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12/06/2026 11:29 am
Before the Embrace of Talbot Klann
Born August 2, 1940 in the Republic of Ireland, County Clare, town of Ennis.
His biological father was a German who had married a young Irish woman before World War
II—a man who chose sides that didn’t belong to him. He aided the Irish Republican Army (IRA)
against the British. Talbot’s father died shortly after the war ended, under unclear circumstances.
In the early 1950s, Talbot would get ‘runner’ messenger jobs because of his father’s connections
with the IRA. His mother would not allow guns in the house. Talbot heard rumors of his father
suppling guns to the IRA during the war years. As a result, Talbot had to learn how to
bareknuckle brawl and use a blade or cudgel. By his mid-teens, his mother no longer felt
comfortable dealing with her deceased German husband’s legacy. She also feared for Talbot’s
involvement with the IRA and how the British were placing the Irish in internment without trial.
She relocated to New York, USA. They settled in Washington Heights, NYC. The area, at the
time, had a middle-class neighborhood with many Irish and Eastern European immigrants.
Talbot’s mother met an Irish-American and remarried. That relationship produced a step-sister,
Molly O'Connor, in 1960, 20 years to the day of his birth. Throughout the 1960s and 1970s,
many white residents left the neighborhood for nearby suburbs as the Latino populations
increased. Early in the 1960s, his Step-father moved the family to Rockaway Park, a
neighborhood in the New York City borough of Queens.
The age difference between Molly, Talbot, and his mother caused minor problems. Was Molly
really an ‘oops-baby’ or where they covering for Talbot and a bastard child. Both his Step-father
and mother worked. Talbot spent a lot of time caring for Molly, adding to the speculation.
Talbot’s evenings out would sometimes lead to physical altercations as he was bullied as a
bastard daddy. As a matter of course, he also would stick up for women being inappropriately
approached by intoxicated men. Talbot’s ability to hold his own in a fight got the attention of the
local Italian crime families. While Talbot would occasionally help out, he never really was
employed or indebted to anyone. He was never arrested or detained regarding either his fighting
or his associations.
With the attention Talbot gave Molly, she was almost his daughter. She looked up to him more
than her father. Molly and Talbot celebrated their last birthday together in August of 1969.
Less than two weeks later, Talbot would argue with his mother about attending the Woodstock
Music Festival. Talbot left the house with a small packed bag, boarded a local train, and
vanished from their lives.
After the Embrace of Talbot Klann
In some storm cellar in Mid-August 1969, Talbot Klann found himself undead and possibly a
Vampire. A strange woman told him to survive the winter – he did not truly understand what she
meant. A mangy, wolf-like figure told him, “. . . you are nothing. Become something.”
Yes, he had become something. Something he did not know what. The body of his first victim
was in the room with him. He was alone. He was sad.
He finally figured out how to conceal the body so that no one would discover it. He little original
cash, but found cash and a few valuables on the victim.
He had to learn his physical limits – staying out of the sun, the need to feed, the need for a safe
‘resting’ environment. He struggled with these things in the beginning. He felt guilty initially
feeding off unsuspecting females. Initial contacts not going well. Seemed he had to escape too
often.
He cleaned himself up and learned to persuade partners to share their blood. He became fairly
successful.
He had survived a winter. That first winter was a true struggle. Late that winter, in the lesser
traveled areas of the Catskill mountains he stumbled across a Vietnam veteran, Joseph Danforth.
Joe was a little crazy. Hated the system and wanted, above all, to stay undetected from the
government. Stay off the grid. Living in caves and abandoned rotting farm houses.
Joe helped Talbot do the same. Initially Talbot did not realize Joe was a Kindred, but Joe must
have known from the first meeting. Joe would guide Talbot, but not always help. Staying off the
grid meant minimizing your contact with others. But his guidance helped Talbot survive that first
winter.
Only working nights, Talbot was able to gain some cash and trust from the locals. He would help
by keeping watch for night predators on local farms. During these times he learned he could even
communicate with some of them. Sometimes even gaining enough trust for the animal to
‘appear’ on a farm, have the farmer get Talbot’s assistance, and Talbot reward the animal.
