100 Years A Vampire

The tomb you awake in is a reflection of you. The state of the [[mirror]] tells you more about yourself than your own appearance.

It's not you or us that stares back. It's a (print: $symbol). (link-reveal: "It's our Sire.")[(show:?mirror1)] (hidden:)[You know that Blood you’re missing? That (either: "voice", "hymn", "heady wine", "color") that’s been seeping through your mind? You owe part of its persona to //them//. It was our Sire that chose us to become part of the Family. Not just $clan, but a scion in the House of $surname. Besides the mirror, there is a [[chest]] that catches your eye.]<mirror1|

They say there are many rooms in Heaven, but only one in (link-reveal:"Hell")[(show: ?start1)].(hidden:)[ That’s why it’s Hell. It’s (either: "lonely", "solitary", "displaced") and (either: "open", "raw", "abraded"), like a (either: "wound", "laceration", "gash") that won’t ever (link-reveal: "heal")[(show:?start2)].]<start1| (hidden:)[(either: "Thankfully", "Allegedly", "Reassuringly"), |tooltip>[torporA sleep about as deep as death; a vampire can enter this for days or years at a time. Usually induced by Hunger or trauma; rarely, by choice.] is neither. Torpor is more like purgatory, and every (link-reveal: "torpor")[(show:?start3)] is different.]<start2| (hidden:)[We’ll (either: "wake", "rise") from ours soon. Twenty years. Plenty enough time for a (either: "Kindred", "Caineite", "bloodsucker", "monster", "lick", "vampire") to [[dream]].]<start3|

The Blood usurps all titles, comes first in all things. So before you can remember name or gender or past, you remember the bloodline you belong to. =|= //Low Clans// |Tooltip>[Brujah We’re Brujah. Prone to philosophy and fury. Voice of the people, monster in their closet.] |Tooltip>[GangrelWe’re Gangrel. Just as good in packs as running lone wolf. No stranger to the wild, trapped in a scarlet cage.] |Tooltip>[MalkavianWe’re Malkavian. Malks. Prophets and seers, basket-cases and fortune cookies. The foolishness of God is the wisdom of men.] |Tooltip>[NosferatuWe’re Nosferatu. Clan of shadowbrokers, sewer rats, and misfits. Damn ugly ones, too Those eyes, though. Longing. Almost human, or at least humane.] =|= //High Clans// |Tooltip>[ToreadorWe're Toreador. We're the only diamonds in the rough. Poised and poisonous are terms we can wear with perfection. We don't want unlife to imitate art, we want unlife to be art.] |Tooltip>[TremereWe’re Tremere. All your life and unlife you touched things you shouldn’t, read books you weren’t supposed to read, heard things that weren’t for your ears. Your hands still know how to contort into gestures that usurp power and inflict hierarchy.] |Tooltip>[VentrueWe’re Ventrue. In a world that shakes like a leaf at just a little responsibility, we have reigned for centuries. When you cut our wrists, the blood runs blue.] =|= Yes, you, me, our Sire, we were (cycling-link: bind $clan, "Gangrel", "Malkavian", "Toreador", "Tremere", "Ventrue", "Brujah", "Nosferatu"). |==| And //you//? Who are //you// in this equation, anyway? Are you [[O-The-Humanity->The Mortal's Coil]]? Are you simply [[the Beast->The Beast's Caul]]?

[(set: $instinct to "humane")] {(if: $clan is "Brujah")[(set: $symbol to "bloodhound")](else-if: $clan is "Gangrel")[(set: $symbol to "wolf")](else-if: $clan is "Malkavian")[(set: $symbol to "rabbit")](else-if: $clan is "Nosferatu")[(set: $symbol to "rat")](else-if: $clan is "Toreador")[(set: $symbol to "swan")](else-if: $clan is "Tremere")[(set: $symbol to "barn owl")](else-if: $clan is "Ventrue")[(set: $symbol to "lion")]} #(text-style:"blur")[I. The Mortal's Coil] We had a name, once. You can choose so many things in life, but you can't even choose your own name. (either: "Drops of your mortal life bubble up to the surface", "Pieces of your mortal life, scattered like an incomplete jigsaw", "Notes you once knew how to play, but now the instrument is badly out of tune"): A (either: "postcard", "letter", "missive") delivered by a $symbol, addressed in (cycling-link: bind $color, "black", "scarlet", "blue velvet", "golden") ink. And on that post, a name: (cycling-link: bind $title, "Miss", "Mister")...it's difficult to make out the [[rest->Mortal's Coil Part II]].... (if: $clan is "Malkavian")[(float-box: "=XXX=","======Y")[(text-style:"fidget", "superscript", "italic", "bold")+(text-colour:#333ac2)[The Voice of Malkav says 'Hi', by the way.]]]

(set: $instinct to "bestial"){(if: $clan is "Brujah")[(set: $symbol to "bloodhound")](else-if: $clan is "Gangrel")[(set: $symbol to "wolf")](else-if: $clan is "Malkavian")[(set: $symbol to "rabbit")](else-if: $clan is "Nosferatu")[(set: $symbol to "rat")](else-if: $clan is "Toreador")[(set: $symbol to "swan")](else-if: $clan is "Tremere")[(set: $symbol to "barn owl")](else-if: $clan is "Ventrue")[(set: $symbol to "lion")]} #(text-style:"blur")[I. The Beast's Caul] Can beasts even dream? They must dream as newborns dream, (link: "innocently")[without virtue], suckling at the breasts(mouseover-replace: "suckling at the breasts")[sucking on the nutrients] of the (link:"mother")[host]. We are a beast rising from hibernation. There was a name attached to this (either: "frame", "apparatus", "corpse", "body"), once. You can choose so many things in life, but you can't even choose your own birth-name. I’d describe the transition from young (cycling-link: bind $title, "Mister", "Miss") (cycling-link: bind $surname, "Roth", "Malenfant", "Lee", "Abelyan", "Voronin", "Paternostro") to this current form like (either: "a second gestation", "dying twice"). A century of Blood will (either: "contort", "morph", "twist", "reshape") more than the (either: "name", "moniker", "badge", "title") you're called by, but these nights you answer to (cycling-link: bind $name, "Janus", "Lorn", "Rook", "Fingersmith", "Patience", "Babe", "Professor"). It seems (cycling-link: "bad", "good") things come in threes. Filled with horrid (cycling-link: bind $color, "black", "scarlet", "blue velvet", "golden") dreams, the vestiges of which still stir memories of Hunger. By turns your are chasing and being chased by a $symbol. Scattered in pieces, remnants of a (cycling-link: bind $metaphor, "castle", "rosary", "train", "song"). Your bestial tendencies explain the resonant taste on our tongue. Explicit instructions were left on how to wake us. [[Blood->blood]] forced down our throats. (if: $clan is "Malkavian")[(float-box: "=XXX=","======Y")[(text-style:"fidget", "superscript", "italic", "bold")+(text-colour:#333ac2)[The Voice of Malkav says 'Hi', by the way.]]]

Blood in, blood out. Pins and needles. Old things coming back to unlife. Not sure who secreted this (either: "gift", "succour", "feast", "wine") past our lips; doesn't matter, does it? We're alone again, but there's (either: "blood in our capillaries", "red in our veins", "feeling in our limbs", "music in our arteries"), a heartbeat (either: "underneath our sternum", "faint in our wrists", "drumming up morale"). And (either: "on that slug of a tongue", "on the wanting palate", "down the gullet", "in the damp air"), a (cycling-link: bind $resonance, "choleric", "sanguine", "melancholy", "phlegmatic") aftertaste. You'd always preferred this type of resonance. We are [[hungry->Tomb]]. (if: $title is "Mister")[(set: $objective to "him", $poss to "his", $pronoun to "he", $gender to "man")](else-if: $title is "Miss")[(set: $objective to "her", $poss to "her", $pronoun to "she", $gender to "woman")]

The chest. You’ve had this (either: "chest", "coffer", "strongbox", "crate", "casket") for as long as you’ve been a (either: "Kindred", "Caineite", "lick"). In many ways, it all leads back to this. Your memoriam. Our hands (either: "shake", "tremble", "second-guess themselves")—not because we don’t want to remember, but because we can’t. No, no. What is this lock doing here? The passcode must be written somewhere. Tattooed on (either: "the back of our eyelids", "our left shoulderblade", "clavicle"), written out in code and (either: "O-negative", "O-positive", "type AB", "A-negative", "A-positive", "B-negative", "B-positive"), arranged just so amongst that (either: "debris of bones", "unread library", "pile of pricy junk", "garage sale of the undead"). There isn’t enough blood to resurrect (either: "all that gray brain matter", "your cold dead hippocampus"). We'll have to go one decade on a time, (either: "like a train gaining momentum", "like the click-clack of a rosary shuffled in prayer", "peeling back veil after veil", "remembering lost and twisting paths"). Like the late, great Shakespeare, ours is a tale told in five acts. Albeit, |tooltip>[backwards-forwards.(Our memory never has been very straightforward).] The last thing (seq-link: "you", "I", "we") remember…the [[New Millennium->The New Millennium]].

{ (set: $reachedMillennium to false, $Forties to "", $ending to "") (set: $paintingTaken to false, $bloodbond to false, $inquisition to false) (set: $resEnding to "", $hasbirthMark to false, $diablerie to false) (set: $chueyMark to "", $ceremony to "") (set: $sire to "", $sireShip to "") (set: $mother to "", $darkGM to "") (set: $symbol to "", $metaphor to "") (set: $instrument to "", $band1 = "", $band2 = "", $band to "") (set: $color to "", $colorAdj = "") (set: $clan to "", $clanNoun = "", $clanAdj = "")  (set: $name to "", $surname to "") (set: $gender to "", $title = "", $objective to "", $poss to "", $pronoun to "") (set: $clan to "") (set: $instinct to "") (set: $resonance to "") (set: $background to "") }

(if: $symbol is "bloodhound")[(display:"Brujah")] (if: $symbol is "swan")[(display:"Toreador")] (if: $symbol is "rat")[(display:"Nosferatu")] (if: $symbol is "wolf")[(display:"Gangrel")] (if: $symbol is "barn owl")[(display:"Tremere")] (if: $symbol is "rabbit")[(display:"Malkavian")] (if: $symbol is "lion")[(display:"Ventrue")]

(if: $resonance is "melancholy")[(display:"Melancholy")] (else-if: $resonance is "choleric")[(display:"Choleric")] (else-if: $resonance is "phlegmatic")[(display:"Phlegmatic")] (else-if: $resonance is "sanguine")[(display:"Sanguine")]

(if: $reachedMillennium is true)[(display:"Millenium")] (else:)[#(text-style: "blurrier")[??? by Night] You can't remember. It's often hardest to remember the end of a dream. Another memory surfaces. Older, but clearer. Aged like fine wine. It's all we have right now. It will have to do. The last time we saw our Sire was in [[1991->199X]]].

