Stories of Chicago

= Chapter 0: The Prologue =
Chicago: A History
Chicago has earned itself a host of colorful monikers during its short but illustrious history. Its political machine has long been one of the most powerful in the country, manipulating politics at the national level. However, none of these images tell the whole story about one of America’s most intriguing municipalities. The truth is concealed from the Kine who control this city, and it has directed their actions from its very first days!
Early Settlers
The first settlers came to the area during the American Revolution, when it was still under British control. The United States, and revolutionary war hero Gen. “Mad” Anthony Wayne, acquired the land in 1795, and Fort Dearborn was built in 1803. Needless to say, this didn’t sit well with the Native Americans who had called the area home for generations. Here they had their sacred lands, their burial-grounds, and their hunting ranges. These newcomers who tried to displace the land’s older residents found themselves the target of raids and war-parties.
The Army abandoned the fort during the War of 1812, but later returned in 1816 along with more settlers and, eventually, engineers hoping to establish a new city at this strategic river junction. The natives found a leader in Chief Black Hawk, and prepared to defend their ancestral lands.
The United States army had been enjoying considerable success against America’s natives ever since the death of Tecumseh during the War of 1812. However, Black Hawk and his tribe thought they hand an advantage in the form of an outsider sympathetic to their cause.
The United States wasn’t backing down this time though and fresh troops continually rotated into the new fort until victory was assured! Black Hawk and his tribe proved a formidable force, but as was happening all over, the natives couldn’t stand against the destructive power of firearms. So it was in one last battle the native tribe was fought to near extinction and the settlers won their prize.
The First Prince of Chicago
With the established fort to protect the river junction more and more settlers arrived to take advantage of new opportunities and the Kindred are no different in this regard. One of the first to make the new city his home was Maxwell of clan Brujah. Sired by an ancient Spanish Brujah, Maxwell first came to the city as a fur trader. Excluded from the upper echelons of mortal society he found the Kindred to be somewhat less prejudice, and so Chicago became one of the first domains to be ruled by an African American Prince.
The Civil War brought amazing growth in Chicago’s mortal population, but few new Kindred arrived, as most were enjoying the spoils of war. With the end of the war, though, things changed. New Kindred began pouring into the city despite Maxwell’s efforts to keep it a Brujah haven. Among the masses of new comers was a Ventrue named Lodin.
By 1871, Maxwell and his allies had finally managed to stem the influx. That is until the horror of Devil’s Night! Flames lit by a cow knocking over an oil lantern, as the Kine relate the story, started a fire that swept through the city like a murderous squall burning everything in its wake. Few mortals died in the Chicago fire but it destroyed over 18,000 buildings and almost completely annihilated Maxwell’s supporters among the Kindred.
With the city’s Vampiric establishment in disarray, Lodin saw his chance. As the story goes Lodin and his coterie underestimated Maxwell and many met their final death that night. Much of the information about the night Lodin seized power has been lost and left to rumor, largely because Lodin later destroyed his surviving cohorts. It is widely believed however, that Maxwell survived and fled Chicago one day to return and reclaim his lost domain.
After the Fire
While those Kindred who remember the great fire still call it Devil’s Night, Chicago as a whole actually benefited from the destruction. Massive rebuilding rejuvenated the city. In a few short years it had surpassed its old glory and, under Lodin’s leadership, became one of the industrial powerhouses of the Americas.
With such rapid growth came unexpected turmoil but Lodin’s power radiated from the top down, and he gave those mortals he supported the power and freedom to increase their wealth at will. He used the twin powers of money and violence to keep the masses of people in line. Still, it came as a surprise when the workers upon whose backs the city had been built began to protest their deplorable conditions! The fact that a rival could turn that massive unhappiness into a bid for power also came as a shock to Lodin.
The Challenge of Modius
With the aid of some of Lodin’s most powerful Chicago residents the Toreador Modius quickly gained support among the mortal workers and disgruntled Kindred. As the two began to square off it was Lodin’s power base of police officers and private security against the worker’s more violent elements. Protests around the city turned violent and the mortals caught in the middle suffered the most severe consequences.
That's when Lodin tried to destroy some of the union leaders during a protest in an open air market. A botched bombing led to a riot that killed several union leaders and police officers. In addition four union leaders were given death sentences though none could be linked to the bombing, even in Chicago’s kangaroo courts! The gambit backfired and the union leaders gained power as martyrs for the cause.
The Pullman Strike
The Pullman strike of 1894 has gone down as one of the greatest tragedies in union history! A strike against bad working and living conditions managed to unite black and white Pullman workers and cripple the nation’s rail system – a direct threat to Lodin’s most recent lieutenant, the railroad baron Drummond. Some say against his Prince’s wishes Drummond caused the government troops to attack the workers and broke the strike. His actions swayed public opinion even more strongly in favor of the workers. The incident became a worldwide scandal and an embarrassment for the city. Lodin having learned his lesson from the botched bombing turned to the blood for a solution and embraced a socialist named Tommy Hinds. Hinds began turning the union leaders through cajoling, bribery and dominate so the story goes.
As the game of chess grew tiresome for the Anarch Balthazar and his sire, they led Modius’ followers on a crusade to destroy Lodin’s supporters among the Kine and Kindred alike. However, this played into Lodin’s hand! Lodin turned the support of the city’s elders against the Anarch movement by stressing the dangers to the masquerade should the domain be sized by an Anarch. Lodin received the elders support to end the war by any means necessary.
The story goes from here that somehow Hinds managed to convince Balthazar to switch sides and betray the Anarchs. With the assistance of the Brujah Balthazar, and the quiet acquiescence of the Primogen, Lodin began a systematic campaign of extermination. Lodin used his power as Prince to declare most of his rivals masquerade violators and by the beginning of WWI he had managed to eliminate most of his rivals. However, Modius had managed to fortify himself in Gary Indiana and claimed domain there in 1913. The next 50 years have become known as Cauchemar Praxis among the Kindred, the time of peace. During this time of peace Lodin used his mortal influence to drive the steel industry in Gary out of business, destroying the local economy and all but devastating Modius’ domain. Kindred have long memories.
The Establishment of Elysium
The powerful elders of the city were concerned with the way Lodin claimed the domain. While none publically challenged him or accused him of violating the Lextalionis, they feared that his rise to power in this way would set a dangerous precedent. The elders took their cue from the ancient Toreador tradition to make places of cultural significance “off limits” to violence. Calling these places of safety Elysium, they met in the hallowed halls of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. Wreathed in the strains of great music, the city’s supreme Kindred found themselves engaged in what would become a respected tradition. As this tradition blossomed and began to take the form of a place to make deals and establish alliances, the elders of the Primogen realized that united they held more power than Lodin could hope to achieve. So the story goes that in the sub-subbasement of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, a place few know exists, the practice of a Primogen vote came into being in Chicago. It seemed to Lodin that this new democratic Kine society was rubbing off on the Kindred, something that displeased him greatly. There were no Primogen where Lodin originated and he wasn’t certain on how to navigate this new threat to his dominance.
The Anarch Movement
As with all golden ages, Lodin’s time of peace was counting down, in this case to 1966. The oppression of white America was reaching a boiling point and the civil rights movement was in full swing. In the south many African American Kindred aided their mortal counterparts and the princes who ruled, being products of the time, responded with brutality. On the west coast much of the same was happening, Anarchs led movements for change and the Princes who ruled used the police and the military to suppress them. Violence erupted in the night and many of the California domains were completely over thrown and remain bastions of Anarch freedom today. Chicago was no exception to the times. Though they suffered a major defeat in the previous century the Anarchs in the windy city didn’t die out entirely. By 1966 their movement had become a source of constant concern for Lodin and it all came to a head in what is called The Night of Rage!
The Night of Rage
Balthazar and his Ventrue assistants destroyed some local Anarchs they thought were plotting against the Prince, however these particular Anarchs were largely responsible for the peace lasting as long as it did. Extremely popular because of their membership in a local band called Urban Sprawl, like Dr. King, these Anarchs preached a non-violent solution to the problems in Kindred Society. Their pacifism was met with such brutality that night in Hyde Park that it set off a week long chain reaction of events which led to the death or torpor of more than two dozen of the city’s nocturnal residents! Once again the war broke out in Chicago.
The War of Ages
Chicago, as the largest city in the United States under Camarilla control, soon became the center for the war of ages. Anarchs flocked to the city and the Camarilla sent a group of powerful Archons to battle them! For the next few years the two sides sniped at each other and more mortal lives were thrown down in the process. The Anarchs made some half-hearted attempts to wrest control of the mortal institutions of power but they did co-opted the youth rebellion that was thriving at the time. The surviving socialists largely stayed out of the conflict offering mostly advice and succor the young Anarchs. As 1968 dawned it became clear that a conflict was inevitable. When Dr. King was assassinated it sparked more riots in mortal society which the city’s Kindred used as cover to do battle.
The Democratic National Convention
As the Democratic National Convention of 1968 grew closer Kindred and Kine came pouring into Chicago like water bursting forth from a broken valve. Tensions grew day by day until August 28th! The city was swelled to beyond its threshold and the blood of every Kindred in the city stirred with the excitement of the mortal population. At first the fighting was as before, small skirmishes with groups from either side ambushing each other in the onyx black of night. The true violence started after Lodin obtained permission from the Justicars to end the violence once and for all. As the Anarchs and their mortal allies began to prepare for the night and to head from Lincoln Park into the streets the Prince launched his assault. Armies of police and elders flooded the streets and attacked the protestors. The battle had been joined and much of it ended up on national television, something no Kindred intended.
Never before had the Anarchs been met with such brutality in Chicago, they were soon forced to flee. As they left the succor the cameras created waves of archons and Camarilla elders fell upon them. Over a hundred Kindred from all over the world met their final death or went missing that night, it is said ashes covered the streets the next morning! The unrest in Chicago continued for years between the Anarchs and the Camarilla neither side ever gaining enough advantage to completely destroy the other and Lodin’s rule stretched on this way into the 1990’s.
The Sabbat on the Move
By 1992 it was clear to everyone that some sort of peace between the Camarilla and the Anarchs had to be reached as more and more members of the devilish sect known as the Sabbat started popping up in the Chicago land area. Waves of newly embraced Kindred who barely knew what they were flooded the city streets and the masquerade was nearly undone more than once on the road to the new millennia. By the turn of the century the fighting had erupted again and again, each time the Camarilla narrowly thwarting disaster in the media! After the attack of September 11th it became easier for the Camarilla to explain massive building fires and small bombings as the work of militants. More and more draconian laws were pushed through by Lodin and his ilk. Stop and frisk became the byword of the day for anyone who looked suspicious to, really, anyone else. The US government suspended the right of Habeas Corpus and for the first time in the nation’s history a citizen did not have the right to challenge the government or demand to know why they were being detained. Many Kindred elders used these next two years to settle scores and root out the power bases of their enemies in addition to fighting the Sabbat.
