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"Still, so still, in the city tonight, twelve o'clock tick-tock when all that is good slinks away like a beaten dog and the black black shadows are alive with the dead, twisted poetry in broken english, flesh and blood and staring faces..."

Beneath the feral mystery of the Brujah clan lies a basic desire to annihilate, to consume. Long before their mortal blood has soured, a Brujah member will experience the feverish rage of their kinsmen. While stumbling through grueling rivers of hastily shed blood, a young vampire will mature into an elder with considerably more patience and experience.
For the Brujah, the draw of supple, giving flesh cannot be pacified. You can't possibly understand or put effectively into words what it is like, unless you are a Brujah. Without warning we can become savage, unthinking predators and we will end up on your doorstep.
Have you ever experienced the gratification, the orgasmic rush of ripping an enemy apart piece by piece? Of holding his moist pulsing heart in the palm of your hand? The look of stark pain, numbing fear moments before the merciful death invoke a mad fever of blind rage beyond mortal comprehension? So get the f**ck off my page.
The Brujah as an individual is a complex, impetuous being. With their scathing passion and rigid pride, they make a formidable enemy. Anger blazes beneath the surface of a deceiving calm making it difficult to gage their mood. Exploding with rage, a Brujah becomes a dangerous weapon seeking an unlucky target.
Despite our fickle nature, a brother holds the Brujah clan sacred and will fiercly protect it. This feeling of brotherhood draws the clan together effectively intimidating many other clans.
Many consider our infamous rage a downfall. What is so bad about instictive territorializm? It keeps outsiders where they belong and serves as a tie that binds the members together into one large, voracious monster preying on the weak and ignorant. So beware, ignorance may land you into the hands of a pale-skinned, bad-assed killer.

A few words from
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