The Turncoat
IC Information
Full Name: Constance Wellard
Gender: Female
Clan: Lasombra antitribu
Generation: 9th
Nature: Revolutionary
Demeanor: Critic
Height: 5’5”
Weight: 110 lbs.
Hair: Blonde, for the moment
Eyes: Brown
Birthday: January 19, 1759
Apparent Age: Late teens/early twenties
OOC Information
Theme Song:
Quote: Unknown
Status: Unknown
Player: SammyJ.


Constance is... cold. In the demeanor sense, not the temperature sense. She tends to have a snippy comment, if she comments at all, and a sideways look for most things and people. Closed off and untrusting, she isn’t one for making /friends/, perse. Acquaintance is probably as warm a connection as she feels, although she does seem to be able to inspire warmer ones in others. At least in her performer’s persona, anyway.

She’s a little paranoid. Or a lot. Although, she would argue that it doesn’t count as paranoia, since they really /are/ after her. So there is a suspicious nature about her. She tends not to be terribly revealing, nor is she very charming on a person to person level. It’s a good thing her audiences don’t have to talk to her all that much. She does have some stage presence, though, in an angry sort of way.



Strength: 3, Dexterity: 3, Stamina: 2

Charisma: 1, Manipulation: 3, Appearance: 2

Perception: 4, Intelligence: 3, Wits: 3

Perception Specialty: Keen-Eyed

Blood Pool: 14, 2/turn

Willpower: 5

Humanity: 5


Talents: Athletics 3, Dodge 4, Insight 2, Subterfuge 4, Vigilance 2

Dodge Specialty: Sidestepping
Subterfuge Specialty: Masquerade

Skills: Melee (Swords) 4, Marksmanship (Pistols) 4, Performance (Singing) 4, Etiquette 2

Performance Specialty: Stage Presence
Melee Specialty: Finesse
Marksmanship Specialty: Quick Draw

Knowledges: Academics (History) 3, Linguistics (Spanish, French) 2, Science (Meteorology, Astronomy) 1


She's a staple around the local nightclubs, known as a rather talented singer. She tends toward the louder, angrier sounding music, and is known to be somewhat reclusive.
Her Toreador ally, Dimitri Cotard. He was the main force behind her getting in good with the Camarilla and the two have developed a mutually beneficial business relationship. Loyalty is there, but not really friendship. He /is/, however, one of the few men she'll be in a room alone with. Provided he's on the other /side/ of the room. And there's a table between them. A big table.
Malachai is no slouch, but one of the older vampires and more powerful, so when he sires someone, he means business.
Her current grouping of willing victims is a group of girls who first fell in love with her music, then her bite. They... might be a little kinky.
Most of this is not liquid funds, but is in the form of art and artifacts from various historical periods. Over the centuries, these items have been well taken care of, and are tapped into for cash as needed. Which she avoids if at all possible. That which /is/ liquid is from her actual jobs and savings from her various identities and so on over the years.
The nightclub scene is her favored arena, and her biggest contact there in is the owner/manager of Tantra, a popular nightclub in the city. Gloria Reyes.




Her stubbornness has been present even before she was turned. It was this determination that spurred her on in those early days and carried her through the tragedies that followed. Oh, and through that whole turncoat thing.
Even since her Embrace, she’s always managed to be a little more alive seeming than her fellows. Just like her Sire.
Call it a side effect of the paranoia. Ever since she turned on the Sabbat, she’s been far more quick to wakefulness at the drop of a pin.


Malachai Steward, Lasombra Vampire and one of the more powerful Sabbat. And ruthless. And tricksy. He enjoys taking up positions in the church and attacking humanity’s belief systems that way. This is not restricted to the Catholic Church, but he poses there most often.
  • Phobia 2 (being alone with men)
When she was posing as a boy and thrust into the Royal Navy, she had a months long experience with the worst sort of men. It’s influenced her view of the entire sex since then, and none have seemed able to restore her faith in the gender. In fact, several have made it worse. So bad, she is still, to this day, afraid of being alone with them.


