World of Darkness

The Draco Mystere Tome

The red shiny leather was somehow well kept after all these years and smooth to the touch despite it being bound around such a hard and heavy artifact. The book itself was ancient and the smell of brine assaulted the Prince’s nose. Any other book which sat at the bottom of the ocean for thousands of years would have disintegrated by now, but not this old tome. It had been warded against such degradations. He could sense the power of magic wrapped around the book like a protective shell. The gold trim shined, casting a slight reflection visible by candle light in which the Prince could see his eager eyes peering down like a young vampire about to taste its first drop of blood.
The binding protested in a warping sound as he opened the book to the first page. Its elegant writing had been composed in a language that Prince Duncan was not familiar with. Its basis predated modern man and he knew it came from a time before time. The people who wrote this book had long been forgotten many centuries ago.
Pulling out a sharp, ornamental dagger he slashed his forearm four inches across until blood began to pour. The words he chanted brought power to the blood and transformed his perception. It was Thaumaturgy he used and it would help him translate the content of the Draco Mystere Tome which had been recovered and brought to him by a loyal subject.
Night after night the Prince forbade anyone to disturb him as he read through the pages. The book was immense in content and rich with knowledge long forgotten. Every chapter revealed more and more to him, including the location of several of the Dragon Orbs.
It would be on the 5ht night when he found what he had been searching for almost half of his unnatural life. The book began to speak of familiar characters to the knowledge thirsty prince. In one of the passages it told the story of Lilith, Adams first wife who refused to submit to Adam and wandered off into the Land of Nod.
Now Lilith told Adam “May the gods deal with me, be it ever so severely, if by this time tomorrow I do not flee from your side.”
Then she lay down under the tree and fell asleep. A dragon had built its nest at the foot of the tree. The Zu-bird was raising its young in the crown, and the demon Lilith had built her house in the middle. Then the Zu-bird flew into the mountains with its young, while Lilith, petrified with fear, tore down her house and fled into the wilderness.
The strange passages went on to tell how Lilith while venturing through the Land of Nod had come across a dying ancient dragon. The dragon pleaded for her healing magick. It offered her the knowledge of the old ones and the long forgotten city, but Lilith felt she could gain more power in the creature’s death than in its life. She pulled out a dagger and slit the dragon’s belly open; draining its blood and essence into a waterskin, she carried with her. When she returned to her hut, knowing the power that dragons harnessed she took a small sip from the waterskin. She knew it was forbidden to drink the blood of a dragon, but she did it anyway. The amount Lilith drank was enough to transform her into something no longer human.
The remaining sections were cryptic, but from what Duncan could glean Lilith was cursed and became a mystical almost demonic creature. Legend grew of an evil that swept across the Land of Nod.
The scripture went on to say months later Cain wandered the Land of Nod, exiled by his father, but not without purpose. He sought out the mysterious old witch he had heard stories about. When he found her she was not the old hag he expected, but in the form of a beautiful woman. Lilith seduced Cain and they shared a bed for several weeks. Within that time period Cain witnessed the strange powers Lilith possessed and he began to beg her to teach him.
She was curious to see the outcome if a single mortal consumed the whole lambskin of the dragon’s blood so she told Cain if he drank the blood within the lambskin he would be granted powers equal to hers. Cain trusted in her, drank the blood of the dragon and was cursed forever.
Duncan dropped the book to his lap and thought long about what he had just read. He had finally discovered the truth behind all that was kindred. They were not damned by God or Cain. They were not the result of some genetic mutation as many believed in the modern era. They were damned and cursed by dragons. The supernatural essence that gave life to his necrotic body was powerful draconic magic which flowed through his veins. It repulsed him, unnerved him and excited him all in one.
He continued on for several more days learning that it wasn’t a Deluge that destroyed Enoch, the city built by Cain. It was in fact Urathear Di Wer Bekilk, one of the four great dragons who stayed behind on Earth after the fall of Atlantis, who came to avenge his slain brother by killing Cain and all his children. No offense had been greater to Urathear. Pathetic humans had partaken in his brother’s blood. He would always be able to smell the taint and the corruption of any who held his brothers vitae within them.
Even more disturbing was the revelation that the Followers of Set were actually created by Urathear. A bloodline he created to assist him when he returned from his great slumber to make sure the world was rid of Cain and all his children. His deception so great that even the followers themselves still believe they serve an Egyptian god.
On the final night Duncan placed the tome on his desk and looked all around as if he were reaching out for help from a higher power.
“It isn’t Cain who will come to judge his children as the Book of Nod has told us,” he spoke in dread. “It is Urathear Di Wer Bekilk who shall come to kill us all. He will wipe out all the bloodlines. We all share the essence dating back to that very night when Cain drank the cursed blood. All kindred are doomed.”

