Conquest Albion Elder NPCs
North Jarl
Thorin Odinson
Thorin Odinson, Jarl of the Northern Vale
In the year 1068 A.D., when the lands along the River Clyde are little more than fertile pasture and scattered timber halls, the name Thorin Odinson carries a quiet weight among those who walk the night roads of Alba. Once born a White Howler Kinfolk, of a hardy Pictish bloodline that had long guarded the wild hills and mist-shrouded forests of the north, Thorin’s life changed when he was drawn into the eternal night and reborn as a Gangrel Kindred. Though no longer counted among the wolf-blooded, the ancient instincts of the wild never left him.
Now known as Jarl of the Clyde Vale, Thorin rules from the shadows of the growing farming village that will one day be called Glasgow. In these early days, it is a place of wooden longhouses, muddy paths, and wide grazing fields where cattle and sheep outnumber men. Farmers speak of a towering, iron-haired lord who walks the hills at dusk, whose eyes gleam like those of a wolf in the moonlight. Among Kindred, he is respected and feared alike—a creature of storm and wilderness who keeps the peace between the night’s predators and the scattered folk of the land.
To the local,s he is little more than a whispered legend—the Wolf-Jarl of the Clyde, protector of the valley and silent ruler of the darkness that gathers beyond the village fires.
Latifundia of Exeter
Balthazar "White Snake"
Latifundia Balthazar the White Snake
The lands surrounding Exeter in 1068 AD are known quietly among those who understand the old ways as the Latifundia of Balthazar the White Snake. What once began as Roman agricultural estates has endured for nearly a thousand years under the hidden dominion of one master. Fields of barley, rye, and grazing sheep stretch across the rolling hills of Devon, dotted with farmsteads whose families have lived there for generations—many unknowingly descended from the same ancient patriarch.
At the center of this quiet dominion stands Balthazar, the Brujah Kindred known as the White Snake, half Roman and half Briton, born when the legions still marched the roads of Isca Dumnoniorum. In the year 1068, he rules Exeter absolutely, though few mortals would dare say so aloud. Merchants, reeves, and village elders all answer, knowingly or not, to his will. His authority flows through bloodlines, debts, and whispered loyalty that has endured across centuries.
When Balthazar walks among his people, he still appears as the warrior he once was in Rome’s service. His long white hair falls over a cloak clasped with ancient bronze, and beneath it, he wears armor and a tunic styled after the legionaries of old. His posture is straight as a spear, his gaze cold and calculating, like a general surveying lands that have belonged to him longer than any king has ruled England.
To the people of Devon, he is a distant lord whose name passes through rumor and legend. To the Kindred and the Garou who know the deeper truths of the land, he is something far more enduring:
The last Roman master of Exeter, whose empire never truly fell.
Vavasseur
Isabelle Lamar
The Vavasseur, Isabelle Lamar, is an Elder of Clan Toreador whose mortal life began in the fading centuries of Roman Gaul during the 5th century. Embraced amid the collapse of the old world and the birth of the Frankish kingdoms, she learned early that beauty, influence, and subtle cruelty could shape history as surely as any sword. Across centuries, she cultivated courts, poets, and princes, weaving herself into the quiet machinery of power that moved through Francia. Swift as a striking falcon and possessed of a voice that bends the will of lesser minds, Isabelle is renowned for her mastery of supernatural speed and the delicate art of manipulation.
Now, in the year 1068 AD, she has crossed the Channel with the Norman tide that followed William of Normandy, seeing in the conquest of England an opportunity to claim a new jewel for her long unlife. While Norman lords carve lands with steel and fire, Isabelle claims territory with elegance and whispered command. On the western edge of London, her loyal ghouls labor day and night raising a grand stone residence that will serve as both salon and sanctuary. From this new court, she intends to shape the culture, politics, and nightly intrigues of the city—one conversation, one favor, and one carefully broken heart at a time, until Avalon itself bends to the will of the Norman Kindred.
Lord of London
Savoy of Etruria
Savoy of London is among the most enigmatic of Avalon’s hidden rulers, a Ventrue elder whose blood ties reach directly to Mithras himself, the ancient God-King of the Kindred of Britain. Whispered by some to be Mithras’ first and most favored childe—and more than merely a servant, but a lover and confidant—Savoy has endured through centuries as the quiet architect of London’s nocturnal order. Tall, pale, and composed with the calm of a Roman magistrate, he carries himself not as a conqueror but as a keeper of the world’s memory.