I Said Scared Not in Mortal Terror
With the words protection against terrorism massive amounts of funding were diverted into “special projects” for Homeland Security, ICE and many other government divisions far more frightening and less public. As the war with the Sabbat raged on and more violence was blamed on terrorism the Kine population gave up an alarming amount of essential liberty for some temporary security, but these decisions affected the Kindred as well! With each passing year it became more and more dangerous to be Kindred. Cameras were going up everywhere even against the staunch opposition of the nocturnal community—the Kine were scared alright and they were taking their protection just as seriously as they were nudged to do! Lodin had little choice but to order the blood hunt on many Kindred who could not be seen on film for various aesthetic reasons and others who were just ill equipped to keep their identities a secret. Now big brother had an eye on every street corner and where in the past money could move the political machine with ease its power to push the herd against anything labeled a security measure was tenuous at the best of times. In an unprecedented show of Camarilla solidarity, ploy for boons, or hilarious joke on clan Toreador (depending on who you ask) the Nosferatu opened sections of the city’s sewers for travel and havens in exchange for payment. Though the clan is always quick to remind the Kindred who take advantage of their “generosity” that should they leave the designated sections their safety cannot and will not be assured. “There are far older and fouler things beneath the city than the likes of any of us, be warned,” so spoke Khalid the Nosferatu Primogen at the gathering when the plan was announced.
Post Millennium Chicago
Every time Lodin was forced to crack down on some poor neonate because of the bigger picture, the Anarchs and the Sabbat painted him as a typical elder destroying one’s freewill—recruiters had plenty to work with given Lodin’s generous applications of violence throughout his reign. Things came to a head when Lodin discovered a plot to unseat him hatched by Nicolai, the Primogen of clan Tremere. This betrayal by what Lodin thought to be a firm ally threw him into a rage! In frenzy he destroyed Nicolai in Elysium. This shocked the elders of the city to their very core and Lodin lost all support save from his own brood of Ventrue childer. With the sympathy gained from his master’s destruction Johnathon James Smith began quietly gathering support to over throw Lodin. One by one Lodin’s allies, whether estranged or not, either moved away from the city, fell to the Sabbat or disappeared never to be heard from again. By 2006 Lodin’s power base was all but gone and in June of that year Lodin met the final death at the hands of his successor. In an attempt to regain control of the city’s politic Lodin made a direct attempt to dominate the Mayor. His failure at intimidation was recorded on several cell phone cameras and the long time Price of Chicago had a big problem. Favors were called in and the Justicars themselves were forced to get involved. All record of the incident disappeared, along with Lodin himself. To this day no one truly knows what happened to Lodin, at least no one that’s talking about it, but everyone is certain it was an ill, if deserved fate. The following week the Justicars of the Camarilla and the Primogen of the city of Chicago officially recognize Johnathon Smith as Prince of the domain.
A Democratic Resurgence
By the end of President Bush’s second term in 2007 the country was tired of being scared all the time. The war with the Sabbat was quieting down as both sides were decimated in the fighting over the previous two decades. The elders of the city decided this would be a good opportunity to push the city’s Kine back toward the left of the political spectrum in an effort to get some laws and restrictions changed, but it did not prove easy. Once money is spent placing a camera it is difficult to argue to have it removed. However, nationally the country elected a democrat and began mending some fences. During the Obama administration many of the Bush era practices ended but some stayed in place and became the status quo. The last few years have seen a push back toward the right as conservatives struggle to keep their grip on national politics under Obama’s blue flag. The US becomes more isolationist in its views toward other nations and elects a dangerously combative Congress in 2014. Feeling that, “I miss the good old days” nostalgia many operatives for the DNC and the RNC begin using the politics of fear again to push along their agendas and around the country some elders again seize the opportunity to settle some debts. However, in Chicago Prince "JJ" Smith continues to push for unity among the Camarilla Kindred and keeps an ever vigilant eye on the city’s population. A never ending nightly search for Sabbat infiltrators, Anarch subversives and untold threats unfolds in the city on behalf of its citizens by the Prince and his city council. All the while the Primogen and the elders who’ve survived the city’s violent history soak up the sweet nectar of safety they’ve enjoyed this past decade and brace for the day they know will come when it must end.
= Chapter 1: New Allies and Old Enemies =
It is a time of new things for Chicago. The New Year has barely started, its January 21st 2016; a new leader is sworn into the Oval Office, benefiting from a new kind of politics. A new sense of patriotism sweeps the nation, though marred with a dark nationalist taint. A new and second decade of rule begins for Prince Jonathon James Smith, and, of course, a new threat arises to the city.
It is a time of peace for Chicago; it’s been years since the last bout of open violence swept through the city like the wild fire of Devil’s Night. Though this peace is enjoyed by all, the predatory nature of the beast, even shackled as it may be in the Kindred of the Camarilla, can feel the change coming. Tension mounts from an unnamed threat and the Kindred of the city can feel it weighing down on them like a slave endures his master’s yoke! None can name the threat, or at least none are willing to talk about it, but everyone can sense the danger. Something stirs in the night that has given even the Sabbat pause and the wary would do well to be on their guard.
With the media circus surrounding President’s Trumps ascension to the “seat of power”, the left screaming for investigations and citing corruption, the right saying it’s all political theater and promising retribution, The Prince calls a conclave to make an announcement. Many of the city’s Kindred file into the Grand Hall of the Elysium to hear what the Tremere has to say, as court is typically annual on Halloween, unless there is a problem.
As the Kindred of the city come to be rested and ready to listen, Prince Smith begins, “Welcome, welcome errybody I’m glad so many of you turned up to hear this old dog’s barkin’. Standing on the stage barely visible over the podium he stands behind one can’t help but wonder how this tiny Tremere commands the respect of the terrible Inyanga or the ancient Critias, but never the less, there he is, and there they are both quiet, sitting, and listening with rapt attention. “So I’m sure you’re all wonderin’ why I hauled your butts away from your affairs, so I’ll get right to it. Someone dusted Grady last month after he made the kid I told him he could, in fact it was while the kid was changin’.” A few murmurs spread across the room at this news and O’learly starts to quietly sob while rocking back and forth in her chair muttering something about her babies. This causes the Prince to stop for a second and stare. For the briefest fleeting moment you almost recognize pity on his face… or maybe it was a shadow, either way it was gone before you could determine for certain. Prince Smith continues, “So I’m thinkin’ it had to be sumbody who was watchin’ him closely or had inside information. This is the first time en a long time one uh the city’s officials has been targeted, as y’all know Grady worked closely with Blake our Sheriff in keeping our fair city safe.”
“So far our investigation hasn’t turned up much, but I assure you we will get this all sorted, anyone who has info or wants to help should see the Keeper. Now you all know me, you all know I have your best interests at heart as long as those interests serve the Camarilla, or at least don’t put us in a fix. So here’s my thing, you all need to stop leading such solitary lives.” A burst of laughter from several directions can be heard echoing throughout the Grand Hall for a few minutes as the Prince waits patiently and O’leary stops sobbing.
When the guffaws cease a stern look of reproach darkens the Prince’s face and he says very quietly, “I don’t believe I said anything funny! I’m not asking y’all to hold hands and take long walks along the shores of Lake Michigan, but alone we’re all easy pickens for the fucking Sabbat, let alone whatever killed Grady and his boys! That’s right it weren’t the Sabbat who killed him, dem fucks are way too sloppy to be behind this! The Prince points as he suggests, “Just ask Matteo over there what happens to your place when Sabbat come calling, if they cover their tracks it’s usually with a bomb. Grady was a tough bastard whose job was to find and recruit other tough bastards for me, do y’all get that? Someone ashed him and his whole crew without leaving so much as a psychic impression behind!” His agitation seems to melt away and his speaking voice returns to a normal level as he continues, “So what I’m suggesting is that we put aside personal power plays and old grievances and try to move forward as a unit. Some of you may even like each other; ya never know it could happen! I’m just asking that you try and get to know some of the other Kindred in the city, because if you become a target wouldn’t you rather have some support.”
Walking out from behind the ridiculous looking podium the Prince continues his speech. “The Camarilla has been pushed into a corner in this land folks. The Justicars have to watch the whole world and here we are surrounded by the devils of the Sabbat! They hold the lands north, not a stones throw from here, in Wisconsin. Their forces continue to push north from Mexico and at last I heard have taken all of New Mexico and Texas. Since the fall of New York domains by the dozen are being overrun on the East Coast and as we all know the Camarilla never recovered the West Coast from the Anarchs. That effectively means we are surrounded in the mid-west and Chicago Land is the last bastion of Camarilla freedom on this Continent and I am NOT GOING TO RESIDE OVER ITS FALL!” The Prince so rarely raises his voice that this got everyone looking forward and pocketing their cell phones. “I see no one is laughing now huh? I got chur attention finally?”
“Good now here is what I suggest. Get organized! Get dug in! Get a plan in place! I need you all to stop thinking that you’re uh solitary predator who has to wall himself off from the rest of the world and just wall yourself off from most of it!” At this JJ’s unnaturally serious manner relaxes and he laughs audibly, a sound some find unnerving. “Listen if it helps, think of it like this, I only hold Praxis as long as I appear strong enough, when one of you die I appear weak. So it’s in my best interests to keep you all fit as fiddles so I can keep on ruling or somethin’. Anyway, if you take nothing else away from my little speech ‘ere go home with this: be safe! Something is out there and while we look into it y’all need to be cautious. Oh and I can tell you that it’s no one with a key to this hall. The things you people lie to me about aren’t nearly this interesting! Good night folks, I got shit to do!” With that the Prince walks backstage and the crowd starts to break up.
= Chapter 1.1: The Scrapyard Raid =
In Feb 2016 the Camarilla Kindred nearly suffered total defeat when a raid planned by the Dwight Blakely, Sheriff of Chicago, took an unexpected turn. Dwight learned the location of his sire, Tyler and her new brood of Sabbat vampires. Believing the information was leaked to set a trap for his troops Dwight rallied the city to action and prepared the assault as carefully as he could. His instincts proven correct the Camarilla Kindred were shocked when Tyler's new ally was revealed! Lodin the once Prince of Chicago was alive and now claiming membership in the Sabbat as well as Praxis over the city! Giving the Kindred of the Camarilla the ultimatum join us or die, the two unlikely allies walked away from the assault safely entrenched in their majestic presence, though not before severely crippling the Sheriff and leaving him in torpor. The Prince and many other city officers gave chase but ultimately were driven off or in the case of the Keeper of Elysium, Roger Dawson, were captured. Roger was later rescued by the Brujah Critias and returned to the Prince by the Brujah whip, Elise Flemming, in a show of support to Prince JJ. Since this night the hunt for the dangerous Sabbat vampire has been ongoing!
