Perhaps...

Assassin. That's what they call my kind. Assamites. Dealers of death. Warrior judge of the night.

Some assassin I turned out to be.

I had intended to make my mark that night, the night Claudius and his sire Augustus revealed their hand. I wanted to make them pay for what they did to us, to me. I wanted to feast on Claudius blood and watch as he turned into ash. But that was not meant to be.

Instead, I was thrown about like a weak little kitten. I was an insignificant wasp to them, my sting barely felt. Again, I felt useless and weak, unable to defend myself from their predations. Like the night after the dinner, I came away with nothing except another mark of my shame.

I look at my withered forearm and wonder why I still live. Is God cruel to allow me to continue this way? I should be dead and buried. I sometimes wish I could be. She says it would be possible. They call it torpor.

But then I remember Claudius and his sanctimonius grin, his arrogant threats. I will not die! Not until he and his family are sent to hell by my hands.

Perhaps this stranger will help me. She reminds me of Japeth but without the passivity that doomed him.

Perhaps the others of my coterie will help me.

Perhaps I that is the reason why I am still here.

Useless Humanity

I do not understand why I tried to save him.

Before entering that damned garden, I swore to myself that I would only watch the events as they would unfold. This was not my fight after all - what did I care about mad men who believed they could be gods? May it be the Founders or the Conspirators, it did not matter to me. True, I was no longer human and my life as a proud artisan journey was over. But now I was so much more than that and somehow I knew that getting involved in the fight between these lunatics would only endanger me. As much as we now have access to powerful new abilities of an infernal nature, I also know we're still very vulnerable. There is just so much that we yet know about the dark arts granted to us by the blood of our sires.

But when the fighting began and I saw Rafael on the ground being gored by that brute, I knew I had to act. As much as this unlife has been full of dangers left and right, there were still debts to be paid and some sense of humanity to be maintained.

Humanity - what a strange thought now that we are of the undead. What does it mean to be human anymore, now that we can mold flesh to our whims, control the very shadows around us and even summon lesser creatures to our aid? When one can move with preternatural speed or see into the very thoughts of other men, are we still human to any extent?

What did my humanity get me? I failed in my attempts to save Rafael and was injured significantly because of it. After the winds began, again I gave into my human instincts but instead was rewarded with a loss of the precious vitae that keeps us alive, for lack of a better term.

My humanity be damned. I see no reason to continue on with this lot. I was lucky to escape the harrowing events of that night in the garden with my pale semblance of a life barely intact!

No, my mission is clear. These abilities were given for a reason - one that directly links to my former artistry as a journeyman. But no longer will I need to kowtow to the Church and the nobles who have want of my previous services. Now I will learn how to craft the very flesh and bone of our bodies to achieve true perfection.

And to do this, I know my path must lead to the Lady.

A dead dove, with a spatter of blood

At the end of it all, I had in my trembling hands a dead dove - spattered with the vile blood of the cause of all this.

I have to admit that I do not know if we have achieved anything that night. We have not been able to save Japheth from Cladius' foul taking of his lifesblood and soul - what Japheth himself had described as the act of the Amaranth. We were stunned to find out that even that despicable act was only meant to cloud our eyes to what Claudius and his sire Augustus' ultimate plan was - to consume the blood and soul of Cappadocious himself, the progenitor of the Cappadocian clan of Kindred.

Aye, we failed to do anything to prevent that as well.

Our unlikely "coterie" of fledgelings had only been able to lend to the confusion that raged around the center stage of events, where Cladius' Conspirators fought against Hardestadt's Founders. Our sires had wanted to save their unlives, realizing the immensity of the sin that Claudius and his sire had orchestrated. Hardestadt and his so-called Founders had burst in, proclaiming death to the Conspirators for their crimes.

Ultimately, the melee that ensued led to the bloodshed that could be expected from Kindred elders tearing at each others throats, with my companions and I in various states of injury and bewildered by what had just taken place.

All that, and a dead dove with a spatter of blood, in my hands.

I will not claim to understand everything that took place that night. I hope to find out what it all means, and how this now affects the rest of our unlives.

One thing I am sure of is that I will forever remember what happened. I believe that I will keep what remains of this dove. Someone may be able to explain the importance of this insignificant thing to me.

In their Own Words

Each one has their own story to tell.  Their own views to share.

And their own confessions to make.

In this game, the dead do tell tales.