Shifting of Power
*Definition of Justicar according to White Wolf Wiki

The justicars are the most powerful visible component of the Camarilla’s government, charged with adjudicating matters of the Traditions on a wide scale and acting as the eyes, ears, and hands of the Inner Circle. There is one justicar for each clan of the Camarilla, and each is served by several handpicked archons who act as their spies, enforcers, and representatives around the world.
The justicars are the voice of the Inner Circle and their actions can only be challenged by another justicar, granting them nearly unlimited power to do as they see fit. A justicar can seize whatever resources are required, rearrange offices with impunity, and even depose of princes if they so desire. And though most justicars are prudent enough to consider their actions when dealing with other highly influential Kindred, such abuses of power earn them a great deal of resentment from vampires of all ages. More commonly they spend their time calling conclaves to judge disputes and crimes, or simply to encourage social gatherings within the Camarilla, and oversee the war against the Sabbat.
Justicars are chosen by the Inner Circle every 13 years during the Camarilla conclave in Venice. Appointments are an intense, drawn out process as each clan attempts to elevate its most talented members and likewise limit the power of the other clans. This politicking often results in compromise candidates and new rivalries, but in the end the Inner Circle decides on its own, and over the centuries several unexpected choices have been made. Justicars hold their position for 13 years, although a justicar may be chosen for consecutive terms.

The mansion burned throughout the night, wild flames danced upward giving the riverside a reddish orange hue and even though it represented something of a landmark, no firefighters dared come to put out the flames. It was the end of a 37 year rule by Prince Borbala Adair. The snake’s head had been severed and now what little power the Ventrue held within local politics would die out. Those who took part in the coup saw to it that no one would truly know who murdered the Prince at his secret lair, located at the Louisville Water Tower Mansion.
The city was about to face a new rule. While the Venture used mental domination to puppeteer all those within its grasp the new mantle of power would be led through secrecy and controlled by magic. A magic known as Thaumaturgy, a sorcery involving blood magic and rituals, had kept the Tremere on top in the power struggle within the Camarilla for centuries.
The first night of the Sabbat invasion had ended leaving two Elysium locations burned, many vampires both Sabbat and Camarilla killed, and the Prince of the city murdered in a coup secretly devised by the Tremere Warlock Duncan Hall.
That first night was chaos for the Kindred within Louisville. Rumors spread fast of the Prince’s demise at the hand of the Sabbat. Many believed the Sabbat to be taking over. Left with no leadership several began to plan an exodus from the city. Warlock Duncan let everyone spend that first night in fear deciding not to announce he would assume control and take on the role of Prince. He figured by the next dusk they would all be so fearful of Sabbat rule they would gladly accept his inauguration without question and that they did. The following night a conclave was set up and Warlock Duncan took on the role of the Prince. His first act as the Prince was to order and immediate attack on all Sabbat within the city, followed by an intrusion into Southern Indiana to assassinate Archbishop Kelly and to squash the Sabbat presence there. His order was met with timorous looks and whispers of doubt. Most of the remaining vampires in the city were young and not battle minded creatures.
The Nosferatu had numbers, but their worth was in stealth and information. The Assamites were few but deadly. The Brujah Clan would be the greatest asset and Duncan had Mark Ballard, unofficial leader of the clan, on his side and ready to spill blood. The few remaining Ventrue could be fodder in the battle as far as Duncan was concerned. No other clans had representation at the conclave and Duncan knew it was because there were none of them left in the city.
With Warlock Duncan’s leadership and Thaumaturgy the Sabbat was defeated that very night and on the next night the Sabbat leadership in the area was vanquished, ending the Sabbat threat all together in the immediate area. A few packs would stay but not enough to pose any kind of threat on Duncan’s rule.

“The night was won by magic,” said an elder looking vampire named Olin, “and so it will be controlled by magic.”
The strange assortment of characters, three vampires, a werewolf and a gargoyle, stood on top of a building looking down at the city. Several fires could be seen in the distance, the smell of smoke blew through the air and the sound of sirens blared all through the night.
Matt looked out towards the hills in the south. He had not recovered emotionally from his time spent locked away in a steel coffin. He had heard Olin’s words and considered them deeply. If Prince Adair was still in power he would still be locked away in that dark prison. It was true the Tremere had freed him, but he feared that too would come to be a new and different kind of prison. When the Ventrue were in power Matt lived like a king in the city, but now it was the Tremere on top and his clan on the bottom.
“I bet you are glad to be out,” said the gargoyle, as it strode over next to Matt.
“Yes,” Matt replied although part of him didn’t mean it.
“So what now?”
Matt only looked at him not knowing his meaning.
“We are two outsiders living in a city ruled by the Tremere,” the gargoyle clarified. “What is a lone Ventrue and gargoyle to do?”
“We wait and see what cards we are dealt. Only then can we play the game.” Matt responded with a slight grin.

