fredag 8. september 2017

The only blood that lingers on your hands…

…happens to be the blood you put your hands in. You can either carry that and showing it to all on display, or wash it off.

Whatever you chose, blood remains on your hands – invisible or not.

Don't stick your hands into a pool of blood unless you have to.

mandag 4. september 2017

VtM:B – a story. Not quite what I was expecting.

I’ve always wanted to see St. Petersburg. Not because of my lineage, not because of the Winter Palace, or maybe both of those add up with my want, too. Arriving at the docks, early at night, sneaking ashore was not part of how I imagined it.

Our first order of business was meeting the Prince.

Prince Nikolai of St. Petersburg. Brujah.

We don’t go on a sightseen tour, but head directly to his office. A medium sized, anonymous looking building. Instantly, I wonder if this used to be one retrofitted by the KGB.

The room is bare, if not barren. About ten other vampires are present. Big ones, musclemen, cracking fists and casting long looks at us. I’m suddenly aware on how we must look: a group of four females, all physically small, and one of us all wrapped up in a hood, hiding her face, with only a single male at our backs – and Rhys isn’t particular tall or bulky, either. I scold myself for being intimidated: that’s exactly why they are here, to put unease in us.

I stride forward, coming to a stop before a man that looks like he’s just stepped out of a factory from the 1800 century, and with the muscle to prove it. To his left stands a small woman, the only other woman in the room (besides myself and those of my delegation), observing me. She’s wearing an old army coat, possible one from the Russian Revolution (no red or white, but my gut tells me it would be the former). She must be the Sheriff.

I present a smile before curtsying deeply, and respectfully. Kira steps up to my side, ready to translate. It is time to be the diplomat.

“Mighty Prince Nikolai. I am a stranger to this land, and therefore, I ask forgiveness if I offend you or yours with my words. My name is Ravna, of I am of the Toreador clan. I come on behalf of Prince Jean-Baptist in Copenhagen. These are my companions: Kira, Rhys, Eir, and she whom we call the Lasombra.”

(Oh, gods, please don’t say I’ve made a huge mistake!)

I pause for every sentence, letting Kira translate. When she’s done speaking, I look for a reaction. Prince Nikolai doesn’t even bat an eyelash. Not sure if this is good or bad, I continue.

“We ask permission to hunt within your domain, as we have come a long way, and would appreciate something fresh. You have my word that we will not leave behind a single dead from our slaking of the thirst.”

At this, the female uttered a single word in English, despite the Prince having shown no visible sign: “No.”

It almost surprised me.

“Of course, we will stay on our ship (here I could hear the mental groans of Eir and Rhys – I don’t think the Lasombra really cared about her quarters that much – as I spoke the words), and harm not a hair of a single mortal under your control, should that be your desire. Though, of course, I will have to give a full report back to my Prince, and lack of hospitality can swing both ways.”

At this not so hidden threat, Rhys becomes very still. I could tell he was waiting for weapons to be drawn.

“However, there is no need to be crude, or even inhospitable towards one another. We are but four vampires (and one ghoul, I silently add), seeking only the juices of your great city. I could go on about how I have longed to see St. Petersburg, but I would not – at this point, it seems hardly without a hidden agenda, or even a covered lie.”

I took a step forward. Everybody in the room tensed, except for the Sheriff and Prince Nikolai himself. Boldly I rode the rising courage.

“Prince Nikolai. You are obviously a very powerful Kindred, and by all means, older than I am. Clearly, having achieved the title of Prince within the Camarilla is impressive. Now, I am, according to my Sire, of the twelfth generation – I take the liberty of presuming that you are of one far lower than I am. However, I’ve only been part of Kindred society, and a very secluded part of Kindred society, for three years. You have a domain to run, and thus you have to trust in others. I, have a mere apartment – a single space, a room, not much larger than the one we’re standing in, as my domain. I have a single ghoul. I struggle with languages. I do not know your ways.”

Here I did a dramatic pause.

“But I was chosen for this mission.”

This second dramatic pause I looked around the room, meeting as many eyes as I could. Unsurprisingly, there were only a few pairs that stared back at me.

“Prince Nikolai. I do not hold to your rank, your obligation, and your level of dominance. Therefore, I know not what matters are on your mind. But I know, that we are both of the Camarilla, and that the world is changing – sometimes faster than we would like.”

At this time, I rise my voice, swept into the moment, not pausing for Kira to have the time to translate for me.