Eventually this routine left Talbot feeling isolated. Spring and summer in the New York Catskill
mountain area was still bringing in tourists. Many of them New York City Jews. Large resorts
embedded in the woodland. The area was known as the Borscht Belt.
Borscht is a sour soup, made with meat stock, vegetables and seasonings. Food! Vacationing
people = food.
Talbot began infiltrating the various resorts. Sometimes even gaining nighttime employment.
Especially jobs aimed at keeping wild animals away from the guests and buildings.
This was a rich environment for young Jewish females reaching out for a secret summer fling.
Especially an attractive, well build Irish Catholic boy. A secret they must keep from their very
conservative families. The occasional male, Jewish and others, needed to keep secrets too.
Talbot’s knowledge of the German language helped with some of the Yiddish.
Talbot would occasionally travel back to New York City. He would secretly check in on his step-
sister and mother. Winter was particularly convenient as most people were inside and the dark
hours were longer.
While the Borscht Belt was already declining in the 1960s, there were still plenty of resorts or
specialty locations to find consensual companions. By the 1980s it was the resort era was clearly
ending. Some of the hotels had been converted into rehab centers, meditation centers or
Orthodox Jewish hotels and resorts. These centers were now fenced in, gated communities.
Keeping to their own, there was very little demand for a handsome Irish Catholic boy.
By the 1980s, Talbot had to move on. He looked to relocate back to New York City, plenty of
people there. He aimed for Washington Heights, but it was severely affected by the crack-
cocaine epidemic, as was the rest of New York City. Washington Heights had become one of the
largest drug distribution centers in the Northeastern United States.
Name dropping old Irish locals, Talbot posed as a nephew, cousin, or former co-worker, etc.
After searching for a place he could blend in and find food, he found a place on West 153 rd
Street, just out of Washington Heights, one block into Hamilton Heights. A small framed house
was stood directly across from the Trinity Church Cemetery and Mausoleum. This Cemetery and
Mausoleum is the burial place of notable people including John James Audubon, John Jacob
Astor IV, Mayor Edward I. Koch, Governor John Adams Dix, Ralph Ellison, and Eliza Jumel.
Moving in and establishing a residence while only active at night proved difficult. Talbot spent
sometime establishing himself a ‘protector’ of the neighborhood. During the 1980s, this also
meant dealing with local gangs. There was an unspoken agreement: you don’t bother me, I don’t
bother you. It was difficult, but eventually an agreement that West 153 rd Street all along the
cemetery was a safe zone. Various Latino and Dominican gangs had names for the night
‘guardian’ but related it to some deal with the church.
Talbot earned money and favors from the neighborhood to setup his house. Day-laborers
completed the work under the supervision of a women who would became a tenant in Talbot’s
house. In the beginning, Talbot befriended a South American woman by giving her a place to
live without questions as long as she asked no questions and kept visitors to a bare minimum.
The first floor became a apartment. The upper floors were Talbot’s. Over time, the first woman,
led to another, and then another. They all had something in common, mystic arts. Some practiced
Ayahuasca Shamanism from Peru/Amazonia. Current house keeper is an Ecuadorian female in
her 50s, Jeany Espinoza. (Game Concept: she is seen as a “crazy” mystic by the local Latino and
Dominican communities—someone not to be messed with. Sometimes they fear her more than
him.)
As NYC’s drug culture evolved, various types of clinics emerged in the city. Talbot learned the
skills needed and got a job as a Phlebotomist. Keeping jobs long enough at various locations
throughout the city to establish a source, pool, of candidates for a consensual encounter.
The 1970s-90s saw the rise of a distinct "vampire community" characterized by fashion, role-
playing, and, for some, the consensual, symbolic or, rarely, actual consumption of blood or
energy, often closely bonded with "blood donors". NYC had a highly rated vampire subculture.
Especially Madame X in Greenwich Village. It is known as a romantic, intimate, and moody
goth lounge with two floors and secret spots. NYC still has a strong vampire subculture.
During these years Talbot would occasionally return to the Catskill to catchup with Joe Danforth.