Aldarich Dirk, Tremere Justicar, could read the aura of the new Prince clearly. His aura was pale like all vampires, but the color that stood out the most was the lingering dark blue. Occasionally a hint of dark green would slip through, but Aldarich knew that most high ranking Tremere coveted his position therefore envy was common place when he read auras. It was the dark blue that Aldarich was most interested in. It revealed to him that Duncan was blanketed in suspicion and unease.
He approached Warlock Duncan’s throne within the chantry enjoying the enchanted windows which had been made to appear as though it was daytime outside. It had been five centuries since he felt the warmth of the sun and even though he knew it was only a false sunlight it still appealed to him greatly.
He had long blonde hair, brightly blue eyes, and Germanic features. He wore a long coat which barely hid the long sword that hung from his hip. Having heard stories of vampires instantly destroyed by its menacing bolts, Duncan took note of the wand tucked under Aldarich’s belt.
“I have awaited your arrival,” spoke Duncan as he stood up to greet Aldarich. “It pleases me to know that you have come to personally bless this change of power. It will go over well indeed with the others in our community to know a Justicar has graced our city with his presence.” His attempt at flattery was obvious, merely an excuse to use his telepathic spell in an attempt to read the Justicar’s mind. Duncan wanted to know the real reason Aldarich had come to Louisville and hoped it wasn’t out of suspicion. The spell had no affect on the much older vampire whose own magical protections had made him immune to that spell and several others.
“I have gathered numerous young women for you to feast on. Some of the best our city has to offer.” Duncan stated while motioning for a servant to go fetch the women.
“We both know I did not come to bless your rise to influence and power here in this dreary, humid little town.” Aldarich paused to give weight to his words before continuing. “I find it quite suspicious that the Prince of the city is killed during a Sabbat invasion with no witnesses to speak of and yet you are quick to pick up the crown and lead all to victory. All of this taking place in a matter of one or two nights no less. It is a little odd and coincidental is it not?” Aldarich smiled taking pleasure in seeing Duncan’s aura glow bright red, indicating anger. Without his ability to read auras, Aldarich would have never known. Duncan was good at hiding his emotions.
“I did what was necessary. No one else was capable of holding them back. If I did nothing then you would be attending to the Sabbat right now.” Duncan defended himself.
“Yes, well giving the strange circumstances I felt it necessary to look into things myself before the next conclave in Venice. I am sure you rather it is me looking into this matter as opposed to the Inner Circle.”
“This is true of course.” Duncan replied.
Moments later, while still discussing the events of the past few nights; two large wooden doors pushed open. Four beautiful young women were lead into Duncan’s grand audience chamber by Sir James Hamilton. They wore only the tight collars around their necks which connected each of them with a leather rope. Aldarich reveled in the sight of the naked women and the orange color that only he could see surrounding them.
“They are afraid,” he said with a devious smile.
“Yes, but still obedient.” Duncan replied. He motioned his hand and all of the women at once removed the collars and dropped them to their sides. They looked almost like they were being controlled by a master with strings. With a single gesture from Duncan the four women approached Aldarich and began rubbing their naked bodies against his. Aldarich noted their aura colors weakening. They were being supernaturally controlled by Duncan to behave in such a sensual manner.
“Drop the control,” Aldarich commanded Duncan.
The moment control was relinquished the women stepped back in utter fear. One of them even braved a scream of terror. That is when Aldarich took action. He gutted the first young girl who had barely seen nineteen years. Before the others could get even five feet away from the vampire, who now had taken on a hideous demeanor baring fangs and claws, their necks were broken and their throats ripped open. Blood flowed down their bodies and onto the marble floor where he stood indulging in the blood lust. One by one he drained them until they were as pale as he. Their bodies dropped to the floor in a lifeless heap, the sound of skulls cracking against the marble and the splatter of spilled blood echoed through the chamber. When he was done he turned to Duncan covered in fresh blood and his fangs still protruding. Duncan smiled as the whole scene aroused him.
“May that be the first of many feast,” Duncan stated with a smile. Unknown to Aldarich, the blood of the women on whom he had just fed was enchanted by one of Duncan’s spells. A spell that Aldarich was not protected from.
“I could very well come to enjoy your company Prince Duncan,” Aldarich replied while savoring the scent of the dead bodies at his feet. He looked at Duncan and though he truly believed the old mage had somehow murdered the former prince, he no longer cared. Duncan, he thought to himself could be a valuable ally and close friend.