= Chapter 1.2: A loose End for a Fresh Start =
The information below is out of character and meant convey mood/theme setting information and to help new players understand and practice keeping "in character" information separate from "out of character" information!
Wednesday, March 30th 2016
Standing over the effigy of Keaton carved from some unknown substance DuSable waits in the chantry’s most secret laboratory. Growing impatient, not something that was typical of the venerable Tremere Regent. The grandchild of the great and powerful Stromberg would not so easily succumb to these barbarians at the gate! Though it could not be denied that the threat Tyler presented concerned him and now that Lodin’s return was public knowledge the Tremere did not feel safe for the first time in a century.
Finally arriving Prince Jonathon James Smith walks into the chantry’s laboratory. “I brought the blood master,” The words describing his “brother” were always bitter on his lips. The Clan saw fit to entrust DuSable with the clan’s affairs, even though JJ had succeed where the powerful Nicolai Antonescu had failed and become Prince of Chicago! No matter checks and balances, check and balances, JJ reminds himself. “Well let’s get this fuckin’ party started! I’m so tired of that traitor running around here I could spit.” JJ reaches out and hands the vial of Keaton’s blood retrieved by Madison Breen and the Prince’s new Brujah assassin Dwight Hendrickson to the Regent. “Oh by the way did ya hear Balthazar finally got what was comin’ to him? That new Brujah chick uh… Elise somethin’… uh… Fleming?”
DuSable frowns, “Why, why for our sire’s sake do you have to try to sound like an idiot every night of the week. Are you incapable of dropping the act you’ve maintained for so long,” DuSable near shouts this question!
“Can we get started I have other things to do and you know this ritual takes nearly all night. Critias needs to see me just before dawn and frankly I grow tired of your nagging already,” The Prince’s voice nearly a whisper as he completes his sentence.
“Fine,” DuSable retorts.
“Good.”
The Tremere stand on either side of the table where rests the effigy of Keaton, glaring at one another. DuSable uncorks the stopper and pours out the vial over the likeness, allowing the effigy to step in the blood. “Ut malediceret tibi Gordon Keaton obliviscatur,” whispers JJ while concentrating on the effigy. “Ut malediceret tibi Gordon Keaton obliviscatur.”
Like some sort of terrible harmony DuSable’s voice joins the chorus, “Sanguine Exitium, Sanguine Mortem, Sanguine Exitium, Sanguine Mortem, Sanguine Exitium, Sanguine Mortem.” On through the night the two chant with the practice hand of centuries, their concentration never wavering even for a moment. DuSable’s ritual intended to rid them of at least one problem, permanently, and JJ’s name magic designed to prevent their quarry from being alerted to the ritual.
Somewhere in Cicero county a vampire’s body is at rest deep beneath his safe house, his consciousness projected into another mind. Gordon Keaton’s mind is so potent that the mortal he inhabits moves at his whim. Turning the car into the parking lot of the communal haven and jumping out of the now stationary SuV, Keaton wearing this poor Kine like a suit heads into to discuss the latest intelligence with his pack.
As he steps onto the porch he feels a terrible sense of dread. Something is wrong his preternatural senses reaching into astral realm, he can find no explanation for the feeling; this more than anything unnerves him. Releasing his mental hold on the mortal Keaton awakens in his own body. Sitting bolt upright in the bed he scans the room for intruders and finds nothing. As he starts to relax his guard a terrible shooting pain starts in his abdomen and spreads like wild fire through his whole body. Within seconds Keaton’s body turns to ash, locked in an air tight vault with no breeze, his remains, now an ash replica, sit on his bed with a puzzled and contorted look on his face.
= Chapter 2: Cooperation and Courtesy or Destruction and Deportation =
Greetings dear friends, honored associates, estranged fellows, hidden enemies and the rest of you whom I have not met yet. I have asked you all here to this my last rant in Elysium before I move on tothe next part of this great journey we call Kindred life, but, before I do I want to share some of my observations with you all.
The first and most important point I must make to you is that after these past two and a half millennia I have come to know one truth that cannot be escaped: age is not a boon in these the modern nights! I know many of you must be thinking he’s gone mad, but let me explain myself before the Elders have me cast out of the Camarilla for such foolishness.
Kindred have the greatest potential of all the species on this the Earth, whether you believe that to be divine purpose or mere happenstance. In two weeks I will celebrate the 2,494th anniversary of my birth… or at least that’s what it says in my journal anyway truth be told… I cannot remember. More than two thousand years past I realized that vital details of the person I was were being lost to time and I began to take record. Reflecting back on this record I have proved wrong nearly every assumption I ever made! About the Kindred condition, about the nature of politics, about the Kine and most disturbingly about the very nature of the world within which we exist! These prejudices have guided my path so often in the wrong direction that I now feel compelled to speak out.
We now face the greatest threat in the history of our society. When word first spread of the Anarch revolt it was received with humor. After all how could any of those we made ever seriously be a threat to the likes of an Elder let alone a Methuselah. Then the unthinkable happened and in response we drew together and form this austere society, but it exists in name only I tell you. We claim to be inclusive but we discriminate against the likes of Mr. Giustinian whom to date, has to my knowledge never once breach the Traditions. The Traditions which in our sight is supposed to govern all Kindred not just those we deem socially acceptable. The Kine from which we now select our successors would call this bigotry and racism. Would they not be correct?
These are those upon which our future will be built and all one has to do is look around the world at the Domains falling to the Sabbat to see the result of these ancient hatreds, prejudices and divisions. I once saw a motion picture; a child I selected in 1972 insisted I watch it later in that decade. There was a female character in the movie, trying as it was to watch, but this one line has stuck with me all these years and upon it I have ruminated for four decades. Speaking to a tyrannical figure attempting some sort of hostile takeover of an imagined space colony or some such she said to this man, “The more you tighten your grip, Tarkin, the more star systems will slip through your fingers.”
Until this point I must admit I wasn’t paying much attention to the story nor afterward, I’m still not certain what the men in white plastic armor were even wearing it for when everyone seemed to have some kind of energy weapon but I digress. What I do know is this: I was thinking about Lodin at the time and how his machinations had nearly destroyed masquerade and the Camarilla in Chicago more than a few times and the juxtaposition of this female character’s line changed the course of my unlife. I could not help but be awestruck by the poignant nature of the moment.
As I sat there in this theater surrounded by Kine with child at my side a million miles away in thoughts of politics and plotting the absurdity struck me funny. Here this Kine writer put a line of dialogue in his script that reached out across time and did what two thousand years of history could not: it opened my eyes for the first time.
I realized even then the Kine and the young in our own society yearned for freedom from our oppression all over the world. Now we are four decades later and the Sabbat’s ranks have swelled near to unmanageable levels. Some of the greatest European strongholds have already fallen and the situation in these United States of the Americas is dire as well. I will travel the world with this message: the Camarilla must change! Kindred society can no longer afford to ignore the will of our herds. Like great Sheppard’s we can only mend a broken fence so many times before the inevitable must happen, the realm inside the fence must be expanded to allow for growth.
If we continue to exclude the Neonates and the Ancillae from the halls of power it will only drive more of them into the hands of the Sabbat! Prince Jonathon James Smith has the courage and the will to make Chicago a shining light in this our world of darkness. The question I put to each of you is for your own heart to answer! Our kind cannot rule a society we do not understand. Our ability to influence the herds diminishes more and more with each passing Kine generation. Now many of our Elders do not even know how to operate a motor vehicle or a cell phone and we live in a world rife and run by electronics. How much more will these problems be exacerbated over time?
How then might you ask are we to govern a society comprised of such vastly different morality and viewpoints? The answer is of course simple and I’ll quote Jonathon, “We put our money where our mouth is.” For centuries now we have claimed the rule of all Kindred and held all to the standard of the Traditions with little to no effort to actually bring these wayward souls within our society. I say that ends here and now in Chicago by the means of a Tremere Brujah effort to bring freedom to all who abide by the Traditions of the Camarilla.
As you sit plotting my death or the over throw of Prince Smith I will put to you this question: if one is not on the inside then where is one located? Would you rather have an Assamite as an enemy or a friend? If this Assamite could be convinced the Traditions were the only means of governance for Kindred. As I prepare to depart from Chicago I leave you all with these three gifts. First, the gift of a Prince who is a true reformer and wishes to end the clanist behavior that keeps our Domains around the world falling to the Sabbat. Second this pledge: I intend to travel to world over and meet with the great Princes of our time and lobby for their support. For now we have the backing of the Tremere and Brujah Justicars and the other five have remained silent on the issue. All of the hallowed halls of the Ivory Tower hold their breath in anticipation of our failure… or less expected success. If you believe in freedom for our kind and an inclusive lawful ordered society then stay here and support Jonathon’s Praxis. If you do not feel as we, then I suggest to you now, move from here… as dissent and treachery will never be accepted under the Traditions! As my final gift…I give to you all that which you will need to survive. Good evening dear friends, honored associates, estranged fellows and goodbye hidden enemies.”
= Chapter 3: O'Leary's Revenge =
Lying on the cold, stone floor Lodin awakens to the sound of water dripping slowly, steadily… monotonously. His monstrous rage at being disturbed is stilled only by his enormous headache. What had that mortal he’d fed from been on anyway? Lodin’s mind starts to wander to the previous night.
Wait, cold stone floor? Lodin thinks as he attempts to sit up in the dark, unable to see. “Where am I?” Losing his balance and toppling over, incapable of separating his hands to push himself up, Lodin swears.
Realizing his hands are bound at the wrists, he exerts his will to focus his sight in the dark, but his eyes do not gleam with the feral presence of his Vampiric beast. For the first time in recent history Lodin panics.
He tries with his great strength to break the manacles on his wrists but, his might is far from sufficient. Flipping and flopping around like a fish out of water Lodin finally manages to get to his feet and his eyes adjust to the light levels. Scanning his surroundings reveals he resides in a cell, a solitary one at that.
His eyes are drawn to the source of the dripping sound and the ancient Ventrue is stunned at the sight. Across the hall in a cell opposite his own, is the translucent body, for lack of a better word, of some poor wretch.
One arm lay on the floor while the rest of the poor man lay on the bed. The dripping sound, which now makes Lodin cringe, is greyish ooze sort of leaking from the man’s severed shoulder. The steadily falling droplets of matter plop into a pool which has gathered around the arm.
“That’s right you cruel son of the devil! You’re gonna get what chu got comin’ now,” A familiar voice calls out! Lodin whirls around looking for the source and finds… no one. A wicked laughter drowns out all other sound and Lodin clasps his hands around his ears to try to block out the deafening noise. The sound stops as a flash of movement catches the corner of Lodin’s eye.