  • Attr: (7/5/3) (MPS)
  • Abil: (13/9/5) (TSK)
  • Freebies (45 + 6 flaws) 51: 2 on Blush of Health, 3 on Iron Will, 1 to Herd, 4 to Resources, 7 on Obtenebration, 14 on Celerity, 2 on Dodge, 2 on Performance, 4 on Melee, 4 on Firearms, 2 on Subterfuge, 2 on Light Sleeper, 1 on Humanity, 2 on Science, 1 on Contacts

Clan WeaknessEdit

The Lasombra are the origin of the myth that vampires have no reflections. They do not appear in mirrors or photographs, security cameras do not register them, etc. Additionally, due to their penchant for darkness, Lasombra take an extra level of damage from sunlight.


I am a gentleman’s daughter. In the day and age when that sort of thing mattered, it meant I didn’t have much to do beyond fret about clothes, gossip and learn embroidery or other equally as feminine tasks while I waited around for someone to come along and marry me. My father had a... sizeable fortune and estate to match, and it was left to him in such a way that it could only be passed to /male/ relatives. My hand was eagerly sought for the wealth that came along with it, but my cousin, my father’s closest male relative, had a vested interest in keeping me /un/married, as he stood to inherit if I remained so. He was the first to teach me about man’s affinity for subterfuge.

I was not yet of marrying age, so /inquiries/ as to seeing me betrothed were premature. And yet, still a threat to my cousin’s promised fortune. Men were driven away, letters diverted, and as my father took ill, my cousin took over the so-called fatherly duties. Until the day he died. My father, that is, not my cousin. At first, I thought he was going to let me stay, as weeks passed without him mentioning a word. But no, he turned me out and never looked my way again. And a young girl, unmarried, in England in those days? Her options were... limited.

Annabel Barclay was put away and Matthew Finch was born. A young man traveling to seek an education in the church, perhaps gain a parish one day. I was taken in by Father Lexington and set in front of books. I took to languages quite well. However... it wasn’t long before it was clear I wasn’t cut out for the church. But, Father Lexington quite liked young Matthew, and wrote a letter or recommendation to a good friend of his in the Royal Navy and I was suddenly a Midshipman on the frigate ‘Reformation’. It... wasn’t what I had planned, but I made the best of it. Matthew was known to be... reclusive and surly and too old to be just starting out and didn’t spend much time with his shipmates in a friendly way. Just worked. I wasn’t liked, but I learned the pistol and sword quickly enough to be useful in the fighting – we were at war, you see, with the Colonists – and suffered their ridicule easily when I stumbled on the more nautical knowledge. Not to mention, those languages certainly came in handy.

I was careful about not being seen without clothes. I changed alone, I washed alone, I did everything I could manage doing alone. They relied on me, trusted me to do my duty to King and Country and Ship. And I did. I was a good sailor. Distinguished, even, as much as a Midshipman can be.

When they found me, those five men I bunked nearest to, things changed. A woman aboard a ship out at sea, not seeing another for months on end, with a rather large secret to keep... she found herself often at the mercy of cruel minds. And bodies. I don’t think I have to describe in detail what they demanded for their silence, or how often they demanded it. I’m not sure what the captain would have done with me, if he had known. Maybe he would have had me killed. Maybe he would have protected me. Maybe he would have done the same as those men. But I didn’t risk him finding out.

The only joy I took in those months was that of revenge. For each time they pushed, I pushed back. Fires started in the galley under their watch, their ropework was shoddy, and their cannons were left loose. They were whipped and punished and run ragged by the captain, and I took my pleasure there. It only made them rougher on me, but then I was rougher on /them/. It was not a pleasant voyage. To this day, so /very/ long after, I still-

When we reached the shores of what we now call America, in the heat of battle... I deserted. It couldn’t have been long before others found out, before I was booted out in whatever fashion the authorities decided. So I left. Matthew Finch, deserter. Moriah Adams, innocent female whose mother died at the hands of savages and whose father died in battle. And she was so haggard and so pitiful looking... and she, too, found refuge in the church.

