Odd Swiss Hospitality

Basel was a decent change. Our group was welcomed well enough. No one was out to end our unlives for this short span of time.

What I did find odd, was that our hosts wanted our participation in discussions and sharing of ideas - but none of them really did so, at least with myself. I believe I was able to speak with two guests, a certain Lord Mendel of the Warlocks, and another one (his name escapes me) who seems to be of the blood.

Both gentlemen I engaged in conversation with, but for some reason, they felt uneasy as we talked further. I would like to think that I have changed enough in these past years leaning towards being more amiable and civilized, at least as a facade, yet they end our conversations abruptly and leave with such haste as if they had a glimpse of Hell in the course of our discussion.

I just shrug, smile, and move on. Odd kind of hospitality here in Switzerland. Perhaps it's the mountain air, or they see something that I do not.

Secrets Among Friends

Hanz Braun Viecht is a strange fellow, but among my fellow Children I dare say I count him as a friend. Friendship seems like such an alien concept to me now - perhaps a consequence of this unholy life of the damned. One cannot fully appreciate the "value" of human company when one moment they appear like tempting bags of blood and the next they're gone.

Many stories have been told about the wonders of immortality and how so many have sought after this gift. But I doubt anyone who was actually immortal would ever share the sentiments that this is some sort of blessing. Instead it's a curse - an eternal struggle with boredom and despair as anyone you grow attached to eventually die, as mortals are fated to eventually.

You would think then that the natural instinct would be to turn to my kind to seek any form of companionship, but even that has proved difficult for me. Perhaps it is because of the nature of my blood as Tzimisce - our gift are quite...unique, to say the least. Even among fellow walkers of the night our powers are a bit repulsive to some.

But even among Tzimisce it is hard to find comfort. Friendship is a relationship between equals and clearly my clan does not see me as equal. Instead many revere me or are wary of me as they call me the "Chosen of the First". And yet I have not even met the Lady who has supposedly chosen me.

And so I return to Hanz, perhaps my only comfort on this unusual reunion with my fellow Children. What initially started as seeking comfort in finding a fellow countryman to speak to has developed into an odd degree of trust between him and I. But that trust is not easy to manage given the nature of his gifts as well. His lack of inhibitions when it comes to utilizing his powers to gain glimpses of others thoughts can be unsettling, but at the same time it has proven useful time and time again.

But at the same time, his recent behavior has me wondering more and more how stable he is. Constantly sifting through the minds of lesser beings as he does is taxing, to say the least. When one's thoughts are constantly intermixed with those of all those around you, how do you manage to keep your sense of self? How do you retain your own sanity?

And beyond this, I fear that Hanz has done some terrible things over the course of the past decades. We have all done things that our past selves would have been appalled at, I'm certain, but there is clearly more to things that what is apparent. It's surprising that Hanz can actually keep a secret given his personality, but his doing so makes it all the more frightening. And based on what he revealed tonight, well, it makes me wonder about what I truly know about this man - or whatever dark thing he has become.

So Hanz, my friend (for lack of a better term). What have you done that terrifies you so?

And do I really want to know?

I Am Sabbat

Sabbat.

It's such a strange word, but it's what they've chosen to call people like me. And now I've been given some sort of strange pardon by the Camarilla in order to serve their purposes.

I'm not at all surprised - clearly the Founders can't ignore what we have learned to embrace. They throw the term "Sabbat" around as if it's dirty and vile and ultimately wrong but they're just denying their true natures. They struggle to turn their backs on their true powers and abilities and the true blessings this undead existence has granted us. We are cursed in so many ways but at the same time gifts with such amazing abilities.

I don't know why I continue to play along with this routine. Perhaps it's just idle curiosity of some sort. Maybe it's because that as loathe as I am to admit it, my fellow Children are the closest I can get to having some sort of a family anymore. After my embrace, there was no hope of truly returning home. I am no longer human after all. We're all more than just human. But the limited feelings of kinship and familiarity that I have left in this world are limited to the Children.

Especially after the Cathedral fell.

Vlad keeps returning to my thoughts. Is this some sort of a message? Should I return to my childe? Is he the family that I'm supposed to care for and keep safe? What a thought! Vlad was never one to need protection - he's much stronger than most give him credit for. The lengths he is willing to go for power, well, I cannot help but feel an odd sense of pride.

But the Children, well, they are still a confused little group who spend more time fearing their own abilities for the sake of The Masquerade.

And thus they call me Sabbat.

A Taste of Blood, Part 1

Hunting the Giovanni has never been difficult.

They concern themselves with only two things in life: money and necromantic power. The former is easier to find than the latter. The Giovanni, after all, are a family of decadent monsters. One need only stand in any market place in Italy and follow the flow of goods and money. Chances are, it will lead you to Giovanni or one associated to them.

They call Venice their home but they are present in every city, residing in ports and merchant houses. They do their best to inconspicous but the Giovanni are proud and their name carries a certain amount of prestige among the merchant class and politicians. Anyone who enters into an agreement with the Giovanni of their own free will can expect to come out with a profit. Those who do not can expect to be either floating dead in the nearest river...or worse, fettered to an object to exist as their servant for the rest of eternity.