The man in the cell across from Lodin sits up and looks down at his arm, “That bastard, this shit ain’t funny Larry!” Lodin stands there with his jaw on the floor as the man presses the stump of his arm back in place and like a grey translucent Tzimisce molds it back into proper working order. The strange figure winks at Lodin and passes through the bars of his cell, then on up through the ceiling floating like… a ghost.
Lodin squints peering at his hands through barely open eyes already knowing the truth. His eyes open wide at his grey translucent form and he sinks the floor.
Knowing the stygian steel chains manacled to his wrists would prevent him from passing through the bars of his cell like the other fellow had, Lodin’s will begins to crumble.
Lodin had heard enough tales about wraiths over his centuries for the gravity of his situation to begin to sink in and the once mighty Prince is overcome with despair. Unable to even weep for himself Lodin asks the darkness around him two words… to words which for the moment bore the weight of his soul, “What happened?”
Skipping happily along the water headed home, Lodin gets hungry and decides to grab a bite. Casually strolling over the to the dispenser Lodin withdrawals 1 vacuum sealed family of four with a cat dog to gobble up! Finishing his meal he pushes on with a full belly.
Lodin stumbles back out on W. Edgewater Ave. in the rain but what he sees is not his city, not downtown Chicago, in fact there is no Edgewater Ave. Lodin’s head and throbs, the pain so great he can barely see. Standing in the dark in the middle of a prairie wasn’t helping matters either. To the east he could see. He could see his city silhouetted against the night sky nestled by the lake, but his eyes saw it as it was, nearly 150 years ago.
There were no giants made of metal and glass overlooking his Domain. No glow from the electric lights allowing him to delude himself into the belief that he could still bask in the warm embrace of daylight.
Turning around looking for any sign of sanity he finds none. He does however see a strange Peacock butterfly hovering nearby and Lodin is struck with an inexplicable terror inspiring sense of deja-vu.
Vertigo over takes him and Lodin nearly falls stumbling into the butterfly. A tiny voice replies, ”Steady on man!” Lodin, being a cruel sadistic sort, snatches the butterfly out of the air and rips a wing off of the poor creature.
Lodin smiles with perverse glee as he shreds the severed wing and tossing the pieces and the maimed butterfly back into the air. The tatter remnants of its wing drift to the ground and the defenseless beauty spirals down like an old P-38 Mustang in WW2.
As the butterfly sinks into the tall grass of the prairie it shimmers and grows into a peacock. The peacock glares stoically at Lodin as a warning while several peahens emerge where the remains of the butterfly’s wing had fallen.
Throwing its head back in disgust and doing its best impression of a sassy human the peacock says, “Come friends, Lodin’s time is almost over,” and with a harrumph the peacock stalks away with all his adoring fans in tow.
Lodin walks on, though to what end he could not say. His head throbs, and his mind reels from one disconnected thought to another as he tries to concentrate; like a drunk lurches back and forth to trying to reach their destination.
Lodin’s head pounds as a storm rolls in off the lake and a strange mixture of crimson and onyx clouds gather overhead. Lightning strikes the ground about twenty feet away which causes the air to sizzle and starts a small brush fire; the thunder that follows rattles Lodin’s heart.
Frantically he looks around for shelter and the only thing in sight is a looming building which stands seven or eight stories high just to the west. Panicked from the fire and lighting, it doesn’t even enter Lodin’s mind that this building doesn’t belong here, nor that it was not there just a moment ago.
Lodin runs as fast as he can toward the building which is crawling with… carrion birds! Crows sit on the window ledges, vultures cover the roof, Cathartes of all kinds litter the field surrounding the cursed building!
All of the birds are gathered in small groups like cliques at a macabre social gathering and each group is pecking at a severed head! Lodin shoos the birds as he sprints for the building. Buffeted along the way Lodin feels the torrential rain beating down upon him and his fear grows with each step!
A powerful gust nearly knocks him off his feet as Lodin ducks some windblown jetsam. Continuing forward he is forced to bash more out of his way with a mighty blow from his right arm. Finally arriving at the succor of the building Lodin tears open the chain-link fence with his bare hands and dashes inside.
After a hard late-night shift covering the bar crowd at the restaurant Veronica parks her car and locks the door, looking forward to a nice hot shower. Her hands shake and she’s still a little freaked by all the birds flocking around that spooky old hospital down the block; she nearly hit a pole swerving there were so many in the street.
Damn neighborhood kids had strung up what looked like hundreds or maybe even thousands of Furbies with rubber bands and spread bird seed all over the fucking place! The birds were even pecking at the Furbies to get at seeds dumped on them; it was weird! The whole thing looked like a scene from that old Hitchcock movie she couldn’t name.
Experiencing that tip of the tongue feeling, Veronica hears an ear piercing scream from behind her and across the street at the Aaronson Abe Medical Center. AAM is the new hospital, built just a block up from the older and abandon Edgewater Medical Center.
Spinning around Veronica sees a gaunt man with a strong frame and blond hair dressed in a very fine suit running down the sidewalk through a group of people leaving the new facility.
The blond man seems to be out of his mind staring up into the sky and running into people, a sign post, and now a mailbox. Veronica reaches for her phone thinking this crazy dude has to be good for some views. But as she tries to bring the lunatic into focus the nut bashes some poor man who got in his way with his right arm.
The broken body of the man with the world’s worst luck bounces off a car nearby. Veronica sees the totaled condition of the Honda and decides that views aren’t worth dying!
Safe from the growing storm inside the building Lodin pauses to look back at the peril. In the doorway stands a woman about 5 foot 5 inches (165 cm) with long wavy red hair. Her pouty brown eyes harden she pulls out a piece of notebook paper and shouts at Lodin, “You better run bitch, when I get this folded in half thirty two times I’m going to use it to crush you!” Lodin turns and runs head long into the building, thundering past what used to be receptionist area.
He flings open the double doors and plunges farther away from the crazy lady. Lodin Sees a giant section of the floor missing ahead just in time to stop himself from falling and he puts on the breaks. However, instead of stopping his momentum carries him on as he slides across the tile floor coated with viscera, blood and gore.
Lodin falls onto his left hip still carried forward from his great inertia he recognizes faces in the rank and foul remains as he slides past. Maxwell the first Prince of Chicago torn asunder by the blade of a Ventrue named Sir Conway. Sir Conway later murdered by Lodin as payment for his help in securing the throne also stares back at the blond devil from the unholy mire.
Countless… nameless… faces… so many that Lodin can’t even recall to whom most of them belong. Lodin slides over the edge of the precipice and plunges below. Falling through the blackest void, Olaf who became Lodin, disappears into a sea of black fetid blood. All around him are the corpses of those he has slaughtered in his bloody century and a half. Lodin of clan Ventrue, Chicago’s most fearsome Prince turned bishop; perpetrator of the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre, the vampire responsible for the Pullman Riots not to mention Devil’s Night, shakes with terror as the void of oblivion wraps its tendrils around him and begins to pull.
Lodin smiles like a street urchin with the winning lottery ticket as he leans in and sinks his fangs into this beauty! But then Lodin, who was born Olaf Holte in the year of our Lord 1824, had always had a love for beautiful women. So it was no wonder when Cain’s curse struck him with the weakness afflicting all Ventrue it manifested so that Lodin could only digest the blood of exceptionally attractive women; Allisa was beyond exquisite to his eyes.
When Lodin walked into the house party on W. Hollywood Ave. dressed like a UIC athlete he noticed Allisa immediately. The necklace she wore was the most elegantly carved thulite crystal, the national stone of his homeland of Norway. What’s more, it was carved into a delicate red peacock butterfly; a species Lodin still remembers would frolic near the waters of his youth.
His passion for this woman seemed to heighten with every word, her laugh, her look everything about her was perfection, he had to have her! The two of them talked for hours and she playfully parried every attempt he made to get her to leave with him.
Finally Lodin can stand it no more and as his time grows short, the sun nearly upon him, he decides to exert his presence and force her to leave with him. Calling on the curse of Cain to cause the woman to find him irresistible she finally agrees to go for a walk with him.
Out of breath and 15 blocks from Edgewater Veronica stops running and dials 911. She relates the story as she remembers it and the dispatcher assures her that several officers are already nearby, and one will come take her statement. After a reasonable response time Veronica sees the squad car and stands up to greet the cops at about 5 am. The car pulls up along the curb near her and a uniformed officer gets out.
Pulling a small pad of paper with a single duck on the front from his pocket the cop starts writing down her statement with his #2 pencil. After getting the description of the lunatic who caused the disturbance and the description of events he tells Veronica to call a cab and to avoid her neighborhood for now.
“That’s right you devil you know you want this!” O’Leary thinks, “Yeah, sure honey, let’s go hide behind these cargo vans and talk. Now you’ll finally understand what it’s like to glimpse the Four-Sided Triangle!”
Lodin leads Alissa out into the night feeling alive in a way he hasn’t since Lorraine disappeared. Lodin the most fearsome fucking Ventrue Antitribu in the US could drink any woman he wanted, Kine or Cainite! Lost in thoughts of how wonderful his is, Lodin didn’t realize this unassuming beauty on his arm was the one guiding the trip.
The pair walk arm in arm not exchanging a single word until they approach the back of M. Henry’s Bakery and Café on N. Clark St. The two businesses there are set on a bend in the road and so angle away from each other in the rear. This feature creates a nice dark area between them perfect for an act one wants to conceal from prying eyes. Providing even more incentive for Lodin to perform the deed here are a three delivery vans parked behind the bakery adding more hide for his feeding.
Finding Alissa much more receptive to his advances now, Lodin has no trouble sealing the deal and the two walk alone into the dark. A little kissing later and Lodin smiles like a street urchin with the winning lottery ticket as he leans in and sinks his fangs into this beauty! Lodin is immediately struck with the euphoria of the kiss and then something much more heightened, something passionate, something… demented happens and Lodin loses control of his beast.
Lodin comes to his senses lying in the dark with something jabbing him in the side. Reaching down he pulls a thulite crystal butterfly from underneath him, ashes blowing off it and his hands. Lodin realizes that if he doesn’t get his ass up and moving soon he’ll be late for the dinner!
Jumping up Lodin dashes through the tree line headed for his father’s manner by the lake. Tossing aside the stone in his hand and smashing through the underbrush he leaps and skips as he heads home singing a trail song along the way.
Albert, an early morning delivery driver at M. Henrys heads out the back door to load his van for this morning’s pastry run. Albert sets the lever so the door will remain open, and carefully heads out with his precious cargo, however, when he sees a seemingly dead blond man lying in a pile of ashes he drops his buttered scones with a small shriek and hauls ass to the phone inside.