Mantle of Deceit

A consequence of living an existence that crosses centuries instead of decades is the curse of watching the world change into something that you no longer recognize. You are forced to remain helpless as those you love or hate die. False histories get passed down and before you know it you yourself get caught up in the never ending spiral of it all.
I live in the never ending shifting water of time where truths corrode away with the passage of centuries. I sit back on my throne, a mantle of deceit on which I have built. One am I who looks down upon my city, the city I now rule. I can’t help, but wonder was it all worth it. I assume control in a time where it appears the end will befall us all. I must tell myself it was a necessary evil. The former prince would have done nothing to resist the power that comes to destroy us all. I truly believe that me and my clan will be able to resist the upcoming doom of our Kindred. Yes, I had to take control by force. The others would not understand this nor will they ever know.
I have surrounded myself with enemies and subjects I force loyalty upon. It is true it is lonely at the top. They may come to thank me one day if we survive the next decade. If we do not then so be it. A future generation will come to learn the false history of our demise I am sure.
My thoughts and visions haunt me. Something is stirring deep within me, something that goes back in the blood that flows through my necrotic body. Whatever it may be and whatever certainty approaches I can’t help but feel we had it coming and deep down I know it will play out as it has many times before. We are all a part of the universe’s play. A drama that has been going on longer than the first Kindred drank its first drop of blood.
What role do I symbolize this time?

Prince Warlock Duncan

Tremere Revival
“I have been called back to the city.” Jon said as he climbed back down into the ruined temple. On the outside the shifting sand dunes blew across the night desert horizon, but there in the ancient forgotten temple buried beneath the Tajarhi Desert the temperature and darkness were constant. “We haven’t even found the damn thing yet Jon.” Tracy replied, obviously irritated and covered in dust and sand. She brushed herself off and climbed out of the small pit they had dug up. “I know, but something else has come up and I must be there.” “How long will you be gone?” she asked. “I don’t know,” he paused “I don’t know if I will be returning.” Tracy looked at him curiously. She had agreed to come here in southern Libya to help him find an important artifact known as Lilith’s Lambskin. It was said to hold the key to the origins of all Kindred. Helping Jon find this would help him find piece with the monster he was. She wanted to do this for him. She loved him, but by doing this she had forsaken her dreams and communes with her goddess mother Artemis, who frequently warned her of the upcoming apocalypse. Her mother believed she was treading on the wrong path of alliance. “And I guess I am suppose to stay all the way out here in the middle of nowhere and do your Chantry’s dirty work?” She said in a raised tone.“I mean I don’t get this.” “What we are doing here is very important. I understand if you wish to leave and I wouldn’t stop you if you did.” He replied calmly trying to prevent an argument. “Stop me? Heh,” Tracy shook her head. “What I mean to say is finding this artifact is very important to me and too many others. If you were to find it I and the others would be eternally grateful.” “I don’t have an eternity for your gratefulness.” Tracy interrupted. Jon moved in close and wrapped his arms around her. “Please do this for me. I will return as soon as I am able and if I can’t I will make sure someone comes back here to get you.” he spoke to her as he closed in with his vampiric charm. Tracy smiled. “Ever since you have become a vampire it has been hard to tell you no.” she responded. Before the break of dawn Jon departed the desert in a flash of magic which she knew teleported him all the way across the world to the city of Louisville. He was gone in an instant and she was left standing there all alone. She remained outside long enough to watch the sunrise by herself as she always did these days. Long after the sun had risen Tracy was resting within the temple when a familiar figure approached her. A magical bow rested at the woman’s side. Her long silver/blonde hair seemed undamaged by the sand which blew through the air and mangled the hair of most mortals. A long white toga was all she wore and the sides of her legs were visible revealing her womanly form. She held out her hand towards Tracy. “Come my sweet daughter. You need not do their bidding anymore. You have a greater purpose. Trust in me and my love. Forsake the damned for that they are.” Artemis spoke. Tracy reached out her hand. ● When Jon appeared within the Tremere Chantry walls he stood before two tall golden bound doors made of sturdy oak. Six circles made up the center making it look like several small irises could be accessed from it. He wasn’t alone. Another mage vampire like himself stood outside of the Warlocks grand door. “I see you got the urgent call too,” said Murdock. “I believe we haven’t met. I am Jon.” Jon replied while eyeing the new face suspiciously. “Well even if we had met, I wouldn’t remember,” He chuckled. " I suffer from amnesia. My name is Murdock that much I do know." “Do you know what this is about?” Jon asked. “If I had to guess I would say it has something to do with the Sabbat invasion that has taken place this very night.” Murdock said and took note of Jon’s surprise. “You are aware of it aren’t you?” Jon couldn’t believe it. This would mean war and many would probably be killed. For the first time he was glad he left Tracy behind. “I have been away,” he replied. “Well welcome back,” Murdock said barely able to contain his laughter. As they stood in the Chantry foyer the grand doors opened before them and Sit Hamilton walked out carrying an old bound book. “He is ready to see you.” he spoke before turning back towards the Warlock’s chamber.
Sabbat Invasion