He continued to ‘police’ his neighborhood, maintaining ties with the local gangs, though they
were more sophisticated now. As always, he would randomly check on Molly O’Connor, now
Molly Gallagher of Bayside Queens. As the years progressed, Talbot also looked in on Molly’s
children, now adults themselves.
Topic starter
12/06/2026 11:38 am
The Embrace of Talbot Klann
Well, I came upon a child of God
He was walking along the road
And I asked him,Tell me, where are you going?
And this he told me
Said, I’m going down to Yasgurs Farm
Gonna join in a rock & roll band
Got to get back to the land
Set my soul free
Talbot Klann moved with the crowd, just another figure in the slow, human river flowing toward
the Woodstock Festival. His steps were steady, unhurried, as if he had already accepted that time
had loosened its grip out here on this rural road. Cars sat abandoned on both sides—doors open,
trunks lifted, engines silent—left behind like relics of a plan that no longer mattered.
He kept his eyes forward, though something was always pulling his attention sideways. A group
perched on the hood of a faded car, laughing like they’d known each other forever. A barefoot
girl weaving effortlessly between people. Someone strumming a guitar somewhere behind him,
the sound rising and falling with the movement of the crowd.
The strap of his bag pressed against his shoulder, damp with sweat, but he didn’t adjust it. He
seemed almost grounded by it, like it was the only thing that belonged solely to him in a moment
that felt shared by thousands. Around him, strangers brushed past without apology, yet there was
no tension—only a quiet understanding that they were all headed to the same place.
He glanced up the road. It stretched endlessly, a dense line of people and cars dissolving into the
distance. There was no clear destination in sight, —no stage, no music—just the promise of it
somewhere ahead.
Still, he walked.
There was something unspoken guiding him forward, something bigger than curiosity or even
the music itself. It was in the way no one turned back, in the way the crowd breathes as one
organism, moving with purpose but without urgency.
And as he disappeared deeper into the mass of people, he was no longer just a man walking
down a road—he became part of the moment, part of the story that was unfolding step by step
around him.
Before the weekend of love and music ended, the child of God would become a Gangrel Childe
losing his mortal soul. Step by clumsy step Talbot became part of a new existence that would
take a long time to learn and understand.
This changed his life – or death – forever. Talbot could not recall her name but otherwise
remembered her well. Her fingers were long and looked as if they had an extra knuckle. Her nose
was short and blunt. He believes one of her ears was pointed and the other marred. And her
eyes—he is certain of this—caught the light wrong. Now and then, they flashed with a faint,
impossible red.
Don’t go around tonight
Well it’s bound to take your life
There’s a bad moon on the rise
“C.C.R.?” she said in a soft tone, a cross between Midwestern and old New York City.
“Ah, grand so, Creedence Clearwater Revival.” Talbot raised his voice over the music. His Irish
accent slips through easily. It’s past midnight. The air is damp, cold enough to bite through his
rain-soaked clothes. He turns toward her and feels a chill that has nothing to do with the weather.
Her outfit is a patchwork—denim, cheap leather, worn T-shirts layered without care or pattern.
“Irish?” Her voice was almost commanding. “Where are you from there – laddie?”
“Washington Heights, upper Manhattan, ya know, New York . . .”
“Yes, yes, New York City.” She cuts him off, dismissive. Her voice doesn’t quite belong
anywhere.
“Aye.”
“Where, where in Ireland?” She challenged.
“Is as Contae an Chláir, Inis, Talbot answered.
“A Wise Acre, I see.” Her eyes shimmered red for a moment. “Now, in the Queen’s English.”
Talbot gave a stern hard glare in return.
Sarcastically, “Oh pardon me, good sir, in AMERICAN English.”
He relents, just slightly. “I am from County Clare, Ennis. And you?”
“Originally, New York City. Wandered a bit since.” She implied travels far beyond what her
apparent age would suggest.
She studies him openly now. “Irish . . . Catholic, I presume.” Talbot nodded.
Talbot’s new acquaintance began the small talk. She said she had observed him shielding some
female festivalgoers from overly aggressive men. In a complimentary manner, she spoke of his
imposing height and how he de-escalated a potentially unpleasant encounter. She continued with
flattering remarks. In the spirit of peace, love, and music consuming the event, Talbot soon
realized the depth of her flirtation.
