Richard Bithewaye
Richard believes in nothing so much as power. Money doesn’t equal power, connections don’t equal power; power equals power. The only thing better is power over someone else. He’s been keeping a careful eye on the Kindred who fled to his city from dissolved monasteries and enclosed homesteads, those who weren’t welcomed to the bosom of Æthelgifu’s court. They’re hungry, and they’re angry, and London is only a moment away from boiling over. And when it does, he’ll be poised to step in and quell the riots, suggest some rules to protect the dead from the amassed mortals, and place himself at the head of this new civil order. And he’ll make sure that riot comes soon. Certainly he’s a thug, and more than a bit crass, but the very old and very wealthy are afforded some leniency in manner. After all, everyone already knows that they belong in the seat of power.
Trading on pedigree and a small personal army of ghouls, Richard bullied his way up the ladder and summarily removed his predecessor. Tragically, his sire was murdered by traitorous Spanish envoys while Richard was putting down an uprising among Bithewaye the Elder’s unruly peasants. But Richard ascending so far surely would have pleased the elderly namesake, if he’d known sooner what a viper he’d clutched to his bosom. Because Richard has a secret: he’s nobody, with nothing more than some sickly pigs to his birth name. He was Embraced to be a servant, not that Richard could imagine being truly loyal. Instead he feigned dutiful obedience and secretly lusted for his sire’s power. When the moment to strike presented itself, he staked his master without a second thought, leaving Bithewaye the Elder only the sun to find his way home.
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