,
until the year of 2000, Antoine strongly resisted and fought against the
Toreadors of his hometown, clan to which he still holds a grudge in the
modern nights. Curiously, though, for being a fierce enemy of many
Toreadors, Antoine is fond of many Nosferatu around the world, what
grants him good reputation and access in downtown Sao Paulo.
The downtown area is ground for many trade meetings between the
Lasombra and the Lepers, to the point that some claim new geomancy
studies are happening in the most unusual places of the domain, especially
underground.
One of the most recent objectives of the Lasombra has been building a
new Elysium downtown, especially for those who dislike rough
adventures among Emilia’s undead hordes in Crackland. Even some
Camarilla Ventrue secretly finance and support Antoine’s initiative, which,
as most of his activities, is very mysterious and surrounded by shadows.
A song for inspiration: My Church Is Black – Me And That Man
Alice Bastos Monteiro
Alice had a quiet and common childhood in 1980’s touristic and coastal
city of Cascais, around Lisbon. As one of the main touristic destinations to
European surfers and enthusiasts of the sport, the city always counted
with the outstanding work of its specialized guide, and surfer, Luis
Monteiro.

Luis was a local legend, who always taught newcomers about the best
places to surf and how to ride the largest, wildest waves. The little girl
Alice was always by his dad’s side, smiling and playing around, and was a
natural talent when playing with water sports.
Such was Alice’s life, until her father was the victim of an accident in the
sea, hitting his head against a rock and dying, when she was only fifteen.
Alice, the teenage surfer girl who used to spend her days with Family and
friends around the beach, became depressive, rebellious and angry,
abandoning school and dedicating herself to illegal activities such as theft,
and the use and trade of illegal drugs. Having a hard time with the
husband’s death, Alice’s mother also became a violent alcoholic, with no
strength to deal with her daughter’s problems.
In one of her outbursts of rage and alcohol consumption, Alice’s mother
tried to violently beat her and her seven year old brother, to which her
reaction was equally brutal (and fueled by cocaine): Alice stabbed her
mother forty three times in the kitchen, after putting her brother to sleep.
She would not return to her hometown ever since, after disappearing in
the shadows of the bleakest night of her life.
By the age of twenty-two, the Portuguese was already a fugitive and a
specialist in theft, extortion, falsifications and many forms of blackmail,
who used to change her residency around the cities of Prague, Budapest,
Vienna and Munich, always without paying her rent and traveling with
fake IDs and passports.
In the end of the 2000’s, Alice became a shadow, a ghost. After losing the
trail of the Portuguese police, one night she returned very close to her
country, for a theft job in Madrid. It was a very easy job, in a luxury
condominium, where many of its residents were elderly men and women.
Ready to beat to death anyone who she needed in order to complete her
contract, be it a child, Elder or animal – for such was her cruel, cold and
ruthless ethics – Alice slowly crossed through the security of the
residences, and entered the apartment where she was hired to steal.
Dark and silent environment, covered by carpets and not much furniture.
That would be a fast, easy, job and maybe an easy kill of the senile man
sleeping next to the apartment’s vault, if he woke up – such as he did.

With amazing strength for a small and thin old man, the victim
surrendered his predator easily. Dominated by her supposed victim, Alice
heard, to her astonishment, that she was expected, and he was a fan of her
work. From now on, she would work for him, and only for him, for the
rest of her unlife’s nights – that was not a business proposition, and she
had no choice to make.
Without a chance to fight back, Alice was embraced into clan Lasombra,
in what would become a cycle of even more infamous crimes involving
kidnappings, human trafficking, financial scandals and her classic thefts,
all to serve her sire’s will and needs.
With the advent of the Second Inquisition in 2017, Alice separated herself
from her Sire, fleeing to Uruguay, where she fell under the radar of
Gonçalves Pereira, Sao Paulo’s seneschal, who hired her as a mercenary
for the city’s Camarilla to execute a classified mission.
After her recent arrival in the city, the only thing that will not be hard for
Alice will be the language, while living under constant tension and
distrust from her clan mates and the sects who rule Sao Paulo. However,
an adverse environment as always been Alice’s home, in which she
thrived, as she always did.
Now, away from her sire and free from her long blood bond, she had the
opportunity of a fresh start and a new history, which could be full of glory
and conquests overseas. To create a history and a name as full of glories
and heroism as the ones of her fellow citizens and ancillae of her clan –
that is her goal, from now on. Money, for sure, would help a lot in
achieving such place among the eternal heroes of the night.
A song for inspiration: Seek & Destroy – Metallica

Malkavian
Flavia Cintra
One between few graduates in mechatronic engineering in Sao Paulo

state’s university, with specialization on neural networks, Flavia has
become very proud of herself, even though she looked discrete.
Most of her life and her conflicts happened on social media, gaming
websites and dating platforms.
The petite girl with eyeglasses over her shady, grey eyes was a huge
monster of pride, arrogance and hatred online, practicing bully and
humiliations against every one with an opinion that diverged from her
own.
Maybe her bad attitude towards people online were a means to
compensate her shyness and feeling of injustice in the real world.
In 2015, after having a vast experience on consultancy and online security
companies regarding the development and maintenance of various
softwares and codes, Flavia received an invitation to work for FDSS, a
prominent Brazilian company on the private property sector. There she
would have the chance to be the head of her own department, in order to
develop an integrated software with the objective of protecting FDSS’
clients from threats and risk situations, creating statistics and projections
regarding their safety.
If Flavia’s software was to reach its goals and become a success for the
company, she could be nominated as a limited partner for FDSS, and
would have the right to receive part of the promising company’s future
profits.

Flavia accepted FDSS’s proposal, but for different reasons than the
financial advantages. During the interview and selection process for her
new job opportunity, she fell in love with the company’s CEO, in a way
she never been before with any other man.
Obviously, she wouldn’t let her feelings get in the way of her career, and
would direct her passion and energy to create the best possible solution
for the company, conquering the CEO’s happiness, and maybe his heart.
Then she would know everything about him, his life, how he developed
his business and all of his wishes.
After three years of hard work on the development of her ground breaking
security system, one of the main reasons why the German company,
Bloodhound, acquired FDSS, the first version of the software was finally
concluded and available. Flavia developed the world’s most advanced
security system, integrating cameras, internet, radios, cars, cellphones and
bank accounts into a huge database network, working 24/7 to protect
(and spy on) the company’s clients.
Even after her success and recent partnership in the company, Fernando
Dutra, the CEO, would only talk to her directly in sporadic meetings at
night, which didn’t give her a chance to seduce him or talk to him in a less
formal environment. Therefore, she kept spreading her fury, rage and
frustrations online, commenting on disgraceful news articles, extremist
political blogs and online RPGs, where she played a very strong and
godlike character for years, which was, actually, hacked, and almost
invincible.
What Flavia didn’t know is that Fernando did notice the talent and
importance of her new partner to the business, and that the Bloodhound
associates wouldn’t like to have a mere mortal with so much importance
and inside knowledge of their organization.
In 2016, Bloodhound’s partners invited Flavia to participate in a meeting
in Frankfurt; under very similar circumstances that when Fernando
participated. For Flavia’s frustration, though, Fernando wouldn’t go with
her, giving her only a list of subjects to talk with Bloodhound’s executives.
The objective of the meeting would be to discuss specifications of Flavia’s
system and its necessary adaptions to work in Europe, as a counter
intelligence system against “paramilitary organizations”. Flavia would

also attend and explain her system specifications to Klaus Hoffmann, Head
of IT, who responded directly to the Stalburg family, the company’s main
shareholders.
In Frankfurt, Klaus’ room was not very different from the rest of the
company’s layout, absolutely functional and simplistic, with white walls
and desks. The head of IT though, had six different monitors, and seemed
to be working hard by that time of the night.
When they first met each other and started talking about technical issues,
Flavia felt very fond of that sixty-year-old man, even though he
sometimes seemed to have his mind partially set in another world or other
thoughts beyond their conversation. As a brilliant mind, these people are
always a bit eccentric, Flavia thought to herself.
However, what Flavia didn’t expect was to be held by her waist and bitten
in the neck by the apparently calm and respectful man. A painful bite,
filled with pleasure, like the sensation of an LSD high. Those were the last
things Flavia remembered about her embrace, a composition of surprise,
fear, addiction, sex and death.
After her panic was contained, as well as her instinct to try to kill her sire,
Flavia still didn’t feel very well. Voices whispered thousands of words in
her head, apparently related to radio signs from computers, cellphones,
memories from internet videos and tons of hard data.
Only by the consumption of blood, Flavia’s mental disturbances were
diminished. That wasn’t a problem, for her sire could sustain her with
many gallons spread around his office.
After understanding her new conditions and the history and peculiarities
of the clan of the moon, to which she had been embraced, Klaus told her
that her security system project would continue into a new phase:
integrating herself into the whole mechanism.
Through her new unlife, Flavia would be a biological and organic
database for the Camarilla, one that was impossible to hack by the enemies
of the Ivory Tower, such as the Second Inquisition. Flavia would have a
role as the kindred response to the threat against their existence.
Flavia’s mission wouldn’t be easy to accomplish. Back in Sao Paulo,
crowded places with many electronic devices caused disorientation on her

mind, and increased her schizophrenia between aggressiveness and
shyness, as well as difficulties to discern the real world from the digital
one, which whispered in her head.
After becoming better on the management of her behavior, Flavia finally
seduced Fernando and became his lover, finding a companion in Sao
Paulo’s harpy, to aid her in her nightly struggle for survival and
improvement.
When well fed and close to her lover, Flavia is a very valuable asset to the
Camarilla, being able to supernaturally interact with places where FDSS
supervises, and analyzing data regarding kindred, kine and other
supernatural activities in the domain, through the use of Auspex.
A song for inspiration: Feral – Radiohead.
Inés Del Castillo y Corrientes
Inés was embraced near Barcelona during the Spanish civil war, in the
year of 1938, after communist revolutionary soldiers executed her family
and left her for dead. The forces, which executed Inés’ family, committed
many desperate and brutal acts of violence around her region, and fled to
neighboring countries after losing their territories to the Franco regime.
Inés was then the fiancée of a Spanish diplomat, on a mission to negotiate
the new government’s diplomatic position towards the rising nationalist
forces in Italy, while she was the heir to a traditional family from
Catalunya.
The horror of watching her family getting killed in front of her eyes left a
deep mark on the recently embraced neonate’s vitae, that would last for all
of her unlife. With almost no blood after being shot twice, Inés was bitten
and embraced by an unknown malkavian elder, almost in a frenzy himself,

and then left alone to her own devices, without a single soul to explain
what happened to her, and how she was supposed to survive from that
moment onwards.
Due to the strong powers of her Sire, and his connection to the cobweb,
Inés didn’t have many difficulties on understanding her new strengths and
limitations, though the trauma and curse of her embrace afflicted her mind
with a deep PTSD, making her an extremely careful, paranoid and violent
cainite on matters of self-protection and security.
For all of her unlife, Inés never thought twice before eliminating any
potential threats to herself or her goals, no matter if the source is an
enemy, a neutral agent or a so-called ally.
On the last years of World War II, Inés moved to Santiago, searching for
her fiancée. Once in the new domain, she found out that he got married to
another woman and had a new family, moving forward with his new life
without ever questioning what happened to her back in Spain. In a strange
supernatural manner, Inés found out about all those facts on her first
night in Santiago, using Auspex.
When trying to confront her old fiancée in his new life, Inés was received,
once again, with bullets, and after hearing the desperate cries of the family
in the house, she frenzied and slaughtered everyone inside, including the
household employees, being found weeks later by the local Camarilla. The
scene witnessed by the Chilean cainites was that of a deranged vampire,
covered in blood and guts, talking about politicians from South America
with chances to rule in the next fifty years, and the reasons for that.
By perceiving a very powerful potential ally, and a potent tool of intellect
and raw force in Inés, the local Ventrue, Robert Whitefield, decided to
receive the neonate under his wings and structures of economic and
political power, in order to give her a position in the Camarilla and its
traditions. Some decades later, Robert would become the prince of
Santiago, himself.
At last, Inés wasn’t alone anymore in her new world of darkness, and was
finally among those she considered refined and respectful for the
traditions, like she has always been during her life as a mortal.
In 1947, Robert and his sire, then the prince of Santiago, decided to send
Inés to Sao Paulo, a territory where the Camarilla had little or no

influence at all, divided between Brujah Anarchs, the Sabbat and the
opportunistic Hecata.
On her first years in Sao Paulo, Inés knew the city as a Camarilla secret
agent, providing exquisite blood dolls to Emilia and her clan of death, as
well as conquering a certain degree of sympathy among the Brujah, and
even some Lasombra primogens, but always-remaining faithful to the
Camarilla and reporting periodically to Santiago. On those nights, the
Camarilla already longed to launch an offensive to take over Buenos Aires
and Sao Paulo, while maintaining its influence over the neutral grounds of
Rio, protected by a peace treaty.
On the years where the military regime ruled Brazil, Inés was an
important agent helping the Camarilla on how to interpret the complex
political scene, understanding and predicting behaviors and decisions of
many of its players, kindred and kine.
Inés was one of the few malkavians in South America with advanced
ability to use Auspex and interpret prophecies and alternative realities,
though the only objective she had was to protect and perpetuate the
existence of herself and of her closest allies.
After the end of the military regime in 1985, Inés lost control over her
connections with the Camarilla, getting confused and highly pressured to
prevent the next political power movements, influenced by paranoia and
threats to her kindred network of allies in Brazil.
Already consolidating herself as a main powerhouse of influence and
important allegiances, and holding a domain around the Juscelino
Kubitschek and Faria Lima avenues, Inés gave birth to a wave of
unprecedented conflicts between vampires of all sects, when revealing
herself as a Camarilla supporter. Many Brujah, Hecata and Lasombra who
threatened to weaken the Ivory Tower in the city, or the traditions,
started to become the targets of casualties, for which they started blaming
one another, without acknowledging Inés was the true responsible.
After several attacks and the destruction of many cainites with different
ideals and agendas, in such a brutal and fast manner, the city drifted into
chaos and war, officially between the Camarilla and the Sabbat. Two
major casualties in the conflict were Robert Whitefield and Raposo
Correia, the first executed by the Sabbat’s archbishop himself, and the

