Richter Jameson

 There were too many questions Richter couldn't answer. So he tried to start from the beginning.

He's a Kindred, he knows what a Kindred is. He didn't lose that. He knows the traditions, which is something he's very thankful he can still remember. Most of his knowledge of the Camarilla remained untouched, actually, as did his Clan; he knows the Tremere Oath, he knows he took it. Richter must have been a reasonably well studied Tremere, he's found he has quite a bit of occult knowledge, that points to him definitely leaning his studies heavily on the subject. His disciplines agree with that. He tried to use Auspex and Dominate and found he had no skill in either, this tells Richter he had focused exclusively on learning Thaumaturgy. Though all he (remembers) knowing is the path of blood... so maybe he just wasn't that good of a Tremere at all.

He's also found he was quite physically gifted, he knows that's not inherently unusual, but for a Tremere, definitely a strange choice. Socially lacking? Very much in the spirit of a Tremere embrace, and he's pretty sure he's not stupid. Or at least, he's smart enough to know there are people smarter then him.

He tried to use taste of blood on himself, he discovered he was of the 8th generation, which meant his sire was of the 7th, an elder. That was a good lead, he also learned he hadn't ever committed diablerie. That was... also very relieving to know. 

The next step was his rituals. He remembered how to cast them, and then he remembered he knew Communicate with Kindred Sire, the mystery seemed solved. Richter learned it wasn't quite that easy. He tried the ritual with every object in his possession, and it failed each time. He needed something owned by his sire for it to work... and he didn't have anything at all. 

It was... frustrating, but acceptable. He did have more information then before. It had been an hour since he had crossed the city line into Baltimore, he had found a bus shelter away from prying eyes, and was contemplating his next step. He had no money (that he remembered), He could sell his sword, but he... felt a sentimental attachment to the item. That was a good sign, maybe. It meant it was most likely important to him. It also had a name inscribed on it. Richter Jameson. So he hoped it was his.

The blade felt right in his hand, he didn't have anything to judge his reflexes against... but it felt like he had been doing it for a long time. He had be using at the very least, a weapon like this, for a long time.

 There were too many questions Richter couldn't answer. So he tried to start from the letters.

They were the one thing that seemed to reference him, that knew who he was, what he was. They confirmed his theories. He was Tremere, he was Camarilla, he had come here to accomplish a task. He had agreed to come here to save people.

That felt right. Richter believed himself the kind of person who would try and save others. It felt right.

The letters promised great things, wealth, status, power, influence, and all he'd have to do is do as they asked. In exchange, everything would be revealed in time. He felt compelled to follow the letters. Maybe it was something more insidious, but Richter knew that if nothing else, whoever penned these letters knew him... and maybe in time, one day, they'd be revealed.

But he couldn't just wait around for that day, until then, he'd have to enter a new city, as a new person... and introduce himself to the prince.

He hoped one of the things he didn't remember about himself, was that he was lucky.