For images: um, use Base64. Just do it. https://www.base64-image.de the either macro is a lifesaver. It does Inkle-like things, such as choosing from a random list of text to add freshness on re-plays (outside of the freshness of new choices, of course). 1991: -Each choice has a physical consequence reflected once again in 2000 and Present Day. -Each Sire gives you a dangerous choice and establishes a vampiric theme. Gangrel: do you diablerize the body in the trunk -Each has a moment where the meaning of the player's name is explored Ventrue: do you break free from your sire's dominance Tremere: do you participate in the blood trafficking Brujah: do you join the Anarchs or the Camarilla Malkavian: do you seek to become enlightened or not Nosferatu: do you rescue Mr. Goodnight's l.i. or not (take her to hospital, turn her into a Nos, mercy killing) Toreador: do you rescue the paintings (and your past) from the fire or not 1943: Establishes the hunter you'll re-encounter at midpoint and the work you establish (loner occult connections or invovled kindred relationships). 1966: -Established at the end that you had kept up with this particular person because they were part of the Family, party of the family tree you needed to keep up anyway. A slice-of-life that ties in the mortal side of the horror story, and harkens back to resonance chosen. 2000: Your Sire's dangerous choice, your hunter, and the original reason you were chosen are re-iterated here, and explain why you went into torpor for twenty years. Present Day: We come back to present day and you make a choice of how to handle your sire's legacy, with different choices available depending on past choices.

(set: $sire to "Chuey") { #(text-style: "smear")[II. The Road Gospel] } <blockquote>//Jukebox playing the same old melody, Keep on bringing back those blue memories. This evil feeling's gonna be the death of me// -Fred Niel, "That's the Bag I'm In"</blockquote> (text-style:"expand")[1991] You knew when you heard that harmonica outside your (cycling-link: bind $place, "Cincinnati", "Savannah", "St. Augustine") tenement that you needed to pack for a road trip. =|= |1>[(link: "You hated when he did this.")[(show:?clanChoice)(set: $sireShip to "negative")(hide:?2)]] =|= |2>[(link: "You didn't miss a beat.")[(show:?clanChoice)(set: $sireShip to "positive")(hide:?1)]] |==| |clanChoice)["How'd you know I was here?" you asked your Sire, tossing a (either: "suitcase", "dufflebag", "trash bag") full of essentials into his trunk. You paused briefly at the trunk's contents, then pushed down an old, familiar, creeping feeling. Grabbed a juicebag in the cooler instead. Chuey Cortez just grinned at your inquiry. He'd never been shy about showing off his fangs. They sat shockingly white in red-gold skin; he said he was born in a tribe the whole world had forgot. He'd pulled his long black hair into a twist at the nape of his neck. All this was as much the same as the last time you'd laid eyes on him (give or take thirty, forty-five years prior). Yet something was different. He looked at you with incongrously grey eyes. "You left your usual thumbprint," he answered. He must have meant: |3>[(link: "The gloriously oversized chopper in the parking lot.")[{You'd always been a daredevil, and following in the heels of devildom had done little to diminish that part of your personality.(set: $clanChoice to "Fortitude", $background to "daredevil")(hide:?4)(hide:?5)(show:?babyonboard)}]] |4>[(link: "The fact that you were living close to the local zoo.")[{It had always been your preference, even in your mundane mortal life. You'd not only studied zoology but had been one of the first proponents of cryptids.(set: $clanChoice to "Animalism", $background to "cryptid expert")(hide:?3)(hide:?5)(show:?babyonboard)}]] |5>[(link: "Your clan's bane: the lingering essence of your wild shapeshifting nights.")[{In your mortality, they'd thought you were crazy for howling at the moon; Chuey had found you as a reluctant ward of the state. But then he set you free.(set: $clanChoice to "Protean", $background to "ward")(hide:?3)(hide:?4)(show:?babyonboard)}]] ] |babyonboard)[Chuey slapped the back bumper of his (either: "rusty", "dusty") 1967 Datsun. "Got it prepared for ya," Again, you thought of the contents of the trunk, but before you could ask, you realized what Chuey was indicating: He'd ruined a perfectly good classic car with a 'Baby on Board' sticker. "Real funny, Chuey." You tossed yourself into the passenger seat. [[The Road called.->Gangrel Part II]]]

(set: $sire to "Lysbeth") { #(text-style: "smear")[II. Girl With A Pearl Earring] } <blockquote>The other two, slight air and purging fire, Are both with thee, wherever I abide; The first my thought, the other my desire... -William Shakespeare</blockquote> (text-style:"expand")[1991] "It’s important to surround yourself with things that are as old as you are," Lysbeth told you once or twice. This is how she greeted you one (either: "rainy", "moon-addled", "clear", "warm") night in early 1991. She was all (either: "done", "gussied", "made") up, like she was just out to celebrate her 21st birthday in a (cycling-link: bind $place, "Cincinnati", "Savannah", "St. Augustine") dive bar and hadn’t (either: "deliberately", "explicitly") tracked you down. You had not seen her since `<redacted>`. //I (cycling-link: bind _sireShip, "missed", "hadn’t missed") her.// {(if: _sireShip is "missed")[(set: $sireShip to "positive")] (if: _sireShip is "hadn’t missed")[(set: $sireShip to "negative")]} (link-reveal: "Can’t say I blame you.")[(show: ?Toreador1)] (hidden:)["Got you this," she said, and when she tied the thing around your hands you realized with (either: "sickening", "startling", "vivid") clarity that today was the anniversary of your unlife. This was a (link-reveal: "birthday")[(show:?Toreador2)] present.]<Toreador1| (hidden:)["You’re what?" Lysbeth said, "(either: "Eighty", "Seventy")-something?" She had wrapped a working pocket watch and chain around your hand. Inside, the clock face was a $color color. "It's [[almost time->ToreadorFam]]," she'd said, with a wriggle of showmanship in her tone, like she'd been waiting for you to open that pocketwatch before she made her (either: "grand", "self-important", "grandiloquent") announcement. ]<Toreador2|

{ #(text-style: "smear")[IV. Pink Rabbits] } <blockquote></blockquote> (text-style:"expand")[1966] (link: '"My dear, pull down your eyelid."')["See, it’s pale. Are you anemic?" This was (link-reveal: "Mrs. Davenport.")[(show:?Davenport)]] |Davenport)[(either: "Linda", "Barbara", "Caroline", "Debbie", "Judith", "Patricia", "Mary") was her first name, but that never came up. It’s (either: "queer", "funny") that she’s the (either: "clearest", "most lucid", "only unclouded" ) memory of this decade. A little (cycling-link: bind _place2, "Harmony, Rhode Island", "Flint, Michigan", "Cairo, Illinois") housewife, chock full of sweet-sour phlegmatic blood. {(if: _place2 is "Cairo, Illinois")[(set: $place2 to "Cairo")](else-if: _place2 is "Harmony, Rhode Island")[(set: $place2 to "Harmony")](else-if: _place2 is "Flint, Michigan")[(set: $place2 to "Flint")]} You’d been ingratiated into her so-called (link-reveal: "Sweet and Sour Happy Hour")[(show:?gossip)], the hour after the kid was in bed and the Nesquick and gin came out. She just had the one kid, a daughter.] |gossip)[The husband had died. Or the husband had left her. Or she had left the husband. It changed, depending on the ratio of gin to Nesquick. "Gossip is a bloodsport," Mrs. Davenport would often sigh, before getting into the ring. {(if: $symbol is "rat")[As a good ol' Nosferat, you had long learned how to steal prettiness and wear it like a Halloween mask. There was always the thrill of getting caught if you didn't adjust things just right. ] (if: $gender is "man")[Neither you nor Mrs. Davenport wanted anything more sordid than the rumors these visits might have (either: "generated", "caused"). A young cold-blooded male sitting on (either: "an ottoman", "a pouf", "a chaise") in her (either: "soda-pink", "champagne-colored", "floral") living room.] (else-if: $gender is "woman")[To Mrs. Davenport, you were just a younger female friend, there to lounge, gossip, and share Pink Rabbits.]} You always ended up in a Freudian sketch: her on the fainting couch, you propped up somewhere near her head. She talked. You listened. She drank. You drank. And when she was good and sated, (either: "somnolent", "drowsy", "dreamy") and warm as only a human could be, you’d tuck into her neck and the resonance was surprisingly cool-headed. She was naturally a no-nonsense woman. She was also bored. The blood was always perfect. You wouldn’t do anything to get her upset. That wasn’t your cup of tea. So, [[when the child ran away->Phlegmatic Part II]], there was a snag in your plans.]

{ #(text-style: "smear")[IV. In the Backseat of a Blood-Red Chevelle] } <blockquote></blockquote> (text-style:"expand")[1966] There was nothing to do in (cycling-link: bind _place2, "Flint, Michigan", "Harmony, Rhode Island", "Cairo, Illinois") except race cars at midnight. {(if: _place2 is "Cairo, Illinois")[(set: $place2 to "Cairo")](else-if: _place2 is "Harmony, Rhode Island")[(set: $place2 to "Harmony")](else-if: _place2 is "Flint, Michigan")[(set: $place2 to "Flint")]} All that adrenaline: it was hard enough not to pounce them as soon as they sat down in their leathers. That cured smell always did make you salivate. {(if: $instinct is "humane")[Of course, you always kept your Beast in check.](else-if: $instinct is "bestial")[You actually praised yourself for your self-control; normally it was the Beast calling the shots.]} You simply waited in the shadows of the backseat. It was a once- or twice-a-month treat. Do it to often and they'd start to get suspicious of how many drivers simply went loopy with post-race high, or, in some more indulgent instances, konked right out. You still remember the last hit, the greatest hit. [[Beatty and his Blood-Red Chevelle->Choleric Part II]].

(set: $gender to "woman") { #(text-style: "smear")[IV. Something Borrowed] } <blockquote></blockquote> (text-style:"expand")[1966] It was what your coterie-at-the-time was known for. Crashing weddings. Even when you (either: "went stag", "ran solo", "broke it off"), you could still (either: "slip", "slide", "dip") (either: "easily", "jauntily", "casually") into evening wedding parties and the occasional midnight nuptial. {(if: $symbol is "rat")[As a good ol' Nosferat, you had long learned how to steal prettiness and wear it like a Halloween mask. There was always the thrill of getting caught if you didn't adjust things just right.]} Emotions run (either: "high", "the gamut") at weddings; no matter the resonance, the blood is quick and (either: "always", "usually") a little sweet. It wasn’t just a free-for-all of good old sanguine resonance, no. Anything and everything could happen at a wedding. You specialized. For you, it was all about the rare vintage. The hunt for Red (link-reveal: "Melancholy.")[(show:?Wedding1)] |Wedding1)[You remember the last great hit; the one that messed you up, the one you still taste. The crystal-clear memory of that decade: the Ormond [[wedding->Bridesmaid]] party, 1966, {(cycling-link: bind _place2, "Cairo, Illinois", "Harmony, Rhode Island", "Flint, Michigan").(if: _place2 is "Cairo, Illinois")[(set: $place2 to "Cairo")](else-if: _place2 is "Harmony, Rhode Island")[(set: $place2 to "Harmony")](else-if: _place2 is "Flint, Michigan")[(set: $place2 to "Flint")]}]