latter, by the hands of his longtime rival, Joao Dias, both on plain civilian
sight, at the Sé Cathedral. Though the conflicts breached the masquerade,
it’s almost impossible to find any kine in the city who remembers the
events of those nights.
The strategy that Inés wasn’t able to foresee, and that caused her most
intimate friend’s final death, was the Sabbat shift of power cores, from the
military and church inner circles, towards criminal organizations, which
were Brazil’s most influential citizens during those nights, and from
where the Sabbat’s main defense forces came from.
As a counter strike, Inés influenced the government to invade and
slaughter the prisoners of the Carandiru prison in north side Sao Paulo,
through dominate and dementation. The strike happened a few nights
after she found out that many Sabbat shovelheads were hiding and feeding
inside the prison, and organizing strikes against the Camarilla from
behind bars.
The attack against the prison was a blatant masquerade breach, resulting
from Inés blind fury and rage for the destruction of Robert, and the city’s
greatest blood bath of kindred, ghouls, and even unrelated kine in the
domain.
After the malkavian activated her nuclear option, between the chaos, fear
and paranoia created among all the city’s kindred, Inés joined the Anarchs
and the Camarilla into a unified alliance in order to exterminate the
Sabbat from Sao Paulo, what she accomplished a few nights later. The few
remaining members from the sect had to abandon their havens, some
towards Buenos Aires, never to return again.
Despite the various casualties and decisions seen as mistakes or extreme
measures by the Camarilla, elders from Europe and America, especially
those from Clan Ventrue, decided to proclaim Inés Del Castillo y
Corrientes as the Prince of the domain. The only condition for the
nomination was that she was to equally divide the best hunting grounds
from the territory and its acquired wealth between the Toreador, the
Ventrue and the Malkavians.
Inés’ princedom represented the death of the Brujah Flagmen’s’ dream, in
which the city would become their New Carthage. However, by defeating
the Sabbat, she acquired a substantial amount of support from the Brujah,

which recognize that her strength, unpredictability and fierceness may
advance the domain into one of the best fortresses for cainites, all over the
world.
The ones who are not supportive of Inés have a neutral stance towards the
prince, but everyone acknowledge that she solved a very important
problem to kindred society by expelling the Sabbat out of the city.
Since 1992, Inés’ princedom has only suffered a single attempt of strike
from the Sabbat, when they reorganized their agents hiding among
influential gangs inside Brazil’s prisons. Once again, though, the
Camarilla violently repressed the attempted coup, for they already had
their own agents operating inside the criminal underworld.
Since then, the city kept its pace of violent expansions and urban
convulsions, always watched by greedy, but fearful kindred who dream of
taking the vast and safe domain to themselves, and proclaiming their
selves and their allies as the most prominent lords of South America.
Keeping an eye on the last intrigues and rumors around her court, the
prince finally established a primogen council on the last decade, which has
temporary seats that change by her decrees, on a logic only herself seems
to understand.
The decentralization of power and secrecy involving Camarilla’s decisions
on the future of the domain have been very successful on protecting the
city’s kindred from disasters like the ones that happened in London, where
cainites were almost extinct from the city by the SI forces.
The only apparent weakness of the prince, even though she is very skillful
on controlling it, seems to be her low tolerance to situations of conflict,
especially when they become violent, enraging her and appealing directly
to her beast, which sometimes may take over her, inducing a murderous
frenzy.
A song for inspiration: God’s Gonna Cut You Down – Johnny Cash

Joaquim Flores
Son of a very religious, protestant mother, and a bohemian father, Joaquim

was raised in a middle class family, with a peaceful life in West Side Sao
Paulo, during the 80s and the 90s. Many girls from Joaquim’s school
admired him, as he always tried to maintain his grunge aura and style,
even after his teen years. Back then, Joaquim’s closest friends always
remembered him as a lightly rebellious and flirty rock and roller.
Even though he lived a comfortable life, and didn’t have any difficulty on
getting a psychology degree in Sao Paulo’s University, after a few years of
specialization in Madrid, Joaquim was always unrestful about the
meanings of life and death.
Walking the Camino de Santiago, under the influence of hallucinogenic
substances, fascinated Joaquim, making his thirty days trip in Europe into
eight months of self-discovery, ending up in Turkey, where he knew
Islamic prophets, African religions and lost Christian texts from occult
and ancient writers.
When he returned to Brazil, Joaquim gave up everything, dedicating
himself only to mystical and occult studies, combining the poetry and
knowledges of Blake, Rimbaud, Baudelaire, Crowley and Jung to
candomblé and other ancient religions.
What made sense, and what was reality? Drugs, people, journeys, their
connection to a supreme ending. A drop of rain, a bee standing still in the
air, and a hungry wolf into the night: which brings the deepest answer?
Spontaneously, friends and acquaintances of Joaquim started pilgrimaging
with him around Brazil, where he used to follow nothing but the wind, the
stars and his consciousness, meditating and teaching his thoughts to
everyone while in drug or sex induced trances. His prophecies and
enlightenments about the past, the present and the future, were spoken in
English, Portuguese, Spanish and African lost languages, filling the
silence of the night and the hearts and souls of his companions, in ways
that were beyond scientific explanations.
One of the participants of Joaquim’s sessions, in 2016, was Inés, which
read the human through telepathy, exchanging visions and insights with
the young man through hours, making him fascinated with her
mysterious, emblematic personality.
After revealing herself to him, Joaquim accepted the offer of the embrace.
When Inés taught him, he understood that the malkavian curses and gifts
were nothing more than alternative views to reality, and maybe even the
real, true lens to see the world. In the modern nights, he stands as the
prince’s only childe, and enchants Elysium with his studies and speeches
about the physical and supernatural worlds.
Joaquim’s gifts and aura help in creating an easier and lighter
environment to negotiations in Elysium, especially for those who are
reluctant to the Camarilla, even though not everyone can understand why
and how he does it.
His weakness though, is a frequent state of catatonia, which may last a few
nights, and, recently lasted a whole month. To regain himself back from
his heavily induced state of almost paralysis, he had to suck a mortal dry;
otherwise, he would have probably stayed in torpor.
In his catatonic state, Joaquim hallucinates and contacts supernatural
beings which are unknown to everyone else, belonging to times and
universes lost in the void.
He doesn’t have a lot of self-control and knowledge about his dangerous
weakness, and how to avoid being destroyed or consumed by it. After
coming back from his trance and paralytic state, his lust for blood and
rage are significant, needing containment from other vampires, and his
personality always seems to be in touch with supernatural and inhuman
beings.
A song for inspiration: Something in the way – Nirvana

Nosferatu
Carvalho Rocha
During the second to last decade of the Brazilian military regime, the
1970s, Carvalho Rocha, a military of a considerable patent, was able to
find and suppress several extremist attacks against Rio de Janeiro and
some of the city’s most important touristic spots. He did so by using his
advanced skills of counter espionage and intelligence tactics, and good
doses of psychologic torture against the families of communists and
organized criminals.
For the excellent services to the Brazilian government, the carioca
military was promoted to colonel and sent to Sao Paulo. There he was
going to command a secret and experimental intelligence unit, with the
objective of destroying terrorist and communist cells, such as any other
threat to the nation’s sovereignty.
The military high command gave Carvalho full authorization to acquire
information through any possible method, no charges taken on him or his
team, no matter what happened to the “liabilities”.
After drowning in work for months, without visiting his Family even
once, the colonel ended up facing a painful divorce, from which he
compensated his hatred and regret on all of his alleged enemies. His
paranoia started to increase significantly after 1975, where Carvalho
began taking even mimics and clowns on the streets for interrogation
sessions, on rooms hidden through a network of tunnels in downtown Sao
Paulo (where everyone believes that, even in the modern nights, there are
no tunnels and undergrounds other than the metro stations).
After torturing and murdering anyone for anything, and supported by the
establishment, the colonel turned his work into a bizarre and macabre

hobby, as well as an ending in itself, using information acquired through
threats or physical abuse to find out futile things, such as if the girl next
door to him was single or married.
While his expertise on torture and misinformation grew, year after year,
he started to feed the militaries with fake intel and useless information,
just to keep his position, and, for many times, causing incidents to confirm
his fake or unprecise advices, by the use of his prisoners or petty criminals
from the streets.
A few years prior to the Camarilla’s most intense planning of Sao Paulo’s
conquest, Rojas, a Nosferatu from Argentina, saw in Carvalho a perfect
target for the embrace, given his roughness, brutality and self-acquired
knowledge in torture methods.
After a usual evening of killings and rapes, Rojas waited for the colonel
inside his apartment in Pinheiros. Naturally, gunshots and stabbings
didn’t prevent Carvalho Rocha from being embraced into clan Nosferatu,
and suffering psychological and physical abuses from his sire, which
increased even further his hatred and despise for his former life, and killed
the last traces of hope he had in humanity.
After his full rebirth into the darkness as an old, decrepit and deformed
monstrosity, Carvalho was a very important piece of the Camarilla’s
success in the war for Sao Paulo, easily adapting himself into an
organization that had many similarities to the regime he worked for,
through all of his mortal life. His discoveries of links between highly
ranked Sabbat kindred and their ghouls inside criminal organizations, who
used to launder money in catholic churches, were crucial to provide Inés
about enough Intel and precision to orchestrate the Carandiru Massacre,
also aiding greatly in the slaughter of the Lasombra Raposo Correia.
Because of his brutality and discretion in handling with the enemies of the
Ivory Tower, very far away from the eyes of the Prince, Carvalho earned
her absolute trust and the position of Sheriff of Sao Paulo, even though
few are the ones who really saw him, or even his image, given his
avoidance of social gatherings.
It is a fact that most kindred in Sao Paulo who actually see Caravalho’s
grotesque face, never see anything else later on, but final death.
A song for inspiration: Extincao em Massa – Krisiun

Crackhead
Since the mid-90s, the young woman of unknown origin was already a
vagrant on the streets of Sao Paulo, without and ID, name, house or any
belonging that lasted more than 72 hours – practically, she was only a
statistic among all the others involved in prostitution, crack and cachaça
consumption, 24/7.
One day she was Roberta, on the other, Andrea, then Flavia, Priscilla, and
so on. To her clients in the Luz region, and her dealers, it didn’t matter at
all. She was a client and a dealer of sex and drugs, lost between her purely
mechanical activities of fucking strangers to buy drugs, and doing drugs
to forget about the need to fuck strangers for sustenance. Not many years
after living like that, the only word to describe her was Crackhead.
The heavily strong drug annihilated the small spark of humanity inside
her soul, over the years, even when she was a mortal. Her survival skills
though, were memorable. She was able to survive for more than a week
without eating properly, if only she could get high for one day or another
in between.
Even though she had a wild and dangerous lifestyle, among disease, cold
and degenerates, it was very rare for her to get sick enough in order to
interrupt her corpse like routine of abuses and waste.
Through months or years, no one really knows, there she stood among
the crowds of beggars and living dead junkies around Luz, Brás, Sé and
the old town, roaming around dark and abandoned streets that smell like
shit and death, mugging and prostituting herself in order to get her daily
fix.
If she had any few coins left after buying her drugs, she would give it to
abandoned children on the street or to the sick among her, especially

those with the quickly spreading HIV, who were definitely outcasts back
in the day, destined to wait for a rough and lonely death.
In the darkest times of some people, she helped them, when she was not
high, and used to lay by their side and try to bring them some minimal
comfort, for she knew her time was also coming soon.
In just another night of her endless nightmare and despair, she was
invited to spend the night with a thin, pale and frightening old man to go
to a room in Helvetia Street, right in the middle of Sao Paulo’s Crackland,
for which she demanded a reasonable amount of money. The stranger
payed in advance.
Even though she was a little bit frightened by the man’s bizarre and
deformed appearance, he was paying more than enough, and there was
nothing left to discuss. The money would be enough to payoff many
stones of crack, and even a small amount of blow.
The man’s clothes didn’t seem miserable or fucked up as the other people
from the region, making him look like a possible future source of more
money, a rich, desperate old man lost in life, maybe depressed, or an
alcoholic.
Not much longer after the two entered the decrepit and decadent hotel
room, Crackhead was bitten in the neck and embraced, excruciated by the
pain and entering a deep state of despair and frenzy, which made her crave
even more for her drugs of choice.
For seven nights, she suffered the effects of her body being deformed and
her addiction for cocaine being replaced by an everlasting hunger for
blood, which she satiated with rats her Sire brought her. The blood would
make the paranoia, hatred and self-destructiveness go away, making her
sober and aware, how she hasn’t been since she was a child.
Her looks became even more feral than those she had when she was a
mortal, with sharp claws, ears and teeth, grey skin and lifeless eyes, losing
every hair in her body, like a burnt down corpse. For a person who didn’t
look at herself in the mirror for years, she felt like she improved and
evolved, quickly learning to admire her fierce and frightful new body.
Her sire, Muñoz, was a Mexican Nosferatu from the Cancun Camarilla,
and an old time acquaintance of Inés from back in the nights of the War

for Sao Paulo. Both did many deals and helped to establish many
underground connections between ghoulish crime lords of Sao Paulo and
Mexico, through kidnapping, money laundering, strategic murders and
international drug trade, among other activities.
Crackhead’s mission, from now on, was going to be a contact point
between the Camarilla and the underground crime world from Sao Paulo.
Under the Tower, she was allowed to take revenge against anyone, in
order to extract valuable information and assets to the Camarilla, or to
help her on her unlife, if she needed to destroy or torture any mortals that
took her to the rotten life she had before.
Like a bad joke, street animals like dogs, rats and insects started following
Crackhead into the night, as she became their leader and learned how to
organize this new horde of outcasts into an army that would thrive and
dominate their hostile environment.
A song for inspiration: Hechando Chingasos (Grenudos Locos II) – Brujería
The Cartographer
One of the very few survivors from the conflicts between the Sabbat and
the Camarilla (as a member of the Sabbat), the Nosferatu known as the
Cartographer was embraced not much before the War for Sao Paulo, in
1991.
His history as a graffiti vandal and criminal, with connections with the old
paulista industrial elite from Mooca, as well as his encyclopedic
knowledge of gang hideouts and stashes, made him an interesting target
for the Sabbat, in the moment where the Sword of Caine heavily infiltrated
criminal kingpins.