Archbishop Kelly sat back in his chair admiring his work via a small laptop. On the monitor was bloodshed and mayhem. The prestigious Brown Hotel, known as Elysium to the Kindred, was in flames and its guardian and her children hung from the ceiling, their throats split open and spilling blood upon the lobby.
“This will be a night the Camarilla shall never forget. They will whimper as we feast upon their blood.” he spoke before indulging a large gulp of fresh vampire blood from an odd shaped goblet. Only moments ago the blood he consumed pumped as living vitae through the Toreador Primogen, Stacy O’Connell.
"Prince Adair has grown weak and has spread his supporters thin. I estimate we shall have the city within two nights. Once again Louisville shall be under Sabbat control as it was in the beginning. "
“When shall I leave my sire?” asked a skinny frail looking vampire. His breath new with blood and his eyes gleamed with harmful intent.
“No hurry. I want the Prince to watch his city fall. I want him to feel his structure collapse from underneath him. I want him to experience the chaos before he is brought before his knees and most of all I want him to suffer.” replied the Archbishop.
Not too far away just across the river that separated their territories many key spots within the city where being attacked by wild pacts of Sabbat vampires, running with bloodlust and war in their eyes. Human and Kindred alike who were caught in their path met gruesome ends. Limbs and entrails were torn from bodies and thrown about the street. Heads removed in macabre fashion were left as decorations and reminders of the hell they brought with them.

Two katanas reflected the moonlight of a cold spring night. Slight snowflakes fell as a backdrop on the lone figure that stalked the ally just behind the old police station. His pants were custom made leather wrapped in buckles and belts. His shirt barely to be seen beneath a black leather jacket was as crimson as his eyes. His black silky hair blew in the wind, his fangs bared and the tips of his katanas dragged the asphalt, scraping as he walked along stalking his next victims. He had slain three Sabbat invaders already on this night and he knew there would be more blood. He was Kindred, but unlike any other for he had forsaken his gift long ago. It was a curse to him. The vampire hunter who himself was Kindred would be busy tonight.
He had been stalking a pack of seven vampires. Two of them elders, but the rest just expendable warriors. As he moved up behind them they engaged in a confrontation with a strange group also walking the police station perimeter. One of them was a vampire, but the others were different. Two of them appeared human, one an angel and one of them a changeling he guessed by her strange fey appearance. The pack made their move and so did he. He dashed in quick, his katanas slicing through the snowfall with terrible speed creating a swirl of beauty and promising death to any vampire before him.


Two orbs flickered to life, two eyes which have seen ancient times, two eyes of pure hatred. Long had its slumber been and now it was awake. Its first thoughts drifted to the betrayal of those of a lesser race. It swiveled its head around. Rage engulfed the creature even more, a distasteful revulsion from sadness to anger.
Then its thoughts shifted to its brother and his hatred for the others. When he awoke there would be no reasoning, there would be no discretion, there would be only death and destruction. There would be many things to get into order before that came to pass. Webs needed to be weaved.
It stepped out into the light on two legs in a foreign body . It approached a beautiful white horse and mounted it. On the seventh day it rode out into the sun and with a thunderous inhuman voice it spoke.
“Come and see.”
The white horse rode hard headed for victory and conquest.

The Disappearance of Nicholas Borschevskych

“Somewhere out there on an island in the Atlantic is a place of utter horrors. I tell you this not so that you can seek it out, but as a tale of caution. Creatures padding, walking, crawling, gurgling their death rattles from long ago which should have ceased from the time they died, but have not. Yet they still walk about that island, former shells of themselves mocking our existence. Latitude 26.313113 and Longitude 76.662598. That is where the island is. That is where I bade you not to tread. Mark this location and stay out of its piteous path. Let no man set foot upon its soil for it will worm its way into our very consciousness and eat at our souls until we are like annelid people feeding upon our own feces and filth.”
Dr. Josef Rudolf pushed stop and put down the tape recorder next to the many other items he had found in the office. Several manila envelopes, a box of matches from a Floridian hotel, a set of boat keys, a pistol, a DVD disc, a pack of cigarettes, a notebook with scrambled notes from a madman, and miscellaneous other items all cluttered the desk of Dr. Rudolf’s missing friend, Nicholas Borschevsky. He opened up the notebook next and read again through the pages as he had so many times before trying to make since of it all.