“St. Petersburg is of the Camarilla. I am of the Camarilla. True, we do not share clans, generation, or respect. You do not know me, and I do not know you. What reason do we have to trust one another? I tell you – for the enemies of the Camarilla would benefit of our mistrust. If you care not for my good will, or the goodwill of my Prince, then care about this: In time, I can become a powerful ally of you and your people, Prince Nikolai. I hold no clan above another, for as long as they are a member of the Camarilla, they are within the power structure.“

I know Rhys is listening intently in the back.

“A strong Camarilla is the only way to keep surviving. If we divide, our enemies will fall upon us like flames."

At long last, the Sheriff finally speaks: “You have permission to use one of our havens. Blood dolls will be provided for you, so there would be no need to hunt. Do you possess other needs?”

Quickly, I think on my feet.

“Yes. I would ask a shooting range, two coffins – fit for a person in power (I deliberately do not use the word “noble” – because Russia and Brujah) – a guide to the city, and rooms enough for each of my team. Also, the nature of the blood dolls would have to be discussed in advance. Are these additions acceptable?”

Nikolai grunts. It is the first sound I have heard him utter. It is deep, and it shocks me to my very core.

The Sheriff folds her arms across her chest.

“You may be a spoiled child, Toreador (not my name, but clan generalization – means I’m not a person, but a typical member of my bloodline), and greedy. You shall have two rooms: one for yourself, and one for your crew. What specifics does your Ventrue acquire?”

The silence goes on for a moment.

“Ah, you do not know. Pity.”

I take a wild chance and speaks up, ignoring the gleeful spite.

“I am not a Ventrue myself, and you know that to offer such information gives away the mysteries of the blood. However, bring your best and noblest of stock to me, and I shall judge them myself.”

The Sheriff snorts.

“You have our permission to depart, once your mission is over. Follow Lev Pavlov (please don’t be a Nosferatu, please don’t be a Nosferatu) to our guest haven. He will answer all your questions and inquiries. Do not consider yourselves unwelcome, child of Arikel (Ishtar! Her name is ISHTHAR!), but be grateful for the time shown to you. As for any requests, Lev will contact us if needed.”

Damn. Stuck in a single place, with little room to maneuver, and no coffins mentioned.

“How many of your team sleep in the old fashion way?”

“Two: myself and one more.”

“Then we will provide proper accommodations to the haven.”

And with that, the audience is over.

I’m left to wonder just exactly what “proper accommodations” means as we’re escorted out. It better be a coffin, or that would be Lev's first order of business.

lørdag 2. september 2017

VtM:B – a story. Never more.

There is trouble in the North. Many vampires with feelers out, either mental, informational, or general, sense and comment upon it. War is coming.

Well, truth to be told, not war – there hasn’t really been a vampire war, ever. Revolts, skirmishes, murders: oh, yes. But all-out war? Not in our lifetime.

I’m bringing this up because it gives me a chance to brag about how much knowledge my Sire possess, and how much he has given me, both in the practical and historical value.

So, there’s been two major revolts, called the Anarch Revolts. The first one ended with the Convention of Thorns in 1493 and the formation of the dreaded Sabbat, the other was a failed American experiment that ended before my undeath – my Sire mentioned it with disgust: apparently, he dislikes Brujah, and has no restraint in showing this resentment in public.

Only this time, there’s not the Brujah that is the source of the problem.

The Tzimisce are digging in deep in their castles across Eastern Europe. Gangrel and werewolves run free across the lands in Scandinavia, and two cults are clashing: the Children of Loki and the Valkyrie, formerly known to belong to the Hall of Jormungandr and Einherjar, respectfully. Cults, unlike the Camarilla, are indoctrinating and actively seeking out new members, without submitting to the Traditions – despite the cults in question do seem to respect the Masquerade, to some degree.

There are several missions that agents of the Camarilla must undertake to bring stability to the region.  Arnulf Jormungandrsson, an Elder that was old long before most of the Copenhagen vampires where even turned, or born, demoted for backing the wrong side in WWII (which instantly makes me hate him with a passion), and whispers speak of suspicion that he might be a Methuselah. He is, however, interested in keeping on the good side of the Camarilla, so that makes him “our” bastard.

I still loathe him.

However, my place isn’t in Scandinavia – no yet, at least. My place is in St. Petersburg.

My team, because it is my team – my Sire has stressed that point repeatedly – consists of a few you already know, and some you don’t.

There’s Kira, my ghoul, mainly because she knows the language, but also frankly refused to be apart from me. I could have ordered her to stay, but, she’s going to become a vampire someday – someday soon – and oh my gosh: I’m going to need another ghoul!

What I mean to say, is that this experience will be good for her. For us both.

Probably.