The Cartographer name came to him because of how everyone knew him
and his unique language of distinguishing graffiti and gang signs in many
corners of Sao Paulo, their lords, their meanings and what kind of
products and services were dealt in every region, including favelas. His
language and navigation skills were crucial in helping upper middle class
addicts and petty criminals, like himself, to connect with criminal
overlords, without causing mistrust and pointless murders.
During the times where the Sabbat was brought to its extinction in Sao
Paulo, the Cartographer was able to find shelter away from Brazil, being a
witness to several important vampiric events such as the Week of
Nightmares, the Vienna Chantry raids and the exponential growth of SI
activity, later on. While in Europe, some claim he had participation in the
Conclave of Prague, as a listener and eyewitness to the events.
Already unbound from his old vaulderie and blood bonds, also with his
sire long destroyed in the 1990s, the Cartographer received an odd
invitation from Dom Joao Dias himself, the Sabbat’s fiercest adversary.
The objective of their agreement was for the Cartographer to map the city
once again, with his mind skills and physical abilities, without the use of
technology, in order to give strategic knowledge to the anarchs of Sao
Paulo.
Dom Joao Dias’ only condition was to blood bond his new ally, in order to
welcome him back to his home city. To the anarchs, it was better to have
an interesting former enemy on their side, than to let him have a final
death by the Camarilla, which were more technologically advanced in the
knowledge of the city.
In the modern nights, the Cartographer is seen around the anarch
domains on quiet evenings, chilling, and in other places when there is a
higher level of tension and disturbance in the city, wandering cautiously,
in the shadows, usually alone, trying to read the city like a map or a
mathematical formula. His last discoveries as a guerilla anarch warrior
have been ground breaking, and could change the balance of power within
Sao Paulo for the next decades, depending on how (and if) they are to be
revealed.
A song for inspiration: Breaking the Law – Judas Priest

Toreador
Tracy Thorne
The American cainite from Anchorage, Alaska, moved to Sao Paulo in the
early 2000’s, after being informed of a new Camarilla domain within South
America. Her interest in musical production had already taken her to
places like Chile, Uruguay, Argentina, and even Rio, where she met the
fascinating carnival maintained and organized by her fellow kindred from
the Clan of the Rose. The idea of carnival was astonishing to her, and
industrially scalable to other hugely inhabited cities in Brazil.
During the first years when Tracy visited Inés’ domain, with her blessing,
she studied and understood the city’s cultural identification and origins,
by participating at an amalgam of events held in bars, high end clubs and
cults, especially in Vila Madalena, where she came to build her own
domain.
Creating an elite club in the region also extended her connections web as
far as Augusta Street’s cainities and thin bloods, who crave to raise their
social level in unlife by reporting to Tracy the latest gossips and acts of
their fellow “sub-kindred”.
Music production and research were always Tracy’s obsession, through
life and unlife, where she always sought unexpected beats, rhythms, tones
and artistic performances created by chaos and randomness. Her search is
for the perfect living moment of music, people, and environment, whatever
it is. In party environments, especially those with unique and first time
performed live music, Tracy gets highly distracted, vulnerable and
hypnotized, though these are the events she seeks the most. Interestingly,
if an event is so fascinating in order to drain her from the rest of the
world, most mortals will be already hypnotized as well, which creates

situations she could use to escape a little bit earlier, and that’s what
celerity’s for.
With a beauty very distinct from the Brazilians, the American is always in
the spotlight wherever she goes, with her pale skin, blonde hair and deep
blue eyes spreading awe through men and women like a disease, such as
the visage of her frail porcelain doll body, and an aura of sensuality,
domination and danger.
Any women, men or couples with whom she flirts, have a high probability
to spend the night in her apartment, and waking up in the next day
without any memories from what happened, tending to associate their
amnesia with the consumption of drugs or alcohol in excess.
In one of her research nights where she craved to know more about the
city’s underground culture, Tracy ended up in a “flux”, which is a
Brazilian funk party, inside Paraisopolis. That night, when danger, guns,
drugs and desire took control of her emotions, she embraced one of the
main rap and funk singers of the night, Alex dos Santos, a.k.a Menor da
Baixada. MC Menor, as he was known among his friends, was highly
involved in drug dealing, gangs and other criminal activities, though his
major skill was singing, composing and rhyming about his violent and
luxurious lifestyle, defying mainstream and power.
The Camarilla approved the embrace, as they were seeking to expand
their territory among kine in South Side Sao Paulo, among rumors that
Tzimisce uphold domains in Morumbi, maybe even in allegiance with the
Sabbat, who were trying to come back to the city in a weirdly discrete
fashion.
The response of the Camarilla to dominate the party scene of Sao Paulo,
and not only its South side’s, was to change its carnival, creating a
universal party out of the blue. The Camarilla was aware of the potential
of the street carnival created in Sao Paulo through the influence of Tracy,
and though, now adjusted to fit some rules, the party is even bigger than
Rio’s traditional carnival.
Tracy and Alex, nevertheless, had to submit their selves to the strict rules
of Inés, and causing mess and masquerade breaches during the carnival
events, as well as forbidden embraces, are all punishable by final death and
blood hunts.

Feeding within the masquerade, though, is encouraged by the Camarilla,
as well as finding ghouls and occasional lovers, for those who still have
enough taste for humanity to engage in such activities, such as most
Toreadors.
Kindred from all over Brazil also attend to the carnival events created by
Tracy as Camarilla business parties, aiming to trade and consolidate their
power within their regions, negotiating agreements for the support of Sao
Paulo’s Prince and its Harpy’s company. Others come to enjoy secret
desires, exquisite blood samples and other freedoms a kindred doesn’t get
beyond February.
After February, Tracy is always associated with international concerts
and events coming to Sao Paulo, through her many event production
agencies, used as a masquerade to attract kine with different blood
resonances and types to be consumed by kindred, by request.
Not every cainite knows that, surprisingly, the organizer of events such as
Sao Paulo’s most famous street carnival parties, and international
concerts, serves also as the Prince’s scourge.
For the last ten years she’s been executing blood hunts and final deaths in
a quick, silent and personal way – Tracy has an aesthetic touch of a
professional artist, signing a piece of their finest art series, killing her
victims in the most beautiful and efficient way possible.
If you are ever to cross paths with the scourge, you’ll probably find a very
beautiful way to die.
A song for inspiration: Star Treatment – Arctic Monkeys
Alex dos Santos, a.k.a Menor

The history of Alexandre dos Santos is many times the same history of
Sao Paulo, and a large scale of its inhabitants, as well as Brazil’s.
When Alex was only six, and with a baby brother of only two years old,
his mother fled Sao Vicente towards the Piratininga Highplains, or Sao
Paulo, as it is known in the modern nights. Back in 2007, his trip was not
so easy as the one made by Joao Dias and the Flagmen, centuries ago. His
mother was running away from a husband who was an alcoholic and a
cocaine addict, who threatened to kill her and their own children. Thus,
Alex and his family came to Sao Paulo as prey, not predators.
The Paraisopolis favela area ended up as their final destination, yet a
common one, among many Brazilian families, and the neighborhood
embraced their joys, worries and every day needs as if they were one of
their own.
While Alex’s brother dedicated himself to develop his linguistic abilities in
Portuguese, he dreamt of being an MC and a Youtube star. By having a
chance of singing his own songs, every now and then, in the most
dangerous parties around his region, ran by drug overlords, he was finally
starting to achieve influence, power and status, as a local celebrity, with
the age of only fifteen years old.
Alex was, indeed a cool and extroverted teenager, and as his popularity
grew, he started to become one of the most captivating presences of
Paraisopolis, and even to conquest fans from outside of the hood.
His first passion, Elisa, was a drug dealer’s girlfriend. Elisa’s boyfriend
was severely beaten by the local gang at a party for being too high. What
nobody knew was that the drugs Elisa’s boyfriend consumed that night,
with whiskey, were cyanide and battery liquid, made by Alex’s fans. Four
girls went with Alex to a hotel room, with Elisa, on that very night.
And by the enthusiastic encouragements of his male friends, on that night,
after catching him with the girls inside the dead man’s car, carrying his
golden AK-47, Alex dos Santos died, and Menor da Baixada, his musical
alias, was born.
After the death of his very first rival, Menor wouldn’t stop. For the next
three years he became famous in the underground rap and Brazilian funk
scene all over Sao Paulo, even receiving invitations to record or feat in
international songs among gangsta rap labels, invitations which he used

to reject, due to the gringos lack of knowledge about he and his friends’
reality and swagger way of living. Alex wouldn’t bow to no one, and he
was to record and create whatever and whenever the fuck he wanted to,
period.
However, one musical producer wouldn’t give up on her mission to recruit
Alex to her label and to sing on her club, and that was the Toreador
Tracy Thorne. As Alex stopped answering any calls or emails in English,
she went to his very own neighborhood at a night where he was the main
star of a clandestine concert, using all of her supernatural presence to
hypnotize the rapper.
After Alex understood what it meant to be embraced, he didn’t mind the
negative effects, at all. Now he was above any drug dealer, any cop, any
playboy. Forever. Now they were the kine, and he was the everlasting
hunter. It was everything he craved for through all of his mortal life.
Being embraced into clan Toreador awoke the darkest and most evil parts
of his personality, such as vanity, desire for revenge, nymphomania and
lust for power. Forever he would dwell inside this twisted nightmare
within a beautiful dream. It felt very fucking good, every night.
It was kind of unbelievable though, that an American like Tracy Thorne,
with whom he never expected to have any contact through all of his life,
had given him such powers and eternal life, because of some casual sex in
a Thursday night.
He would be forever grateful to his Sire, and would go to Elysium, to
wherever the fuck she wanted him to go, dressed properly. Whatever she
wanted from him, why the fuck not? In the modern nights, this sire and
childe allegiance is one of the strongest and most harmonious in Sao
Paulo, to the spite and envy of the Camarilla’s enemies, and even some
Nosferatu, who can’t understand how toreadors can have such a nice and
true relationship.
Alex and Tracy have become the bloody king and queen of Sao Paulo’s
carnival, the largest street party in Brazil, since 2018. Their events have
no laws, no secrets, no codes, but utmost liberty. However, monsters and
abominations who everyone else thought were extinct, since many
decades ago, are threatening Menor’s domain, according to the Camarilla.

Whoever challenges him in his domain will surely meet endless pain,
torture and humiliation, as it has always happened inside the hood.
A song for inspiration: Preto Zica – Racionais MC’s
Tremere
Tatiana Ribeiro
Tatiana’s road to becoming one of Brazil’s most recognized biologists

concerning studies of immunology was a hard one, marked by attacks and
treasons among her fellow scientists.
Even in that hard environment, and suffering attacks and envy from many
coworkers, especially males, she thrived and became one of the heads of
Butanta Institute, one of Brazil’s leading institutions concerning science
and biology.
Tatiana and her Family moved from Recife to Sao Paulo in the early
nineties, selling all the properties they had in Northeast Brazil in order to
try to make a living in South America’s richest city. Back in those days,
they found a safe haven in the friendly neighborhood of Penha, in the East
side, and mostly inhabited by middle class, working families.
Since she was a young girl, Tatiana dedicated herself to study biology and
diseases in order to assist her cat, which was a source of much joy to her,
and a fond memory of her hometown. For many times, she didn’t have
enough to take the kitty to a vet, and analyzed solutions to keep it in fine
health, all by herself.
On her fist try, Tatiana was approved in the University of Campinas, to
study biology, and a year later, she was studying zoology in the same
university, studying for two graduations at once. Due to her dedication

and high standard grades, she also got the chance to study at Berkeley.
After graduating and having a PhD in California, she came back to Brazil
to work as a researcher at Butanta.
In 2016, the scientist was accused and suspected of murdering a former
work colleague, who gave interviews to the press saying Tatiana copied a
scientific article from the thirties about blood mutations, prior to his
death, but no proofs of crime were found against her.
Tatiana’s revolutionary studies gave scientific proof of an unknown
bacteria and specimen of virus, which had very short life spans, but
mutated a bat’s DNA like a parasite. The animal’s body displayed evidence
that it died because of very abnormal temperature changes in his blood,
without an outside event that could scientifically justify it.
After going to trial and judged as innocent of all charges, Tatiana received
an email from the only person who studied the mysterious effects on
animal blood like she did, the Swedish biologist Harald Magnusson, who
was supposed to have died in 1964. Decided to take that bad joke to the
last consequences, she went to meet with the person who sent her the
email, carrying a gun, at Mario de Andrade library, downtown.
After being threatened, she shot the corpselike, pale man, five times in the
chest, but, to her surprise, nothing happened to him. When he touched
and dominated her, she felt the taste of his blood and a heavy fever,
waking up again at her research office, forever as an immortal member of
clan Tremere.
Tatiana’s first lesson from her sire was that she was completely free, and
owned him nothing for the embrace. As she was a specialist in the studies
of blood, her sire encouraged her to accept the mission of freeing every
immortal from their blood bonds, for the practice of bonding was a cause
of evil and slavery in their dark world.
Harald was a member of the libertarian House Carna, and one of the few
Tremere who weren’t a loyalist and a defender of the clan’s old, and
tainted traditions, which, in his opinion, should be gone for good.
Convinced by her sire’s true wish to create a world imbued in freedom,
and with immortality on her side to help her researches concerning blood,
Tatiana embraced House Carna and the Anarch movement, along with
Harald.

Her studies of the nature of relationships between kindred, kine and
animals, as well as the forms of domination between all of these creatures,
are notorious amongst the Gangrel and the Nosferatu, who seek her help
and consultation. The payments due to Dr. Tatian are, mostly, in the form
of secrets and inside information on ghouls, high profile kindred and their
havens, as well as other useful intel to the anarch movement.
A song for inspiration: About you – XXYYXX
Rebecca Fahour
Rebecca’s life was a very ordinary one in the eighties, back when her
Family got very successful by running a bakery store, which was crowded
by the families of the Paraiso neighborhood, especially in the mornings of
working days. The secret of their success was the Lebanese seasonings
and approach to Brazilian cuisine, so her mom used to say.
When Rebecca’s father arranged for her to get married in 1988, with a
Lebanese entrepreneur who just moved to Sao Paulo, under the traditions
of Islam, Rebecca decided to leave the city in order to study in
Switzerland, for the wrath of her father, but supported by her mom.
After she went to Geneva, she graduated in history, and specialized in
history of Islamic traditions, going to Beirut later, in order to conclude
archeological researches.
Her research, back then, was nothing but an alias to her interests in the
occult, which she acquired after joining a secret society in university. Her
studies varied among Middle Eastern mages, demons, djinns and spirits,
all of them older than the history of humankind, and somehow linked to
the history of powerful kings and empires of the past.

However, her search for demons and mystical creatures was, for many
times, a challenge to her skepticism, as a woman of Science. Back in those
days, Rebecca was divided among acknowledging that there was a
spiritual reality, and that mysticism was only a hobby and a cultural affair.
Nevertheless, she craved to discover the truth about the origins of
civilization and its myths – magical or simple imaginations of primitive
people.
Rebecca traveled through Egypt, Israel, Saudi Arabia, Iran and Iraq for
over twenty years, after her first trip to Lebanon, gathering and writing
about the history of arcane magic and the summoning of demons.
In 2015, while performing an arcane ritual in Israel, and already a
practitioner of occultism, Rebecca had her summoning of a mysterious
being, interrupted, by no one else but her great grandmother, Cyrine
Fahour.
Rebecca knew immediately that the one in front of her was Cyrine indeed,
for she read her texts on occultism and demon summoning before, and
was enchanted on the way she defied Islam’s traditions, as she did before.
The ritual Rebecca was performing was inspired on Cyrine’s findings
about Sumerian secret deities, and was hidden from anyone but her family
members, at an occult library.
Totally frightened and paralyzed by the view of her great grandmother,
Rebecca heard the tale of how she became a vampire of clan Tremere, and
yearned for someone of her own family that was worthy of the embrace.
After watching Rebecca’s steps since Europe, and her knowledge of true
magic, Cyrine told her she would be honored to embrace her into the clan.
If Rebecca wasn’t interrupted, so Cyrine told her, she would be able to
summon an infernal spirit into the world, and cause a huge amount of
destruction, what was amazing, for a mere mortal. The ritual, as written
in detail, was never performed to its end before, as Cyrine also gave up
when she started studying about it, many decades ago.
Even though astonished and quite haunted by how quickly her worldview
changed, Rebecca allowed herself to be embraced and united with her kin
through eternity, into the dark world of immortality.