As he picks up the receiver to dial 911 in the office, the dead man smashes through the kitchen singing in some foreign language. The bastard knocks over half a dozen prepared racks of pastries, mixing bowls of ingredients and what seems like every fucking dish in his place! Not one for heroics Albert ducks under his desk and hides until he hears the blond menace smash his way out the front, then he places his call.
“The detective said he talked to the baker at about 4:30 this morning Jonathon. I’m pulling up to M. Henry’s now; you have… 38 minutes until the sun will be high enough to kill you at these coordinates.” Smirking Jonathon thinks that’s assuming the data was calculated correctly.
Opening the door to the stretched limo JJ puts down the program for the private opera performance he was called away from and steps out of the car. Leaning toward the open window in the driver’s door Jonathon says, “Well if he went into Edgewater he’s not likely coming back out but I have to be sure!”
Jonathon, a well-known figure among the emergency workers of the city as a special advisor to the mayor, has no trouble entering the crime scene. He walks into the kitchen from behind the building following Lodin’s rampaging steps examining everything in as much detail as he dare.
As he passes into the sales area his powerful preternatural sight registers something in the aura of a small butterfly necklace carved from a piece of red crystal lying in a pool of overturned butter. Jonathon, sensing no one is watching, uses his will instead of his hands to place it in an evidence bag which promptly seals itself up nicely.
The Prince pushes onto the next stop Lodin made on his delusional walk, an apartment on the second level above a business across from the bakery. Encountering a newly made wraith Jonathon instructs one of his allies in the beyond to tend to the poor soul before it runs afoul of one of the many dangers which pervade the Shadowlands near Edgewater. The Prince quickly moves on disgusted by the casual brutality of Lodin’s crime.
Walking down the back exit onto W. Edgewater Ave. Jonathon can feel the tension in the Shadowlands and he splits his concentration between the wraith world and the street filled with birds. Walking up to the torn fence at Edgewater Jonathon is suddenly stuck by the very first words O’Leary said to him when they met all those decades ago. “I’m sorry it has to be you Rooster. It’s so terrifying by the water’s edge!”
Jonathon stands there silent, frozen as flocks of birds cawing around him try to gobble up as much seed as possible… and then he steps inside the building. Walking slowly Jonathon passes the reception area and slowly pushes open the double doors.
Taking his first step into the hall he slips in liquid laundry detergent which has been spread all over the hall so much so that it stands 2 to 3 inches deep. Looking down at his marred oxfords JJ shakes his head and floats into the air.
Hovering along the hallway Jonathon marvels at the number of feather pillow lying about. Several of which are bound by large rubber bands and strewn together to and shaped to resemble body parts. Another inexplicable marvel Jon notices, several of the pillows have the faces of Lodin’s victims drawn on them.
As he reaches the hole in the floor Jonathon sees a Nicolai Antonescu pillow and pauses. Staring at the pillow for so long he has but minutes left before sunrise Jonathon wipes away a single tear and says, “I guess this means you’ve forgiven me Maureen, thank you.”
Jonathon descends into the basement, knowing the Nihil created here is quite dangerous he stops as soon as he sees Lodin trapped inside his caul, the strange fluid sack all wraith are born into.
Jonathon watches the Nihil for signs of activity from the darkness within as he speaks, “Iubes tibi me spiritus!” Binding Lodin to an ink pen in his breast pocket just as the sun rises, Jonathon notes that it’s time to leave.
Floating back up out of the basement and landing beyond the mess of laundry soap Jonathon releases his hold on the mortal he brought here and the conditioned ghoul heads outside to deal with the police.
Violet Poole knew what she was doing was right. Lodin was the cruelest son of the Devil, gran loved to call him that, which ever walked the Earth. Giggling a little as she nearly smashed the semi-truck’s trailer into a park car, rounding the corner too fast Violet let it swing out wide. All in all though, the Malkavian Primogen was doing an excellent job driving the big rig, considering she had very little practice. Violet parked the concealed vehicle across from Edgewater and forced it to stay hidden with her potent will.
Staying hidden herself as Lodin passes near her and into the Edgewater, Violet can’t resist taunting him! She allows Lodin to see her for just a moment! Taking the gamble that’ll she be able to hide herself again, she reaches into her pocket and pulls her hand out holding up her middle finger! Lodin turns and runs headlong into the trap Violet set at Maureen O’Learly’s instruction.
Laughing uncontrollably Violet knows she is supposed to leave now, that was the plan. Gran said so, “park the truck and wait for him to go in then Violet you haul ass out of their cause Jonathon will be on his way with the cops. They’ll find the truck and this will all be over ok dear?”
She had agreed, but she so wanted to see the Prince’s reaction! She’ knew he’d finally have to notice her clan. The Malkavians would finally get the respect they, and she, had worked so hard for all these years! Violet waits under the powers of obfuscation.
She watches Jonathon’s every move like a naturist watches a bird in its habitat. She nearly gives herself away laughing when Jonathon ruins his shoes, but the venerable Malkavian retains her composure.
As Jonathon stares at the pillow of Nicolai Antonescu she wonders if he is feeling tremendous loss. Peering at Jonathon with eyes only one who has looked into the madness of Cain’s curse can possess, Violet reels with sorrow.
Sobbing and walking unseen past all the cops and the noise and the fuss and the pettiness and the hatreds and the cares of this world Violet stumbles. Blood tears running unchecked down her face she looks up into the rising sun and screams, “I trusted you!” In an instant Violet is reduced to ash and her form blows away with the gentle morning breeze coming in off the lake to be carried along to the next part of her journey.
= Letters from Critias =
== First ==
Dear friends,
I must apologize as I have not had the opportunity to write sooner. Our trip was made public in order to attempt to entice Tyler away from Chicago for a time and I am happy to report she has taken the bait. Avery, Inyanga and I have faced many attacks by the Sabbat since we left Chicago. I hope you all are using this time wisely and strengthening the bonds of cooperation I laid down, as we have made some progress.
From Chicago we traveled south to Gray Indiana and quickly gain the cooperation of the long time enemy of Lodin, Modius the Toreador. The Prince of Gary stands ready to assist Chicago in any way he can against the Sabbat in exchange for the continued flow of unrestricted commerce between the herds of our two great domains.
With our spirits lifted and our bellies full we continue south passing through various fiefdoms along the stone path called Interstate 65. When we arrived in Indianapolis we were greeted like traveling celebrities and received the very same hour by Prince Garret Daniels of clan Brujah. We of course received his unconditional support for our alliance with clan Tremere and our efforts to reshape the Camarilla into the bastion of freedom it was intended to be from its inception!
After leaving Indiana we will travel along interstate 74 East toward Cincinnati where a long holdout population has struggled against a Sabbat incursion for the past several years. We intend to offer our support in exchange for theirs. Avery has some experience in the area and assures me that he and Inyanga can tip the balance of the struggle in short order to a more manageable level. I of course prepare to deliver a rousing speech to rally their Elysium to our cause. I will write of the results as soon as I am able. Carry on and remember the world is watching your efforts Chicago!
Forever hopeful
Critias
== Second ==
Dear compatriots
The siege of Cincinnati went as well as could be expected Avery and Inyanga have proven a formidable pairing. There were several pitched battles and I myself was forced to fight twice this month. My adamant desire to stay out of direct conflict is unfortunately match in every iota by the Sabbat’s desire for me to fight and so I have resigned myself to what must be done, may whatever power which truly governs this world forgive me.
The newly elevated Prince of Cincinnati Danika Bellefonte of clan Toreador, the former Prince Ventrue Veron Harris met the final death in our last encounter, has pledge her support of Chicago in exchange for financial backing. The much needed funds will go to help rebuild and stabilize this once great domain which has now fallen into disrepair. I have assured her that in our rededicated more united Camarilla, Princes will be greatly encouraged and reward for their inter-connectivity and support of each other. Chicago has added another Ally!
From Cincinnati we have dispatched couriers to a number of minor Domains across the Midwest United States. Danika assures me her Harpy’s couriers are the best and will make their appointed journey with all due haste. Helping legitimize and stabilize the various spotted Domains we have in smaller cities and rural areas not over run by the wolves will help create a buffer zone between the Sabbat wastelands and our own home.
Our Coterie of Camarilla Change, as Avery sheepishly named it in our first week, has decided to push on Nashville. A powerful Toreador with a history of Masquerade problems still reigns there and we will attempt to gain his support. When Gerrade was forced to destroy his beloved child Elvis Presley for a repeated inability to stay out of the public’s eye his allegiance to the Camarilla remained in name only. Convincing him to support us will not be easy. Nashville is a bastion of commerce and does not need support from outside its territory. Avery and Inyanga are concerned we will have no choice but to destroy Gerrade and instill a new leader but this may prove more damaging to our cause as we remove this very influential Toreador. I will write one hell of a speech!
Yours in service
Critias
== Third ==
Dear friends,
I must apologize as it has been some time since my last letter and I’m afraid this one must be kept short. We have traveled out of the Midwest spreading word of our noble cause along the way. Several of the cities through which we ventured stand ready to assist Jonathon should he call upon them. The Prince and council of Louisville, Columbus, Pittsburgh and Philadelphia have all pledged their support.
Next we face our greatest challenge yet as we travel to one of the most important Domains left in the Americas: Ney York City. The center for Kine commerce when lost to us was a great blow. New York has become a symbol in the wake of so many lost Camarilla territories and if we can liberate it, this will go a long way to proving the noble purpose and viability of our work.
Along the way many have flocked to our banner and we now travel with a small group of about twenty Kindred. Most are young neonates enticed by the opportunity and dream of equality with elders. However neonates not all, as Jake Almerson, believing so much in our cause, has joined us in our quest. With his strong sword arm added to our Coterie we are one step closer to a great victory. Jake, like so many, lost his home to the Sabbat. How can they possibly win when our ranks swell with such determination and strength?
I would ask that you wish us luck but luck has no place in this. We will be victorious, we will free New York, and I have no doubt. When I first approached Jonathon with this plan last year he told me that my love for the freedom of others would be my undoing. That the world was too old and too set in its ways to change but I would not be dissuaded. When you receive this missive the battle will be joined.
Critias
== Forth ==
Dear friends,
It has been far too long since my last letter and I apologise for it. The last year had been full of struggles and tribulation both for our small coterie and, I’m sure, yourself. The challenges New York presented are hard to summarize and were harder yet to overcome. The city became a symbol of Sabbats victory in the New world and they were not ready to sacrifice it, for the hope that it would give us frightened them. With that, it gives me no end of joy to announce this: We have won!