Sadly, Moriah was too embittered even for the gentle souls of faith to soothe her. And, in truth... I hadn’t explained what happened, so their comfort was of the wrong sort. Until... Malachai. Bishop Steward. He was... cold. And there was something vindictive about him that I saw, even if they others did not. My ongoing education as to man’s subterfuge was, perhaps, brought to its peak in Malachai.

I feared him, ran from him, skittered away when he drew near. But they all seemed to think him the man who could cure me of my... grief. It was years before he actually got me alone. He spoke to me of eternal life, as so many had over the years. But something in the way he said it was different. It was as if, before him, I had been looking at a painting and then suddenly was looking at the walking, talking subject of that painting. Like he... had /experienced/ that eternal life, or glimpsed it, while the others were speaking of something... mythical. They believed, but it was beyond their comprehension. He believed in it as he believed in the ground he walked on.

I believed in him. Fucking bastard.

He was not the Savior he led me to believe he was. His eternal life... oh, it had been /real/, certainly, but it cut me off from ever seeing that more mythical version. Oh, I was... the soul of anger. Granted, there were parts that felt... exquisite, but they were fleeting, and there I stood, betrayed and misled by /another/ /man/.

At least he watched over me, for a time. Guided that anger. We were Lasombra and Sabbat and we ushered the humans to their own destruction through the manipulation of their church. Their beliefs. Their God. Back then, people had so much more faith in the Church. That they don’t now, to the same degree was, is, our pride. I learned from him, not just then but often over the years, when he and I would reconnect. He was always a bastard about it. I never trusted him again, never trusted any man again.

Our fellow Sabbat were (... /are/ ...) uncouth ruffians. They were bloody and ruthless and /messy/. I may have agreed with their philosophy, but I did not agree with their methods. Never sat well with me. Every time it became too much, I would sleep for a time. Often, for a long time. It was all very frustrating. Let us have our open war, but let us be /intelligent/ about it, shall we?

I won’t bore you with every alias, every job, every deception, but suffice to say... there have been many. When you consistently looked roughly twenty years of age everywhere, you couldn’t keep in one place for long before people would start to comment about your lack of aging. Not that they jumped straight to ‘Oh, she must be a vampire’, but it was just best not to set people to wondering.

I spent a lot of my time performing in some fashion or another, and putting the skills I learned in His Majesty’s Royal Navy to use. Sword play, pistols, general nautical endeavors. I saw three turns of the century. People were always so excited about those. And their discoveries. Electricity was quite stunning. Of course, now it’s mundane. Such is life.

There have been a few times that were my favorite. The ‘old west’ as they call it now, was quite exciting. Eveline Olinger was known as the Widowmaker. She was a gunslinger, and a damn good one, if I do say so myself. There was a thrill to that time. Things were freer. You solved your problems yourself without much worry about the law or the media or any such thing. And, I dare say, my Wanted posters were rather flattering. But, it was one of my shorter lives. When your face and name are known as well and as quickly as Eveline’s were... it means you go to sleep much sooner. Now, I try to be more unassuming than that or hermetic. It is, sometimes, difficult.

The only life that was shorter than that was Heather Elwood, nanny to six children of a wealthy family at the turn over from the 1800’s to the 1900’s. ... I will never work with children again. Little beasts.

World War II. World War II was, oddly enough, a rather pleasant time for me. Although, I did spend a lot of it entertaining the troops, I never actually had to interact closely with them. I observed them from afar, they observed me from afar. But after a few years, I settled in a little town and taught. No children below the age of fourteen, though.

I had been in touch with my sire, here and there. He and I used to help one another. We both had the foresight of keeping stray items and clothes and knickknacks and such from the various periods in history. They’d been a great help in the financial side of things. We’d trade off, one person looking after the items as the other went to sleep, the new person being the official owner of said wealth until we switched off again. I was looking forward to another turn as a singer-for-hire, but that wasn’t /all/ I got when I woke up this time.