After learning about the Tremere’s traditions and the attacks to the
pyramid and the Camarilla, Rebecca placed herself at the disposal of Sao
Paulo’s Prince, under the tutelage of Cyrine, also a longtime friend of the
Ivory Tower.
In the modern nights, the neonate’s relationship with the Camarilla is a
symbol of how the Tower and the Warlocks can get along and achieve
mutual goals, used politically as a means to defend that the best option for
the clan is to maintain their hierarchical traditions.
A song for inspiration: Am ende der stille – Lacrimosa
Tzimisce
Pedro Tavares
The son and only heir to the famous international law firm Tavares, Lewis
& Associates, Pedro was raised in the best international schools of Sao
Paulo, also studying in Zurich, Berlin, Chicago and LA, cities where
Tavares’ Senior attorneys had representation offices.
The family’s labor was always divided between physicians and lawyers,
since Pedro’s father had the brilliant and highly profitable idea of
specializing himself in the legal representation of hospitals, doctors and
the pharmaceutical industry.
Medical mistakes, questionable experiments, and obscurely financed
researches and treatment methodologies made Dr. Tavares Senior a very
rich and influential man inside his field of activity, over the course of the
years.
Ever since he was a child, the frail boy of long brown hair and pale blue
eyes felt the weight of the world over his shoulder. He could have every
toy in the world, but was only allowed to play with the ones who would

stimulate his mind. He could only play with friends approved by his
father, and of high reputation families, without getting his tailor made
clothes dirty. To his family, he was destined to be on the Forbes list as
soon as possible, even if it was as in his early teens.
Academic failures would not be tolerated. His grades should only oscillate
between 9 and 10, no exceptions. For his family to fully accept him as one
of their own, he should be accepted in a prestige university of the likes of
Stanford, Oxford, Sorbonne or Harvard.
Guided by the hatred and punishment given by so many restrictions,
while his friends traveled to the Alps, Hawaii and Japan, Pedro dedicated
himself not only to be accepted in the best med schools of the world, but
also to be a specialist in neurosurgery. His final goal was to dissect and
understand the cause of so much pain and obsession in his family: the
secret of a brilliant mind.
The only friendship he had, even in a time of so much happiness, joy and
powerful bonds, was Caio, a boy who was always hiding himself among
books and libraries, between technical studies and adventures of elves,
dwarves, black magic and powerful knights from distant lands, just like
him.
Other than mind travels over distant lands of fantasy, they also shared
good laughs and afternoons in each other’s houses in Morumbi, to release
themselves, even for a few moments, from the pressure of their families
and goals.
One of those silly days, when discussing Hegel’s philosophical theories,
Pedro strangely inclined his head near his colleague in order to kiss him,
which made him scared and quite haunted of his best friend’s reaction,
even though the thing that both shared the most with each other was a
huge loneliness. Loneliness and the fear of their own selves.
Caio’s face became tragic like a sculpture from Michelangelo, and the
sinister portraits of Goya. Deadly green eyes over blonde long hair, and a
corpse like skin, shredding through Pedro’s heart like a cold knife, with a
look of disdain he was never to forget again. Since that day, they didn’t
spoke to each other.
A few years later, Pedro would find out, in America, that Caio was also
there, in Yale, and was a revolutionary genius behind a ground breaking

project of robotics, financed by a big tech company. They never made
contact, though, and Pedro came back to Brazil after he had his PhD in
medical studies, and the so longed specialization in neurosurgery, in 2003.
His surgeries were very successful and brilliant, as well as his advanced
studies into the mysteries of the brain. Since he went back to Sao Paulo, he
was considered the city’s most pragmatic, cold and dedicated mind,
though many know he had no life at all outside of his office.
After ten years of restless practice in Brazil, the doctor started to develop
a bizarre interest in snuff films, when not working, as well as disturbing,
violent erotic movies, recorded live, made by the demand of rich perverts
from the deep web.
Maybe his brain and his personality craved for violence against himself,
against his Family and the whole world, for reasons he buried so deep
inside himself, he didn’t know why anymore. The more he payed and
watched disturbing videos on the internet, the more fascinated he became
with pure gore and the sensation of adrenaline and liveliness he had; those
were sensations he didn’t feel for many years.
A few years later after embracing his disgraceful addiction, he started
producing his own films on demand, using techniques and meds that only
he had access, as a doctor. Some of his victims, even sick and feeble
patients, would go through horrors they never experienced before, for
days and months, until everything that made them human left their bodies
in the surgery table.
After taking knowledge of such brutal and inhumane content on the
internet, a Romanian billionaire invited Pedro to host a production inside
his properties, where he could have access to as many new tools and test
subjects as he wanted to. After certifying himself that his new friend’s
identity was true, Pedro traveled to eastern Europe on a private jet, in
2015, once again feeling the thrill of life, and some companionship inside
his dark and twisted world.
After sharing some bottles of wine with the physically frail old man,
known as Adrian Cotescu, an heir to the region’s old aristocracy, both
started their sessions of live vivisection of human beings, right in the
beginning of the night. What Pedro didn’t realize was that his host was
starting to become frightened and disturbed by his disgraceful and

demonic torture methods, while he thought the Romanian was to be his
teacher.
In the second night of horror and torture, before Pedro could have the
chance to start showing off with the surgical equipment and construction
tools he had at his disposal, he felt the fangs of the old man sinking
painfully inside his neck. The anger, the hatred, once again a treason
behind his back. If only he had the chance, he would turn all his technique
to punish this old motherfucker, and turn him into a bloated mass of shit
and blood. But he didn’t.
In the following night, Pedro woke up in the same moist dungeon he was
for the last two nights, thirsty and spiteful as never before, craving for the
blood of all the chained victims in the basement’s torture chambers. In no
more than thirty minutes, he torn more than seven human beings apart,
and satiated his hunger and his beast, in his first night as a Kindred.
For more than a year, Pedro stayed with his Sire in his property in order
to learn more about the vampiric traditions, the history of his clan, the
dragons, and his place in Gehenna. Over the course of time, his Sire
taught him how humans were to be treated, no better than mere cattle,
and a source of sustenance and servitude. He also learned about how the
rotten Camarilla and the stupid anarch factions could be a danger to the
ascension of those like them, fiends destined to rule the world over the top
of their impenetrable fortresses.
In a strange act for a fiend, Pedro’s sire became so proud of his childe that
he liberated him to go back to Sao Paulo, if he pleased. The true reasons
behind the fiend’s benevolent behavior remain a mystery until these
nights, but Pedro did come back safe and sound, keeping in touch with his
Sire every now and then.
In the modern nights, Pedro still attends patients in his own house, at
Morumbi. His eyes are even colder and deeper than they were before he
was embraced. Some who saw the dragon wandering around the region
claim that looking into his face is like looking at the dead stain-glassed
windows of a profaned church, or even that his eyes seem to act
independently of the rest of his body.
Some of his fingers, changed through vicissitude, have become like bone
scalpels, which are very lethal and precise as needles, whenever he needs

to use them to extract blood from humans or simply cut their throats
faster. Aside these surgical changes to his body, his overall looks are
pretty much the same from the time when he walked among the kine,
what helps him survive through a quiet and monstrous unlife, without
much disturbing.
Given his status and that of his clan as unwanted guests in the domain,
Pedro often trusts alternative transportation methods to move around the
city, such as helicopters, ambulances and other secret methods, like
private jets and dirty cops’ cars. Many claim that ghouls and thralls are
also very important to the doctor, just like an oak coffin he brought from
Romania, with whatever is inside it…
To the unwanted who invade his hunting grounds, death will not be
silent, neither quick. The appointment with Doctor Torture shall distort
their very perception of reality, mind, body and soul, for years or decades,
as long as he still pursuits his crusade of hatred and self-destruction (or
reconstruction).
A song for inspiration: Cadaver Pouch Conveyor System – Carcass
Katja Bjelica
Katja, during her life as a mortal, was a relevant photographer of the wars
that happened in the old country of Yugoslavia, after the fall of the USSR,
from the 1990s until the early 2000s. The journalist, born and raised in
Belgrade, was never afraid of wild, violent and dangerous environments,
being raised in the near famine conditions of the former communist
republic, which now is Serbia. Since she was young, she was always
passionate about portraying human life under extreme conditions, and the
behaviors of men and women under the most adverse situations.

As a strong supporter of her region and city, she always challenged the
establishment and the conventions of society, as much for the raw and
brutal nature of her journalistic work, as for her political stances, even
though some people judged her political activism as ethically questionable
under the subject of human rights.
In 1999, while she covered the conflicts in the Kosovo region, bordering
her homeland of Serbia, during an airstrike from the region’s pro-
independence forces, she lost all of her newspaper’s crew. After she lost
her colleagues, she saw herself surrounded by a small militia group of
around ten people, all of them trying to trap and kill her, or worse.
As a woman and the only survivor, Katja couldn’t help but to feel trapped
indeed, as well as hopeless, and thinking she would never go back home
again. Showing press credentials, or her fake UN ID, wouldn’t be enough
to save her from the horrors of war violence and rape, torments she knew
very well by documenting them in shocking and raw portraits that
stamped the news from her city on a daily basis.
On such deadly circumstances, she didn’t focus on the thoughts of having
her skull crushed, her viscera spread and shredded or on how much time
she would survive the rape and brutality of ten blood thirsty soldiers.
After getting control of herself again, all she could think about was how
many motherfuckers she would bring to hell with her, using the most
vicious methods she could.
Dropping her camera to the ground, and holding steady on both her 762
pistols, Katja made use of all the tactics she learned throughout the
conflicts, with the survivors she interviewed, and then, one by one, all of
the enemy soldiers met their deaths among flames, wrecks, smoke and
noises of the war thorn diorama. All, but one.
The nine men who died by Katja’s relentless and sure shots were
Dubravka’s ghouls. Dubravka, the beast; the ancient dragon. She killed
nothing less but nine of the favorite ghouls of the region’s most feared
voivode, a Croatian undead who was taking advantage of the war to hunt
and spread chaos and destruction.
After unloading four ammo clips in the creature’s body, and stabbing him
thrice when he got near her, what seemed to cause him joy and pleasure,
Katja let herself go and gave up to death, not to be destroyed, but to be

embraced by what would become her sinister, despicable, and monstrous
Sire.
What Dubravka saw in his new childe was not only her ruthlessness and
her lack of fear, but also the hatred and obsession towards the destruction
of her enemies, no matter what would happen to herself. The obsession
towards the destruction of everything, and everyone. That was the real
transcendence, in Dubravka’s opinion – full destruction, in order to create.
Such strength and raw power would be crucial to help maintaining the
Sabbat’s domains in Europe, given the gory blitzkriegs the sect was
involved in.
Bonded to a strong connection to her Sire, Katja spent ten years of her
unlife in the properties of the relentless dragon, learning and practicing
his methods of domination, mental and physical tortures on the thralls and
ghouls of the estate. In the beginning, she despised the unnecessary
brutality of her Sire’s methods, though they didn’t scare her at all, given
she was a product of that environment since she was a little kid. Over the
course of the years, her loathing became mere boredom, and lack of
empathy, over the victims of her Sire’s abuse.
When the region was finally pacified by organizations such as NATO, the
UN, MSF and other humanitarian NGOs, so came the Second Inquisition
and some ghouls influenced by the Camarilla, in order to punish voivode
ghouls and their sires, as war criminals. Many linked to the dragons were
accused as the corrupt and inhumane generals of the brutal conflicts that
happened in the region. The Ivory Tower ravished the Tzimisce lands, in
order to conquer more territories, to supply the circulatory system with
easy blood, ready to conquer and extract.
Katja miraculously escaped a raid on her sire’s property in 2002, with
Anna Ivanova, one of his most gentle and gracious ghouls. Her sire didn’t
resist his fight against the SI, since he was the priority IC0 target.
For the first time since many nights of both women’s unlife’s and life’s,
respectively, Katja and Anna were free from the hard and tight shackle of
their Sire, roaming free in a wild world, once again. Flames and ashes
were all they left behind from their former nights of restless servitude.
Until 2010, Anna and Katja lived in the slums of Kiev, sharing small
bedrooms and trying to make a living as illegal Serbian immigrants, under

nights without any frugality, and worrying only on how to feed until the
next night – Katja with blood, and Anna with food. Their golden rule was
to avoid the sunlight, the spotlight, and as many lights as they could,
always.
Even though surviving was hard, they found joy in the company of each
other, and became lovers, though Katja resisted to embrace the love of her
life, for reasons as futile as needing to share blood and not being the
dominating side of the relationship anymore. One can understand her
thinking, knowing that the Tzimisce were never prone to give up power
for the ideals of democracy, love or socialism.
Then, big flashes of ultraviolet lights, and smoke hit their haven, one
more time – once again, the SI pursued the couple, since Croatia, forcing
them to take a train to Odessa, crossing the Black Sea towards Istanbul
and fleeing, from Turkey to Mexico, in a cargo ship.
The long journey by the sea, in complete darkness, loneliness and
madness, with Katja imprisoned on her little coffin filled with Serbian land
(disguised as the luggage of a whole family), destroyed the few humanity
the cainite had. Hunger induced Katja to commit the atrocity of devouring
her lover’s blood to the last drop, and forever destroying her dreams of an
eternal unlife by Katja’s side, as they previously promised each other.
Four nights after the destruction of her lover, Katja arrived in Mexico,
devoid of her past, her humanity and of every meaning to her eternally
painful unlife.
For three years, Katja found shelter in the bleak nights of Tijuana, trying
to recover at least a tiny bit of her humanity by retrieving her profession
again, as a freelance, independent journalist, on the brinks of the War on
Drugs, at San Diego’s borders. Her brutal and shockingly disgusting
photographs of victims suited well for both the drug lords of Mexico as
the American press, for different reasons – bragging, for the first, and
high newspapers sales, for the latter.
One more time with the SI on her toes, Katja fled Mexico, now with
reasonable financial resources, in cash, and built a new lair in Sao Paulo, in
order to carry on with her studies of transcendence of the vampiric
condition, no matter what method would be necessary.