This year of heated battles lays heavily on my soul for the multitude of lives lost needlessly in this time. If only there was a better way to stop this madness. My heart aches for all the needless deaths but still, even if by a cost too high, we have succeeded. No longer is Sabbat on the verge of pushing us out of the New world. This victory, while bringing me no joy, gets us one step closer to securing the continent against the bloodlust of those who sadly lost their way and uniting under a vision of a better tomorrow for all of us.
As this letter reaches you, our small coterie will be on our way back to Chicago. Although we are tired and our wounds are many, our spirits soar with the knowledge that we will be returning home. To the city that survived all its trials and stood strong, keeping the ideals of comradery and unity.
Forever hopeful
Critias
= The Long Road to Now =
“What did you ask me?” The respondent ponders aloud.
“You heard me. What is the earliest childhood memory you have? It’s none right? You can’t remember anything from your childhood,” the interrogator’s voice full of accusation! “Nor likely at this point anything from your teenage years. In fact I’ll wager you don’t remember anything about your mortal life at all.”
With an exaggerated laugh, “So I guess you can be wrong about a thing after all. That’s encouraging, I was beginning to think you had all the answers and that made me very sad.” Scanning his verbal sparring partner’s face, the respondent for a fleeting moment… notices… an emotion. Was it confusion?
“Sad?”
“Well given the linear and doubtless unending nature of time and our existence I’d rather hope to pace myself in the learning of all there ever was to know.” A rye smirk on the respondent’s face indicates that he clearly believes he got the better of that exchange.
Unmoved the interrogator asks “You do know that wit cannot solve every situation nor can it cover up the fact that you did not answer the question?”
“I remember a vast many things from my mortal life so what! I was born into the role of a scribe so writing a diary was kind of a given. It’s not like we had television or the internet in the dark ages.” The respondent’s voice seems agitated and his answer is hurried like a child in trouble. “When I was done copying sacred texts all day I wrote about my experiences. I worked in a temple where I was told everyday these sacred writings will outlive us and one day will tell future generations about how we lived and worshiped. So I thought, well why not write my own story too. Why does this matter?”
“Why are you lying to me about something so simple? Perhaps you are not the one I have been waiting for after all,” the interrogator states plainly, simply.
“Because it freaks people out when I tell them the truth, no one wants to talk to someone who can remember every fucking detail forever.” The interrogator smiles as the respondent continues his diatribe. The respondent grows more agitated and animated with each word. “I have a perfect memory what the Kine now call a photographic memory. I remember everything about my mortal life!” As he finishes his answer at last the respondent looks for a reaction and sees that same marble face wearing a smile. A smile which on most Kindred might indicate contentment, but not this one, on this individual a smile is nothing more than a mask. The two stand staring at one another for so long the respondent wonders what could be going through his counterpart’s mind and finally half shouts, “Well fucking say something.”
“I suspected as much, this is why I chose you.”
“You know the wise old scholar bullshit is wearing thin right? All you capes are the same. You think you can tell every vampire in the world what to do just because you’ve been around longer or because you were sired by the Grand fuckface somethin’ or another. I’m just really sick of the shit man just cause you were embraced while vampires were still riding dinosaurs doesn’t mean you got the skinny on everything!”
The interrogator quips, “Are you aware that when you get agitated your mannerisms and speech patterns change?”
The respondent retorts, “Are you aware that sometimes you’re an infuriating pompous arrogant prick?”
The interrogator smiles broadly and says, “Oh yes quite aware, thank you for noticing.” Both men erupt in laughter and continue their stroll down the Michigan Ave. “So then tell me about your life as Kine and tell me the truth this time.”
The respondent smirks, “Fine but I hope you don’t have any plans for a while because I lived on this Earth for over a thousand years.”
== Chapter 1: Raised to Serve ==
I was born Lucius Herminius Gallus third son to a pauper, a cobbler, in the year of our Lord 309 A.D. My family couldn’t afford to feed the four mouths it already had so my parents left me at the church gates in God’s hands, at least that’s what the monks told me. The only things my parents ever gave me, were a name and a strip of leather upon which it was branded. Don’t get me wrong I’m grateful for that much and I still carry that thing with me to this day. I’m sure it cost my father a small fortune to hire someone to write and then brand the symbols for him.
Anyway I don’t know how much of this you want to hear my childhood in the monastery was pretty much like you’d expect. The monks and the nuns taught me to read and to write and to fear God. One of the earliest incarnations of what would later become the order of Benedict, those living and working at the monastery did what they could to alleviate suffering. Of course what most of them didn’t know is that like most things in this world it had a dark hidden purpose behind its obvious benevolence.
Did I take to the lessons well? What do you think? If a good memory is an asset in scholastic pursuits than having an eidetic memory is the equivalent of being born into royalty! I crushed it old man, every test, every task performed flawlessly. So much so that when I turned 12 and became a man I had a visitor that altered the course of my life and set me on the path that has led me here to you.
The rest of my time with the monastery is really pretty boring stuff man. I did what monks do, I read things, I wrote things and I taught people shit. In between that we did would we could to alleviate suffering. The whole thing was just a front for the Celestial Chorus, not that I had any idea at the time.
I went about my daily life learning everything I could, remember this was before the printing press so every text, every tome was hand copied. I’d spent so many hours writing, and since for the most part I never forget information I’ve learned, it was the perfect job for me.
The exact date and time are irrelevant, though I could give them to you, but in my 14th year the patron of the monastery noticed my gift. Well she decided my talents could be much better spent then copying mundane books. I became her apprentice, though again I had no idea.
Astriale was a member of the holy order of mages called the Celestial Chorus. At first she just had me copying pretty minor magic compositions, most of the time I didn’t even understand what I was reading or writing, I just copied.
After some few years she finally began to trust me with some rare volumes, real true magic! Oddly enough the one thing I cannot remember every detail of is my awakening. I remember I was 19, it was a Friday evening and I was reading a passage about the process itself which allows the will worker to impose his or her wishes on the tapestry when it happened. When I came to sometime later, and what I mean by this is when my recall of events resumes, Astriale was singing to me in the most angelic voice I’d ever heard.
“Yes, yes I can fill in the rest of your time with that group. I would imagine you spent several hundred years singing to each other, spare me the details!” Critias snaps continuing his interrogation of Gallus, “So how did you come to serve the Tremere?”
== Chapter 2: The Lure of Order ==
How I came to serve Tremere? Well that is a bit of an interesting story. As you may or may not know the Order of Hermes wasn’t formally founded until 767 AD, but a bunch of us whose magic took the form of ritual casting and regimented, orderly spells were already forming covens all over the world, and I was no exception. After all I can carry a tune but a singer in the Celestial Chorus I am not!
The Order was formally founded in 767 in the German city of Durenmar, thanks to the efforts of the wizard Bonisagus, developer of the Parma Magica, which allowed mages to meet each other without fearing an attack, and lady Trianoma, who united the disparate remnants of the old Cult of Mercury. In the Pax Hermetica, the joined Houses united their magical knowledge to form the Ars Hermetica and the Order of Hermes was formed. My name, no it’s just an odd coincidence; I had little to nothing to do with these events.
These mighty magi signed the Code of Hermes and began the hard work of assimilating other lost hermetic knowledge. They met several enemies in less civilized lands, who opposed the Orders claim of magical superiority. The Houses of Tremere, Tytalus and Flambeau became the foremost soldiers in this conflict, developing the tradition of Certamen for magical duelling. In 817, Pralix bani Tytalus brought an alliance of celtic wizards into the fold. Against protests from some of the more conservative members, a new House was formed: Ex Miscellanea, which would contain all smaller traditions.
In 848, the Founder of House Tremere sought to become the Order's sole leader, but was stopped by a cabal of independent mages. Despite this, warnings to the other Houses of the danger of House Tremere went unheeded. In 876, the Order seized its prime covenant, the fortress of Doissetep, from the hands of Infernalists (although critics claim that the Hermetics merely painted the former owners as Infernalists as a justification for their prize) and moved it to the Pyrenees in 891 as their new headquarters. Under their stewardship, magical traditions in Europe began again to consolidate and prosper again.
House Tremere, however, schemed steadily to gain more power within the Order. They turned on House Diedne, the most clannish isolate house, and accused them of diabolism. In the Schism War of 1003, House Tremere and House Flambeau turned on House Diedne and destroyed them, with the sanction of the other Houses. It was during the war, that some mages felt a shift in the nature of magic. Spells began to fail and former rituals that worked without flaw began to cease. Tremere, fearful of losing any iota of his power, commissioned researched from the Chantry of Ceoris, which later yielded insight into vampirism, thanks to captured members of the native Tzimisce. Convinced that vampirism was the key to unlimited power, Tremere and seven of his disciples underwent a ritual in 1022 that turned them into vampires, becoming the first of Clan Tremere. (from The Order was formally founded in 767 to the end of this paragraph was taken from the VtM website [Links disabled]
It would be nearly 200 years latter before the secret of what they had done got out in 1199. The first Massasa War begins and the magi from the Order of Hermes try to wipe out the Tremere for their heresy. However, with the two centuries of time to prepare the Tremere were ready. Legions of gargoyles hurled themselves into the fray to defend their Vampiric masters. Apprentices on both sides died by the hundreds and eventually the Order of Hermes simply gave up in the hopes that either the Tremere would die out, or be destroyed by their new Kindred brother and sisters. I spent so much time in the Umbra those days that I scarcely heard about any of this.
In truth for a long time I thought I would not return to the physical realm, the umbra can be the most wondrous place! Though return I did and my body was so weakened by my long journey in the spirit world that I nearly went right back.
== Chapter 3: The Road to Recovery ==
I’ve only recently recovered my true memories of the following events thanks to your Praetorian friend. When I returned from my long journey in the Umbra, I likely would have died. My physical form weakened so much, I only survived because of a benefactor who aided me, and then took all memory of her help. As it was, I still lost a significant portion of my power to a combination of a ravaged form and the changing paradigm.
My road to recovery was aided by Meerlinda in the guise of a fellow Hermantic, always the pawn, always the tool. From that night in 1416 AD forward, I would serve the seven. In the earliest days of the Camarilla the Tremere were very concerned about their public image. In an effort to boost it they put together a group of idiots like me who were easily tricked into believing the best of situations and individuals, magi all of us—they called us the archangels.
Between my weakened condition, Meelinda’s powerful thaumaturgy and her extremely potent vitae, I never questioned anything. After she nursed me back to health erasing or altering my memories to suit her purpose, she sold me on a lie. The lie that Tremere stumbled into vampirism as the result of failed magics, not by choice. That they were trying to make the best of a bad situation and I swallowed it whole, even the bullshit about the poor Salubri.