Then there’s Eir, a Tzimsce. An almost pitiful creature, but with the rare talent of Vicissitude. She carries a hatred of her own clan, determined to take them down by herself if need be. Not one I’d normally pick, but she’s part of the deal. Young looking girl, plain clothes, no jewelry. Her eyes are icy, and her accent thick.

My Sire tells me that she growls, but that she is loyal, once we go over the mission one last time with Prince Jean-Baptiste.

The Lasombra, another Sabbat, or maybe not actually a Sabbat – I don’t know, I haven’t got the time to probe her mind – wears black clothing, a large jacket with a hood, keeping most of her face in shadows, and keeps gloves on all the time.

I’m fairly certain that has nothing to do with the book Fingersmith.

She’s to be kept under surveillance, but being groomed to become an operative of the Camarilla – unless she’s a spy of the Sabbat that will find her Final Death.

The last one is our babysitter. Rhys Christopher Taliesin Collingwood. A Ventrue. Silent, and judging. He’s not in command, despite being older than me, and more powerful. The Prince has trusted this mission to me, and me alone.

I’m 100% sure he’s here to make sure I don’t make any huge mistakes, and 75% sure he’s here to watch Eir and the Lasombra (and end them, if needed).

He’s dressed in polos, jeans and a jacket. Your typical action agent 47 outfit: comfortable, expensive, and practical. He carries an Omega Seamaster. His phone looks expensive, too.

Pieter is our link to the outside world and Prince Jean-Baptiste’s domain. He won’t be coming with us. To tell the truth, I’m glad he isn’t: not only would he slow us down, but he’d question every single order of mine. Probably.

We travel by boat. Not with a private cabin, nor in style, but as cargo. One big shipping container for us each, secured bellow deck. Stocked together. Hardly any room to walk around, so what little common area there is isn't used a lot. A few chairs and a couch. Some trunks with mission related gear - guns, mostly, I suspect - or proper clothing. A fridge full of blood packs - locked, of course - only Rhys and I have keys to it.

Pure privacy seems a luxury.

Rhys has the container closest to the door.

I’m sharing mine with Kira.

I can’t even tell if I’m seasick or just homesick.

So, here I am, in the middle of the Baltic sea, heading North and East. Always to the East.

On the journey, we pass Gdansk, Kaliningrad, Klaipeda, Riga, Tallinn and Helsingfors. Some of them former domains of Camarilla Princes. Now a few belong to the Sabbat. One abandoned for the Gangrel. A few hold on.

Gdansk is a battleground: between the Sabbat and some Sabbat rebels, the Camarilla is making subtle moves of control. More trouble for them means less trouble for us. It's suspected we'll have the city under our control within the decade.

Kaliningrad, Klaipeda and Riga I don't know anything about.

Tallinn is in the hands of a ruthless Ventrue that sits on top of a crime syndicate.

Helsingfors is a mess of a refugee haven for fleeing vampires in the North. It’s a place to stop on the way South, away from the werewolves, the feral Gangrels and the monstrosities preformed in Sweden. 6 Elders, 24 vampires, and 32 ghouls run the show. All Brujah. All females.

They are called the Helsinki girls. A shared fiefdom. Power divided between the Elders, the vampires, and the ghouls. An experiment. Sanctioned by the Camarilla, of course.

No wonder the Northern Europe is in shambles.

Silently, I promise myself to take it back. Make it mine.

We keep to ourselves, mostly. I massage Kira, and she keeps my mind busy.

I miss Pälvi.

I don’t tell Kira that.

I miss my coffin, my Sire, and my haven.

I only tell Kira about missing my coffin( and my haven). It is a beautiful coffin: black wood - oak, painted black - with silver highlight and finish in the metalwork, and deep purple velvet on the inside of it. A luxurious possession of mine. Treasured. Just like Kira. She’s even slept in it a few times, too. Either keeping it warm for me before I rest in it, and sometimes besides me, while I drift off.

Eir speaks a foreign tongue. I don’t know the language. Her broken English makes it hard for us to understand. Only Rhys seems to be able to, but he doesn’t speak much, either. Kira is a much better companion and conversationalist.

The Lasombra remains shut inside her container the entire time. Only person seeing her is Rhys, when he brings her blood. He puts in in small juice boxes, and puts a straw in it. Sometimes the juice boxes comes out untouched.

So much blood wasted.

I don’t share Kira with anyone. She’s mine, and she’s not enough for all of us.

Then the ghoul in control of the ship comes down to us. We have arrived at St. Petersburg.

It is time to go ashore.

It is time to visit Prince Nikolai.