The academic studies she would start in Sao Paulo, as well has her
experiences, wouldn’t give her much more freedom and peace than back in
the nights of the Balkan wars. Her career was, once again, the only reason
to carry on; even though that was a very different line of work than the
one she had, when she was a mortal.
Since 2015, she keeps a renowned photography and modelling studio in
Morumbi, called BELIKA, where she applies the memories of the
atrocities she saw in war to create special FX and makeup to horror
movies and all sorts of clients interested in ultra-realistic techniques of
simulated human destruction and decomposition. The clients always want
realistic simulations of gory, violent and brutal scenes. What matters is
that, in the end, they get what they want.
Katja’s casting of unknown models, especially Brazilian young women
looking for a better life and for a job opportunity, are nearly endless. The
best-looking bodies are used for fashion, gardening and renowned
marketing campaigns for huge international brands – when not enough
for the job, they simply disappear into the special FX works, getting an
opportunity abroad or “getting obsessed into their own work”. The latter
option justifies the gruesome deaths, attributed to suicide, most of the
times, no matter how shocking the circumstances tend to be.
The truth is that, death is often the destiny of many girls who fail to
remind Katja of her dead lover, Anna, after gruesome nights of
fleshcrafting sessions.
There’s always a hit and run, a rapist on the loose, a dangerous drug
dealer and their gang, to justify the unexpected death of a promising
young lady. A clandestine party, a threat, a misogynistic boyfriend. So
Katja learned, since her nights in Mexico. Of course, there is also suicide
and drug addiction. Cops would justify it, without even the need to
dominate one of them in order to do so. Pure laziness to investigate the
case, or a small amount of cash, would be enough, over time; and time was
an asset she could use, literally forever.
Sao Paulo, after all, just like Tijuana and all of Latin America, are very
dangerous places for young girls looking for fame, so Katja always says.
Much more dangerous than the old Yugoslavia, back in the nights when it
was scorched by bombs – check the amount of homicides and you will
definitely agree with Katja.

A song for inspiration: Marian – The Sisters of Mercy.
Ventrue
Fernando Dutra
Born in 1979 in Santo Andre, Fernando Dutra is the third out of four sons
from a couple of public employee parents. After a common childhood,
Fernando went to the University of Sao Paulo to graduate in Physical
Education and specialize himself in athletics. In 2005, he joined the
military police forces, putting his athletic skills to test in a daily basis.
In 2007, when Corporal Fernando received a call to act against a group of
bank robbers in Sao Bernardo, he and his crew readily turned on the
sirens and prepared their selves to repel the dangerous gang that made
hostages inside the local bank. It was his first big emergency call, and a
great opportunity to grow into the ranks of the police, if everything went
right. His body and soul were deeply committed to the mission.
After many attempts to negotiate with the gang of thieves, one of the bad
guys accidentally shot the roof with his rifle, what developed into
Fernando’s squad breaking through the entrance with godlike speed and
shooting the thief in its hour of most vulnerability and surprise. Two
shots in the head of the first gang banger, three shots in the chest of the
second thief, and the arresting of the third criminal by his squad, after
surrounding him and dragging him out of cover. No civilians harmed. A
masterpiece of tactics and strategy. But there was a fourth and last
criminal to neutralize.
Fernando saw the last criminal hiding in the rubble, and suddenly felt his
body burning, and an abnormal sickness flowing through his leg. He
couldn’t run for cover. The floor, cheers from the crowd, headache,
dizziness, black. As quickly as possible, he fell to the ground, helplessly.
He had been shot, but the fourth criminal was also a dead statistic, not
many moments after, for the happiness of the hostages and all of Brazilian
society. Fernando was, in the end, a hero. For the doubt of no one who
was at the crime scene.
After the situation was under control, Fernando’s companions took him to
the hospital as quickly as they could. That wasn’t enough, though, and
Fernado had to be kept out of the streets for eight months, while
recovering and learning how to walk again, through therapy.
Fernando not only had to deal with his hard recovery, but also with an
investigation from internal affairs because of his actions, under a corrupt
corporation, filled with influence from drug lords, who payed out dirty
cops to punish those who killed people from the gang who was affiliated
with them.
After being portrayed as a hero, now Fernando was suffering the
consequences of acting against a system of corruption and criminal
protection, not even a year after his mission was gloriously accomplished.
It was more than enough for him to take, and he finally decided to go
public and speak to the press, to talk about his story after the events of his
mission, and his view of justice, Brazilian society and his own corporation.
Even though he faced a suspension from the military police, due to the
response to his sincere interview, Fernando received a business proposal
to work as private security to an executive from Santa Catarina,
coordinating his personal security team, and the security squads from
some of his industries in Sao Paulo.
The salary was more than five times higher than what he earned in the
police, plus very high performance bonuses per year. A proposal that
couldn’t be refused, and thus, he didn’t, quitting the police one week later.
After six years in the private sector, Fernando was able to expand his
company to a headcount of six hundred people, all of them working for a
small and selected group of Brazilian and foreign entrepreneurs with large
businesses in Brazil. Fernando provided them with security, vehicle and
personal escorts and the solution of less traditional problems concerning
certain “liabilities” to their safety. Mostly human liabilities, when
negotiation tactics failed.

When Fernando was at the top of his career as a successful CEO ahead of
FDSS Group – Fernando Dutra Safety Services, and fully proficient in
three different languages, besides finance, his first client offered him the
chance to study an M&A operation with a German Group called
Bloodhound LLC. Fernando, of course, knew the company, which was one
of his largest international competitors. Indeed, the German family, which
owned the company, were willing to make an offer for 70% of his own
company’s stocks.
Willing to hear the offer, as a pragmatic businessman such as he was,
Fernando arrived in Frankfurt for the first round of meetings to discuss
prices, conditions and legal terms for the acquisition. The first meeting
went as late as 4 AM, when Bloodhound’s council left the room, to return
only in the next night.
Even though Fernando was a very experienced executive in Brazil, that
was the very first time he entered an M&A negotiation with international
investors, and he was very sure that the late hours meeting tactic was a
strategy to get him tired, and in a week position, while negotiating.
These German motherfuckers, he thought to himself. He would not give
in a single fucking cent to those smart-ass gringos. He used to negotiate
with criminals that were high on cocaine, with guns on their hands,
pointed to hostages, not many years ago.
Pale, old men wearing Versace suits and expensive lawyers. Fuck’em.
After the fifth night of negotiations, the Stalburg family, owners of
Bloodhound, finally sealed a deal. FDSS would be a subsidiary of
Bloodhound, and Fernando would have the ownership of 15% of
Bloodhound’s stocks through all of his life, being able to transfer the
stocks to whomever he wanted to, given the council of Frankfurt’s
approval. But his loyalty and register as a limited partner on Bloodhound
would have to be on that very night.
By signing the deal with a certain satisfaction, for he was joining a group
of multimillionaire people, with a fortune protected in Euros, he still was
going to have a little lesson about the family that founded the company,
and its middle age roots as entrepreneurs.
Another European tradition in business, he thought, the pale old men in
expensive suits, but whatever, let’s be friendly to the guys who just made

me filthy rich, while the Stalburg guy talked about their lineage coming
all the way from Hardestadt, the Old. No surprise that dude was called an
old man since the middle ages. Fernando smiled and focused on the story,
trying to look impressed.
Even though he had an ironic tone to all the history in his mind, he really
understood the family’s philosophy, their way to make business and their
traditions. It was indeed admirable. When his eyes sparked with ideas to
replicate, based on the Stalburg family businesses, Fernando was
surrendered and embraced into clan Ventrue, by a vampire who reports to
the Camarilla’s inner circle, so they say in the modern nights.
Alternatively, Fernando himself has spread that rumor, who knows.
His mission, back in Sao Paulo, was to be more of a spy than a bodyguard:
he should report everything about the military and political situations in
the city and in the major domains of South America to the Stalburg family
in Frankfurt, by making good use of his assets to accomplish his goals.
By coming back to Sao Paulo with strong recommendations from
Frankfurt, Fernando achieved a position of power and nobility very fast
within the Camarilla, as was due to his clan of blue bloods.
Many of the older kindred from the city envied and tried to poison his
position, but not the prince, Inés. In her strange visions and
interpretations of reality, she ended up thinking that a security and
espionage specialist would be very worthy of her allegiance, especially
because one of his missions was to supervise her princedom, so she heard
(or guessed).
In the modern nights of Sao Paulo, though, it’s very hard to acknowledge
who supervises who, why, and their hidden reasons…
Fernando is, informally, the city’s harpy in the Camarilla, given he knows
everything about everyone in Elysia, and even about many mortals,
through his former contacts in the police, who register crimes, and
sometimes, don’t register them, by the book, depending on the
circumstances. Some situations are recorded on FDSS’s cameras, or online
softwares, and some on the police stations. Every image is valuable – and
tradable.
To brag and impress other kindred, Fernando is able to recite all of his
lineage back to Hardestadt, the Old, as well as telling many interesting

interpretations of kindred history, such as the Convention of Thorns, as
taught to him by his fellow kindred in Germany, on a personal and
intimate way.
A song for inspiration: Where Eagles Dare – Iron Maiden
Gonçalves Pereira
Son of a Portuguese mother and a Mozambican father who owned a fish-

processing factory in Maputo, Júlio Gonçalves Pereira represented the
hopes and dreams of a new future to his country’s population. A real son
of Mozambique, a nation destined to rise to liberty and prosperity, but
also keeping its ties to a newborn friendship with Portugal, now as equals.
The local population loved to see Gonçalves’ pictures in Lisbon, playing
with European kids, or side by side with his father, Augusto, in important
military parades and high society parties. One of them, Mozambicans,
would grow into a full man, and strike deals with bankers and powerful
men of the world, side by side. What they didn’t know was that it was
nothing but a façade, though Gonçalves would learn about it many years
later.
Augusto, Gonçalves’ father, was a genius Money launderer and shadow
banker to European mafiosos, politicians and entrepreneurs, what made
him a millionaire and granted his escape from the streets of Maputo to
Lisbon, and then made him into a star in his own country, where he was
seen as a respectable and influential business man.
As Gonçalves grew, he started to learn about the shady business
conducted by the Family, while maintaining his image of innocence and
purity, just like his dad was teaching him, even without knowing that he
was so.
Even though Gonçalves’ parents wanted to have other kids, his father
couldn’t give him Brothers anymore, due to an unknown condition he
acquired at the time, making Gonçalves the only heir to his family’s assets.
In the year of 1935, when his father’s health started to deteriorate,
Gonçalves finally stepped up as the leader of the business, and started to
trade and legalize the family’s assets in Sao Paulo, away from the eyes of
the police and governments in the old trading squares where they were
already known.
Due to Augusto’s stubbornness in agreeing with the son, especially
regarding the change of geography where they would act, the old man had
a very strange accident, by sleeping with the head against his pillow and
suffocating to death. The “accident” was attributed to an excess of
sleeping pills, and to the development of his condition, which were already
aggravating his mental stress and amnesia - so family and friends told the
story.
Not many months later, Gonçalves’ mother, unable to handle the son’s
temper and aggressiveness, had to contempt herself with a very, very fair
retirement in one of the family’s properties in Porto, but also resigning to
any rights in participating on their companies’ decisions. Gonçalves was,
at last, the only decision maker in the empire of properties, companies and
productive assets that the family business had grown into.
By the use of influence and his unorthodox business policies, Gonçalves
vastly acquired strategic terrains and properties on cheap, but promising
regions of Sao Paulo, back in the day, like Vila Olimpia, Itaim Bibi and
Pinheiros. When money started flowing in, he moved his base of
operations to the city, definitively.
Influencing the urban laws of the city was not hard, by investing a portion
of his profits, legal and illegal, on valuable contacts inside the town hall,
and, quicker than he thought the houses and terrains he bought could
grew into buildings five times higher than their original constructions.
Not many years later, Southeast Sao Paulo would become the jungle of
steel and glass it is now.
An American Investor, known to hold business meetings only at night,
and based in Santiago, started losing voluptuous amounts of money
because of Gonçalves’ interferences in the real estate market. By making

the research into his business competitor, a man from Mozambique,
naturalized in Brazil, the Ventrue Robert Whitefield saw great potential
to a childe. After all, the embrace would be quicker than an M&A
operation, and save many lawyers the trouble. That ruthless mind,
strength and willpower had to serve the Camarilla. Robert was driven by
the same lust he would be when he was to take the malkavian Inés under
his wings, years later.
Through hidden and private flights, Robert went from Santiago to Sao
Paulo, in order to ambush Gonçalves’ security forces, with his ghouls,
slaying one by one, but the Mozambican executive, to his awe and
astonishment, in a ten-minute, coordinated strike.
When Robert made the invitation to Gonçalves to be the CEO of his
company in Sao Paulo, he had no other choice but to accept having his
company incorporated. He did not lose hope, though, of one day rising
again to slay his captor. The only thing he didn’t know is that he would
never “live” again to achieve his revenge.
With its vampiric presence hidden from the Sabbat’s Archbishop, the
Camarilla grew its strong roots outside of the areas that were traditional
vampire domains, and in an area that is, now, the geographical center of
the Camarilla’s influence in all of South America, thanks to Gonçalves and
his natural power to work under the masquerade – even among Kindred.
The domain and havens that Gonçalves consolidated would become Inés’
base camp when she first came to Sao Paulo, and then, the rest is history.
In the modern nights, Gonçalves Pereira is the Camarilla’s seneschal in
Sao Paulo, Inés’ prime minister, and second in charge of the domain, with
huge political and military authority to deal with everything that concerns
Inés’ princedom and the interests of the Ivory Tower in the whole
country, especially when it comes to safety and the enforcement of the
traditions.
Coordinating eliminations, raids, espionage and international Camarilla
contacts with domestic allies are some of Gonçalves’ many duties as a
seneschal; as Inés prefers not to deal with matters that involve violence
and getting her hands dirty, in a direct manner. Thus, he has her full trust
to solve problems quickly, and as far from her court as possible. The last
time she took issues to solve with her own hands, the city fell into an epic

and chaotic bloodbath, and that is not in her interest anymore, since she is
the one in charge of the domain in the modern nights.
Inés is the oracle, the visionary, and the voice of Sao Paulo’s kindred.
Gonçalves is the one that maintains conditions stabilized in order for her
princedom to work to its fullest, and achieve its final goal as a beacon to
all kindred of South America, and even the world. Gonçalves’ right hand,
in his turn, is Carvalho Rocha, the deadly Nosferatu Sheriff, who also is as
free as he needs to perform his duties.
Business have been doing great for Gonçalves and his corporation in the
city. He now dwells in respect, power and strength, as he always sought
on his mortal life. But there’s always more power to pursuit, especially in
the vastness of his eternally dark world. There is no time to relax and
enjoy unlife, when there’s so many deadly monsters around him.
A song for inspiration: The Worriment Waltz – Nine Inch Nails
Caitiff
Crutch
It was a posh party night at Itaquera, where most who were in

Corinthians Arena were not a part of the usual crowd – mostly foreigners,
elite, celebrities and other people alienated from soccer and the local
culture. That was World Cup 2014 in East Side Sao Paulo: more curious
crowds than soccer fans.
The simple vision of these people disgusted Wellington, a Corinthians
soccer club fan who dedicated his life to his club and to watching over cars
around the stadium. Every once in a while, the iconic fan also used to sell
street barbecue to the other Corinthians fanatics, before and after the

games. Many other fans used to pay tickets to Wellington to watch the
games, occasions where he “outsourced” the car watch to his occasional
helpers. Always fair in paying his helpers and coworkers, he shared the
revenue earned in the games in equal parts.
What not many knew is that Wellington once had a promising future,
when he came from his home state of Rio Grande do Sul to Sao Paulo,
pursuing an offer to a modelling and acting career in town. Once he
arrived, he made only a few test jobs and was dismissed, having no
resources at all to come back to his countryside city or to maintain himself
in the very expensive heart of Brazil’s economic power.
Not much after three months without being able to pay for his rent, and
abandoned by his family, without a college degree or any connections,
Wellington found himself jailed in the country’s largest urban space.
Wellington, then, started to get involved in criminal activities and petty
jobs, diving deeper and deeper into the underworld and alcoholism, both
consuming his youth and identity over the course of many years. It was
not long before he didn’t know, for many days and nights, who he really
was, not even his name or where he lived. The only important information
was when and how to get another drink.
After many years, his street barbecue stand and a mattress were all the
assets he gathered to himself. He didn’t care though, because, at the night
of the World Cup in 2014, he was able to get sober for two years in a row,
stabilized himself with a small, but steady income, and was rebuilding a
personality of his own, linked to his soccer team, his clients and an
attempt to get back to a normal reality.
Sales were not great that night, not how he imagined. Apparently, the hot
shots preferred to eat gourmet food and drinks inside their stadium
cabinets, not even trying the real street food, like many fans do. Not even
beer sells achieved his expectations. What a big piece of shit of fucking
World Cup, Wellington thought to himself.
After the end of the game, and the dispersion of most of the tourists, it
was time to sleep, rest and think on how to make a living next week, when
there would be no soccer games in Sao Paulo. Without knowing for how
long he was asleep, Wellington got woke up by cowardly kicks and
punches in the face, from a group he could barely recognize who was.

