Seven Deadly Sins

When I first joined the thieve's guild, I was almost certain it would kill me. I had no desire to steal from others. I knew it was wrong. I resisted and tried to appear no good at it. But the guildmaster beat the skill into me. I realized I would prefer to steal than feel the rod at my back. His wrath was a frightening thing to behold.

My apprenticeship lasted for years. I still resisted, of course. I would sometimes come back empty handed whenever we I was sent out to earn my pay. But the guildmaster learned to convince me with words, rather than violence. He appealed to my sense of envy, of greed in those more blessed by God.

Why should nobles have more than I have? What right do they have to own and keep things they did not earn through honest labor? Why should they have more than they knew what to do with. He whispered these things to me and I found myself agreeing with him. If I managed to steal something from those above my station, then it only shows they did not have the right to possess it.

In time, I mastered the trade. I could pilfer one's money pouch without the owner ever feeling anything but the sun on his face. I could enter towers and dungeons undetected, like a breeze wafting in. Guards would sooner hear a leaf fall than detect my movements. I began to take pride in my abilities.

At first, the guildmaster wanted me to steal objects: coins, jewelry and other treasures. Later, he wanted me to steal information to use against his enemies. He wished to remain a few steps ahead of them. He told me where to wait in the wings, like an owl watching for secrets as I listened to his enemies plot to gain the advantage over him.

His success over the years had made him lazy; he let others deal with the more mundane tasks while he sat comfortably enjoying the wealth from those who served him. He made the mistake of looking for the enemy without instead of the enemy within. Little by little, his influence eroded. It wasn't long before others decided he was expendable and that there would be more wealth to go around if he did not receive his share.

From stealing wealth and knowledge, was it too hard to imagine I would soon be stealing lives? The new guildmaster realized that there was money to be made in dealing death. He realized this when I accidentally killed a nobleman; the one who hired us to steal incriminating evidence to use against his rival found the nobleman's death to be a blessing. So, he rewarded us well.

I used to find it difficult to kill someone. I would change my mind several times before poisoning or slitting the throat of my victims. And I would always feel remorse later on. I convinced myself I was doing it because I did not want to cause trouble for myself or my father. In truth, however, there is nothing more potent a drug than holding someone's life in your hands. I realize that now.

Since the incident with the Giovanni, I have become accustomed to it. Killing to sate my thirst has always been my goal. I tried to resist it again, to drink only when necessary. But something inside me escaped; I went mad with the desire to feed. In the throes of hunger, I killed several innocents.

Claudius was right about one thing, consumption is indeed an act of murder. These last few years have showed me that my hunger, my lust for blood will always result in the death of another. God willing, it will be he and his sire soon.

Dearest Iuliana,

I am safe and well. I am on the road to Poszony to see you as I write this letter. I am almost certain that Pavel will waste your time with silly stories of wild birds and foxes delivering my messages to his home. Humor him, dear sister. It should amuse your imagination.

Please do not be alarmed by what I am about to tell you.

My trip to Wallachia was a disaster. The man called Claudius Giovanni is a lunatic and his guests, exotic and "learned" people, were possessed of warped minds! Monsters in the guise of civility. Even Ugor, oh the poor dog, has suffered as traumatically as I have. We barely left that damned fortress alive. I can tell you little else, sister, but let this serve as a warning. Do not ask me to explain, just trust me as you always have. Curse the name Giovanni and avoid it at all costs. What rumors you hear of them, of their witchcraft and devilry, are most probably true. Never associate yourself with anyone bearing the name. The schemes of that damned family do not involve just silk and coin but death as well. I shall ask of you to swear it upon our parents' graves when we finally see each other.

Do not fret. Some good has come out of this most horrible trip to the Carpathians. Almost entirely by accident, I was "saved" by Mistress Fanchon and her companions. Circumstances concerning the mistress' friends were unpleasant at first but I am now under the kind lady's employ and tutelage. You might have noticed an improvement in my writing. In fact, I have been given leave to visit you. I, of course, do not intend on wasting time. It has been too long, Iuliana. I am glad to be coming home.

Ugor says he misses you too.

Your brother,
Iakov

A Matter of Siredom

It is with a heavy heart that I write this entry down.

My thoughts on the matter are confused enough as it may become

without weighing as well the matters of security

and of bloodline.

These survivors of the Conspiracy of Isaac,

Michael de Valois, Iakov Mysi,
Steffan Wandermann, Tatianna Stoyan,

Hanz Viecht, Jacqueline Laurent,

and Celement,

these fledgling vampires

have accomplished far more in the mere week

they have held Caine's blood in their veins

than some of us have in our first century 

as Kindred.

They have stood among and fought against elders.

They have challenged ancients.

They have watched an Antedeluvian die.

These ancillae have entered their unlives

at a period most precocious in immortal affairs.

And even the crone herself, Durga Syn,

senses that something extra-ordinary exists about them.

Typically, 

a vampire's character would be easy to anticipate based on who their sire is.

But these kindred were born out of necessity,

or urgency,

not love.

I do not know what to expect of them.

Times are certain to be more interesting.

Indeed.

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.