{ #(text-style: "smear")[IV. The Dashnavar] } //<blockquote> In my heart a sea of blood wells, Called up by their cruel might, No calm ever in that flood dwells— Love not thou their gleaming bright! -Avetis Isahakian, from "Black Eyes" </blockquote>// (text-style:"expand")[1966] Everything you learned about seduction you learned from an 88-year-old Armenian woman named Anahid Grigoryan. Everybody called her (link-reveal: "Annie.")[(show:?next)] |next)[You had often wondered how she (either: "flitted", "floated") unscathed through Kindred society. Neither (either: "vampire", "lick", "dashnavar") nor ghoul, (either: "frail of body", "small enough to be packed into a suitcase", "paper and bird-bones"), (either: "diamond for spirit", "steel for a backbone"), and as far as the whole Masquerade was concerned, an untouchable. It took you an appreciably long time to figure out that she was the first wife of the Prince of (cycling-link: bind _place2, "Cairo, Illinois", "Harmony, Rhode Island", "Flint, Michigan"). {(if: _place2 is "Cairo, Illinois")[(set: $place2 to "Cairo")](else-if: _place2 is "Harmony, Rhode Island")[(set: $place2 to "Harmony")](else-if: _place2 is "Flint, Michigan")[(set: $place2 to "Flint")]} Anahid was (either: "blind", "myopic") by the time you met her. Your appearance and your nature didn’t mean (either: "jack", "squat", "a thing") to her. She just wanted (either: "someone to talk to", "decent company", "a companion"). So you talked about (link-reveal: "seducing mortals.")[(show:?AnnieConvo)]] |AnnieConvo)[You preferred blood with a positive aftertaste: a simulacrum of joy, or wonder, or—. "Remember," Annie said from underneath her (either: "tufted", "knotted", "fleecy") (either: "quilt", "duvet", "coverlet"), "Unless your somebody’s mother, you are a salesman to them. You’re selling yourself all the time," "Even a lover?" "Especially a lover," Annie said. She still insisted on wearing rouge, changing the color of her lipstick with the season. Before it all ended, it was (either: "spring", "summer", "autumn", "winter"). She applied her color, and, while she was at it, (either: "accentuated a mole on her cheek", "clipped a hair from her chin", "dabbed some perfume behind her ears"). Even though she couldn’t see you, you always felt seen. Her (either: "milky", "pale", "ruined") eyes chanced on the direction you were (either: "stooped", "seated", "standing"). You (either: "always", "frequently") told her of your (either: "conquests", "escapades"). With a certain tasteful panache. (link-reveal: "It was still 1966, after all.")[(show:?fun)] |fun)["Nobody has that much fun," Annie (either: "huffed", "chuffed", "scoffed"), "Especially here," =|= |1>[(link: "Yes, hunting could be fun.")[(go-to:"Sanguine Part II")]] =|= |2>[(link: "Just trying to survive.")[(go-to:"Sanguine Part II")]] |==| ]]

{(set: $ending to (either: "Chord of Scarlet", "Thicker than Water", "Shadow of a Doubt", "Think of the Childer"))} { #(text-style: "smear")[V. $ending] } (text-style:"expand")[New Year's Eve, 1999] |tooltip>[Hell of a year.June 28th through July 4th...The Week of Nightmares...the Week of Ashes...] Hell of a day, that last 24 hours of the millennium. --- (if: $place is "Cincinnati")[(display:"Cincinnati")] (if: $place is "Savannah")[(display:"Savannah")] (if: $place is "St. Augustine")[(display:"St. Augustine")]

(set: $sire to "") { #(text-style: "smear")[II. A Republic Writ In Blood ] } <blockquote>//There is only one good, knowledge, and one evil, ignorance.// - Socrates</blockquote> (text-style:"expand")[1991] When he came back into your nights one (either: "chill", "rainy", "dry") night early in 1991, you had made something of a name for yourself in (cycling-link: bind $place, "Cincinnati", "St. Augustine", "Savannah")'s Kindred society. "Evening, young blood," You (link-reveal: "answered")[(show:?greeting)] him (cycling-link: "cautiously", "casually", "cajolingly", "caustically"). |greeting)["You know I wouldn't show up unless it had to do with the Family," he said. You studied him, leaning against his (either: "white", "black", "yellow") roadrunner. Snakeskin boots crossed, hair on chest, furrowed brow of a philosopher. The clothes may have changed, but that was the same expression he'd shown you before he took you into his nights. [[The Family, huh?->BruFam]] ]

{(set: $sire to "Lazarus") #(text-style: "smear")[II. Vinegar for Wine] } (text-style:"expand")[1991] When you first met Lazarus, you were like (cycling-link: bind _sireShip, "a fly drawn to honey", "a fly in the ointment"). At the very least, he didn’t seem like the type to hurt a fly, but you knew he was dangerous.(mouseover: "he was dangerous")[(show: ?Ventrue1)]{(if: _sireShip is "a flying drawn to honey")[(set: $sireShip to "positive")](if: _sireShip is "a fly in the ointment")[(set: $sireShip to "negative")]} |Ventrue1)[{(if: $gender is "woman")[He was exactly the kind of man you wanted.] (else-if: $gender is "man")[He was exactly the kind of man you wanted to be.]}\ By the time he cruised into (cycling-link: bind $place, "Cincinnati", "Savannah", "St. Augustine") in early 1991, the imprint he had left on you was still irrefutable. "I let you into the Clan of Kings," he’d often reminded you, "I know you won’t disappoint me," And, despite yourself, [[you hadn’t->Ventrue Part II]].]

(set: $sire to "Selene") { #(text-style: "smear")[II. The Saints' Margin] } <blockquote>"If you meet the Buddha on the road-- kill him." -Linji Yixuan </blockquote> (text-style:"expand")[1991] Each Malk had it different. A different way of (link-reveal: "interpreting")[(show:?Voice)] the Voice. (hidden:)[ For us, it was closely tied with the reason Selene chose us in the first place: (link: "We were an aspiring linguist, interested in the tangled and unreasonable ways in which languages began, evolved, got bent and skewered and remodeled. The Tower of Babel was our playground. We were writing our thesis on the etymology of the word 'Dominate.'")[(set: $discipline to "Dominate", $background to "linguist")(go-to:"Malkavian Part II")] (link: "We were, at least we thought we were, destined for the religious life. The cloistered kind. The world felt more real in obfuscation.")[(set: $discipline "Obfuscate", $background to "cloistered")(go-to:"Malkavian Part II")] (link: "We were already a ward of the state, though given our family's prestige, we had a cushy cell for a wannabe augur. Since childhood we had been privy to an exquisite, excruciating sense of the sixth.")[(set: $discipline to "Auspex", $background to "ward")(go-to:"Malkavian Part II")]]<Voice|

(set: $sire to "Dido") { #(text-style: "smear")[II. The Singing Sorceress] } <blockquote></blockquote> (text-style:"expand")[1991] She let you come up with the band name. She was the front runner, of course. Dido and the (cycling-link: bind $band1, "Last", "Forbidden", "Schismatic", "Crisscross", "Errant", "Sleepless", "Ivory", "Fleeting", "Broken", "Disenchanted") (cycling-link: bind $band2, "Rituals", "Reflection", "Sunrise", "Cure", "Pyramid", "Eye Candy", "Nights", "Tower", "Obsession", "Elixir"). It was a great cover-up: nobody questioned musicians clocking the night shift, and (either: "strange", "eclectic", "weird", "unusual") tastes were to be expected. A (either: "lick", "vamp", "Tremere", "blood-sucking warlock") could be gone before someone even questioned the sudden spike in anemia. You (cycling-link: "were surprised", "weren’t surprised") that she’d kept the band name the same, even though (link-reveal: "the line-up")[(show:?Tremere1)] was completely different. |Tremere1)["We lost (either: "Temptation", "Acqua Tofana", "Euphoria", "Blush", "Little Black Dress", "Teacup") and (either: "Belladonna", "Gossamer", "Winter Sorbet", "Miss Lesion", "Cedrat", "Sweet John")," she told you. (You recall she’d always named her ghouls like they were bottles in a perfume collection). This was all apropos of nothing. She just (either: "appeared", "materialized") one (either: "rainy", "warm", "misty") night early in 1991, like she’d been summoned by one of your (either: "old", "past") rituals, like she’d been planning a (either: "pit-stop in", "visit to", "quick concert in") (cycling-link: bind $place, "Savannah", "Cincinnati", "St. Augustine") for some time. Perhaps she had. But you’d (cycling-link: bind _sireShip, "always", "never") had a handle on her mind.{(if: _sireShip is "always")[(set: $sireShip to "positive")](else-if: _sireShip is "never")[(set: $sireShip to "negative")]} In all ways, including physical, Dido was a mystery. For starters, she had one of those complexions that made guessing her heritage a parlor game. It was completely possible that she’d used magick to change herself. After all, she'd taught you that trick herself. When you'd first met Dido, you had been: {|1>[(link: "A young debutante with a troublingly accurate sixth sense. Dido called it a precursor to Auspex.")[(set: $clanChoice to "Auspex", $background to "debutante")(hide:?2)(hide:?3)(show:?Tremere2)]]}\ {|2>[(link: "Someone who wasn't used to getting what they wanted; Dido promised that, with a little magic, you could learn not only to be heard, but to Dominate.")[(set: $clanChoice to "Dominate", $background to "wallflower")(hide:?1)(hide:?3)(show:?Tremere2)]]}\ {|3>[(link: "A promising student of hematology--or as Dido called it, the precursor to blood sorcery.")[(set: $clanChoice to "Thaumatury", $background to "hematologist")(hide:?1)(hide:?2)(show:?Tremere2)]]}\ ]\ (hidden:)[But that’s all she’d ever shown you: tricks. And not just teaching you cheap uses for the Tremere clan’s occult inheritance, she would as often trick you in general. Watching how she'd disappear—and never come back. She had [[left you->Tremere Part II]] to your own devices far earlier than most Sires.]<Tremere2|

(set: $sire to "Mr. Goodnight") { #(text-style: "smear")[II. Mr. Goodnight] } <blockquote></blockquote> (text-style:"expand")[1991] The thing about the Nosferatu clan is that they really took the “no vamp is an island" quip seriously. You’d (cycling-link: "avoided", "tried") going at your schemes alone, but a (either: "sewer rat", "carny", "blankbody", "gumshoe", "leper", "warren-dweller") was gonna find out about it sooner or later. |tooltip>[Shut-EyeHis eyes were always crusted over, but he could dance backwards in heels in the pitch of night.], |tooltip>[ByteYes, he was the IT guy.], |tooltip>[AdonisHe was a looker in his mortal life; and he sure as hell was a looker now.], |tooltip>[MeiklejohnA well-read daydreamer.], |tooltip>[PillowResident softie; had only killed two guys, tops.], |tooltip>[PeachfaceTurned at puberty, the unlucky bastard.]. The endlessly maligned are often endlessly creative. These were the inescapable faces of (cycling-link: bind $place, "Cincinnati", "St. Augustine", "Savannah")'s warrens. It was (either: "Shut-Eye", "Byte", "Adonis", "Meiklejohn", "Pillow", "Peachface") that told you about your Sire's [[return->Nosferatu Part II]].