With his vision blurred by blood and heavy bruises, he could slightly
witness a group composed of pale, young, men and women, richly dressed,
who the fuck were these guys?
They were not ordinary thieves, for he barely had any Money in himself
that night and nobody tried to rob him. His screams for mercy fell to the
deaf ears of the cruel crowd of three, or thirty – he couldn’t tell – and they
only laughed and enjoyed themselves in their unexplainable torture of a
single man who didn’t do nothing against them. Who would do that, why,
what for? When he thought the beating was over, at last, he felt
something like two deep knives perforating his throat and his legs. The
pain was excruciating, way worse than the beating he barely survived
through.
Life was suddenly drained away from his body. The pain, the hatred, the
surprise, the revolt. Everything turned to black, to cold and to the feeling
of the hard asphalt, after the echoes of his aggressors had cut through the
air and disappeared into a land of madness and disgrace, beyond his frail
comprehension… Then the abyss.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t over yet. One of Wellington’s aggressors, inside his
SUV, by thinking he was still conscious and alive, turned his car in
reverse and ran over one of his legs, before leaving the stadium for good.
The pain was brutal, burned through his veins and almost exploded his
head, but he couldn’t even scream, in his state of semi-consciousness. The
last view he had was of the big, black SUV entering the road and going
away, leaving him for dead.
Somehow, even with his left leg very damaged and with almost no
movement, Wellington became an immortal. He puked for many nights,
without being able to feed on anything, and dominated by an instinct of
murder and hunger he never knew before, not even when he was an
alcoholic.
Taken by the beast, he murdered and devoured two of his former informal
employees to the last drop of blood, finally getting a hold of himself after
the unfair murders. Now that he finally learned what he had become, his
goal was to find a haven in the most extreme parts of the East Side,
leaving the stadium forever, in order not be seen ever again by the old
Corinthians fans who were his friends.

Without knowing nothing at all about his Sire or Kindred society, why he
needs to drink blood and why his body is now so Strong that he survived
a group beating and can see far away in the dark, the only thing
Wellington dedicates himself to is learning how to help the weak and
famine, like him.
Victims of injustice, abuse, robbing and police violence, all over East Side
Sao Paulo. Abandoning his real name, now Wellington took under the
alias of Crutch, for which he is known in the region where he dwells, and
because of the instrument he needs to use while walking around with his
rotten left leg.
Many see him as a saint among filth, the sacred inside the land of the
heretics, the one who reaches the needy where not even the state or
philanthropy reach – for their disgust, hypocrisy or simple fear.
Even though Crutch is not very known inside Kindred society, and knows
even less about it, his fame for achieving an impressive level of depth
inside Sao Paulo’s underworld has been impressing some important
anarchs of the domain. The most prominent of them is Patricia Ayumi
herself, with whom he now has a very recent and frail allegiance, based on
mutual interests, or so it looks like, in the eyes of both Kindred.
A song for inspiration: Killing in the Name – Rage Against the Machine

Chronicle Suggestions in Sao Paulo
In this section, we present suggestions in Sao Paulo’s nights to the

players, as some fast ideas to kick start playing in the setting as soon as
possible. Sao Paulo by Night exclusive Lore Sheets, Appendix IV to the
book, also have great ideas to be used as complements for the characters
presented in the last chapter. Be sure to check them out!
Lost Artifact
You and your coterie received the information from a Minister that the
Monument to the Flags, in the heart of Ibirapuera Park, is a relevant
reference – or is, itself – an important and lost vampiric power artifact,
linked to the kindred of the city. The words of the immortal, as are most
words from his clan companions, are filled with mystery, but promising.
The minister who gave your coterie such intel is not from Sao Paulo, but
visits the domain regularly and has business in town, every once in a
while.
The artifact can be a methuselah in torpor; books of old blood magick,
weapons, portals or a combination of all the previous.
The biggest problem is that the area is dominated by the violent and
paranoid Camarilla of the city, which will strike anyone for any minor

disturbance of the shallow peace the region offers, with a brutal blood
hunt under the command of Prince Inés and her bloodthirsty underlings.
In the other hand, the Hecata and/or the Anarchs could aid the coterie in
achieving their goals, by requesting part (that may be huge) of their
discovery, if asked to help them. If not previously consulted regarding the
issue, they may also join the coterie when they find the timing fit to claim
spoils of victory, by using the eyes and ears they have spread all over Sao
Paulo
By the amount of risk the coteries put their selves into, they must be
rewarded with an even greater premium – one that can change the power
balance in the domain for all subsequent nights.
Group suggestions: Any group from any sect, since they have ancillae and
neonates combined.

Secrets of the Crypt
Consolação Cemetery, the Hecata powerhouse in Sao Paulo, holds many
crypts, secrets and monuments within its walls, and many supernatural
happenings and beings beyond the control even of some ancillae, like
Emilia Della Passaglia.
The cainites of the city all seem to know the surroundings of the region
very well, but few, not to say none, have spent a whole night inside the
cemetery gates, or fully explored its catacombs, especially without the
dark blessing of the Giovanni.
Haunted spirits, gateways to the Shadowlands, a gargoyle under the blood
bond of a powerful vampire and demonic fetters are many of the legends
linked to the local folklore, as well as a certain kind of madness inflicted in
every kindred who dare to roam within the gates of Consolação Cemetery,
without a certain and quick matter to solve. According to the tales of
those closer to the Hecata, many have fallen to their beasts within those
walls, even with their hungers fully satiated.
Would you and your coterie be brave enough to explore beyond the
curtains of these unholy grounds, unveiling its mysteries and secrets?
Would you ask for the blessings and bond yourselves to the favors of the
masters of the domain, or defy their ravaging wrath?
Suggestion for free groups. Defensive disciplines, like celerity, fortitude
and obfuscate might come in very handy in this adventure!
The Ivory Steps

You and your coterie of Camarilla neonates received a mission directly
from Prince Inés, during the last Elysium held in the Tower’s domains.
There’s a traitor selling intel to the anarchs, in order to gain reputation
with this group of Kindred, especially in strategic grey zones of the city,
that are more prone towards independence against the influence of any
sect.
Paranoia and fury burn inside the eyes of the Prince as she demands her
mission to your coterie, what means she is deadly serious about the
subject. Always in a hurry, she only demanded that you and your group
were to report directly to her, every once in a while, and that you were to

start your investigation by talking to the senior team of FDSS, led by the
Ventrue Fernando Dutra.
The mysteries unveiled, and the name or names of the traitors could
become very heavy liabilities to the Camarilla if they were to fall in the
wrong hands or ears, which is a point of severe reflection to your coterie.
Why would the Prince trust this mission only to your group?
Would all of you finally have the chance to climb the steep stairs of power
inside the Camarilla, or are you only disposable pawns in a game of
powerful and sadistic elders and primogens, trying to destroy one
another?
Is it the time to question your Faith in the Ivory Tower, or reinforce it
even more than a solid mountain?
Which political consequences would happen after everything was brought
to the violent lights of Elysium? What reasons did the involved had to do
what they did? Were they selfish, sincere or purely chaotic?
At the end of the plot, only you and your coterie – or what’s left of it –
will be able to answer...
Recommended to neonates affiliated with the Camarilla, and their
common clans.
Bridges or Walls
You’ve been there as a mortal, and now, you just won’t take it anymore.
The prejudice, the despise. They walk around in their fancy, bulletproof,
black fucking cars, thirsty for blood, without barely noticing you. They
watch every moves you make from their cameras and spies, for fun,
pleasure, and sadism.
You’ll never be a noble like they are. You’re not from Europe or a
descendent from some fucking ancient civilization. No sire, no lineage, no
definitions. You hunt wherever you fucking can for the night, in dirty
alleys and crack filled slums, not like a countryside English Lord and its
hounds.
Your nights are spent in the neutral territory of the Oscar Freire and
Augusta streets, or around industrial sheds in the regions of Barra Funda,
Vila Leopoldina or Marginal Pinheiros, near the fruit market of Ceagesp.

When you’re in your best mood, you risk yourself around Brás and its late
hour open markets.
Now you heard about a new independent cell, seemingly anarch
associated, and completely made out of thin bloods and Caitiffs, which
operates in Campinas, and have avid interests in expanding their
operations to Sao Paulo, like many other Brazilian kindred.
Would you help your fellow outcasts, or drive them into a deadly trap, in
order to gain prestige among those who always despised you and your
coterie, giving you nothing but their fists, boots and fangs? Now’s your
chance to choose between building bridges or walls.
Suggestion: Caitiffs, Thin Bloods and anarch fledglings.
Savage Cannibalism
The caitiffs and thin bloods of the domain are at maximum alert, even
more than the usual. Many have been disappearing from the sight of
everyone, some even a few nights after their disastrous embraces. Who’s
behind this extermination? The Camarilla, the Anarchs, who are so drawn
to them under the right circumstances? Some mad and twisted kindred
who used to follow the infamous paths of the Sabbat, practicing dark blood
rituals, or infernalism?
Such questions very often fall into the deaf ears of the primogens and their
childer, since they always have bigger concerns to care.
For you and your coterie, though, the answer to the aforementioned
questions is a matter of unlife and final death. You will need to struggle
against everything and everyone in order to unfold the truth from those
who hide it, even though it will be only for the sake that those who come
before you don’t need to suffer the hell you’ve been through on most of
your painful unlife on the streets.
It might be that, once you reach the answers you seek with so much effort,
the reward might be your way out of the disgrace you’re sank in, once and
for all.
Suggestion: Coteries of Caitiffs and Thin Bloods.

Power Void
In the modern nights, there have been rumors among the anarchs, united
under Dom Joao Dias, that there’s a power void in the sect, given that the
one and true Baron is involved up to his neck in the Gehenna wars. Losing
the power to resist the call to the Middle East, every night, he has been
spending very few nights in his own territory, as the years go by.
Many important decisions regarding the anarch movement in Sao Paulo
have been taken by Joao’s childe, Patricia, which has a leading style seen
as very opposite to his mostly peaceful, balanced and philosophic ways.
Her aggressive, violent and genocidal tendencies towards the other sects,
as well as her lust for blood and violence, have been observed also as a
very direct defiance to the way Inés leads the whole domain, which could
start a violent confrontation against the almighty Camarilla, their foe in a
decades old cold war.
You and your coterie of anarchs will get to discover, in this scenario, if
Joao Dias is in town or not, as well as helping or stopping Patricia’s plans
to be a powerful and influential force in the city’s Kindred elite. A power
void of such size, if real, could even take you and your coterie into a
position of enormous power inside the city’s anarch movement – but not
without great struggles and sacrifices along the way.
Suggestions: Ancillae, neonate, or a coterie of both, all connected to the
anarch movement, and with access to social disciplines.
Colonization
Your coterie is made of vampires from outside Sao Paulo, very well
instructed by your sires, masters, barons or allies about the hunting
grounds of the region, its alliances and terms in the modern nights.
Your mission goal is simple, but seen as nearly suicidal: to take down a
primogen of the city from its position of power, replacing him or her with
the fittest vampire of your own coterie, or the whole group.
The more aggressive and violent your group gets, the more attention it
will draw from the allies of the primogen you want to take down,
drowning the domain into huge chaos and destruction. Therefore, a
combination of diplomacy and discretion, to a certain amount, are strict
requirements for a successful mission.

You are to explore which secrets, intrigues, strengths and weaknesses the
city factions know about one another, and believe their speculations to a
certain degree, eventually getting your hands dirty in the power hungry
games of Sao Paulo, until a window of opportunity is open to your deadly
strike.
Once your strike is blown, the power balance in the nights of Sao Paulo
may be changed forever, regardless of your coterie’s, and even your own,
survival to the coup.
Suggestion: Ancillae, with strong background and motivations. An
attempt to use clans not covered by the Characters chapter should be very
interesting, like the Ministry, Banu Haqim, Cappadocians bloodline,
Salubri, Ravnos and other V5 alternatives.
Clan Wars
In a city where there’s a social abyss which cannot be crossed, among
mortals, and which carries a heavy burden of ideological, social, economic
and other conflicts based on prejudice and simple resentment among
neighboring areas, much of these hatreds and wars can be revived among
the undead who become embraced inside the domain.

Among the undead, their real historical roots, unknown by the Kine, make
many of these conflicts real. For most of the times, mortals only follow the
ebb and flow of the hate speeches from both sides, whenever it fits their
own shallow realities and number of likes in their social media.
In the World of Darkness though, a simple discussion between thralls and
ghouls on opposite sides, or a misinterpreted speech at one of the city’s
Elysia, during a mortal election period, can give life to old, buried, and
deadly confrontations between very powerful kindred – primogens,
ancillae, elders, princes and barons.
In such chronicles, your coterie – which must be composed of a single
clan, at least in its vast majority – should take a side in one of these
conflicting visions. With great rage and high-grade support, your group
will try to annihilate all those who oppose you, in the manner of the War
for Sao Paulo, but without pity for anyone, regardless of their sect (even
your own).
It’s important to remind the group, as a story teller, that all characters are
intimately linked by the Relationship Map, and that they will very often
try to avenge the ones attacked by your coterie, using all of their
firepower in order to accomplish their goals of annihilation.
If you destroy someone who is too close to the Prince or the Baron, or
even the Hecata, you may find your name and the names of your
companions in the red list. Will you escape or face this near death
sentence?
Suggestion: Ancillae and elders from the city of Sao Paulo, well connected
and powerful enough to resist heavy firepower from every possible sides.