In life he was a master scribe and archivist in the Roman administration of Londinium, and undeath only deepened that obsession. Beneath London lie his hidden vaults of parchment and bone ink, where Savoy has recorded the births, lineages, and deaths of countless thousands of mortals across centuries. These records are not merely administrative curiosities—they are the threads of power he weaves to control the city’s future.
Yet Savoy’s methods have grown stranger with age. Known among the Kindred as “the Listener at the Grave,” he has developed an unsettling habit of seeking knowledge from those who have only just passed from the world. By means subtle and half-forbidden, he communes with the recently dead—spirits lingering near their bodies or shadows drifting in the unseen veil. From them he gathers truths that the living would never have spoken.
Many Kindred whisper that Savoy’s practices stray dangerously close to necromancy, though he claims it is merely scholarship taken to its natural end. Whether priest, archivist, or quiet sorcerer of memory, Savoy remains the unseen lord of London, preserving the past so that he may forever command the future.
Avalon's Kindred of 1068 AD
​
In the year 1068 AD, two winters after the Norman Conquest shattered the rule of Saxon kings, the nights of Avalon—England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland—remain under the shadowed dominion of far older rulers than any mortal crown. Beneath the feasting halls of Norman lords, behind monastery walls, and in the deep forests where wolves still roam, the Kindred of Avalon maintain a hidden sovereignty older than William’s claim and far more patient than mortal kingdoms.
​
These rulers are not a court that gathers in a single hall, nor a council recorded in parchment. They are known in whispers among the Damned as The Elders of the Veiled Crown, thirteen ancient Kindred who have shaped the fate of the Isles for centuries. Some are warriors from Rome’s long shadow, others born of Saxon blood or the wild tribes of the north. Each holds dominion over lands that mortals believe are ruled by earls, jarls, or bishops.
​
Foremost among them in the north is Thorin Odinson, the Gangrel Jarl of the Highlands. Once tied to the fierce bloodlines of the White Howler kinfolk before the world changed him forever, Thorin rules the rugged lands that will one day become Scotland. His domain is not built upon castles but upon loyalty from scattered clans and shepherd villages. Wolves answer his call, and even other Kindred tread lightly in the shadow of the northern mountains where he hunts.
​
To the southwest lies the ancient Roman city once called Isca Dumnoniorum, now known as Exeter. There reigns Balthazar the White Snake, a Brujah elder whose bloodline spreads through the very people of the land. Born of Roman nobility and Briton blood, Balthazar has ruled the region since the Empire still held Britain. Merchants, thieves, soldiers, and farmers alike unknowingly carry fragments of his legacy. In Exeter, the strange peace between Garou and Kindred is no accident—it is the design of the White Snake, whose lightning-tempered wrath keeps both sides cautious.
​
At the heart of Avalon stands Savoy of London, a calculating elder of Clan Ventrue. London in 1068 is a city still scarred by conquest, its Saxon lords displaced by Norman knights. Yet Savoy endures through every change of crown. From hidden chambers beneath Roman stone and timbered Saxon halls, he guides the city’s trade, crime, and influence. Norman conquerors believe they rule the city by day; by night, Savoy moves them like pieces on a board.
​
Beyond these three stand ten other elders, each commanding a corner of the Isles. Some rule coastal ports where Viking blood still runs strong. Others command ancient Welsh valleys where Roman roads have crumbled into forest paths. One watches over the sacred hills of Ireland, where spirits older than Christ still whisper. Another dwells in the shadow of Stonehenge, guarding secrets tied to powers that even the Kindred fear to disturb.
​
Together, they form an unspoken balance of power. None wears a crown, yet all are kings and queens of the night.
Their greatest threat now is not each other, but the Norman Kindred who crossed the Channel with William the Conqueror. These foreign Cainites believe Avalon is ripe for conquest, just as the mortal kingdom was. They see opportunity where the Elders see legacy.
​
But Avalon is not easily taken.
For more than a thousand years, these thirteen elders have shaped the fate of the Isles from the shadows. Empires have risen and fallen while they endured. Roman legions came and left. Saxon kingdoms rose and shattered. Viking longships burned the coasts.
And still the hidden rulers of Avalon remain.
The Normans may have conquered England.
But the night belongs to the Elders who were already there.