Page 14
Stepping forth onto the island I was instantly awed by its mere presence. The island spoke at me words from a language long dead on our earth. As I entered the old village my body slept and yet I traveled on and beyond. Looking down I could see the island, the ocean, the earth and then space. Within moments my mind crossed a great expanse of space and time. I could look back at the Milky Way, but even then it became too small to see. Next I found myself within a great city, host to someone else’s body. I was walking through a street and surrounded by strange creatures that all though humanoid in appearance they weren’t human.
One of them approached me and began shouting at me. I couldn’t understand what it was he was saying. I just kept looking at the claw he had instead of a hand. A single tentacle protruded from its center and poked in my face. Eventually the crowd turned on me and began ripping the body I was in apart.
I awoke on the island again and again I walked into the village. Every time I approached the village I was shunted from my body and taken to an alien world. It went on like this for months. I gave up all hope of ever leaving the island and set on learning as much as I could about the different alien worlds I visited. I spent days in their libraries learning the languages, histories and customs.
One of the planets I visited reminded me of earth and even used the English language, but instead of humans there were beetle like people dwelling in the towns. I myself was inside the body of an insect like creature with the capability of speech. I stayed here for what seemed like 20 years or more, living out the life of this monster until I died from old age. When I awoke on the island I hadn’t aged. I had the knowledge and experience of a 60 year old man, but yet I was still inside my 30 year old body. Somehow I was cheating time through my experiences.
I don’t know how long it all went on, but it did seem eternal. When I decided to flee the village I no longer was thrust out of my body. I escaped in a small dinghy in body at least. For though I had gained the knowledge of a thousand lifetimes it was too much for one human mind to handle and while I am able to write these notes down I can feel myself slipping from sanity.
I spent a week at sea before they found me.

Again Dr. Josef Rudolf sat down the notebook. The rest of the pages were scrambled, cryptic and full of sketches of haphazardly drawn cones.
“All of this doesn’t make any sense. Had you lost your mind Nicholas?” the Doctor said to himself. He was shocked when he got an unexpected answer.
“Yes he had.”
Doctor Rudolf jumped up from the chair he had been sitting in. He turned to see a strange man dressed in a leisure suit.
“Who are you and what is the meaning of this intrusion?” the doctor shouted.
“Is this your office? Are you not intruding as well?” the man responded. “I have only come to warn you of what you have there. It is far beyond the comprehensible and your small weak mind cannot and should not pursue it. Forget about your friend.”
“Are you insane? I would not forget about a colleague or friend!”
“Hmmm, yes I knew you would say that. That is why I have come to give you another option.” The strange man pulled forth a picture from his pocket. “You should find this man.”
On the picture was a man with dark and grayish hair who appeared to be in his early 40’s. The doctor reluctantly grabbed the picture.
“Where you can find him is on the back. You should give him all that you have found here. If anyone could solve the riddles of the island or discover the location of your missing friend it is him.” The man said before leaving.

“Wait,” the doctor said to the leaving man. “Who are you?” The man didn’t even turn back. Doctor Josef Rudolf shook his head and looked at the back of the picture. He gathered up all he could and left the office. He hated trusting in others on something so important, but for once he had to admit this was out of his league.
Gathering Aftermath

Her skin began to heat and slowly it darkened until the flesh flaked off and floated away. All she could hear was the laughter of the ghouls who pinned her down on the roof. It was humiliating to know that ghouls and not their masters were the makers of her final death. Ghouls were known for their great strength and most importantly of all they could walk around in sunlight.
As her long dead flesh burned off and her bones crumbled she did have one final last thought which brought her comfort. She would not live to see the upcoming doom that would befall all kindred. In moments Belovia the Nosferatu was no more than a pile of ashes blowing in the wind off the rooftop of the Brown hotel.

