The city sleeps while monsters walk among the shadows. Politics, blood, secrets, and betrayal - this is the domain of the Kindred. Choose your clan. Claim your territory. Hide your sins. But above all... obey the Masquerade.

The city remembers blood like it remembers rain.

The cracks in the pavement hold stories they’d rather forget. Ashes in alleyways. Screams swallowed by broken windows. Names never carved in stone.

There was a time when the Kindred ruled from penthouses and old churches, fighting over boardrooms and back alleys. The Camarilla dressed it up like a masquerade, but everyone knew it was war behind a velvet curtain. Then came the Sabbat — all fire and fury, no masks, just knives and teeth and dogma. They burned the stage. Tore down the curtain. Left the city bleeding.

And now?

Now the dust has settled. The city limps on, half-alive, half-dead — just the way we like it. Some of us never left. Some crawled back from sewers and shadows. And some? Some still haunt the ruins, hungry for the next act.

You’re new. You don’t smell like smoke yet.

But don’t worry — this place will burn again.

It always does.

Now listen close. There's a guy they call Sketch...