You couldn’t believe Ivan was still alive. It was even stranger to see him (either: "drowning in a Members Only jacket", "sporting an undershirt and a popped collar", "decked out in harem pants"). That trend had been out of style nearly the year it came out. Then again, Lysbeth usually kept her ghouls in the dark. "What do they have to worry about (either: "modern", "contemporary", "current") trends for?" she’d (either: "sniff", "scoff"), "I need them to be experts on the (either: "past", "17th century")," Ivan's (either: "papery", "leathery", "brittle") skin betrayed the wrinkles earned from surviving almost a century. His eyes had gone from a (either: "baby blue", "striking green", "dark soulful color", "hazel grey") to an anemic variety. But he could replicate Ver Meer like he was possessed by the man’s ghost. "You’re saying it’s Ivan’s replica that’s in the Hague?" you’d asked, (cycling-link: "incredulously", "not even remotely surprised"). As answer, Lysbeth (text-style:"double-strike")[proudly] arrogantly produced //A Girl With A Pearl Earring.// "You hauled that with you to $place?!" "It’s //my treasure//," The word ‘similar’ didn’t apply to Lysbeth’s countenance and the painting. Only ‘exact’ could be applied. She had often hinted that she’d been the muse for a great painting, but seeing as whenever you asked about her age she gave you the quip that ‘a lady does not ask or tell,’ you assumed you’d never know. She changed her look with the wind, but at that moment she was stripped of most of her affectation. As she peeked over her shoulder, you swear you could see a pearl dangling from her right ear, and an imitation of (cycling-link: "light", "life", "innocence") in her eyes. Now, after nearly a century, you had learned something new about your Sire. And you knew exactly why she had re-entered your nights: You used to be her prize counterfeiter(click-append: "her prize counterfeiter")[: the (either: "Michaelangelo", "Rembrandt", "Da Vinci") of [[forgeries->Forgery]]].

(link-reveal: "She wasn’t even a bridesmaid.")[(show:?bridesmaid)] |bridesmaid)[She was just a cousin of the bride. Somebody that had to be invited. Something about her was familiar, though you didn't place it till later. All you knew was she had been building up this salivating melancholia for weeks, months, years. There was probably going to be a good, rich, nougatty childhood in there--Daddy Issues, Lonely Summers, Bittersweet Goodbyes. =|= |1>[(link: "You were ashamed of these inclinations.")[(show:?remorse)(hide:?2)]] =|= |2>[(link: "You could go on and on.")[(show:?unashamed)(hide:?1)]] |==| ] |remorse)[ {(if: $instinct is "bestial")[Which was unlike you. Unlike the Beast. Perhaps it was just a hangover of remorse, some transferrance of the wallflower's own sense of regret.] (if: $instinct is "humane")[Though your preferred blood with a melancholy aftertaste, it was mostly for humane reasons. Not shadow of schadenfreude. But sometimes your thoughts ran away with you.]} But as you stalked your prey, you realized you had gone looking for copper and (link-reveal: "struck gold")[(show:?lostlove)]] |unashamed)[ {(if: $instinct is "bestial")[(either: "Massive Failure", "Unkind Nostalgia"), (either: "Expedited Bildungsroman", "Red Scare"), (either: "Social Anxiety", "Hemophobia").] (if: $instinct is "humane")[But you had to stop yourself at some point. It was making the Beast get louder.]} But as you stalked your prey, you realized you had gone looking for copper and (link-reveal: "struck gold")[(show:?lostlove)].] |lostlove)[//Lost Love.// For you, this was a vintage dycrasia. It only took the arithmetic of a few stolen, furtive glances to confirm your suspicions. She was in love with a man she could not have. =|= |1>[(link: "You sympathized.")[(goto: "sympathetic")]] =|= |2>[(link: "This just made your job easier.")[(goto:"uncompromising")]] |==| ]

The entire (either: "heist", "operation") would take (link-reveal: "six weeks.") [ You had never heard of the piece. And it wasn't Lysbeth's (either: "usual", "typical", "preferred") mark. It was a //young// piece. Its title: //portrait of a young $gender shortly before death.// The lower-case title was unusual for the time (circa 189X, the year being debated). Artist unknown. //|1>[(link: "Could be a self-portrait.")[(show: ?forgery1)(hide:?2)(hide:?3)(hide:?4)]]// //|2>[(link: "Artist unknown? Painted before death? Publicity stunt.")[(show: ?forgery1)(hide:?1)(hide:?3)(hide:?4)]]// //|3>[(link: "All of it was intriguing.")[(show: ?forgery1)(hide:?1)(hide:?2)(hide:?4)]]// //|4>[(link: "All that mattered was Lysbeth was paying in money and vitae.")[(show: ?forgery1)(hide:?1)(hide:?2)(hide:?3)]]// ]\ (hidden:)[While you spent your nights (seq-link: "studying the piece", "drafting the piece", "scrapping the piece", "mixing the oil paints", "soaking in turpentine", "watching the dead come to life", "questioning the passing of time", "eventually falling in love with the subject")...]<forgery1|(mouseover: "falling in love with the subject")[(show: ?forgery2)][Lysbeth acquired invitations to the private showing where the original would be showcased. (mouseover: "showcased.")[(show: ?forgery3)]](forgery2| (hidden:)[In all this time, the two of you had only gotten together at (either: "Sunday", "Friday", "Wednesday") dinners, to sup from (either: "a grateful", "an indolent", "a withdrawal-twitchy") Ivan. "It's (either: "a perfect", "a convincing", "an adequate", "an exquisite") (either: " replica", " imitation", " copy", " forgery", "counterfeit")," Lysbeth said of the (either: "finished", "completed", "still-drying") work. {(if: $sireShip is "positive")[You were pleased with the praise, despite yourself.] (if: $sireShip is "negative")[Like you cared what she thought.]} "You really don't recognize $objective?" "(either: "Should I?", "Why would I?", "What do you mean?")" "Oh, I knew you wouldn't, it's just the resemblance is uncanny," She massaged the back of your neck; her movements were completely without warmth. "Your memory was always--" a ticklish touch across your scalp, "--always a bit like something caught in too bright a light. You see silhouettes, not people. Because the light blocks everything else out," Then she leaned in to whisper, "Brave childe, to look directly into the sun," --- The [[party->Heist]] was on a Thursday night.](forgery3|

You do not know if Lysbeth ever made it out. The headlines the following day enticed readers with body counts, and somebody snorted that the rich deserved to be (link-reveal: "culled.")[(show:?cull)] |cull)[Spoken like a true (link-reveal: "Caineite.")[(show:?next)]] |next)[You'd given him a (link-reveal: "second glance.")[(show:?glance)]] |glance)[But he wasn't pretty enough to be a (link-reveal: "Toreador.")[(show:?present)]] |present)[ --- (text-style:"expand")[Present Day] {(if: $paintingTaken is true)[(display:"paintingTaken2")] (else-if: $paintingTaken is false)[(display:"paintingLost2")]} [[The Inquisition, 1943.->194X Start]]]

{(if: $sireShip is "negative")[You agreed to tag along, but you didn't have to be thrilled about it. No, not tag along, that wasn't doing ya any justice. Chuey //needed// you. This was all part of the grand plan.](else-if: $sireShip is "positive")[You were glad enough to tag along. No, not tag along. Chuey needed you. You were the lynchpin. You were the key.]} You may have been chosen for your lineage, but you had siblings, cousins twice-removed. You had stood out from all the rest. |1>[(link: "Simply put, you were a daredevil. Not much scared you--even the things that should.")[(set: $discipline to "Potence", $background to "daredevil")(show:?destination)(hide:?2)(hide:?3)]]\ |2>[(link: "You had always been described as //quick.// Quick on your feet, quick on the pick-up, talking a mile-a-minute.")[(set: $discipline to "Celerity", $background to "prodigy")(show:?destination)(hide:?1)(hide:?3)]]\ |3>[(link: "You were an early civil rights activist: the voice of the people.")[(set: $discipline to "Presence", $background to "activist")(show:?destination)(hide:?1)(hide:?2)]]\ |destination)[ {(if: $place is "Cincinnati")[The two of you rolled through the inclines of Cincinnati, a low rumble of (either: "Slick Rick", "A Tribe Called Quest", "E-40", "Minds of Mischief") masking the silence between you. Destination: Over-the-Rhine.] (else-if: $place is "St. Augustine")[The two of you ambled along with the fortress walls of St. Augustine, a static catch of (either: "Taj Mahal", "Swamp Dogg", "Lynyrd Skynyrd", "Marilyn Manson") filling the silence between you. Locke was heading towards a run-down, non-tourist stop, and parked at an inconsiderate angle.] (else-if: $place is "Savannah")[The two of you coasted through the genteel streets of Savannah, the white noise of (either: "Sonic Youth", "Dr. John", "Nirvana", "James Moody") smothering the silence between you. Locke was idling towards a bar by the pier.]} If you tried to find the bar these days, it wouldn't have the same name. Wouldn't look the same. Wouldn't //feel// the same. It existed at that moment because it needed to exist. It was [[Locke's Haven]]. ]

{ #(text-style:"smear")[III. Not to mention the King and the Duke] } <blockquote>"The robb’d that smiles, steals something from the thief." - William Shakespeare</blockquote> (text-style:"expand")[1943] You had been a Kindred for almost half a century before you encountered your first Hunter. In the broil of World War II, you had your own [[personal war->King and Duke]] to attend to.

The dissapearance of King Ludwig II was no minor thing. No coincidence. And, to you, no mystery. The Swan King had been declared dead for as long as you had been a vampire, somewhere around 1886. And what went with that convenient declaration was the $colorAdj shadow, the Caineite secrets of his most celebrated acheivement: the castle of Neuschwanstein. It just so happened that this secret not only mattered a great deal to you personally, but to your political career. "If the Inquisition gets ahold of //it//," your newest benefactor, the Prince of $place, had warned, "I will hold you and whatever Sired your miserable existence completely and inequivocably responsible," A relic of the Family. A shadow that fell from the House of $surname. It had to be your problem. You had ensconced yourself in Bavaria shortly before the breakout of the War, and had only the usual struggles until (either: "March", "April", "May", "June") of 1943. A [[man->The Dentist]] of the Inquisition had beeen trailing you for two months now, and here at the border of Bavaria you were putting a stop to it.

Many things might have been said of Dietrich Haas, but once he joined the National Socialist party not much more could be added. Even before his conversion, however, he had been a Hunter. They called him the Dentist. Like you, his nature was inherited through blood. The Haas family had been hunters since one of their own (link-reveal: "one of their own")[(show:?sting)] had been Embraced in the early 19th century. |sting)[What a sting, what a blow, what a humiliation. Their chief prize was the abomination stalking the nights and poisoning the good Haas name]. Beyond that...(click-append: "Beyond that...")[ you only knew as much as the Camarilla wanted you to know. (cycling-link: "You cursed", "But you didn’t curse") the night you received a calling card in simple cursive: signed simply, //[[Haas->Mr. Rabbit]]//.]