In 1979, I took over the job of guarding and using those items to the benefit of all. And... that was the last time the switch happened. He went to sleep in the early eighties and I... turned. On the Sabbat. And him. And took my portion of everything. In the modern age, they hadn't learned any propriety at all. And they’d become much pushier. They were once content to let me sit in the shadows and scheme, but they no longer were so. Perhaps they suspected my malcontent. Perhaps Malachai told them to push me harder. Perhaps I was just too soft for them. They pushed for more violence from me, not bloodshed, and less /sense/. I waged my war against humanity, but in my own fashion. But they wanted... Results. Blood splattered on the walls of the scene of some baffling murder for the authorities to puzzle over. Why would I draw such needless attention?

Perhaps I never was meant to fit in. After all, I became what I am under false pretenses, and perhaps that is why I preferred to use false pretense as my weapon. Either way... I fed some information of the location of some of the more powerful among the Sabbat to some Camarilla, and some vampires were killed in their beds. Or coffins, as it were. They failed to kill Malachai properly and only served to wake him up and leave him angry. I can’t help but think this was their way of making sure I’d die, too. Can’t trust a turncoat, you know. But I worked, and still work, on proving myself.

Needless to say, there are now a number of Sabbat who are quite angry with me. Most don’t know /why/ or /how/ I played Benedict Arnold to them, but they know I’m not among them now, and some even know I’ve changed sides. Malachai knows. I do my best to evade him, going places I know he’d never step, relying mostly on myself, and switching lives like they’re going out of style. I’ve had my fun in these years, sure, but never without the thin overlay of paranoia. Sometimes thick. Sometimes suffocating.

It’s been... twenty years now, with the Camarilla, but twenty years to an immortal being? I find that many still look at me sideways and dance around their words. That’s alright, as I find the only person to truly trust is yourself, after all. Not that I haven't proven my place among them. I've cleaned up messes and kept the masquerade, as it were. I've tipped them off. I've even saved a few here or there.

But the real driving force behind my acceptance has been Dimitri Cotard. Toreador. I got his attention by dangling some rare bit of art in front of him. Rococo, that first one was. And it gained his favor and his favors. This loyalty now continues to grow out of a few favors traded back and forth. He calls it, ever so glibly, our Friendship Tab. Me? I just call it a mutually beneficial business arrangement. But he gets to drool over my collection and sometimes gets to take a piece home, and in return, he points me toward situations I can use to gain more trust in the sect. So far, it's worked out fine.

I’ve just resettled myself as a nightclub singer in this town, Crystal Springs. It’s my newest ‘he’ll never find me here’ location. When he does, I’ll have to look for another. Or find a way to finally kill him.


Past Public AliasesEdit

  • Annabel Barclay – Birth name, England 1759 - 1774
  • Matthew Finch – Male alias in British Navy, England 1774 - 1775
  • Moriah Adams – American alias during Revolutionary War days and years following, New York 1775 - 1782
  • Victoria Pellew – Traveling performance troupe alias, East Coast United States 1782 – 1794
  • Elizabeth Lawrence – Timid wife to a dying Aristocrat. Philadelphia 1794 – 1804
  • Eveline Olinger – (In)Famous Gunslinger, New Mexico/Arizona 1846 – 1850
  • Heather Elwood – Nanny, California 1899 – 1900
  • Lucy Morris – USO singer, varied locations 1940 – 1949
  • Leona Samons – School teacher, Oregon 1949 – 1955
  • Laurel Rios – Fencing instructor, North Carolina 1979 – 1985
  • Carman Tabares – Underground singing sensation, California 1985 – 1990
  • Sabrina Ebbert – Private school teacher (French), Kansas 1990 – 1997
  • Amber Paulson – Shipyard Manager, Texas 1997 – 2003
  • Kelly Carter – Firearms instructor (safety and usage), Nevada 2003 – 2008
  • Constance Wellard – Working the nightclub circuit as a singer, Crystal Springs, CO 2008 – Current


1779 – 1804 - 25 years active
1846 – 1850 – 4 years active
1899 – 1900 – 9 months active
1940 – 1955 – 15 years active
1979 – present – 30 years active
74 years active


Purely for fun. XD