Blood and Bourbon
He's the Chef, the Artist, and the master of the vineyard.
Chef Otis is a gnarled ancient ghoul who’s gone so far as to forget bot his surname and where he was born, and many say to the point a week without blood would probably see him ash on the ground. Or at least this is what those who’ve seen his appetite assume. He’s changed hands throughout the century, from Gangrel who wanted to learn his guerrilla war tactics to Toreador with sick tastes who can appreciate the ritualistic killings, skinning, and inventive tortures that have become artforms with this sick and twisted figure of what was once a man.
However, none of that counts up to jack shit in the city of New Orleans, a reputation much the same to be sure, but his call to fame is rather unexpected, and as such has brought him to be the ghoul of the Baron Cimitiere himself. ‘Chef’ Otis is called that for the simple fact that he is considered a culinary genius, in a keenly kindred way. In his travels he picked up medical skills and sadistic ritualistic tortures both, and now his works of ‘art’ are definite draws in certain parties and ritual celebrations.
Their limbs have been removed and capped with steel, anchor points for the hooks in which they are hung from a metal grating along the ceiling. On their chest, a glass case bolted into their ribcage, their live beating heart floating in the nutrient rich saline solution, emulating a vineyard. All the while, a collar with tubes connected to major arteries artistically thrums, hanging down to be suckled from, a t-valve just a squeeze away from spraying that sweet vitae into his customer’s mouths. Of course he takes custom orders, ingredients ready for pressing into the special little chamber at the base of the case, to soak into the solution directly encasing the heart. Purely for artistic purposes, however. The real solutions to change flavour are in the custom cooked IV bags constantly being changed through climbing children tasked to do so, to keep the monster’s meals alive.
This sick Tzimisce like practise however, in true cult fashion, is done on the willing only. Those who cannot pay their debts, who wish to give their lives to the cause, or who commit crimes punishable by death in the nearly lawless slums the Baron calls his kingdom have the option of ‘ascending’ to be a useful vessel for the Loa. After their purification, of course. Though- those Kine who become dangerous or those faithful who betray are often visited by the chef, cleaver in hand. With permission from the Baron of course. Otis’ vineyard is a way to get funds and vitae from the Kindred under his domain after all.
Otis doubles as muscle as well, any man who can sever a limb so cleanly with a red hot heated machete is a force to be reckoned with. Coupled with his fierce life in the balance loyalty to the Baron, this makes him an ideal servant, despite his uncaring towards their spiritualisms. Vampires? Ghouls? Ghosts? Bah, who the fuck cares about all that horse shit. It’s just people in different skin, being more honest about their natures than normal people. And their blood? Their blood is what matters, and his fridge is stocked, and will stay that way.