[(set: $band to "" + $band1 + " " + $band2 + "")] (if: $sireShip is "positive")[She was just doing it to test you. It had made you stronger. Dido had never given you the impression that she didn’t know what she was doing. Like the archetypal wisewoman, sometimes she simply came off as a witch.] (if: $sireShip is "negative")[You’d come up with plenty of words for what she was (cycling-link: "narcissist", "sociopath", "leech") , but your favorite was Witch—in every sense of the word past, present, and future.] Despite or perhaps because of who she was, Dido still had plenty of eager followers. "This is Essence," she introduced a young ghoul with a (either: "dyed-in-coolaid", "platinum blonde", "sky-blue", "dime-store") (either: "pixie cut", "bob"). You couldn’t explain the wrongness. Not then. It was just that--there was no scent. Not of blood, or any other sign of life. Essence said, “Did I ever tell you the story of why (either: "peanut butter", "strawberry jam", "vanilla extract") makes me sad?" A sigh. “She’s //high//, Dido." "She’s the tambourine, love," Dido grinned, “And I want you back on (cycling-link: bind $instrument, "drums", "guitar", "bass", "keys")," Quite frankly, you didn’t have a [[choice]].

You had a secondary gift, a real Toreador chestnut, that Lysbeth had always found useful: |1>[(link: "A most beguiling Presence.")[You had been a prodiguous musician: your instrument of choice the (cycling-link: bind $instrument, "piano", "organ", "violin", "cello"). (set: $clanChoice to "presence", $background to "musician")(hide:?2)(hide:?3)]] |2>[(link: "A Celerity keen on larceny.")[You had been a gentle$gender thief: quick, elegant, the glory of soirees.(set: $clanChoice to "celerity", $background to "thief")(hide:?1)(hide:?3)]] |3>[(link: "You had the sixth sense of an Augur.")[You were just like all the other debutantes, only better-looking, and you could //really// read a room.(set: $clanChoice to "auspex", $background to "debutante")(hide:?1)(hide:?3)]] And it proved useful that Thursday night. You didn't have to arrive on time; that was for Lysbeth. You came as her promised second. You felt a little light-headed; you'd had to sacrifice some blood to resemble the blush of life. The music was so slow it crushed you. The entire atmosphere felt like it was submerged in bubbly. Conversation was punctuated with light ecsastic pops of laughter and disbelief, and almost everyone was wearing some eye-catching pastel or neon. It was all a clash, a crush, and as you moved through it you felt the kine try to break agaisnt you like a wave will break across a rock. Death walked among them and they pretended not to know it. "That's what the piece is about, you know," said a pretentious no-name at your shoulder. You'd made it to your quarry and admired how out-of-place it looked amongst all the slick modernity. "It's a portrait of Death," the pretensious one continued. "Yes," you agreed. You caught Lysbeth out of the corner of your eye. She looked stunning in a backless black dress, hair so tightly wound on her scalp and lips perfect around a cigarello. She reached delicately to put the cigarello (link-reveal: "out.")[(show:?signal)] |signal)[That was the [[signal.->Heist Part II]]]

You are (either: "quite", "pretty") sure the only reason Lazarus looked at you twice was because of your precocious talent for the (cycling-link: bind $instrument, "piano", "organ", "cello", "violin"). You commanded the room when you played. It moved you up and up in social echelon, so that by the time Lazarus introduced you to his endless nights, you were already a promising Ventrue acolyte. "Imagine if a Toreador had (either: "absconded you", "gotten to you first", "snatched you up")," Lazarus had mused, tracing a manicured nail(mouseover: "tracing a manicured nail")[(show:?relationship)] (either: "across your clavicle", "up the soft flesh of your arm", "up your spine"). |relationship)[ {[(if: $sireShip is "negative")[You loathed your attraction to him. You had never been able to (seq-link: "explain", "shake", "forget") it. It seemed impossible that he aligned so perfectly to your ideal man: (cycling-link: "green", "blue", "dark", "grey") eyes, (cycling-link: "clean-shaven", "well-groomed", "rugged") face, (cycling-link: "curly", "straight", "wild", "coiffed") hair, and an overall (cycling-link: "wiry", "soft", "severe", "overbearing"),(cycling-link: "masculine", "androgynous") look. You had, at least, never acted on this pointless attraction.] (if: $sireShip is "positive")[Your attraction to Lazarus could feel juvenile at times. Almost innocent, if the undertone wasn't so deliciously dark. It seemed impossible that he aligned so perfectly to your ideal man: (cycling-link: "green", "blue", "dark", "grey") eyes, (cycling-link: "clean-shaven", "well-groomed", "rugged") face, (cycling-link: "curly", "straight", "wild", "coiffed") hair, and an overall (cycling-link: "wiry", "soft", "severe", "overbearing"),(cycling-link: "masculine", "androgynous") look. But after all this time, you had never once acted on your attraction.]]} "What do you want, Lazarus?" It had to come down to this question. You were seated in one of your (either: "most extravagant", "humble-chic", "many") (either: "office spaces", "penthouses"), the (either: "kind", "type", "ilk") that's (either: "mostly glass", "envied and protected by the local historical society", "got art-deco windows and stainless steel appliances and secrets behind the artwork"). Each of you had a glass of (cycling-link: "freshly squeezed", "carefully preserved") blood in hand. His perfect eyebrows climbed up his forehead, almost as if he was amused. Most emotions crossed his face like an artificial twitch, however. It was the chief difference you'd noticed about him after all those decades: (cycling-link: "more Kindred", "less human"). "Why, I've always wanted to //live//, $name," he said, and then actually looked at you. Didn't look through you, like you were a window, which was his default way of looking at anything. "It's in my name, isn't it?" He set down his empty wine glass. "Part of the reason I chose you was for your name," You must have looked surprised. He shrugged. "I occasionally try out sentimentality," he explained, "Indulge me, and I'll keep telling you these little secrets of mine. Now where was I? Ah, yes, we were actually (link-reveal: "talking about you")[(show:?name)],"] |name)[He got up from your (either: "Capellini S", "Starke Louis 20", "Boca do Lobo") chair to pour himself (either: "more", "another") drink. {(if: $instinct is "bestial")[(display:"bestialVentrue")] (if: $instinct is "humane")[(display:"humaneVentrue")] } "Hm," you intoned, (cycling-link: "affecting boredom", "sounding intrigued"). "You've a marvelous presence, $name," Lazarus continued, "I saw it when you were kine, when they were groveling at your feet, worshipping your swansong. Yes, that takes a Caineite Presence. It was the second thing I noticed about you," (link-reveal: "Don't all good things come in threes?")[ you pressed, sensing he was leading you somewhere. "I thought the saying was, //bad things come in threes//," he smiled coldly. He now looked, not through you, not at you, but into your eyes. (link-reveal: "Come here.")[(show:?dominance)]]] [It had been so long since he had done this. You had gotten stronger, wiser. You had even learned this trick yourself. It still did nothing to change the fact that your Sire was currently using |tooltip>[DominateThe crack of the whip; the snake charmer's music. A Kindred's ability to enslave the will of kine or, in the adept, even another vampire.] on you. [[You didn't try to resist.->SurrenderF]] [[You bristled with resistance.->ResistanceF]] ](dominance|

You're (either: "quite", "pretty") sure the only reason Lazarus looked at you twice was because of your precocious talent for the (cycling-link: bind $instrument, "piano", "organ", "cello", "violin"). You commanded the room when you played. It moved you up and up in the echelons, so that by the time Lazarus introduced you to his endless nights, you were already a promising Ventrue acolyte. {(if: $sireShip is "positive")[You wanted your Sire to see you coming into your own. Even going on a century, you were still considered a neonate in most circles. But look at how much you had accomplished in so short a time. You offered Lazarus the best chair, the best glass, the best view. Let him soak it in. Let him see you approaching your heights. Even so, you were as uneasy as you were pleased with Lazarus' sudden return. You had to say something to break the silence.] (if: $sireShip is "negative")[It felt good to rub every hint of opulence and success in Lazarus' face. You gave him the best chair, the best glass, the best view. And you treated your $10,000 suit like it was laundry day. You just wanted to see him squirm.]}\ "What do you want, Lazarus?" Ind the end, it had to come down to this question. You were seated in one of your (either: "exquisite", "art-deco", "hideously modern") (either: "office spaces", "penthouses"), the (either: "kind", "type", "ilk") that's (either: "mostly steel", "only color scheme is monochromatic white", "got secrets behind the artwork and dirty money in the safe"). Both you and Lazarus had a glass of (cycling-link: "freshly squeezed", "carefully preserved") blood in hand. His perfect eyebrows climbed up his forehead, almost as if he was amused. Most emotions crossed his face like an artificial twitch, however. It was the chief difference you'd noticed about him after all those decades: (cycling-link: "less human", "more Kindred"). "Why, I've always wanted to //live//, $name," he said, and then actually looked at you. Didn't look through you, like you were a window, which was his default way of looking at anything. "It's in my name, isn't it?" He set down his empty wine glass. "Part of the reason I chose you was for your name," You must have looked surprised. He shrugged. "I occasionally try out sentimentality when I'm bored," he explained, "Indulge me, and I'll keep telling you these little secrets of mine. Now where was I? Ah, yes, we were actually (link-reveal: "talking about you")[(show:?name)]," |name)[He got up from your (either: "Capellini S", "Starke Louis 20", "Boca do Lobo") chair to pour himself (either: "more", "another") drink. {(if: $instinct is "bestial")[(display:"bestialVentrue")] (if: $instinct is "humane")[(display:"humaneVentrue")]} "Hm," you intoned, (cycling-link: "affecting boredom", "sounding intrigued"). "You've a marvelous presence, $name," Lazarus continued, "I saw it when you were kine, when they were groveling at your feet, worshipping your swansong. Yes, that takes a Caineite Presence. It was the second thing I noticed about you," (link-reveal: "Don't all good things come in threes?")[ you pressed, sensing he was leading you somewhere. "I thought the saying was, //(link-reveal: "bad things come in threes")[(show:?switch)]//," he smiled coldly.]] |switch)[He now looked, not through you, not at you, but into your eyes. (link-reveal: "Come here.")[(show:?dominance)]] |dominance)[It had been so long since he had done this. You had gotten stronger, wiser. You had even learned this trick yourself. It still did nothing to change the fact that your Sire was currently using |tooltip>[|tooltip>[DominateThe crack of the whip; the snake charmer's music. A Kindred's ability to enslave the will of kine or, in the adept, even another vampire.]The crack of the whip; the snake charmer's music. A Kindred's ability to enslave the will of kine or, in the adept, even another vampire.] on you. [[You didn't try to resist.->SurrenderM]] [[You bristled with resistance.->ResistanceM]] ]