“You stepped in.” Her tone carries approval, but something else beneath it—assessment. “Didn’t
hesitate. Most men do.”
He shrugs. “Didn’t seem right, is all.”
“No,” she says softly. “It didn’t.”
“I put a spell on you because you’re mine. You better stop the things that you do
I ain’t lyin, no, I ain’t lyin”
The music continued. The banter continued. She asked him questions about his convictions and
temperament. In time, Talbot revealed he understood the fringes of society; his natural father was
a German who had married an Irishwoman before World War II. A man who chose sides that
didn’t belong to him. He aided the Irish Republican Army against the British. Talbot’s father
died shortly the war ended, under unclear circumstances.
She continued to press Talbot for personal details. He felt a pull to tell her things he normally
would not share with a one-night acquaintance. He told her he was willing to travel at night or
walk through danger, confident he could handle himself. He spoke of arguing with his mother
about attending Woodstock and leaving anyway, no clear of how he would get there. This
revealed he traveled alone, with no one at home knowing where he had gone. A perfect candidate
for the Gangrel Embrace of mortals who display immense, fierce survival instincts. Sires
prioritize grit, wanderlust, and courage over pedigree, creating a new vampire who is then often
left to fend for themselves to ensure they are tough enough for the unlife.
The music continued.
You know the nighttime (whoa-do-de), oh, is the right time (whoa-do-de)
To be (whoa-do-de), with the one you love (whoa-do-de)
I said the nighttime (whoa-do-de), oh, is the right time (whoa-do-de)
“Do you scare easily?” she asks.
Talbot lets out a quiet breath. “No.”
“Do you run?”
He meets her eyes. “No.”
Something in her expression settles. “Good.”
Deeper into the dark morning hours, Talbot’s new companion finally allowed him to call her
Jenny. He suspected it was not her real name, but he accepted it. If it helped her, that was
enough. Jenny easily convinces Talbot to follow her to a dry secluded place where they could get
to know one another better.
Didn’t I make you feel like you were the only man? Yeah
And didn’t I give you nearly everything that a woman possibly can?
Honey, you know I did
And each time I tell myself that I, well I think I’ve had enough
But I’m gonna show you, baby, that a woman can be tough
He set off to wherever it was Jenny was leading him. They walked long and far, the sounds of
the festival fading. Along the way Talbot thought he noticed a person – no, a creature of the
night – shadowing them. The figure was never too close, never too far. It did not seem like a
threat, almost like a companion, some kind of silent guardian. The walk was tough, he was tired,
she seemed unaffected.
Jenny turns, just slightly. “You coming?” Her eyes catch the faint light again. Red.
She led him to a farm’s storm cellar. As they descended Talbot heard his last song of the
Woodstock Music Festival on August 17, 1969.
You know something struck me, clamped on lord like a ball and chain
Oh baby, why you wanna do these mean things to me?
Oh baby, why you wanna do these mean things to me?
Because you know I love you honey and I am so sick and tired of bein in misery
I know you’re gonna miss me baby, gonna miss all of those sweet things
I know you’re gonna miss me baby, you’re gonna miss all of those sweet things
And then you’ll find that your whole life will be like mine, wrapped up like a ball and chain
Oh baby, why do everything have to just happen to me?
The music stopped. A crushing silence settled over the cellar. Talbot suddenly felt it – this was
wrong, unsafe. In the darkness he could no longer see Jenny. He thought he saw the faint glow of
red. Her eyes, a deeper red. She had gone deep into the cellar.
He mustered the courage to speak. “Ah, I . . . I think maybe I should go.”
Her voice cut through the darkness. “Afraid, are you?” But it was more of a confirmation than a
question.
“No.” False bravado.
“It’s the summer of free love, they say. Don’t you want to love me?”
Talbot somehow knew it was not free. There was some price to be paid. “Groovy idea,” he said
nervously. “Just not now.” He stepped back towards the cellar stairs.
“Come! Come my Childe.”