Sao Paulo Stories
In this last section, we present four short stories in the city of Sao Paulo,
inside the World of Darkness, told under the point of view from three
different characters written as a part to this book, and a mysterious
protagonist, in the last one. The stories can be helpful in order to create a
starting point from storytellers and players to begin their own campaigns,
and are diverse in their geographies, moods and settings.
The first short chronicle uses the nights of Clan Toreador and the
Camarilla as its main thematic, having an environment to address this
unlifestyle in Sao Paulo by night.
The second story happens under the domain of the Hecata, and is told
from the point of view of a Red Nosferatu, moving around the area and
trying to understand and map the horrors, violence and abominations,
which happen downtown, in order to conclude what’s the logic from so
much madness and decay inside the region.
The third chronicle portrays a typical situation that happens in Vampire
the Masquerade on its fifth edition, which is the transition of Clan
Lasombra into the Camarilla, and the dark ways in which cainites achieve
these political treaties, as well as their unholy consequences.

The last story presents the concept of how would be the unlife of a
recently embraced Thin Blood, on his first days and nights in Sao Paulo.
While learning about his limitations, he delves further inside a macabre,
twisted and cruel world – a world that, on the same time, causes disgust,
and curiosity, and always flirts with morbidity.
In the Oven
The decoration of the Michellin starred restaurant, as well as the few
tables inside its environments, were a clear message – that was not a place
for everyone. The place had a discrete façade, at one of the narrow, almost
secret streets hiding their selves from the rest of the city, around Itaim
Bibi and Vila Nova Conceição. A terrace, a vertical garden, a small
signboard shining in green neon among the vegetation, and a fancy name
that could mean the place was a café, an office, a publicity agency or an
elite club.
After climbing upstairs, a lobby with a red leather, Victorian style couch,
and a bar with waiters, barmen and barwomen in uniforms receive another
unique group of clients, chefs, high-end-cuisine critics and international
guests to enjoy their welcome drink.
The restaurant opens only at night for dinner, and the illumination is
completely natural, with moonlight slightly seasoned by the gentle flares
of bronze chandeliers, lit up in the main hall.
A young couple, appropriately dressed for the occasion, was having dinner
at one of the tables, with a nearly consumed candle in its middle,
surrounded by two glasses of Porto and a nearly finished off Petit Gateau
as evidences that their time at the restaurant was nearly over. The vanilla
ice cream already melt by the hot chocolate topping – a painting from
Kandinsky… Drops of blood in the snow. The frailty of humanity? I
wonder...
The woman at that table seemed to be a university student, black, long
hair over her shoulder, slightly colored of almonds, on its fringes. A white
designer dress, made for her body, and only for that body. Tiffany’s
jewelries of silver and gold, over her tan lined, silky caramel skin, shining
more than the stars of the full moon lit hall. Small stars, eyes and
candlelight, all gravitating towards her male companion, and embracing

him in the sweet aromas of her perfume, her wine, her sweetly drunken
blood.
Her companion wore a tailor made suit, dark as a night without clouds, as
well as his shirt, deeply shining leather shoes and a black napkin on his
pocket. The man in black. The blonde hair, slightly and charmingly
unkempt, got him a seductive, easygoing, intellectual look over his
mysterious and rebellious face.
Judging by the pale tone of his skin, and the blushes of deep red, which
sometimes came when he expressed himself more enthusiastically, he
could easily be confused as a northern European of Danish, Swedish or
Norwegian origin. Definitely not a common type to find in Sao Paulo, but
definitely the most ordinary face to see in such a place as he was.
To gaze into his nearly white blue eyes was to stare into nothingness and
oblivion. Even so, the attraction he was causing in everyone around him,
clients, workers and his companion, made him look like a piece of art
himself, of pure gold, marble or silver, as a part of the environment. It was
almost impossible for anyone passing by his table not to quickly stare at
him, or anything he touched or was wearing, physical or not – his
perfume, his smile, the dangerous mystery surrounding him…
After finishing their dinner, and surrounded by less and less people in the
hall, the couple decided to go to the bar for one last drink before their
long night, one that would be long, at least for one of them...
After the girl gave herself up to a fast moment of drunkenness, the man
seized the moment to kiss her neck, slow and lustfully, leaving two bite
marks… only to conceal them with another kiss, shortly after.
But the fact that the restaurant staff turned away their attention from the
couple was not because the service was coming to an end, or due to their
boredom, but because a stronger source of light was climbing up the
stairs. An extremely pale blonde woman, wearing a dark red dress and a
striking rouge toned make up, floating upstairs on her high needle heels,
like a queen on the way to her coronation night.
Her body was petite, but her face was as exuberant as that of a woman of
her young age could be. Her eyes, of a blue as dark as the ocean at night,
seemed to challenge and dominate the whole environment, instilling
fascination, fear and wonder on every single person who dared to look

upon her directly. As she finished her inebriating walk upstairs, her
perfume filled the place, obfuscating the aroma of the couple in the bar – a
sweet smell of childhood, nostalgia, belonging, and a passion lost and
forever forgotten, so many nights ago…
Her visage and her scent were forbidden vices, sins, a passion at the brinks
of insanity, as well as sensations of ice, glass, fog and needles pinching the
depths of the bones from those who stared at her for too much time, even
though they were barely able to escape the trance.
She finishes her climb and sits by the side of the couple, in a way that was
a mixture of a casual and an oppressive approach.
- Faust, said the deadly blonde, on her heavy American accent. Your
girlfriend’s cab is waiting for her at the door, to deliver her at home.
Talking about home, you’re very far from yours, right?
Faust paid his bill at the bar and went down with his new company,
letting his girl go home with the taxi driver.
- Tracy, said Faust, mechanically, and with a heavy, desolate tone on his
voice.
- Follow me to the end of the street.
Thus, both Kindred walked through the sidewalk, followed by a deathlike
silence and a bitterly cold weather. Silence, cold and nothing else but them
were at that side of the street, that time of the night. Tracy took a key and
a Desert Eagle pistol off her purse and opened the door to a small, discrete
house, entering it alongside Faust.
- Tracy, we can talk our way out of it, said Faust, with a shaking voice.
- I am the scourge. We are the Camarilla. We are the law, answered
Tracy, expressing no emotions.
The inner side of the house was totally devoid of furniture, and garnished
only by the light of the moon, that insisted in breaking through one of the
windows of the wooden interior, uninvited.
- Hunting in someone else’s domain without permission is punishable by
final death, kept talking Tracy, with her dark blue eyes turning almost
black, and with her snow white fangs coming out of her scarlet lips,
smiling. That is my sentence.
- Tracy, Fortaleza fell. You know who can be the city’s new prince...
- That would be you, wouldn’t it? Asked Tracy, sarcastically. Fortaleza
fell… but that’s something we can talk ourselves out, as you said, isn’t it?
Tracy kept pushing her prey against the wall by walking him against it,
putting the pistol back on her purse and taking out an Ankh shaped
dagger.
The eyes of Faust, then bleak, started to shine, even though lightly, again,
as Tracy slit her wrist, leaving drops of blood to fall in the house’s floor.
He knew what it meant. He was not a neonate anymore. The only chance
of saving himself from final death was to accept Tracy Thorne’s blood
bond. He might go after the Tremere chapel from his city and try to break
the bond later? He thought to himself.
After a quick simmer of thought, Faust drops himself to his knees, grabs
Tracy’s hand like he was going to propose to her, and drinks from her
blood, unsafe, regretting, shaking and almost reduced to a mere mortal,
totally obfuscated from the strong presence he had inside the restaurant.
A vain, glorious and proud member of the Clan of the Rose now reduced
to a blood-sucking beggar. A vermin; a parasite, nothing more.
With a hollowed, messed up face, and a suit full of blood, Faust tries to
finally get up on his knees, but doesn’t feel his legs anymore. An inch and
an excruciating pain take hold of his whole body, each and every of his
veins. He tries to scream, but he can’t scream anymore. He looks down to
his chest, and sees himself trespassed by a wooden stake, from his heart to
the end of his back.
The last of Faust’s visions is Tracy Thorne’s body and her blood red
dress, just like a colossal Greek statue, angelic smile, eyes as blue as a
summer sky, blushed colors on her skin. Then the deep, black, endless
abyss.
- Hi, is that from the food delivery service? Asks Tracy, speaking on her
cellphone, with her heels over Faust’s paralyzed body. A barbecue stick in
the oven, here in Vila Nova Conceição. Yes, that’s my number. Thank you
very much.
Then she leaves the house into the night, throwing the cellphone over
Faust’s body, for the ones responsible to track down the GPS and find
him. The smooth noise of her heels over the house’s wooden floor,

creating a sinister symphony, erased by the noises of the nocturnal city of
Sao Paulo, step by step… cars… horns… and the whispers of the roses to
the full moon.
Downtown Steakhouse
A winter night, accompanied by ceaseless wind and cold rain, doesn’t
mean any trouble to the wealthiest population of Sao Paulo. It is, actually,
a good excuse to have a fancy glass of wine, eat great cheeses and visit
their favorite postmodern bistro at night. For others, it’s enough to buy a
six-pack, popcorn, and watch Netflix until dawn.
However, a huge part of the population, especially those out on the
streets, never even heard of these small distractions and pleasures.
Without crack, cachaça, or, even the hardest one to find – a dish of hot
soup – many perish in such weathers, slowly rotting their lungs and guts
while waiting for the aid of the civil society, or the government, that will
not come.
Happily, for the Nosferatu known as the Cartographer, not due to his
social class or clothes, he wasn’t feeling cold at all. After all, he was a
corpse since many years ago, that night – ever since the dreadful night
when he was embraced as a Sabbat shovelhead, in the 90’s. At last, though,
his bond to the vaulderie was finally over, when he was sitting at the Sé
Square on that late nighttime.
His main objective was to address a reconnaissance mission for the
Anarchs. One of many missions of the sort, which Patricia Ayumi
demanded from him, by the way.
Being on that environment didn’t bring him much comfort, he thought to
himself, while rolling a joint between his long and bony fingers, just for
the habit, since he couldn’t get high anymore by smoking. Anyway, that
wasn’t an environment that terrified him, even though his pack met final
death exactly in that square in 1992, while attempting to save the former
Archbishop, Raposo Correia. The bastard, he didn’t even got to know him.
Patricia received uncertain intel that a ghoul from the Della Passaglia,
maybe Giorgio’s, would be there that night, with a new shipment of the
heavy drugs they distributed to the region’s dealers. For what Patricia
heard, the drug was a new experiment, and that would certainly payoff if

it reached the hands of the Anarch Tremere, always curious to analyze
and understand the secrets of the blood and its bonds.
The square, as usual, was putrid and rotten to the core. The smell of weed
from the Cartographer’s joint mixed itself with the aroma of garbage,
feces, corpses and urine, everywhere. Kine, mostly very high, and hordes
of undead raised by the Della Passaglia, live there in a constant, grotesque
and filthy orgy, and the feeling of being watched annoyed even a cainite
like the Cartographer, obfuscating or not.
Every sort of trash was found in the ground, among rusted knifes, broken
pieces of wood, condoms, pills, drug envelopes, blood and disgusting
animals likes rats and roaches, also in a state of advanced putrefaction and
despair.
The city guard went only as further as the borders of those streets, and in
a rather quick pace, fast enough to abandon that underworld filth to their
own devices, especially by that time of the night. The Cartographer, who
now had already spent a big part of his unlife in Europe, had seen sewers
way cleaner and more organized than that opened jaw of hell that was the
surroundings of the once glorious Sé Cathedral.
Then, he started to realize different patterns of movement than those from
the usual dance of decay among the denizens of the plaza. All except one
undead Kine, chewing his own finger to the bone and gorging in his own
blood, started to walk slowly upwards, on the direction of the Cathedral,
farther away from Avenida Paulista.
To those who were not paying enough attention, it looked like a
movement with no coordination, but the Cartographer’s awareness and
knowledge of those crowds made him realize they were heading to one of
the special alleys where drugs were sold to the junkies of that area.
Through parallel streets and among the hookers, beggars and drunken
vagrants, the Cartographer followed the morbid procession, taking mental
notes of the rhythm and direction of the flow, until they reached an
ordinary bar with plastic tables on the abandoned sidewalk. Strangely,
most of the crowd went inside the bar only to buy cigarettes and shots of
cachaça, only to leave the place later, without packing around it.
Curious to understand the strange phenomenon, he followed one of the
many corpselike women, with skin almost as pale as his, to a nearby alley

where she struggled to stumble upon, in order to smoke one of the pack of
cigarettes she bought. The Cartographer had to steal at least one of those
packs and go back to his domains, as soon as possible. There was
something on those cigs, though he couldn’t tell what.
In the dark alley where the woman sat, surrounded by trashcans, mice,
ruins and graphite (some from the 90’s, which the Cartographer knew
well), another strange change of ambiance was happening. The smell of
vitae flooded his nostrils, suddenly, raising him to a state of alert. It
definitely didn’t come from the junkie close to him. After she smoked one
of the cigarettes and trembled in a trancelike convulsion, falling to sleep,
the Cartographer was finally able to get one of the packs, only to find out
an even darker side of those grounds.
-“Help me…”, “For fuck sake…” “Jesus fucking Christ…” a muffled voice
stabbed through the depressive air of the God forsaken alley.
The moans came from below one of the big trashcans of the place, which
were hiding a trapdoor. After quietly opening the door, his eyes, used to
the deepest shadows, witnessed a bizarre scene: two strong men,
apparently mortals, draining blood with bags and needles off two leg
stumps of another man, hung in the wall by butcher hooks. After
gathering the fresh blood, they were mixing it with a white stew that
smelled pretty much like cocaine or crack, from many pots inside that
twisted kind of butcher house for humans.
Because the hung man was still alive, and smelled of intense vitae, loaded
with fear, the Cartographer quickly understood what was happening –
they were producing drugs off from the vitae of a Thin Blood vampire,
one of the many Duskborn who were being embraced and disappearing in
the nights of Sao Paulo, over the last years.
Is it a coincidence that so many Duskborn were being embraced, or were
they a new kind of Kine to the Hecata to perform experiments on, or serve
as cannon fodder in the protection of their domain? Many said that Emilia
Della Passaglia herself was an ancient with a blood so potent that she
didn’t feed on human blood anymore, since decades ago. This rumor
started to make even more sense, after what the Cartographer just
witnessed…

Being very careful not to cause a diplomatic incident between sects, but
very disgusted and horrified, the Cartographer obfuscated himself deep
within the shadows in order to leave that infernal realm, and to report to
Patricia, at last.
If another fight was necessary for that domain, he already picked up his
side for sure, but that was not his shot to take. At last, not until earning
back the trust of his fellow Kindred, what could take centuries, since he
was, not long ago, part of the enemy army.
On that steel cold, disgraceful and macabre night, even a Nosferatu was
impacted by the paranoia, brutality and roughness of the streets from
Downtown Sao Paulo.
Recruitment and Selection

---- Original Message ----
From: A Mo▬te▬▬o <41▬3mon731▬▬▬@gmail.com>
Date: 17/02/2020 23:46 (GMT-03:00)
To: Rubens M <r▬▬▬nsba▬▬▬▬@outlook.com>
Subject: Sorry
I wish I wrote you this message many years ago.