The Eighties had been a busy decade for stockbrokers and money launderers, and considering you were both of these things, it had been especially busy for you. You were at the cusp of a discreetly powerful and powerfully discreet empire, and the title of Empress didn't sound bad at all. It was the name of one of your many business fronts, afer all. "Imagine if a Toreador had (either: "absconded you", "gotten to you first", "snatched you up")," Lazarus had mused, tracing a manicured nail(mouseover: "tracing a manicured nail")[(show:?relationship)] (either: "across your clavicle", "up the soft flesh of your arm", "up your spine"). |relationship)[ {[(if: $sireShip is "negative")[You loathed your attraction to him. You had never been able to (seq-link: "explain", "shake", "forget") it. It seemed impossible that he aligned so perfectly to your ideal man: (cycling-link: "green", "blue", "dark", "grey") eyes, (cycling-link: "clean-shaven", "well-groomed", "rugged") face, (cycling-link: "curly", "straight", "wild", "coiffed") hair, and an overall (cycling-link: "wiry", "soft", "severe", "overbearing"),(cycling-link: "masculine", "androgynous") look. You had, at least, never acted on this pointless attraction.] (if: $sireShip is "positive")[Your attraction to Lazarus could feel juvenile at times. Almost innocent, if the undertone wasn't so deliciously dark. It seemed impossible that he aligned so perfectly to your ideal man: (cycling-link: "green", "blue", "dark", "grey") eyes, (cycling-link: "clean-shaven", "well-groomed", "rugged") face, (cycling-link: "curly", "straight", "wild", "coiffed") hair, and an overall (cycling-link: "wiry", "soft", "severe", "overbearing"),(cycling-link: "masculine", "androgynous") look. But after all this time, you had never once acted on your attraction.]]} "What do you want, Lazarus?" It had to come down to this question. You were seated in one of your lusher offices: a top floor, chilly glass affair. The mini-bar was stocked every night by a faithful ghoul. Your Sire's perfect eyebrows climbed up his forehead, almost as if he was amused. Most emotions crossed his face like an artificial twitch, however. It was the chief difference you'd noticed about him after all those decades: (cycling-link: "less human", "more Kindred"). "Why, I've always wanted to //live//, $name," he said, and then actually looked at you. Didn't look through you, like you were a window, which was his default way of looking at anything. "It's in my name, isn't it?" He set down his empty wine glass. "Part of the reason I chose you was for your name," You must have looked surprised. He shrugged. "I occasionally try out sentimentality when I'm bored," he explained, "Indulge me, and I'll keep telling you these little secrets of mine. Now where was I? Ah, yes, we were actually (link-reveal: "talking about you")[(show:?name)],"] |name)[He got up from your (either: "Capellini S", "Starke Louis 20", "Boca do Lobo") chair to pour himself (either: "more", "another") drink. {(if: $instinct is "bestial")[(display:"bestialVentrue")] (if: $instinct is "humane")[(display:"humaneVentrue")] "Hm" you intoned, (cycling-link: "affecting boredom", "sounding intrigued").} "It takes quite a bit of Caineite Fortitude to have done what you've done," Lazarus continued, admiring all your expensive trimmings, "Your ability to get what you want, circumstances be damned--that was the second thing I noticed about you," (link-reveal: "Don't all good things come in threes?")[ you pressed, sensing he was leading you somewhere. "I thought the saying was, //bad things come in threes//," he smiled coldly. He now looked, not through you, not at you, but into your eyes. (link-reveal: "Come here.")[(show:?dominance)]]] [It had been so long since he had done this. You had gotten stronger, wiser. You had even learned this trick yourself. It still did nothing to change the fact that your Sire was currently using |tooltip>[DominateThe crack of the whip; the snake charmer's music. A Kindred's ability to enslave the will of kine or, in the adept, even another vampire.] on you. [[You didn't try to resist.->SurrenderF]] [[You bristled with resistance.->ResistanceF]] ](dominance|

The Eighties had been a busy decade for stockbrokers and money launderers, and considering you were both of these things, it had been especially busy for you. You were at the cusp of a discreetly powerful and powerfully discreet empire, and the title of Emperor didn't sound bad at all. It was the name of one of your many business fronts, afer all. {(if: $sireShip is "positive")[You wanted your Sire to see you coming into your own. Even going on a century, you were still considered a neonate in most circles. But look at how much you had accomplished in so short a time. You offered Lazarus the best chair, the best glass, the best view. Let him soak it in. Let him see you approaching your heights. Even so, you were as uneasy as you were pleased with Lazarus' sudden return. You had to say something to break the silence.] (if: $sireShip is "negative")[It felt good to rub every hint of opulence and success in Lazarus' face. You gave him the best chair, the best glass, the best view. And you treated your $10,000 suit like it was laundry day. You just wanted to see him squirm.]} "What do you want, Lazarus?" It had to come down to this question. You were seated in one of your (either: "most extravagant", "humble-chic", "many") (either: "office spaces", "penthouses"), the (either: "kind", "type", "ilk") that's (either: "mostly glass", "envied and protected by the local historical society", "got art-deco windows and stainless steel appliances and secrets behind the artwork"). Each of you had a glass of (cycling-link: "freshly squeezed", "carefully preserved") blood in hand. His perfect eyebrows climbed up his forehead, almost as if he was amused. Most emotions crossed his face like an artificial twitch, however. It was the chief difference you'd noticed about him after all those decades: (cycling-link: "less human", "more Kindred"). "Why, I've always wanted to //live//, $name," he said, and then actually looked at you. Didn't look through you, like you were a window, which was his default way of looking at anything. "It's in my name, isn't it?" He set down his empty wine glass. "Part of the reason I chose you was for your name," You must have looked surprised. He shrugged. "I occasionally try out sentimentality when I'm bored," he explained, "Indulge me, and I'll keep telling you these little secrets of mine. Now where was I? Ah, yes, we were actually (link-reveal: "talking about you")[(show:?name)]," |name)[He got up from your (either: "Capellini S", "Starke Louis 20", "Boca do Lobo") chair to pour himself (either: "more", "another") drink. {(if: $instinct is "bestial")[(display:"bestialVentrue")] (if: $instinct is "humane")[(display:"humaneVentrue")]} "Hm," you intoned, (cycling-link: "affecting boredom", "sounding intrigued"). "It takes quite a bit of Caineite Fortitude to have done what you've done," Lazarus continued, admiring all your expensive trimmings, "Your ability to get what you want, circumstances be damned--that was the second thing I noticed about you," (link-reveal: "Don't all good things come in threes?")[ you pressed, sensing he was leading you somewhere. "I thought the saying was, //bad things come in threes//," he smiled coldly. He now looked, not through you, not at you, but into your eyes. (link-reveal: "Come here.")[(show:?dominance)]]] [It had been so long since he had done this. You had gotten stronger, wiser. You had even learned this trick yourself. It still did nothing to change the fact that your Sire was currently using |tooltip>[DominateThe crack of the whip; the snake charmer's music. A Kindred's ability to enslave the will of kine or, in the adept, even another vampire.] on you. [[You didn't try to resist.->SurrenderM]] [[You bristled with resistance.->ResistanceM]] ](dominance|

Pretty faces, controversy, sound bites: that's what ran politics these nights. Subliminal messaging didn't hurt, either. You were the $gender pulling the strings behind the radio waves, the news stations, the ink on the tribunes. You selected your targets with a cool, distant look over your perfect manicure, like you couldn't be bothered. These days, the business just ran itself. Sometimes, more often, really, as of late, you'd gotten rather bored. Lazarus' return was, if nothing else, stimulating. "Imagine if a Toreador had (either: "absconded you", "gotten to you first", "snatched you up")," Lazarus had mused, tracing a manicured nail(mouseover: "tracing a manicured nail")[(show:?relationship)] (either: "across your clavicle", "up the soft flesh of your arm", "up your spine"). |relationship)[{[(if: $sireShip is "negative")[You loathed your attraction to him. You had never been able to (seq-link: "explain", "shake", "forget") it. It seemed impossible that he aligned so perfectly to your ideal man: (cycling-link: "green", "blue", "dark", "grey") eyes, (cycling-link: "clean-shaven", "well-groomed", "rugged") face, (cycling-link: "curly", "straight", "wild", "coiffed") hair, and an overall (cycling-link: "wiry", "soft", "severe", "overbearing"),(cycling-link: "masculine", "androgynous") look. You had, at least, never acted on this pointless attraction.] (if: $sireShip is "positive")[Your attraction to Lazarus could feel juvenile at times. Almost innocent, if the undertone wasn't so deliciously dark. It seemed impossible that he aligned so perfectly to your ideal man: (cycling-link: "green", "blue", "dark", "grey") eyes, (cycling-link: "clean-shaven", "well-groomed", "rugged") face, (cycling-link: "curly", "straight", "wild", "coiffed") hair, and an overall (cycling-link: "wiry", "soft", "severe", "overbearing"),(cycling-link: "masculine", "androgynous") look. But after all this time, you had never once acted on your attraction.]]}] "What do you want, Lazarus?" It had to come down to this question. You were seated in one of your (either: "most extravagant", "humble-chic", "many") (either: "office spaces", "penthouses"), the (either: "kind", "type", "ilk") that's (either: "mostly glass", "envied and protected by the local historical society", "got art-deco windows and stainless steel appliances and secrets behind the artwork"). Each of you had a glass of (cycling-link: "freshly squeezed", "carefully preserved") blood in hand. His perfect eyebrows climbed up his forehead, almost as if he was amused. Most emotions crossed his face like an artificial twitch, however. It was the chief difference you'd noticed about him after all those decades: (cycling-link: "more Kindred", "less human"). "Why, I've always wanted to //live//, $name," he said, and then actually looked at you. Didn't look through you, like you were a window, which was his default way of looking at anything. "It's in my name, isn't it?" He set down his empty wine glass. "Part of the reason I chose you was for your name," You must have looked surprised. He shrugged. "I occasionally try out sentimentality when I'm bored," he explained, "Indulge me, and I'll keep telling you these little secrets of mine. Now where was I? Ah, yes, we were actually (link-reveal: "talking about you")[(show:?name)]," |name)[He got up from your (either: "Capellini S", "Starke Louis 20", "Boca do Lobo") chair to pour himself (either: "more", "another") drink. {(if: $instinct is "bestial")[(display:"bestialVentrue")] (if: $instinct is "humane")[(display:"humaneVentrue")]} "Hm," you intoned, (cycling-link: "affecting boredom", "sounding intrigued"). "Have you had fun with your little dominance games?" Lazarus continued, steepling his hands, "You always did have a knack for getting people to see things your way. For creating your own convenient circumstances. Takes a certain Caineite Dominance. That was the second thing I ever noticed about you," (link-reveal: "Don't all good things come in threes?")[ you pressed, sensing he was leading you somewhere. "I thought the saying was, //(link-reveal: "bad things come in threes")[(show:?switch)]//," he smiled coldly.]] |switch)[He now looked, not through you, not at you, but into your eyes. (link-reveal: "Come here.")[(show:?dominance)]] |dominance)[It had been so long since he had done this. You had gotten stronger, wiser. You had even learned this trick yourself. It still did nothing to change the fact that your Sire was currently using |tooltip>[|tooltip>[DominateThe crack of the whip; the snake charmer's music. A Kindred's ability to enslave the will of kine or, in the adept, even another vampire.]The crack of the whip; the snake charmer's music. A Kindred's ability to enslave the will of kine or, in the adept, even another vampire.] on you. [[You didn't try to resist.->SurrenderF]] [[You bristled with resistance.->ResistanceF]] ]