The Giovanni trust no one but family. They may hire people of different races and nationality as servants and workers but they will always put one of their own in charge to handle their night to night affairs. They are either members of the clan or those of their mortal family who have been ghouled into servitude. This is both their strength and their weakness. One I am not hesitant to exploit.

Iakov's merchant connections helped me enter the city and deliver me straight into the Giovanni storehouses. It was dangerous but the right amount of coin allowed me to pass without so much as a glance from the dockmaster. After all, what was another cassa da imballaggio of smuggled goods in a city full of smuggled goods? It would have been suspicious if we hadn't paid him off.

I emerged from the container of spices a few candlemarks after sunset. No longer needing to breath helped. I could still hear some of the facchino grunting as they carried the other spedizione into the warehouse but they were some distance away.

The storehouse was large and wide. Goods from all over Italy were here, packed in crates, jars and other types of containers. One could get lost if they were not careful. But experience has told me that the best way to navigate a maze was from the rafters. So I climbed the crates and the wall until I reached the ceiling. There, I allowed the shadows to envelop me and the silence surround me.

Iakov was right; the Giovanni were planning something. Not too far ahead, the facchino were moving crates from the warehouse to a wagon while two men watched as their servants worked. One porter slipped and the crate crashed, spilling the contents inside. From here I could see the glint of blades from swords. One of the two men began shouting explitives at the porter who did his best to put the swords back in th box. That one was definitely Giovanni. He was dressed in expensive clothes and shouted in Italian for the men to hurry. But it was the stylized "G" on his chain of gold around his neck that gave him away.

His companion, on the other hand, looked French. His robes were simple and black yet I could see they were trimmed in gold. The lantern near them swung slightly, the light revealing markings sewn into the material. Intersting. Though I have not seen many in my time, those markings looked like runes. A Tremere? What would a Warlock be doing allied to a Necromancer?

On second thought, it's surprising that the Giovanni and the Tremere aren't better bedfellows. Both explore forbidden mysteries and delve into the arcane. Both acquired the status they have by taking it from the Antedeluvian founder. They are also tight-knit and insular. They would never approach you unless you had something they wanted. The question is, what?

A letter to Iakov Mysi regarding Jerusalem circa 1479

Iakov,

I hope this missive finds you in good health and peaceful surroundings. We may have talked about this before, but I still would like to take this opportunity to apologize for the danger that I had exposed you to during our trip to the Holy Land.

I did not expect such an event to occur. My sire had not given much explanation, other than our Father's desire to meet me once the Five have made themselves known to each other. He still lives, and is among us! It will be interesting to see how the Sabbat will react (sooner, rather than later) if they know what I now know. What we know. What all of you will know. Especially after what has happened at Thorn.

You still may not know or understand it, but had I not gone against my sire's wishes for me to wait, you, and every Cainite in the city would have perished. The others I could care less of, but to have risked a friend's, nay a brother's life unnecessarily for something I barely understood at the time was unforgivable. For this I humbly apologize.

As for your sister - perhaps we will have better luck as we move on. I will help you with this as much as I possibly can, at the very least as a means to atone for endangering you back in the Holy Land.


Regards,

Michel

Anette

Marianna was right. I should have moved quicker. I had ignored her warnings and perhaps have sealed my dear daughter's fate.

It is too late though, to wonder what could have been. What steps I could have taken to prevent this.

My only daughter is now dead, ashes left for the sunrise.

To her executioner - I do not know if I can sincerely thank you for this, or to condemn you to an eternity of enlightenment. On one hand - you had saved her from further being brought into Claudius' machinations. On the other - you took away my only dauther.

Thank you, Tatiana Stoyan, for releasing my child from Claudius' grip.

Damn you, Tatiana Stoyan, for denying me my right as her father to set her right, and perhaps say goodbye one last time.

I will make sure that once Claudius is destroyed, you will find peace in the remainder of your unlife. Malkav watch over you until then.

Anette - Please be patient with your buffoon of a father - I will eventually meet you and Luc wherever you may be now.

Regarding Madam Cloaca

Master Van Bauren,

I feel that I should inform you of an encounter I had recently with one of your clanmates. She calls hereself Madam Cloaca. She haunts the streets and sewers of Rome as a beggar but is actually more than she seems.

She is old; it is my impression that she has awakened from torpor only recently. She does not seem to be aware of what has happened in the last two centuries or so. Therefore, she does not know of the Camarilla or the Masquarade. In fact, I encountered her as she disposed of a body by throwing it away like a ragdoll to the roof of a building.

I followed her for some time after the fiasco at Alphonse (Iakov will notify you of the details of the incident). Yes, she did not use her powers to conceal herself from me; I found this unusual since I know your clan's penchant for stelath and secrecy. She wandered the streets talking to herself in Latin.

I think that it would be in the best interest of the Camarilla to induct her in our ways to protect the Masquarade. She was...instrumental in our investigation as to who might have assisted in the acquisition of the text we are after. However, her recent actions make her a danger to the Camarilla and the Kindred as a whole.