When you look back on something like that you have to think a little less of yourself. I try to console myself with the fact that the blood bond is a potent tool for control, and sometimes it even helps. The fact is I was happy! I and the other 4 magi that made up the archangels were traveling the world helping people. We’d go into plague ravaged areas where sleepers wouldn’t dare tread, and perform “miracles.” I know it sounds a little shady but for me I’ve always believed in the Divine, to me God is just one more form the Divine takes. At least in all my years I’ve never met Kine, Kindred nor Magius who could prove me wrong.
Anyway, it went on like that for some time until the renaissance period was nearly over and the sleepers started to shift their belief from the spiritual to the physical. Another might say, once the Tremere had their place in the Camarilla solidified and their reputation boosted enough, they no longer wanted to spend resources devoted to helping people. I was devastated as the group was broken up, and we were order to go our separate ways. As much as I hated it I’d swore an oath of service, and so serve I did.
My disposition and personality being incompatible to many of the core values of the Clan I was deemed unsuitable for the embrace, which was just fine with me! Though true magic had lost much of its potency I had zero desire to join the night shift and so I continued, Acolyte of the 7th Circle of Mysteries Lucius Gallus member of House Tremere, or Rooster to my friends.
== Chapter 4: Reassignment ==
Beckett,
I’m told from a reliable source you will be coming to Chicago this year for Conclave and I want to thank you. Your presence is always a welcome one and it’s been too long since we’ve swapped stories.
However, I write you now to set down this record of the events leading to my declaration of division from Clan Tremere. As the foremost authority on Cainite history, I trust you alone to keep my story, though I have sent a copy of this recollection to a few others.
When I was first assigned to work with the Chicago chantry I remember thinking how much I hated the idea of going to the “new world.” In fact I got the news about a week after the St. Valentine’s Day massacre in 1929. I remember thinking with such a violent city and a tyrant like Lodin on the throne, I’ll be called on to kill a constantly; and I was right.
You see the Tremere sent Nicolai Antonescu to Chicago in the previous century to take subtle control of the Domain for the clan. He and Lodin hit it off right away and Nicolai started grooming him to take over the thrown as his puppet. I’ll give all the Ventrue reading this a moment to adjust.
You see this is way more common than you might think. The Tremere most often do not seek to hold power in their own hand, they seek to wield power through others. So, I as you, Princes of the Camarilla when you rely so heavily on Tremere magic and advice: who truly holds your Praxis?
Nicolai spent years amassing support for Lodin through political strong-arming, back alley deals, and blood curses. Nicolai was even the master mind behind the Chicago fire in 1871, known locally as Devil’s Night. The Ventrue Blood Knights, Sir Conway and his progeny Sir Finnigan, who were in service to Lodin would dominate O’Leary into attempting suicide, again, starting the dreaded fire. Nicolai and the Tremere fanned the flames all over town. Burning out Kine and Kindred alike, directing the fire like masterful orchestra conductors.
Though this was before my time, my late sire related this story to me personally with such arrogant pride of his underhanded betrayal, I felt it’s inclusion in this text was necessary. You see my revulsion at Nicolai’s boasting was the first crack in the carefully lain façade House Tremere had constructed to shield my eyes from the truth.
Anyway when my ship arrived in New York harbor there was no longer any doubt that I was in an unfamiliar land. I had my Ellis Isle moment as my ship pulled in and I got my first glimpse of lady liberty. I didn’t know what all the fuss was about personally, but then I wasn’t fleeing anything; my troubles were ahead in my path.
== Chapter 5: Reporting as Ordered ==
Once I arrived in Chicago I reported to the Chantry immediately, though at the time it was little more than a few rooms and a secure storage space. Nicolai wasted no time in putting my skills to use.
Prohibition was in full swing and Al Capone was at the height of his power. Chicago was a land of opportunity alright and with every great opportunity, great risk tags along like a stowaway. By this point I no longer had any illusions about the Tremere being the bastions of morality I once thought. I’m not really sure why I continued to do the things I did in their service. Individually, I could destroy nearly every Regent I ever met, but when House and Clan moved as one their power was, and is unmatched. In my most honest moments, Beckett, I can admit to myself that I served out of fear and a desire for self-preservation; may the Divine forgive me.
When I first met the great and powerful Nicolai Antonescu it was surreal. As I sat in the waiting room pending my summons to his private study I had no idea what to expect. I knew he was embraced as a pre-teen but as I walked into the study and got my first glimpse of his miniature work desk and the comically short bookshelves that lined his study a laugh would have escaped my lips were it not for my long years of training.
Standing all of about three feet high is one of the most powerful Kindred in the New World. Dressed in a black and grey pin stripped suit with his fedora hanging on the coat rack nearby, Nicolai looked like he was about to go door to door for Halloween as one of Capone’s trigger men. A quick scan of the magical energies flowing about the room like intertwining undersea currents brought my mind back to the situation at hand. I bowed low to show my respect and spoke the ceremonial words, “I Lucius Gallus, Acolyte of the third circle of mysteries ask you to take me under your tutelage. I submit to your rule and offer myself as your servant and student.”
He stared at me for a long time. I could tell he was trying to read my thoughts… a vain effort. As powerful as the Kindred mind can get it is nothing compared to the disciplined mind of an experienced, awakened Avatar. I waited patiently until finally he said, “I see your ability to hold your secrets was not exaggerated. This is good because if you fail me or expose my plans even accidently, your long service to House and Clan will come to a swift and completely unremarkable end. I accept your service. Now leave me I have no wish to spend time in your company. When I call for your service I expect you will have familiarized yourself with the city.”
As I walked out of that meeting I remember thinking, “Ah yes another barely talented magius jealous of my ability barking orders, I can’t wait kid!”
== The Letter of Succession ==
To the Justicars of the Camarilla
If it is true that when in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the laws of nature and of nature's God, whatever face that God may take, entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation, then how much more is this true for our Kind?
We in Chicago hold these truths to be self-evident, that all Kindred are created equal, that they are endowed by their Prince with certain unalienable Rights, which among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.
That in order to secure these rights Princes are instituted among Domains, deriving their just powers from their ability to uphold justice in the name of the Traditions and to protect their faithful citizens.
That whenever any allegiance becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the Kindred to alter or to abolish that allegiance whether it be to Clan, or Coterie.
Prudence, indeed, will dictate that such allegiances long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shown, that Kindred are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the allegiances to which they are accustomed. I will not stand by any longer allied to an organization that by its very nature cuts across the grain of the ideals upon which the Camarilla was founded!
As they Kine have said, when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same object, evinces a design to reduce them under absolute despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such an allegiance, and to provide new guards for their future security.
Such has been the patient sufferance of many of those allied with House and Clan Tremere; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former alliance. The history of the present leadership of House and Clan Tremere is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, Amaranth and betrayal, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute tyranny over the other clans. To prove this, let facts be submitted to a candid world. Here within is the oath that all Tremere are forces to swear under pain of partial blood bonding.
I, [initiate's name], hereby swear my everlasting loyalty to House and Clan Tremere and all its members. I am of their blood, and they are of mine. We share our lives, our goals and our achievements. I shall obey those the House sees fit to name my superiors, and treat my inferiors with all the respect and care they earn for themselves.
I will not deprive nor attempt to deprive any member of House and Clan Tremere of his magical power. To do so would be to act against the strength of our House. I will not slay nor attempt to slay any member of the House and Clan except in self-defense, or when a magus has been ruled outlaw by a properly constituted tribunal. If a magus has been ruled an outlaw, I shall bend all efforts to bring such magus to justice.
I will abide by all decisions of the tribunals, and respectfully honor the wishes of the Inner Council of Seven and the wishes of my superiors. The tribunals shall be bound by the spirit of the Code of Tremere, as supplemented by the Peripheral Code and interpreted by a properly constituted body of magi. I have the right to appeal a decision to a higher tribunal, if they should agree to hear my case.
I will not endanger House and Clan Tremere through my actions. Nor will I interfere with the affairs of mundanes in any way that brings ruin upon my House and Clan. I will not, when dealing with devils, or others, in any way bring danger to the clan, nor will I disturb the faeries in any way that should cause them to take their vengeance on the House and Clan. I also swear to uphold the values and goals of the Camarilla, and I will maintain the Masquerade. Insofar as these goals may conflict with my goals, I will not pursue my own ends in any way that would endanger the Masquerade. The strength of the House and Clan Tremere depends on the strength of the Masquerade.
I will not use magic to scry upon members of the House and Clan Tremere, nor shall I use it to peer into their affairs. It is expressly forbidden.
I will train only apprentices who will swear to this code, and should any of them turn against the House and Clan, I shall be the first to strike them down and bring them to justice. No apprentice of mine shall be called magus until he first swears to uphold the code. I shall treat my apprentices with the care and respect that they earn.
I concede to my elders the right to take my apprentice should it be found that my apprentice is valuable to an elder's work. All are members of the House and Clan and valuable first to these precepts. I shall abide by the right of my superiors to make such decisions.
I shall further the knowledge of the House and Clan and share with its members all that I find in my search for wisdom and power. No secrets are to be kept, or given, regarding the arts of magic, nor shall I keep secret the doings of others which might bring harm to the House and Clan.
I demand that, should I break this oath, I should be cast out of the House and Clan. If I am cast out, I ask my brothers to find and slay me that my life may not continue in degradation and infamy.
I recognize that the enemies of the House and Clan are my enemies, that the friends of the House and Clan are my friends, and that the allies of the House and Clan are my allies. Let us work as one and grow hale and strong.
I hereby swear this oath on [current date]. Woe to they who try to tempt me to break this oath, and woe to me if I succumb to such temptation.
Now I would ask that you pay particular attention to the part of the oath which reads, “Insofar as these goals may conflict with my goals, I will not pursue my own ends in any way that would endanger the Masquerade.” The Oath which all Tremere swear grants the flagrant and willful disregard for all but the first Tradition.
More over in my lifetime alone the Tremere have committed Amaranth upon an entire clan. The Salubri are far from stealers of souls or purveyors of evil! I can provide proof of this claim and will do so at the upcoming Conclave slated to take place in my city in June, assuming I am so permitted by the Justicariate.
The Tremere clan’s elders are responsible for far more atrocities than I can prove but to name a few.
As a Prince of the Camarilla charged with the protection of one of the largest and most important Domains in the Americas these nights, the Tremere did willfully and with malice undermine my authority. Their agents entered my Domain without seeking my hospitality. They altered my memories and publicly humiliated me by releasing false information about the clan and sect allegiance of a citizen of my Domain.
Madison Breen-O’Rourke was not a member of the Lasombra clan allied with the Sabbat. She was, and is in fact, the child of Nicolai Antonescu as am I. But Madison was never given the chance to be who she was meant to be; from the very first nights of her Kindred existence she had been used and manipulated by the elder of the Clan. Let it be known though out that world that Maidison, and all other fleeing the Tremere’s dominance, are welcome in my Domain and will enjoy my considerable protections.