Talbot turned only to see the silent guardian at the upper threshold. He hesitated. Turning back
towards Jenny he was surprised to see she was suddenly so close to him. Without thought but for
survival, he swung his fist at her.
It landed hard. He felt her recoil—but she neither fell nor lost ground.
“Good instinct laddie.” He heard the grin on her face. “I have chosen well.”
“Sorry.” The fact he had struck a girl unsettled him.
“Don’t be.” She punched him hard. He collapsed to the floor.
Scrambling to his feet, he cried out, “You flakey skag!” and swung again. She didn’t flinch.
Didn’t even try to block it.
“Feel better boy?”
Fear surged through him—unlike anything he had ever known.
Her backhand sent him sprawling across the cellar.
He staggered up and charged her. For a moment, the grappled seemed successful – until he
realized it was her who had the better grip of him. He struggled, uselessly. This was
incomprehensible.
Her voice changed. Still authoritative, but now like a stern loving mother. “Relax. Calm down
my Childe. You’ll be alright.”
Talbot didn’t believe. He felt death was upon him. The manner of which he could not fathom.
Moonlight crept in from the open cellar door. He could barely make out the features. Her eyes
were deep red. Her face closed in. He saw her teeth – her fangs.
He was in a horror story. He tried desperately to break free. It was futile. Failure was clear when
her fangs pierced his skin. Her grip tightened as his life slackened. He felt the cold. Recognition
of his surroundings faded.
As he died in her arms, he vaguely remembered her feeding him something, like a mother
nourishing a starving newborn.
As he dropped to floor he believed he heard her say. “Survive the winter and maybe we shall
meet again.”
Timing unknown, darkness broke for Talbot. He awoke in the same cellar, though it did not feel
as damp or as cold as it should have. He was terribly hungry—and terribly ill. The cellar door
appeared closed, but he could still see most of his surroundings.
Perched near the steps was the silent guardian. He sat almost like a canine. Clearer in view now,
he appeared like a mangy wolf.
There was another person – body, in the room. A female, yes a female. She appeared to be in a
state. Maybe tripping on acid. She seemed awake but unaware of where she was.
Then the illness was abrupt. He suffered convulsions. Vomiting what appeared to be blood.
Uncontrolled spams moving him involuntarily around the room. The guardian seemed amused.
Talbot was not.
“Feed.” The guardian said. “Feed and you will feel better.”
“Feed?” Talbot thought. “Feed what?”
“It’s the hunger you feel.”
Talbot could barely understand the words or feelings in the moment. Hunger consumed
everything. A sickness that demanded action—now, violently. He looked toward the guardian
with aggression.
“No!” The guardian stood, pointing. “Her!”
Talbot turned and looked at the young hallucinating girl. Probably a festival goer. He did not
know. Nor did he care. With conflicting feelings, he charged at the girl. With ease, he lifted her
from the ground. Cradled in his arms he looked at her face. She was smiling, mind elsewhere.
He bit. Her eyes widened, though a strange smile remained. He satisfied his hunger completely.
He gently placed her to the floor.
“Now you are one of us.” The not so silent guardian said. “Complete your journey, survive the
winter. Maybe you’ll understand the gift you’ve been given.”
“Gift, journey, winter – it’s fucking August!”
“Yeap, good luck.” The guardian turned to leave.
“Wait. What do I do now? Who am I? What am I?”
“Now?” The guardian paused. “Now, you are nothing. Become something.” The cellar door
collapsed closed.
Talbot have heard of vampire stories. Was that what he was now? He couldn’t go home. That
much was certain.
“Can I go in the sun?” He thought.
“Crosses?!” Panic surged. He pulled a Catholic cross from beneath his shirt. No burn. No pain.
“No burn marks like the fairy tales.” Good.
He realized he could see fairly well in the dark. Also, good.
He wondered. “Are my eyes red?”
Then – his humanity.
He looked upon his victim. Wondered what he had done and why. What becomes of her, her
family, her friends. Unanswered, he stared.
At last, a single tear rolled slowly down his dirt- and blood-streaked face.
This post was modified 1 month ago by Dorym