And if you should need of my services regarding this matter, please let me know.


Sincerely,

Stoyan

Dark Thoughts Or Prophetic Visions?

It has been more than two centuries since I had last seen my "siblings" of the blood - and yet already I feel it has been too soon for a reunion. Trouble seems to follow us as a group as if we were cursed, but I suppose we all knew that to be true since the night we were embraced by the damned Conspiracy.

Yes, we are definitely cursed and woe and misfortune follow us everywhere we go.

But what was more disturbing for me beyond the attack on our vessel was the odd resurgence of memories I had long buried. Why my thoughts have returned to the dark events of the past centuries - the fall of Cathedral of Flesh, the salt witch creature and of course Vlad - I know not the reason. But if I've learned anything since my Embrace, these are visions that I cannot easily dismiss offhand.

Are these warnings about my vulnerabilities? That day I scarcely escaped the salt fiend was a strong reminder of how even as Kindred we remain so fragile. But beyond that, it also reinforced the many ways that even we, with all of our preternatural abilities, can be manipulated and controlled. I still do not know for sure what happened in the five years I "lost", and I certainly do not look forward to that happening to me again.

But beyond all the other memories that have forced their way into my consciousness even during the heat of battle, why Vlad? I have not turned my thoughts to him since the fall of the Cathedral - at least that's as far as I can remember. I can never be too sure about such things anymore. But Tepes was always an individual that put me on edge even among fellow Tzimisce. He was always a strange mix of beauty and brutality in one individual.

And one that I had been asked to Sire.

While immortality is an amazing gift in itself, I can only wonder if the human mind was built to live this long. Can we truly remember everything that happens in more than 200 years of existence? When do years start feeling like mere minutes or even seconds of time in the greater scheme of things? And if the mind can only handle so much, then what dark designs makes one remember some of the most horrific periods of my undead life?

For now I shall bide my time with my siblings, if only to learn more about what they're about at this point. There have been so many changes since the night in the garden and we're all grown in different ways, if we can call it that. But more and more I remain uncertain as to how far I can trust them. There are too many things going on beyond our understanding and once again I feel we are at a point when events are moving us around like pawns instead of us shaping events.

Given what happened the last time we all gathered together on that fateful night, I can only hope to find a way to make sure we come out with a different outcome. This time I will take control of my own fate - or at least escape being trapped in the designs of others.

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

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.

The Calm and Rage of Steel

Michel de Valois, Chevalier, Marquis de FontainebleauClan Malkavian, 7th Generation
Childe of Lady Theopana
Embrace:  April 4, 1444

Michel learned after his Embrace that the world is filled with so many more secrets and details than he thought before.  Little did he know this new form of perceptiveness was the result of his Sire's subtle nudge for him to keep using his newfound gifts of Auspex.  


Time will tell, however, how the blood of Malkav shall truly affect the former soldier.  Madness has always been attributed to the Malkavian line and how this will manifest in Michel's life remains to be seen.

The Maker and his Work

Steffen Vanderman
Clan Tzimisce, 7th Generation
Childe of Lord Mieczyslav
Embrace:  April 4, 1444

After being tricked by the Fiend to carve on a living person as he normally did stone, Steffen is beginning to discover exactly how horrifying the powers of the Tzimisce actually are.   Not only can flesh be molded like clay in his hands, but so too can the wills of animals.


Steffen still struggles to find his place in this new existence.   Prior to the Embrace, he already felt the struggle to relate with others.  All the more now in this shadow world of the Kindred.  Stranger still, he has noticed that he has gained a habit of biting on his thumb -- even to the point of gnawing on it -- and as far as he can recall, he has never had this habit before.

Of Beasts and Children

Iakov Mysi
Clan Ravnos, 7th Generation
Childe of Gabrin
Embrace:  April 4, 1444


The young rat catcher quickly discovered while imprisoned in Lord Hardestadt's prison that he had gained the supernatural ability to speak with his dog, Ugor.  It did not take long for him to realize the other gifts being a cainite were to grant.  The supernatural toughness and the ability to even quell temporarily the beasts of other vampires were within his reach.


Iakov however was told that his Sire did not survive the assault of the Founders that fated evening.  He struggles with the weight of the Ravnos curse upon his thoughts, overwhelming him with the urge to succumb to one of the seven deadly sins.

Of Silence and Murder

Tatiana Stoyan
Clan Assamite, 7th Generation
Childe of Lord Bajazet al-Nasir
Embrace:  April 4, 1444

The events of the fated evening have forever scarred the young woman who hides behind the name Alexi Stoyan.   As one of the seven survivors of that terrible ordeal, Tatiana now seeks to understand her strange new existence as one of the walking dead.

Though she is still struggling to comprehend her vampiric nature, Tatiana was told that Bajazet Al-Nasir was destroyed by his own Clan.  The Lady Jadviga Almanov of Bohemia advised her that it may be best she pose as a member of the High Clans.  The wily Ventrue has offered that Tatiana claim to be her childe instead; an offer Tatiana considers carefully with much trepidation.