Hmmm well I DID have an origin for Port's many moons ago. Graciously Batgirl retrieved it, but it's in need of severe updating.

Essentially the story is this.

Porter was born in the Scottish highlands in 1103. His real name being Martainn Padruig. Which he gradually bastardised into Porter.

He lived the harsh and simple life of a peasant farmer in the hills of Altnaharra. His father was a cruel man who regularly beat his wife and son. However Porter was NOT his son. He was the son of a wandering Garou. His "adoptive" father must've sensed something wasn't quite right with the boy and this might explain the beatings.

Porter wasn't Garou however. He was merely Kinfolk.

After a particularly savage beating which proved fatal to his mother, Porter took violent revenge and killed his father before heading off into the wilds.

In 1143 he was Embraced whilst crossing the Rannoch moor by a massive, neanderthal of a man. The figure called himself Maliant and after the Embrace, left the new vampire Porter to fend for himself.

Over the subsequent centuries, Porter has fought in several battles, ranging from the Battle of Flodden, to a brief sojourn in the Hundred Year wars, where he encountered the now infamous Gangrel, Xavier. In the 1600's he left for the New World and found some solace among the tribes of the north.

He became something of a legend among the American indian tribes and the native Garou, becoming known to them as "Uliwosdi-Waya" or "The Dead Wolf".

After his attempts to repel further european incursions failed, he faded from Garou and Kindred view until fairly recently.

He spent a brief moment of time in a city called Cascadia, where he rose to the rank of Seneschal. But the weight of politics and expectation grew too wearisome for the now old Gangrel and he left again for the wilds.

However in recent months he has reemerged. Captured and taken from his pack of ghoulised wolves he was taken into the care of his oldest living friend. The Ventrue, Sorenti. During this time he entered a pupa-like state and has since hatched in a sleeker, far more powerful and extremely sardonic form.

Now seeing himself as something of a "Jungle King" he sports little in the way of clothing, wearing if anything, a loincloth fashioned from a crudely torn scrap of cloth that once was an expensive shirt.

If you look quickly and closely enough, you may still read the faded letters spelling "Gucci", dangling over his crotch.