I know that you don’t know if I’m alive or not, but I don’t know if you’ve
forgotten about me. I have your email until these nights, though, and I
know you do not use it but for emergencies. Well, when you see this
message, it might just be one.
After what happened to our Family, I’ve been to many countries around
our continent. I had to get used to what life gave me. During this time, I
met many who deserved a destiny worse than mine, or yours, for what we
did. I took advantage of them, as a form of revenge. Until someone struck
down at me in Madrid.
I had to do those jobs for him. Oh little brother, if only I could tell you
about the conditions… of my work. They won’t let me contact you, but
whatever. A Mozambican hired me for a job in Brazil, one I feel very able
to execute, though I’m not sure if I’ll go back to Portugal ever again. I
miss the sea from Cascais… the endless oceans. Our dearest Evora!
If I reach the end of the line in Brazil, it doesn’t matter. If my career
carries on, don’t write me back. You won’t know, anyway.
Whichever resources you find in Portugal or Spain that could be
connected legally to you or your children, if you have such, are entirely
yours. Do not question the origins of the resources, beyond the fruits of
the hard labor I’ve performed in the EU as a freelancer. If questioned, you
can tell that I work with intelligence services for the private sector.
I wish you well, my dearest brother. May Our Lady protect thee and
guard thee under her protection. Amen.
Alice Bastos Monteiro
In Sao Paulo, Brazil.
<<< Message intercepted and cancelled by Flavia Cintra, at the order of
the Sheriff, on February 17th, 2020>>>
--==--
Sao Paulo, Brazil. March 23rd, 2020 AD.
A fancy meeting room, at a huge corporate building made out of stained

steel and glass, bulletproof from the top to the bottom, in the middle of
the fucking Faria Lima Avenue. Ghoul security guards, carrying M16s, a
malkavian girl frequently typing her delusions, watched by everyone, even
the seneschal, with admiration.
Original Versailles furniture, fruits from Southeast Asia, jars and wine
glasses with different kine blood samples, unlabeled. It couldn’t be more
fucking Camarilla than this. Really. Malkavian Prince hires a Ventrue
watchdog so she doesn’t have to hunt for herself. They pay very well, but
what the fuck have I gotten myself into? For fuck sakes…
- We are all here, right? Gonçalves Pereira breaks through the tense
silence in the meeting room, which was starting to create the environment
of a job interview.
- All right, the Prince could not come, and she did not warn you, for she
trusted me with the solution of the subject. Alice, half your payment in
euros is already in your account, as agreed. Welcome to Brazil. In case
you want to terminate your services, right here, right now, you have one
of the Prince’s jet planes ready to take you away to Madrid or Lisbon.
Being here is worth half the payment, as your contact told you.

I would lie if I told you that didn’t surprise me like fuck. 2 million euros
just to go to Sao Paulo and smile? I could leave with all that into my
pocket? But then I stood quiet and listened to what he had to say, no
matter how much I hesitated.
- The last part of the agreement will also be payed after the task’s
completion, but we want to offer you something more. In case you execute
your contract with success, we want to offer you the position of Lasombra
representative in our domain.
- The terms of accepting a Lasombra in a Camarilla domain, though, I
believe an experienced member of the Clan like you knows them. You
have to give us the final death of one of those who share your bloodline.
Your contract is to bring final death to Antoine Levi, that piece of shit.
You should also execute the childe he embraced without the permission of
the Prince. His childe’s death will be your proof of loyalty to the
Camarilla.
- As I mentioned before, staying in this table means that you agree to
execute Antoine and his illegal childe, and being a candidate to the
Primogen Council of Sao Paulo’s Ivory Tower. Flavia may instruct you
with the duties of the Primogen later, after the meeting. I’ll personally
support your application, even though your clan… never mind.
Silence in the meeting room. The helicopter noise in the distance, like
birds in a city without nature. The ghouls and their march, their shoes,
their fucking rifles. I get up from the chair and drink from a random wine
glass filled with blood. Fucking delicious, fresh, they cut throats non-stop
around here. It’s like feeding on the living Kine. Impressive.
Madrid sucked, such as Vienna, Budapest, and even Bratislava, lately. So
fuck it. It’s a fair contract. Why not?
- Why not? I said. Leave it to me. I filled another glass of fresh blood and
left it there, just to make a point for the stupid malkavian who thought
herself as the boss of the meeting, the one that was supposed to instruct
me into the role of a Primogen, was she even one of them?
- The French man will die. His childe. His whole fucking domain. I’ll stay.
I take it. It shall be done. The nerdy girl right here takes me back to my
rental haven. We’ll talk it all over on the way. No need to sign documents
or shake hands, right Gonçalves?

The Seneschal signals with his fingers on his for forehead at both women,
rises up from his chair and leaves the room, towards the elevator.
I’m left to the look of despise, haunting or deep lust from the petite
malkavian nerd, who closes her notebook and grabs a Jeep key from her
pocket. She lowers her glasses and examines me from the upside down.
- You’re ugly just in front of the cameras, aren’t you girls? Nothing wrong
with you. You’re even pretty hot. So… pretty girl, I’ll have to trust my
memory to remind myself of you. Every single detail, my sweet
Portuguese lady. Your taste, your perfume. You’re coming in the front
seat.
I answered her with the most blasé look I could put on my face, through
all of my unlife, and followed her into the elevator.
Frustrating little moments, I must confess. Every thought I had was
accompanied by the sensation of being observed, read, studied, and
deciphered. For the brief moments I spent inside that glass elevator,
watching fake marble grounds, armed men, corporate bloodsuckers, forced
laughs and artificial lights, I felt my very soul investigated by a weirdly
horny detective, or a secret diablerist, which of both, I could not tell at all.
I couldn’t also understand what the hell did that malkavian want to rip off
me. She touched my whole body, a meter and a half away from me, and
without taking her eyes away from her notebook.
- To arms! To arms! For our country, we will fight! The mad girl sang,
when we finally arrived at the garage. Laughing hysterically, she turned
on her huge bulletproof vehicle, reminding me of one of those characters
from Mecha Japanese series, getting inside large robots. Without much of
a choice, and thinking about the next 2 million euros, I just followed suit.
The night was moist, but unbearably hot. Oh new kingdom, dreamt upon
for so long…
A.B.M

The weaknesses of the blood
This time, it really was the worse hangover I’ve ever had in my life, bro,
like, ever. I couldn’t eat nothing, not even drink water. If I did, it was
straight to the toilet. Sunlight made me angry, dizzy, blind, insane, pissed
off. But I had my trainee program at the company.
No other choice but to wear the same fucked up shirt from Friday, cover it
up with my coat and lots of deodorant. Holy fuck, right in the middle of
Sao Paulo’s winter, I was sweating like I was in Rio’s summer. The
headache, my head was going to blow up through the roof. However,
calling a day on Monday, on that bank, The Bank, was the same thing as
asking to quit. Ninety thousand people wanted my job position, for real.
It was an infernal ride from the middle of Ipiranga to Faria Lima.
Subway’s green line, subway’s yellow line. Many wanted to be where I am.
The boys from the hood, my birth city. Dude, this headache, and the stuff
I have to deliver for the guys... It’s not gonna be an easy day, at all.
All I could focus on was the veins from the necks of the girls around me.
Pulsing veins, some blood, something strong, annoying, a pulse of
revenge, a pulse of rage. The neck? Really? I used to pay attention to
other details when around women. Then another strong nausea hits me.

The taste from the old pizza I found on the fridge before leaving home
hits my mouth, at the same time as the smell of a skater guy’s injured leg.
He looked amazing, what an amazing breakfast he would be.
- What the fuck am I thinking? Then he got away at Pinheiros station.
Mine’s coming.
- Faria Lima station, I got off. Puked everything inside the station’s
bathroom. The unstoppable fucking headache, my tie drowned inside the
shitty toilet. Sweating all over my clothes. Without any strength on my
legs, or my arms, to get up. On my famous last words, I say:
- Hey, boss…
- What up boy?
- Fever, headaches, nausea, I think I caught a virus or something.
- Don’t come here with that corona stuff, bro! Go to the hospital or
whatever, we’ll handle ourselves around here! Be safe! If it’s a hangover,
you’ll pay for the next happy hour! Show me the hospital papers later. See
ya!
There I stood, for nearly half an hour. They kicked the door. Passed by,
cleaned the floor. Threw my tie down the thrash can, it was a cheap one,
anyway. Then it all came back to me.
That party I went at the club in Moema, from Saturday to Sunday. A
strange place no one ever heard about before, not even the guys who lived
here in Sao Paulo for ages. That hot MILF, which payed me a shot of that
weird Campari-y drink. The guys disappeared. That 80s tune, Depeche
Mode, I guess.
She was way older than me, but very, very hot, looking like one of those
single women searching for a one night stand. We sat at the lounge of
whatever, she prayed in a weird way, and we went to her private spot. She
looked like she knew the owners, but she definitely didn’t own the place,
by the attitude she showed around. She didn’t give a single fuck about the
people wasting stuff, doing drugs and having sex in dark corners.
We started kissing each other and making out in the couch, she bit my
arm fiercely, odd shit, BDSM stuff, I wondered, sucked blood from my
arm, I didn’t care, as a matter of fact it felt good, almost like I wanted her

to do that? Anyways, she was very hot, I was drunk, talk was strange, but
interesting.
I lied a lot saying I was rich, she didn’t care, and talked about topics as
weird as religion, biology and rocket science. She asked me to bite her
neck as well, a frail skin, she bled, then I started feeling the rusty taste of
her blood, and multitudes screaming, noises in my head, like Lollapalooza,
a million people talking at once, then black out.
Her blackened face, twisted in the shadows, lots of screaming, confusion,
crowds. I suddenly got so fucking high. I kept feeling her alcohol breath,
though, her laugh, her voice. Her name… screams to me in my head, I
look at the dirty toilet and I can still see her face, but her name rapes my
mind into oblivion.
The brunette from Moema, 45 years old, looking like a 30 year old… the
strangest talk I ever had in my life. The name of the club, what was it?
Who was with me, I can’t even…
I leave the station’s bathroom at midday. Puked, fucked up. Buy myself
new clothes and try to enjoy my Monday break. Why not?
A sushi restaurant, full of executives from the building beside it. I ask for
two tuna sashimis and leave. The raw fish makes me feel slightly better
again. No more nausea or vomits. I go to a butcher shop in the same
street, ask for a piece of steak.
At the alley, I suck on the raw steak with all of my strength. I drink all the
blood. I never felt better, in all of my life. My fucked up face goes back to
normal, instantly, like I’ve never been sick for the whole day.
It’s two in the afternoon and I feel like I can go back to work and say to
my CEO to go fuck himself and make his company acquire all of the
competitors now, punching the table and explaining that the Bitcoin
tomorrow will go up 4.52%. Like what, will it? Yeah, I’ve SEEN IT. If I
bought 700 thousand options of it, that would easily earn me 4 million
pounds, and if it was at the Chinese Market...
Then suddenly I’m at a dirty alley, sucking on a dry piece of meat, that
used to be a steak, near Faria Lima, with beggars around me, 8 PM. I miss
talking to the woman at the club, but man am I better. Only the blood, I
need more blood. I don’t need no food anymore.

What if I drink that guy’s blood? A beggar laying down, high on weed
and other weird stuff. I need to calm the fuck down. I have work
tomorrow. Only a subway ticket on my pocket. Everything will be just
fine.
A message at my cellphone, from an unknown number. I recognize the
picture, instantly.
- We’ll have an after party at Augusta, chilling with some red. How do
you like it, young blood, are you with us?
Bro, fucking Monday. One ticket on my pocket...
Fuck it. I’m in.

Refferences and Reccomendations
While elaborating this unofficial supplement, I had many sources of
research and inspirations I’d like to share, with the goal to increase even
more the interaction between the community of fans and content creators
from the World of Darkness, including Vampire the Masquerade and
other games. That’s my humble way of saying thank you to all those
wonderful content creators out there on Youtube, Facebook, Twitter,
Discord and so many other platforms. Consider yourselves “embraced”,
quoted here or not!
English and International Content
YouTube: The Primogen, Strange Adventures, Outstar, World Of
Darkness (Official Channel + Vein Pursuit), Huddyvonschland,
LLadonzombie, Geek & Sundry (LA By Night), Mr. Gone’s Character
Sheets, The Gentlemen Gamer (Matthew Dawkins).
Facebook: Vampire the Masquerade’s wonderful community!
Electronic games: Vampire the Masquerade – Bloodlines, Vampire the
Masquerade – Coteries of New York, Shadows of New York, Vampire the
Masquerade – Redemption (and anxiously waiting for Bloodlines 2!).
Artbreeder platform.
Books: Vampire the Masquerade – 5th Edition, Camarilla and Anarch
supplements, as well as V5 Companion, Chicago by Night, The Chicago
Folios and Cults of The Blood Gods.
Brazilian Portuguese Content
Youtube: Segredos de Narrador (Ro Tico Amadeu) Alpha RPG e
Narrador de RPG (Felipe Daen).
Twitter: Sao Paulo em Fotos, Fotos de Fatos.
Books: Capital By Night, Rio de Janeiro by Night, O Credo do Anjo
Perdido, and the many works from Chrystian Rissoli found on Story
Tellers Vault (thank you very much, also, for designing the cover art from
this very book!)
At last, but not least, the immortal city of Sao Paulo, Brazil!

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Sao Paulo By Night – Page 1

Sao Paulo by Night

Ismael Victor Rodrigues Alves

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“Come to me, Eldest night and identical,

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- Ciao. Chiara Della Passaglia.

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Part Three – Business as usual – 1990-2019

“But how can we let them go on this way?

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“And he who comes from the dream of another happy city

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In this section of Sao Paulo by Night, we present general guidelines about

Part One – Downtown

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Part Four – Southwest Side

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Part Five – Ipiranga and East Side

At a very historically important area in the city, birthplace of maybe the

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Part Six – North Side

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Part Seven – Liberdade

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The natural reserve of Guarapiranga, though not formally a part of the

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“What is this that stands before me?

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“We have to fight, restlessly, to protect both concepts of

A little bit of chaos, as order, is the essence of our dark and

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