Ask Not For Whom the Bell Tolls
Loner Gangrel of the Circle of the Crone
Gerlind Ragna doesn’t talk much about her past. It is clear that she has been a kindred for only around a century, but she does not move with the grace and certainty of an ancellia. Instead, she seems to drift through her requiem with seemingly no concern for anything around her. To say she was spaced out would limit the scope of her vagueness.
Most people do not encounter her unless they go looking – she spends her time along the southern coast of the Isle, swimming and drifting among where the waves crash strongly against the cliffs, tearing them down in sacrifice to dead gods sleeping under the waves.
Gerlind seldom wears clothes, apparently having forgotten at some point in her unlife that they are still worn by vampires. Her Beast is strong, and wears her deathly white skin like an ill-fitting glove that occasionally bulges in places it shouldn’t and couldn’t pass for human even if it had the desire to – which it doesn’t. Wet mattered hair clings to her, falling unkempt down to her knees.
Most of the time she appears to be in her late 40s, although there are times when she seems to wind back the clock and appear as an attractive woman in her early 20s. When in this guise, she has been known to dress herself in stolen clothes and walk along the beaches.
It is suspected that it was in his form she managed to snare someone long enough to actually embrace them – a childe has been seen around the Isle for no more than the last year.