Quinn

Pronouns: They/Them
Height: 5’10”
Build: Athletic
Eye Color: Brown
Hair Color: Black
Skin Color: Olive
Occupation: Survivor

Apparent Age: Mid 20s
Date of Birth: October 15, 1965
Date of Embrace: September 3, 1991

Sire: Unknown (believed destroyed during a Luxidine raid)
Childer: None

City Status: 3
City Title: Unknown

Clan: Gangrel
Bloodline: Mara
Clan Status: 3
Clan Title: Unknown

Covenant: Circle of the Crone
Covenant Title: Acolyte

Visible Effects:
Something about Quinn presses on the senses like waterlogged pressure — cold, quiet, and heavy. The air around them is never quite right: the temperature drops slightly, the humidity thickens, and a faint, briny scent clings to the edges of perception — sea salt, damp earth, and the memory of rotting lilies. Their skin glistens faintly, never dry, and their movements are too fluid, like someone who never fully left the pull of the tide.

Description:
Quinn is beauty twisted through quiet horror — unplaceable, unhurried, and perfectly at home in the deep. Their shoulder-length dark hair falls in wet strands that frame high cheekbones and deep-set, unreadable eyes. Their androgyny only deepens the sense that something about them is wrong in a way you can’t quite name — like a reflection just a few seconds out of sync. They often wear loose, open shirts in aquatic colours, barefoot even when they shouldn’t be, their clothes damp as if they just walked out of the surf.

They rarely blink. They smile often, but it never seems to reach their eyes.

Their voice is soft, slow, almost soothing — like water lapping at the edge of a grave.

Personality:
Quinn is a quiet predator — not out of malice, but instinct. Their Humanity has long since thinned into something tide-born and hungry. They’re not cruel; they’re just not tethered to guilt anymore. To them, drowning is an intimacy — a mercy, sometimes. They don’t speak much unless they’re sure it’s worth saying, and they rarely lie. What would be the point? Truth always floats back up.

They survived Miami by never stepping where Luxidine looked — and by ruining the places they did. Stories trickled through the currents of Hunters who dove too deep into the ocean looking for something. None came back. Some say Quinn sang them down. Others claim they called on things deeper than themselves. When asked, Quinn just says, “They weren’t welcome.”

Now in Savannah, they aren’t looking for friends or redemption — just stillness. And if the swamp can give them that, they’ll stay. But if Savannah turns its eyes the wrong way — it may just find them staring back.