Earlier that night the assassin doppelganger Belovia had hired was dealt with in a very different manner. The Prince of Chicago and self proclaimed lord of vampires himself, Jonathan Stark stood over the doppelganger in anger.
“Did you think you could destroy me! Do you know who the fuck I am? I am the fucking prince of Chicago. Chicago mother fucker!” Jonathan screamed as he kicked the wounded doppelganger. His minions held the shifting creature down. At first it tried to confuse them and turn into people who were close to them. The creature was able to read the thoughts of everyone and it had always worked in the past when it came to escaping these situations, but when it took the form of the Prince’s actual mother it crossed the line. Jonathan kicked his teeth out and stabbed him in his stomach with a large knife.
“I realize you are just a mere pawn in all of this so your fate will not be that of the one who hired you.” he said looking down at the injured creature.
“I gave up my employer in hopes of mercy,” it interrupted.
“Shut the fuck up and listen you piss ant! You will serve me now.” As the Prince spoke he leaned in with a hypnotic glance. One he had given a thousand times before. The Prince of Chicago was a master of conditioning the weak minded. His vampiric nature allowed him to command and control those of lesser will. He began weaving a web in which the doppelganger would work for him. After all, according to his story he implanted, the doppelganger and him have been allies for a very long time. After he was finished he ordered the minions to release the creature so that they could get back to the party which was going on upstairs. They left the doppelganger alone in the basement of the hotel. When they were gone from view the doppelganger stood up and brushed itself off smiling all the while.
“I serve no one Prince of shit.” it said. The Prince had no idea that doppelgangers were immune to the discipline of Dominate.

“Allowing a werewolf to speak in Elysium. My dear friend Borbala you must surely be concerned.” Warlock Duncan said to the Prince of Louisville.
"My hatred of the garou has to be set aside for now. Besides, one Iron Master within my city’s limits is no threat to me. It’s when their kind group together in tribes when they become a worrisome pest. " Prince Adair responded. “Now speak to me of more important matters. Do you truly believe the Land of Nod to be located in present day Palestine?”
“I do my Prince. All information gathered in Aesthyr’s library points to the West Bank. I believe we will find Lilith’s Lambskin there. Once we have that relic we will know who we truly are and whether or not we are a curse or some sort of genetic supremacy. I also believe many answers to our dragon problem can be found there.” Duncan persisted.
“You are very optimistic. A trait common in vampire mages.” the Prince stated.
“When a mage has an eternity to learn he tends to be very confident in his abilities. Mortals haven’t the time on this earth to become a fraction as powerful as we Tremere are.” Duncan bowed with a smile.
" Before you leave I will have your thoughts on the presence of the angel and demon." The Prince said.
“It does seem that things to come may be on a biblical scale of disaster does it not?” Warlock Duncan added before vanishing in a puff of mist.