Pretty faces, controversy, sound bites: that's what ran politics these nights. Subliminal messaging didn't hurt, either. You were the man pulling the strings behind the radio waves, the news stations, the ink on the tribunes. You selected your targets with a cool, distant look over your perfect manicure, like you couldn't be bothered. These days, the business just ran itself. Sometimes, more often, really, as of late, you'd gotten rather bored. Lazarus' return was, if nothing else, stimulating. {(if: $sireShip is "positive")[You wanted your Sire to see you coming into your own. Even going on a century, you were still considered a neonate in most circles. But look at how much you had accomplished in so short a time. You offered Lazarus the best chair, the best glass, the best view. Let him soak it in. Let him see you approaching your heights. Even so, you were as uneasy as you were pleased with Lazarus' sudden return. You had to say something to break the silence.] (else-if: $sireShip is "negative")[It felt good to rub every hint of opulence and success in Lazarus' face. You gave him the best chair, the best glass, the best view. And you treated your $10,000 suit like it was laundry day. You just wanted to see him squirm.]} "What do you want, Lazarus?" It had to come down to this question. You were seated in one of your (either: "most extravagant", "humble-chic", "many") (either: "office spaces", "penthouses"), the (either: "kind", "type", "ilk") that's (either: "mostly glass", "envied and protected by the local historical society", "got art-deco windows and stainless steel appliances and secrets behind the artwork"). Each of you had a glass of (cycling-link: "freshly squeezed", "carefully preserved") blood in hand. His perfect eyebrows climbed up his forehead, almost as if he was amused. Most emotions crossed his face like an artificial twitch, however. It was the chief difference you'd noticed about him after all those decades: (cycling-link: "less human", "more Kindred"). "Why, I've always wanted to //live//, $name," he said, and then actually looked at you. Didn't look through you, like you were a window, which was his default way of looking at anything. "It's in my name, isn't it?" He set down his empty wine glass. "Part of the reason I chose you was for your name," You must have looked surprised. He shrugged. "I occasionally try out sentimentality when I'm bored," he explained, "Indulge me, and I'll keep telling you these little secrets of mine. Now where was I? Ah, yes, we were actually (link-reveal: "talking about you")[(show:?name)]," |name)[He got up from your (either: "Capellini S", "Starke Louis 20", "Boca do Lobo") chair to pour himself (either: "more", "another") drink. {(if: $instinct is "bestial")[(display:"bestialVentrue")] (if: $instinct is "humane")[(display:"humaneVentrue")]} "Hm," you intoned, (cycling-link: "affecting boredom", "sounding intrigued"). "Have you had fun with your little dominance games?" Lazarus continued, steepling his hands, "You always did have a knack for getting people to see things your way. For creating your own convenient circumstances. Takes a certain Caineite Dominance. That was the second thing I ever noticed about you," (link-reveal: "Don't all good things come in threes?")[ you pressed, sensing he was leading you somewhere. "I thought the saying was, //(link-reveal: "bad things come in threes")[(show:?switch)]//," he smiled coldly.]] |switch)[He now looked, not through you, not at you, but into your eyes. (link-reveal: "Come here.")[(show:?dominance)]] |dominance)[It had been so long since he had done this. You had gotten stronger, wiser. You had even learned this trick yourself. It still did nothing to change the fact that your Sire was currently using |tooltip>[|tooltip>[DominateThe crack of the whip; the snake charmer's music. A Kindred's ability to enslave the will of kine or, in the adept, even another vampire.]The crack of the whip; the snake charmer's music. A Kindred's ability to enslave the will of kine or, in the adept, even another vampire.] on you. [[You didn't try to resist.->SurrenderM]] [[You bristled with resistance.->ResistanceM]] ]

//|1>[You were the (link-reveal: "angel investor")[(set: $clanChoice to "money", $background to "debutante")(show:?ventrue4)(hide:?2)(hide:?3)] of a hospital that, as of a quarter-of-a-century ago, hadn’t existed on any $place map.]//\ //|2>[You influenced the kine (link-reveal: "politics")[(set: $clanChoice to "politics", $background to "debutante")(show:?ventrue4)(hide:?1)(hide:?3)] of $place from the shadows.]//\ //|3>[You had used your (link-reveal: "genius for music")[(set: $clanChoice to "talent", $background to "musician")(show:?ventrue4)(hide:?1)(hide:?2)] to build up an empire, and grabbing prime radio waves throughout $place.]//\ |Ventrue4)[ --- "Such (either: "restraint", "wisdom", "control")," Lazarus had said (either: "dryly", "loftily", "with a distant look in his eye"), "I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me," {(if: $clanChoice is "talent" and $title is "Miss")(display:"femTalent") (if: $clanChoice is "talent" and $title is "Mister")(display:"masTalent") (if: $clanChoice is "money" and $title is "Miss")(display:"femMoney") (if: $clanChoice is "money" and $title is "Mister")(display:"masMoney") (if:$clanChoice is "politics" and $title is "Miss")(display:"femPolitics") (if:$clanChoice is "politics" and $title is "Mister")(display:"masPolitics")}]

Ah, it was...{(if: $title is "Miss")[(cycling-link: bind $name, "Alice", "Iona", "Ruby", "Esther", "Naomi", "Deirdre", "Jennet").] (if: $title is "Mister")[(cycling-link: bind $name, "Vaughn", "Dimitri", "Luca", "Hugo", "Tristan", "Gabriel", "Ibrahim").](if: $title is "Mister")[(set: $objective to "him", $poss to "his", $pronoun to "he", $gender to "man")](if: $title is "Miss")[(set: $objective to "her", $poss to "hers", $pronoun to "she", $gender to "woman")]} Why is our surname the hardest to remember? After our name, it’s a delayed echo, a (either: "harsh", "soft") whisper: (text-style:"italic")[(cycling-link: bind $surname, "Roth", "Malenfant", "Lee", "Abelyan", "Voronin", "Paternostro")]. Then, scattered in pieces, the remnants of a (cycling-link: bind $metaphor, "castle", "rosary", "train", "song"). It is a (either: "Promethean", "snake charmer's", "penumbral", "colloidal") dream. A (either: "desperate", "valiant", "naive") attempt to hold shape and substance. Like cupping water in your hands. The water of life, or what’s left of your mortal soul. Whether the soul remains or not, `it` isn’t water in your palms. It’s [[blood]].

{(if: $metaphor is "castle")[(print: )] (if: $metaphor is "rosary")[(print: )] (if: $metaphor is "train")[(print: )] (if: $metaphor is "song")[(print: )]}

[[194X Start]]

Not every woman could pull off cologne, but Dido always had. (either: "Mint", "Musk", "Husk", "Smoke", "Salt"), (either: "cedar", "balsamic", "chypre", "sage", "English fern", "pine"), (either: "amber", "hand-squeezed pomegranates", "dark chocolate", "vanilla bourbon")—you were surprised the first time you met a Kindred other than her, surprised to find they had no scent at all. It had been so long since you had seen her that now you were struck by how Dido used her scents to commandeer a room: her scent endowed authority. That was the scent that accosted you. You found the source: a [[letter]], dripping in scent, written in Dido's hand.

That is how (link-reveal: "Selene")[(show:?selene)] found us. (hidden:)[ Throughout the years, you hardly ever saw Selene without a rosary. She had a worn family Bible whose margins were filled with notes of the dates of sacraments, with marriages and deaths and births. In $color ink, she listed your own death and birth on the same |tooltip>[dateA little fuzzy to you now; roughly a century ago.]. Selene was a believer. (cycling-link: bind _sireShip, "Like", "Unlike") you, she believed in [[Golconda]]. (if: _sireShip is "Like")[(set: $sireShip to "positive")] (else-if: _sireShip is "Unlike")[(set: $sireShip to "negative")] ]<selene|

She found (seq-link: "us", "you") in (seq-link: "our", "your") new perch: (cycling-link: bind $place, "St. Augustine", "Savannah", "Cincinnati"). As always, she was wearing white. A bold statement to make for a vampire. Yourself, you usually wore clothes the $color. You (link-reveal: "greeted")[(show:?greeting)] her (cycling-link: bind _greeting, "apprehensively", "jokingly", "coldly", "reverently"). ["(if: _greeting is "coldly")[(print: "This isn't your haven.")](else-if: _greeting is "jokingly")[(print: "Don't you know `you're` not supposed to wear white after Labor Day?")](else-if: _greeting is "apprehensively")[(print: "Why are you here, Selene?")](else-if: _greeting is "reverently")[(print: "It's been so long, Amma Selene,")]" Selene raised her brows. "Have you been following the signs, my childe?" She spoke like a grandmother but looked to be in her mid-twenties; the contrast had always (cycling-link: "unnerved", "fascinated") you. Her hair was so white it was practically (seq-link: "Norwegian", "like bone"). =|= |1>[(link: "You had been following the signs.")[(show:?Follower)(hide:?2)]] =|= |2>[(link: "You had been ignoring the portents.")[(show:?Ignorance)(hide:?1)]] |==| ](greeting| {|Follower)[Even if Selene hadn't taught you well, you couldn't have ignored the signs if you tried. It wasn't just the Voice of Malkav that was in on it anymore: the whole world was shaking. They said the antediluvians would rise and slake their thirst. They said the (link-reveal: "time of the fampyre")[(show:?familytime)] was approaching its end.] |Ignorance)[Regardless of your thoughts on Golconda, you didn't put much stock in the idea of the Kindred apocalyse, A.K.A. (link-reveal: "Gehenna")[(show:?familytime)]. You told Selene as much. She //knew// as much.]} |familytime)[No-no. Selene gave you an enigmatic smile. Not even the Son of Man knows //that// time. We are talking about [[the Family->MalkFam]].]

But we have to get off here. This memory revealed enough, but we still don't know the passcode to that chest. There is the Family. There is the House of $surname. Think, think. Remember. Ah. Yes. [[The Inquisition, 1943.->194X Start]]

And that letter is the last you heard of Dido the singing sorceress. If she ever became Prince, you would have heard about it. Probably she was still trapped in the Circulatory System, as much a victim of the clotted loop as her victims were. But we have to get off here. This memory revealed enough, but we still don't know the passcode to that chest. There is the Family. There is the House of $surname. Think, think. Remember. Ah. Yes. [[The Inquisition, 1943.->194X Start]]

"I know you go by a moniker these days," he continued, "But I even find that name telling. $name. A nice, dirty little pseudonym." He sat back down, leaned as far as possible to get a good look at you. (if: $name is "Janus")["Janus. The two-faced god. Not content with just being a king, eh?"] (if: $name is "Lorn")["Did you feel for//lorn// after I left, $name?"] (if: $name is "Rook")["But the rook is such a common bird though, wouldn't you agree?"] (if: $name is "Fingersmith")["Fingersmith. What a long way to say 'thief.' And yet, for its plebian insinuation that you get your own hands dirty, it has a certain class to it."] (if: $name is "Patience")["Patience is a virtue, but I did not choose you for your virtue. I did always know you as an ironical $gender, however."] (if: $name is "Babe")["One of these days you'll grow up. Cannot be a babe in arms forever, nor hide behind the fact that you're only a century into your immortality."] (if: $name is "Professor")["Do Kindred really call you the Professor? I never could get your nose out of the books. What you use that knowledge for--I have heard the rumors. It sends a certain excitement down the spine."]