((The letter goes on like this for quite a while with a long list of grievances against the Tremere elders which out many clan secrets offering a teacher for Tremere Lore level 2. Jonathon finishes the letter with the conclusion below.))
Be it known to all those who enjoy my hospitality, such treacherous dealings will end with your destruction. No one, including myself, is exempt from the Traditions of the Camarilla! From these laws have the foundations of our society been built. By this society does our species survive—it is that simple.
So it is with great pride and singular purpose that I do hereby announce to the world that I refuse to bow any longer to the nefarious and destructive ends of the Tremere leadership. From this night forward to my last I shall be clanless.
Prince Jonathon James Smith AKA Lucius Gallus
= Epilogue =
The grand hall tonight has chairs lined up facing the stage, extending back in rows halfway to the elevator. A heavy wooden podium is set up on the stage, a microphone attached to it. No music plays tonight but there’s an almost audible hum of excitement in the air of the Elysium, a quiet, murmuring susurrus of talk running through the gathered kindred as the elevator opens with a ding! And an electronic ‘Welcome!’, admitting JJ into the grand hall, Elise and Augusta following a step behind him. The three make their way up to the stage, JJ taking his place behind the podium, Elise moving to stand slightly behind him at his right hand, Augusta next to her at his left.
He turns to the assembled crowd with a smile, eyes alighting on each kindred gathered as he speaks. “Thank you all for coming out tonight. I know the Conclave has been a much-anticipated event, and I’m sure the delay has only intensified that. Tonight, we take the first step forward!
"With this Conclave, we will move forward from the knife's edge Chicago has been riding since my secession from the Pyramid into a new and brighter future, one without the threat of house Tremere hanging over our heads like the sword of Damocles! I know it’s been a challenging couple of years, but I want to thank each and every one of you for standing behind me, and standing behind this idea of a better Camarilla. I know things seem dire, but we. will. prevail.” He bangs his fist on the podium with each of the last words, emphasizing them.
“We’ve already made incredible strides. Just look among you! Anarchs and Camarilla standing in one Elysium, rubbing elbows, united under one purpose, one goal: the betterment and advancement of kindred kind! United under the dream of a kindred community where we can all live together, regardless of lineage or previous allegiance, a kindred community where everyone gets a second chance!
“Now-” His next words are cut off as the elevator opens again with a ding! And an electronically chirped, ‘Welcome!’ and a man steps out, rather rugged looking with brown hair longer on top and trimmed short on the sides, his face covered in blond scruff; piercing blue eyes examine the gathered kindred before lighting on the Prince as he strides forward with a purpose, hand coming to rest on a large sword strapped to his back. Flanking him are two women, with another man bringing up the rear: on his left, an unusually tall woman, standing taller than either of her male companions in black platform boots, her hair styled into large liberty spikes. Her mismatched eyes glance around the hall as, with a gesture, a veritable army of shadowy snakes slither forward, fanning out, not attacking just yet but lingering within striking range. The next of the entrants into the hall might be a familiar face to some: Shorter than her companions with shoulder-length brown hair and brown eyes is Lucilla, a small smug smirk on her face as she looks around the hall; as she does, the watching kindred can feel the weight of displeasure pushing down on them, making them stay in place. Last but not least comes a short, stocky blond man with blue eyes. Arms crossed over his chest, John peers out over his former friends with a cold, inhuman look, coarse brown fur covering his arms, his hands clawed.
The man continues to stride forward, climbing up onto the stage as his companions fan out, oily black tentacles coiling into being as the shadows around the tall, black-haired woman begin to come to life, the blond man flexing his fingers as long, iron hard claws begin to sprout from his fingertips. The shorter brunette stays in the middle of the room, chin raised, looking down on the assembled kindred haughtily, the weight of her displeasure bearing down on them. Detris steps right up next to JJ and draws the sword, the rasping sound of steel against its scabbard echoing through the suddenly silent hall. Holding the large, two-handed weapon out to one side he turns in place, addressing the assembled crowd.
“Cainites!” His voice booms out, loud and powerful, filling the hall with its resonance. “Look on, and behold the might of the Sword of Caine! See how easy it was to infiltrate your ranks, to garner your trust, your secrets, access to your safest of spaces!”
At these words, an almost-feral grin spreads across John’s face, his stance taking on a cocky air as he waves clawed fingers smugly. Lucilla’s smirk grows, full of pride and malice.
He makes a grand gesture out with his sword, the gleaming blade slicing through the air. “See how little protection your Tower and your rules provide you when push comes to shove! They can do **nothing!** See how your so-mighty Prince stands here, powerless, as his people are threatened and steel is drawn in his Elysium! Even as we speak, my troops move through his precious Praxis, and he is powerless to stop them!”
Unable to act from the force of the Majesty, JJ settles for glaring at Detris.
Smirking at that, he continues, pointing his sword at random individuals, “Take note: your unlives will be spared tonight. The only one of you who needs to die is him.” The sword tip comes to rest pointing at JJ. “When you leave from here, spread this message: The Sword is coming and we will triumph! All those who stand against us will fall! No Tower is too mighty, no Baron too strong. Join us, accept the truth and the freedom it grants, or be ground to dust ‘neath our heel; there is no other option! Let this be an example of what awaits those who would stand against us!” With the echoes of his words still bouncing around the grand hall, he turns, powerful back muscles rippling visibly under his shirt, swinging the large sword around almost faster than thought as JJ’s head suddenly goes rolling away, crumbling to dust seconds later, his body quickly following suit.
With an almost feral growl, Elise lunges forward, the Beast fully in control. The oily black tentacles lunge forward, but she batters them away with glowing red fists impacting against tentacles, causing them to wither and writhe under the onslaught. Reaching Detris, she aims a punch at his jaw, missing by a hair as Detris brings his sword around again, the muscles in his arm and back visibly flexing and snicker-snack! Elise’s head goes flying, coming to rest eventually with blue eyes staring sightless up at the ceiling, fangs still bared in a macabre smile. Her body falls to the ground in a crumpled heap, a marionette with its strings cut.
As Elise’s head comes to a rolling stop, Augusta bares her fangs, her own tentacles appearing to join Phage’s, attempting to grapple Detris, only to be blocked and knocked away, one after the other, her tentacles seemingly no match for Phage’s.
With a snarl, Detris brings the sword around again, the large weapon catching the blonde Sheriff at an angle, taking her shoulder and a good portion of the top of her ribcage with it as it slices through her like a hot knife through butter. She falls to the ground in two separate pieces, quickly crumbling to ash.
“Anyone else?!” He booms. “Does anyone else wish to test my hand? I assure you, while I have no plans for a slaughter here, I will not hold back if you wish to try me!”
Dev, quietly watching until now, grabs Mike first, the pair popping out of existence.
They reappear moments later in the Sheriff’s station, the small Indian man saying quickly, “Get out of town, now. You’ve got an hour, two tops, before everything starts falling down around our ears. I’ve been in contact with Philadelphia; the Camarilla there is strong. Go there, I’ll get as many people out as I can and we’ll all reconvene there.” And with that he’s gone again, back into the Elysium.
Seeing Dev pop out of existence, Detris bares his fangs in anger, shouting, “Phage!” With that word, one of the shadow snakes lunges forward, sinking long, sharp fangs into the leg of a kindred too slow to dodge. As its poison pumps through him, spidery black lines can be seen beginning to trace their way up and out from the site of the injury, overtaking his form in seconds before he crumbles to the ground and Ted Baxton is no more.
“You will leave when I dismiss you, no sooner!” No sooner have the words left his mouth than Dev reappears, grabbing the next person he can reach and teleporting out with Naberius.
Detris shouts in rage, and John lunges forward, claws extended, raking them across the torso of the nearest kindred and he would have sliced Shanoa neatly in half if Maxim hadn’t stepped in the way, taking the brunt of the blow across his torso, slippery pink entrails spilling out of his stomach and onto the ground, his ribs visible in places, sliced through like warm butter for mere moments before crumbling into dust. Shanoa cries out in grief and anger briefly before Dev pops back in, grabbing her arm and popping back out.
At a gesture from the enraged Detris, Phage’s shadow snakes and tentacles launch a joint attack on the left side of the room while John goes to town on the right, turning into a whirling dervish of claws and death. An arm, flying across the room detached from its body, manages to hit Lucilla, causing her to drop her Majesty, sending Kindred bolting for the elevator, trying to get in in a panic.
Out on the street level, Dacian starts gathering as many people as he can, those he recognizes, Lorraine gesturing Shelby along, the group listening quietly as Dacian passes on Mike’s instructions from Dev: grab what you can, head to Philly, regroup there. The group disperses quickly, scattering in several different directions as they run to their cars, everyone pulling out phones and issuing orders.
Meanwhile…
All over town, phones started buzzing, kine and kindred alike, stories of roving gangs rioting, looting, burning buildings seemingly at random… except to those in the know. To those of the kindred community, these attacks were anything but random. They were hitting strongholds: Incubus Rising was the first to go, a well-placed Molotov cocktail and some gasoline saw to that. The Brujah warehouse went next, accomplished by several well-thrown sticks of dynamite detonating the traps inside.
At almost the same time, a few blocks away, another building went KA-BOOM, taking part of the pink line with it. Kine news sources labelled it a terrorist attack on a large scale but, of course, the kindred of the city knew better.
Then came the first reports of ghouls going silent, lines dead. Key politicians and kine assets started disappearing, one or two bodies being found later, some in pieces, but most disappearing into the ether.
Then the information started flooding in, through Schrecknet, the Harpy Network, even the Malkavian Network was ringing about this, the largest Sabbat invasion the Camarilla had seen in some time. Over a dozen Sabbat strongholds had committed their troops to this assault it seemed, creating a tidal wave that quickly swept over Chicago, crushing anything that got in its way. Some tried to fight, of course, but, from what reports say of the aftermath, none made it out.
The escape effort was centered on the Sheriff’s Station, Dwight and Dev spearheading the effort, loading anyone willing into Dwight’s armored vehicles along with as many of their possessions as they could fit.
Several days later…
As the first refugees begin to trickle into Philadelphia, they find that things are not quite as they had seemed. What looked from the outside like a staunchly Camarilla city was, in fact, barely Camarilla at all. What members of the Tower did make their home in Philadelphia had been relegated to a small corner of the city, with the Anarchs and the Sword having the strongest presence, the independent clans providing a buffer and an almost no-man’s land of sorts.
With the refugees now caught on the backfoot, how will they respond? Will they hold to their Camarilla values? Or will they defect? Will they prosper or will they fail? Only time will tell.
Category:Crossroads: Philadelphia by Night Wiki
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