By Brian Connors (connorbd@bc.edu)
The generics (yes, lowercase) are a rather dull race of vampires that originated on Skid Row in Depression-era New York. It is true that they began as Sabbat Caitiff. All shared the common discipline of Obfuscate and varying degrees of what you might call clinical depression. This dreadfully uninteresting group formed a pack that sort of slipped out of the Sabbat and expanded to a group of approximately 30, all in the Northeast US and Southeast Canada.
They tried, really. But the simple fact was that all of the generics had been dreadfully uninteresting in life, and were simply drawn to uninteresting people. Thus the bloodline, instead of becoming a precursor to the Pander, simply sort of...became.
The generics' only real distinguishing is that they are notorious slackers. They usually have reasonable amounts of money, though few have useful jobs.
Brujah: Get a grip, guys! You're talking about millenia here!
Followers of Set: If you're worried, sleep with the lights on. It won't hurt much.
Gangrel: Hey, how can we learn to do that?
Giovanni: I do their taxes. I don't actually talk to them.
Lasombra: Stuck up and just plain obnoxious.
Malkavians: They make my head hurt. MaKE tHeM go AWaY...
Nosferatu: YAWN
Ravnos: What exactly does "fnord" mean again and what does it have to do with my wallet?
Salubri: Ummm... Who?
Toreador: Pretentious bastards, aren't they?
Tremere: Ooooh, magic tricks. I'm scared.
Tzimisce: They bother me.
Ventrue: Reasonably good about following the rules.
Camarilla: Could take 'em or leave 'em. I leave 'em because I never took 'em.
"Don't get into a conversation with them. You might wind up waking up at noon."
Sabbat: Hey, too exciting for me.
"BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!"
Inconnu: I met one once. Reasonably nice guy.
"Ummmmm.... harmless?"