Otto Thom

Clan: Mekhet of the Norvegi Bloodline


Covenant Unalligned
City Durham


Otto is a ragged looking man, of relatively poor upbringing. Often appearing unkempt or dirty and regularly sporting bandages on his hands and arms. Careful observers might notice that he never seems to have any fangs, even when his beast is raised and visible for all to see.


OOC Background information - very little of this is known IC, if you have been told any of this IC by Otto feel free to act upon it, otherwise it's all super secret!

Otto Thom was born in London in 1654, the son of Arlo Thom who until later in life he believed was a merchant who moved from Denmark in the summer of 1635. He never really questioned why his father only worked by night, but knew that he did business with important people when he had any work at all.

Childhood in London was hard, and he scratched out a meagre living at the behest of his father by begging and robbing on the streets where he could. Childhood was also short, for when the great plague of 1665 hit at the age of ten, his father felt he had no choice but to protect his son as best he could, and in the only way he knew how. By turning him into a ghoul. The first time his father fed him vitae was a traumatic experience to say the least, but over the years he learned to understand with his fathers careful tutelage. At the age of 16 he stopped feeding him again, to allow him to grow naturally in his human skin. The worst of the plague now gone it was time to grow again.

Slowly, over the years the father that he knew disappeared to him and was replaced, first by a monster, then as he came to understand his fathers explanations of how their world worked, by a desperate but proud kindred. His father used Otto and his brothers for sustenance whenever he could, but he made sure they wanted for nothing and were always fit and healthy by giving them short courses of his blood over their growing years. It was an unusual existence, but not one Otto would ever change. As he reached manhood he was told further of the ways of his fathers blood. How they had come from the northlands in centuries past and served the highest and strongest of kindred in courts all over the world, but never recognised for their prowess. He told him of secret uses of the blood and said that one day, the legacy would be passed to him. It is the way of the Norvegi, he said, that the older generations submit to the new and allow their soul to be consumed by their childer to ensure the line remains strong, and never dies out or loses its memories of the old ways.

At the age of 30, his father began training him as a mortal to strike from the shadows, to be ready for anything and to do the dirty work that those of higher caste would never allow themselves to do. He took his first contract on the 13th May 1687. A ghoul belonging to an Invictus who had suffered at the ire of the prince of Westminster. The kindred himself had been publicly admonished and sentenced to final death in the court. No self respecting kindred would take on the task of rounding up a ghoul though, so the contract was passed to the low scum of the norvegi. Otto stalked his prey, taking care to follow his fathers instructions to the letter and remember his training. When he finally cornered the man, a baker who had been running a good part of his masters business and knew too much, he at first hesitated. The baker turned to him in the dark alley and sniffed derisively. “Please, I beg you, do you have any change so that I can get a bed for the night?” Otto said, with all the practice of his fathers teaching coming into play. “Don’t let them see your true strength until it is too late Otto…” he had said. The baker again looked scornfully, but something about this young man spoke to his cautious side. He rifled in a pouch for a few seconds not taking his eyes off of the wild looking ragamuffin in front of him. “If I give you coin you can fuck off and leave me alone, got it?” the man said, obviously with the hint of worry in his voice, that hint betrayed him. “Of course sir, thank you ever so much sir…”

The man looked down into his pouch, searching for the least valuable coin he could find. That split second was enough for Otto. Before the man looked up he had gasped his last as three knives thrown in the blink of an eye pierced his mortal flesh, heart, neck and stomach. The man contorted in pain before dropping to the floor of the muddy passage, dead. Otto took the purse which was his payment gladly, although didn’t understand why he would not be allowed to meet his employer directly. His father later explained “It is the curse of our line that those of pomp within the courts see us as beneath them and unworthy of public recognition. We are only of use to them when a job like this comes along, then and only then do they recognise us for our talent”

As the years went by it was finally time to complete his training. His father bade him meet him in the fields outside the city gates on the night of hallows even, 1694.
“It is another of our curses, that among kindred, we have no fangs and must feed in other ways. I must warn you that to embrace you will be painful in the extreme. Remember this pain, and remember our ways, for in time it will be your duty to replace me. You may feed from your sisters and your mother until such time as you have your own “family” to provide you with sustenance.

Without another word his father gripped him, tightly around each arm and he felt sharp pain in both wrists and realised too late that his father was draining him of all blood, not just the little he sometimes had taken. As the last gasps of his breath were leaving his body, he looked upon his father and the look in his eye said it all. One day this ritual will be reversed, and I will be going to my final death at your hand my son.

After a time he became full kindred, he began to learn the full extend of the Blades ways. There were others of his line in and around London, in small pockets. Elsewhere in the country “families” served princes and senschals and the mighty covenants of the modern night. He undertook many tasks until he had his first sleep, for some fifty years.

He woke in the autumn of 1780 to find his father out of favour with the court. “You must leave now, and you must take my legacy with you. You must destroy me and consume my soul that you remember all of the gifts of our line”
He tried to cry, but he could not. For he had waited patiently for these gifts and the love that kindred share is but an echo, especially when in the husk of humanity that his line invariably became. As he drained the last drops from his father and he turned to ash, he felt a surge of incredible power and the calling of his blood anew. Time to make my peace with the courts of rural England.

After travelling and serving the various courts of middle England for over 100 years, he again slept. He had not built up the family in the traditional northmen way, and feeding was ever his problem. Eventually he returned to London to try and build what he could of his life.

In 2009, after his third long sleep, he awoke to discover London irrevocably changed. The court was still as pompous as ever, but no amount of pleading was enough to have him accepted as anything but a dog. Running for his life from the courtiers who now hunted him, he escaped north. Where would he go? He could not return to London again, he knew too many secrets of which the Higher ranks were only too keen to protect…


Keepin it in the family!

Good old fashioned hick shindig!



  • Otto and his "family" are redneck inbred pikeys
  • He throws himself into combat… literally.

Friends and Allies

Johan Von Straud seems to have adopted him out of some sense of compassion

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