Eternity in a box
His eyes opened to darkness. Only silence and the smell of his own decaying body accompanied Matt. The last thing he had remembered was the Prince commanding him to sleep as he laid in the coffin which dangled from chains above a barren concrete pit. Now alone with his thoughts he was beginning to realize his fate. His punishment for committing diablerie on the ancient vampire in Siberia would be to spend an eternity in a coffin. His only comforting thought was within a month he would run out of Vitae to awaken himself from the death sleep and would slip into torpor. Matt had heard stories of vampires being trapped in torpor for years, filled with horrid nightmares of the sins they had committed. Only blood could revive a vampire from this torpid state and he knew there would be no blood available to him ever. At least he wouldn’t be conscious for the majority of this torment. Not knowing how well he had been imprisoned, briefly he thought he could escape the box. He used what little vitae he had within him to transform his body into a sort of living blood creature with ooze like features. His amorphous state seeped down into the corners of the box looking for the tiniest crack to slip through, but none could be found. He was trapped and at the moment it seemed like forever. Night after night passed. Claustrophobia began to sink in and Matt began to dive further into a part of his mind which for most mortals never surfaced. Fear of the unknown and realizing he was truly alone in the world brought a deranged state. Even if he escaped the box he would never be the same. How long would he have to stay there? Would he ever see light again? Would he ever be able to stand up again? All questions he asked himself over and over again until the moment he could no longer bare his isolation and he let out a monstrous scream. He screamed until his voice was gone and even then he screamed while scratching at the roof of the box which held him captive. His nails broke off, his remaining vitae lost with the blood that poured from his fingertips as he tried to claw his way from the steel coffin. Silence and darkness; these were his friends. ● Jon watched in silenced horror as the concrete poured down into the pit where Matt’s coffin had been lowered just moments ago. The many cloaked figures from various clans all stood around on the edges of the darkness within the old warehouse. Only their vicious smiles could be seen within the little moonlight that trickled in through cracked and boarded up windows. He could not believe that it had come to this. As he glanced at the Prince he saw no emotion, other than the slight hint of disappointment. The same kind of disappointment when a child had let down its father. Many thoughts of rescuing Matt had danced around in his mind, but as he looked over to the Prince’s seer, a fellow Tremere vampire; she shook her head in disapproval. Any plans of a rescue were laid to rest within her wise old eyes. Again he looked to the pouring concrete. A powerful reminder of things far worse than death. Perhaps one day the Prince’s rule would end and Jon could come back for Matt. But would he even be the same after such a long time trapped within there? Would he still be the Matt he once knew? More than likely he would be a deranged half starved monster willing to feed on any creature that came upon him. As the others disappeared into the shadows the Prince as well took his leave. Jon stayed as the concrete, now filling the entire 10×10 pit, began to dry. He could not understand how the Prince had known Matt had diablerized the ancient. It left an uneasy feeling knowing he had greatly underestimated the Prince’s true power. He also felt shame for the Prince insisting it be him who brought Matt to the warehouse where he would be imprisoned. This clearly being a cautionary reminder not to cross the Prince. Jon walked out of the warehouse into the night and took one last look back. He could only imagine the darkness and the silence.
Varro Kessler
He frantically made his way back to their hotel room. He stepped in the room, closed the door behind him and leaned against it, panting and looking about the room for his things. He was out of breath and partially still in a panicked state of being. As he glanced about he couldn’t help, but look at his partners things and feel guilty. As far as he knew he was the only one who had made it out of that ally on Bardstown Road alive. He had just watched the Seth Bullock, the Vatican’s own Left Hand of God, get his throat ripped out by the vampire they had been tracking. He would pack his things and leave this city for good. Matthew Anger was a member of an elite team of vampire hunters. His team, lead by Seth Bullock, were on the trail of a vampire that Seth believed was fronting a tobacco plant on 7th St. They had followed the target, who was accompanied with three other individuals, in to a back alley. The head Vampire Slayer, Douglas Robertson made the call to engage them; his arrogance would be his downfall for he was killed by the Barghest, Arthur Doyle. When he saw Seth murdered and Douglas eaten by some sort of hell hound the feeling of dread sunk into Matthew deeper than any parasite could ever penetrate a host. He fled to the streets and ran all the way back to room 64 of the In- town Suites. As he was frantically shoving his clothes into a small black, leather suitcase Matthew was unaware of the being within the room watching him with great amusement. It would be so easy for this being to snap the mortals neck and claim his blood, but what would be the sport in that. All children lose the thrill of squashing bugs at an early age and Varro Kessler was over 200 years old. He enjoyed playing with his victims. At the moment however he wasn’t viewing this particular individual as a victim, but more as a tool to be molded. It was true he had followed Matthew into the hotel room to feed upon him, but he paused as he considered the wonderful cohort the man could make. As Varro peered down at Matthew form the ceiling his excitement turned his eyes blood red and he thought back to when he was embraced. He was given no choice, hunted like an animal and forced into a cemetery. His sire had brought him before other vampires and their future progeny. All of them, including himself were scared to death. There they all stood, barely dressed, freezing in the October night. Thinking back he could still feel the breeze and hear its mournful cry. He peered down before him where several open graves were waiting next to several open coffins. One of the men begged and pleaded to be let go and he was promptly killed. The rest of the captives were fed upon until they were unconscious. When Varro awoke he was in a state of semi-consciousness inside a coffin buried beneath the surface and he was bombarded with hallucinations. The hallucinations twisted his former life and the more he believed in them the more he was driven further away form humanity. He clawed and dug his way out of the coffin and up through the cold, hard dirt. When he was free of his impromptu prison he was greeted by a Sabbat grave watcher who promptly knocked him out with a shovel. He awoke again, but this time within a dark chamber with the other captives. It was there he took part in the creation rites and was fed human blood for the first time. ●

“Leaving so soon?” Varro said as he floated down behind Matthew. The man turned on Varro with a pistol, but it was easily knocked aside. “Do you not enjoy the Derby City and the finery it has to offer?” Sleeking ever so slightly closer to Matthew as he spoke. Matthew tried to back away, but had nowhere to go. “Relax, I am not here to harm you, else you would already be dead.” “Then what do you want?” Matthew visibly stammered. “You are going to become that which you have hunted. You have knowledge which I require and it is your usefulness that will keep you alive for quite some time if utilized properly, maybe even for eternity.” Varro snickered at the last part. “I would never..”Matthew started to say, but was interrupted by a horrible grimace upon Varro’s face. His fangs bared and he seemed to take on much more of a threat than previously seemed. Something far greater than dread gripped Matthew and he froze in fear. He felt a slight prickle sensation as the fangs penetrated his neck and the blood was sucked from his veins. At first he fought hard against the man who was shorter than him, but he could not break free from his grip. Eventually he began to enjoy it and just before Matthew’s life left him Varro stopped himself and dropped him upon the blood soaked floor. He wiped his mouth clean with the bed sheet and grabbed the body. With ease he tossed it onto his shoulders and hopped out of the window never looking back. When Matthew Anger awoke next he would be a vampire bonded with a Tzimisce and he would be the hunted.


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