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Aaron Sands is a paling man looking to be roughly 25. His sandy blonde hair and unremarkable brown eyes. He generally dresses in black, with white shirts that show the paint stains here and there with a little beret on his head. He walks with a pronounced limp and the aid of a cane. In spite of his somewhat tacky appearance, he is a very stylish guy, even somewhat of a beatnik. His voice is soft, yet firm and has a slightly musical quality to it.
His calm dedication to his work has benefitted him with a bit of patronage--and the ego to match it. Aaron, though, is a thoughtful and calm man with keen perceptions and insights. His sometimes witty reparte and general commentary on local kindred life has put him prominently among the local harpies.
Aaron Sands was a talented young painter living in the turbulent world of pre-civil war America. Boston was an odd mix of things in those days and patronage was not easy to come by. Aaron painted houses for a while and then did portraiture for locals on his off days. In the summer of 1858, he fell from a ladder and broke his leg. Improper setting left him with a pronounced limp and a summer of nothing to do but mend and paint small picture of the house staff.
Later in that year, Aaron was contacted by a local woman who had seen one of his simple paintings and was interested in some portrait work. Her name was Francine Gadsten, an English Toreador, and she commissioned a large portrait of herself for a friend back in Britian. When the picture was done, she paid him handsomely and introduced him around her circles. Soon, he was recieving commissions for work at a rate almost faster than he could paint them. He worked at his own pace, though, completing work after work for the wealthy patrons. By the time the American Civil War broke out, he had become a very well off artist, hobnobbing with the local rich.
When it became apparent that Aaron was to be drafted, Francine was devastated. She hatched an elaborate plot to fake his death and then used her Presence to Entrance, ghoul, and blood bond him to her. Aaron was immersed into the world of the Kindred and thought slightly resentful, was totally devoted to his Regnant. Late in the summer of 1862, he met with his 'accident" in front of 20 eyewitnesses and his battered and broken body was taken away by the other servants of Francine for burial. He woke in her bed, fully healed, the next morning, with Francine there, explaining that she had fallen in love with him and that she wanted to give him a great gift, so that they would never be parted again. Immediately, she embraced him.
Francine and he lived together for approximately 15 years, his whirlwind Embrace a source of further irritation to him, though the bond assured that he would be devoted to her. They married in turbulent Salem and he continued his work there until 1877, when a pack of lupines attacked Francine's carriage and sent her to the Final Death. Aaron was melancholy for some years afterward and finally decided that he no longer wanted live the thathouse anymore. He sold off what he could through private sales and then faked his death for the benefit of the locals by burning the house down. From there, he rode north and resettled with the few posessions that mattered to him in Manchester, having 2 of his ghouls with him.
He presented himself to the Prince of Manchester in 1892. Albert Frederickson was a new Prince, looking to consolidate his hold on the city. The Toreador, by far the largest clan in those days, enjoyed great patronage from the Prince and Aaron shared in that. He bought small Victorian house in a sheriff's sale in late 1929 and began taking students. He has lived there in his secluded house ever since.
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