You are an avatar of war.
You would have languished in a Parisian slum had it not been for Napoleon’s imperial vision. The French Emperor and his army gave you a home, a hierarchy and hope. You charged across Europe, conquering the continent and bringing glory to France.
That all changed at Waterloo.
A British cannonball tore through your ranks and fist-sized shrapnel exited through a crater in your abdomen. You didn’t die immediately and laid in the muck as the sunset over Napoleon’s final stand. The pain made you delirious.
A voice rose like a dirge from among cries of dying men. A pale stranger cursed in old Latin, decrying Napoleon’s failure to rebuild the Roman empire. The Ventrue vampire charged you with the same task he once entrusted with Napoleon.
You died that night as a soldier and arose as a Caesar. You have been building your empire ever since.