"$name $surname," he said out loud, tasting the sound along with a swig of sanguine. He then sat back down, leaned as far as possible to get a good look at you. {(if: $name is "Alice")["Alice. It was quite a common name, back then. Yet you were one of the few that lived up to its meaning: nobility, //exhaltation//."] (if: $name is "Iona")["I-o-na. A rare name. My own little dove, I thought, to herald the dawn of a world newly washed of the rabble."] (if: $name is "Ruby")["I was always interested in names that bequeathed a precious quality. Ruby, Ruby, Ruby. Color of kings, color of blood. Your name made you so ripe for the taking."] (if: $name is "Esther")["Esther, Esther, Esther. 'For such a time as this.' A queen's namesake seemed a fitting addition to the Clan of Kings."] (if: $name is "Naomi")["All around the world, Naomi has a different meaning.Above all, beautiful. Beauty is a valuable thing. It commands, even without merit, a certain degree of respect."] (if: $name is "Deirdre")["Your parents actually did you a great favor when they called you Deirdre. It's an honest name. Unlike these names which wax poetic about light and God and joy, Deirdre simply means 'sorrowful,' which is quite practically a guarantee."] (if: $name is "Jennet")["Jennet, Jennet, Jennet. It reminded me of things that haunt the Scottish highlands. The story of Tam Lin, and his lass Jennet come to hold him--even when he was a monster. Worse, when he was fire."] (if: $name is "Vaughn")["Vaughn, Vaughn, Vaughn. Welsh for 'little.' For you are me, writ small."] (if: $name is "Dimitri")["I've always had good luck with Russians. Downtrodden, cynical, sniveling, snowed-in drunks--and yet it's that desperate thirst that I find so compelling. Dimitri, son of the earth. You've been sewing the seeds of the kingdom, I see."] (if: $name is "Luca")["Luca, Luca, Luca. There are so many names which come back to the meaning of 'light.' What can I say? I covet what I cannot have."] (if: $name is "Hugo")["Hugo, Hugo, Hugo. The best names say everything they need to say in one syllable. Mine excluded. A Germanic name that simply states you have a mind. I find having minds around to be very useful."] (if: $name is "Tristan")["I always enjoyed the pathos of //Tristan and Isolde.// Imagine that, I thought, a child whose parents named him after 'sorrow.' You see, I would always choose a Tristan over an Isaac."] (if: $name is "Gabriel")["I always enjoyed saying that I brought down the archangel Gabriel," he smirked.] (if: $name is "Ibrahim")["I had met countless Abrahams and Ibrahims before you. For such a cynical race, humanity does enjoy invoking God in their names. I thought--this Ibrahim will serve me instead."]}

She was in hysterics. The police were involved. You didn't get your fix for the first 48 hours, that's for sure. You would have abandoned the whole thing, except, you couldn't. Mrs. Davenport, the Kid, they were all part of the plan. That's the fuzzy line between 1966 and 1943 and 1991. After the first 48 hours, Mrs. Davenport went for a spin: nothing cheap or celebratory about the vinegar. When you wanted to forget, when you wanted to drown, it was vodka or whiskey. It's lucky you were there that night. She was too drunk to notice, but she would have grabbed the envelope secreted under her back door by late morning. No, you were there instead. You slit the envelope open. You saw the insignia. A black rabbit. Well, they'd streamlined and gotten rid of the more macabre elements of the insignia now. But a wind blew through you, and you swore you heard the old gnarled creak of the Black Forest, of a grim wind soughing through wicked trees. So the Haas name lived on. You read the letter in a pinch. Offering their services in finding her missing daughter, having watched this case for some time, suspicion involving a group known as the 'Circulatory System', please call ###-###-####. This [[would not do->Phlegmatic Part III]].

(if: $instinct is "bestial")[(display: "bestialTremere")] (if: $instinct is "humane")[(display:"humaneTremere")] =|= |1>[(link: "Burn.")[(set: $inquisition to true)(go-to:"Tremere End")]] =|= |2>[(link: "Don't burn.")[(go-to:"Tremere End")]] |==|

(text-style:"italic","mark")[= (text-style:"double-underline")[Burn After Reading] $name, Can a wanderer from the Broken Clan ever become a Prince? That is what Dido means: wanderer. It is an earned name. The Phoenicians gave it to their queen when she came, probably with the scent of her husband's blood and her brother Pygmalion's betrayal still in her nostrils, to the shores of Carthage. Your name is different. It's a moniker you gave yourself. Did you know, I wrote you a song once? It was years ago. I'd lost the music until the other night during our little moonlit stroll. I copied it hastily. I didn't think the end would come so soon. *But many of the lines have been undone, distilled by droplets of blood. You can only make out the following:* (if: $name is "Janus")[Janus, Janus/Two-faced god/Who cannot look left and right, up and down/but instead looks all around/future past/who would envy such a forever?] (if: $name is "Lorn")["For Lorn, For Lorn, For Lorn, I would have done/the ruddiest things/full-moon things/but Lorn/ought to be left alone"] (if: $name is "Rook")[Common bird/Scavenger/A rook can fly diagonal/A rook can kill a queen] (if: $name is "Fingersmith")[Fingersmith, Fingersmith/Oh, to know $poss fingerprint/To be the scene of such a crime/To steal a kiss from the thief of time] (if: $name is "Patience")[Patience, patience/Movement, movement/No pause means no music] (if: $name is "Babe")[Babe/And one a fine sight $pronoun was/It takes a long time to be so young] (if: $name is "Professor")[And I went that night to my confessor/but who should be there/but dear old Professor/sweetblood surging like the tide/oh to be the apple of $poss eye] *You flip to the back of the page. The writing has gotten more scrawled* You might have pieced together that I've a raw deal going. I deal in that wine you and I favor--but as a Tremere, I only offer ensorceled stock. There's too much competition, otherwise. It's a simple equation, really. Blood in, blood out. I pump up city-in-question, and in return, I am declared Prince. But you see what happened to my prize pupil. That wild-eyed boy; I should've realized he was thin-blood. A thin-blood, but a hungry one. I made Essence too irresistible. I'd never seen a more spontatenous Frenzy. Do you understand why, now, I had to lock you in your hotel suite? I was afraid you'd be lost to the Beast, too. I tried to protect you, overwhelm you with my scents. If I'm lucky, the potency of this page will throw you off my trail. Of course I want you to make it out free. Tommy Boy saw his last sunrise early this morning. You still have a job to do. We can't forget about the Family. I'll have to start over, with a new Essence. When I am Prince, I will have made up for all these piccadiloes between you and I. So, survive, childe. For the House of $surname. In memoriam, D

You went back to your motel room to sleep off the coming day. If Dido was there post-sunset, she was there. If not, it wouldn't be the first time she'd pulled this dissapearing act on you. At the motel, you saw Tommy Boy sulking outside Essence's hotel room. The boy had it bad. You weren't going to think much more of it until he suddenly locked eyes with you and started (link-reveal: "coming your way.")[(show:?tommy)] (hidden:)[Your memory as an immortal is selectively eidetic. Of all things, you remember Tommy Boy's T-shirt with (either: "vivid", "full-color") clarity: (either: "The Ramones", "Violent Femmes", "Misfits")-on-black, tucked under a trench that wasn't appropriate to the weather. It was a sultry night, and when Tommy Boy took your forearm, his fingers felt colder than death. "She won't let me in," he said, somehow sounding both frazzled and monotone. His strength was no match for yours and you easily broke his desperate grapple. {(if: $clanChoice is "auspex")[Your auspex kicked in and you tried to get a good, clean read. That's when it hit you like a ton of bricks.] (else-if: $clanChoice is "Dominate")[You'd already been preparing yourself from the moment he'd stared cloaked daggers in your direction. When kine were like this, it was just easier to |tooltip>[DominateThe crack of the whip; the snake charmer's music. A Kindred's ability to enslave the will of kine or, in the adept, even another vampire.] them. But as you prepared that Look, you found something else staring back at you. Something not human.] (else-if: $clanChoice is "thaumaturgy")[You felt the //crackle// in his blood. A tell-tale sign of sorcery. No, less elaborate than that. Tommy Boy was just plain, old....]} Tommy Boy doubled over then. He was sweating blood. //"(cycling-link: "Caitiff", "Thin-blood,"),"// you hissed. "I haven't!" Tommy Boy whispered harshly, doubling up against the motel railing, "I haven't hurt anybody. Just possums, some strays, and whatever Dido got me in the bag. But Essie...she's the one! She's sweet. She could fill me up forever. I'd never have to hurt anything ever again," Delirium, but not frenzy. Tommy Boy was riding the wave, but he hadn't given in to the Beast. Not yet. Your eyes darted to Essence's door. There, her door ajar, trembling in her nightgown, was [[Essence.]]]<Tommy|

The (link-reveal: "card")[(show:?card)] was cream with $color lettering, slipped underneath your door at the safehouse afforded you by one of your benefactor's contacts in Bavaria. |card)[[The card had the Camarilla emblem on it. There was no other name, however. Would Dietrich Haas call you out with such a card? Did he know enough about the ways of the Kindred to replicate Camarilla niceties? You couldn't help but feel (cycling-link: "suspicious", "intrigued", "annoyed"). A fellow $clan in the area told you what was what: this was Haas' territory. (link-reveal: "Jaeger Haas.")[(show:?Jaeger)]]] (hidden:)[--- //The// Jaeger Haas. The very one that his mortal progeny, that toothsome Nazi, was targetting. That explained why a Hunter was suddenly on your radar. Perhaps, if you were lucky, he hadn't noticed you at all. He was simply hot on Jaeger's trails. Regardless, you couldn't turn down an invitation from the de facto Prince. "Not Prince," your $clan confidant clarified, "More like a seneschal. Things works a little different out in the countryside. Still, I wouldn't be late," "There were no instructions. Where, when to meet?" "He's up there." You followed (either: "his", "her") gesture. The outline on the hill looked ethereal in the moonlight. The (seq-link: "Märchenschloss", "fairy tale castle"). [[Neuschwanstein]].]<Jaeger|

Story: 1. Make choice of clan more clear 2. Change all cycling-choices involving Cincinnati to just Cincinnati. There are lots of tie-ins with Over-the-Rhine, etc. 3. Shorten opening. Clean Up: 1. Typo check 2. Clear up line spaces 3. Format style. Flavor choices are a different color from binding choices, and passage-link choices are also different.

Neuschwanstein was a perfect refuge: a steep uphill climb, solid stonework, an inconvenient aerial target, unconventional hiding places (such as the manmade dripstone cave). It was built with an extravagant and intensely private taste worthy of a Ventrue, and a Ventrue like Jaeger Haas had not missed his oppurtunity to make it his. Neither had the Führer. Hitler had several museums worth of stolen artwork ensconced in the castle. You wondered how any Kindred was on the premises without a Masquerade breach. "//Americans//," your $clan confidant scoffed, "You can think in decades, we can think in centuries. These kine aren't the first to bring their personal squabbles into our nights. We know how to swat a fly when we see one," Doubts (cycling-link: "assuaged", "still festering"), you (link-reveal: "ascended")[(show:?castle)] to the castle on the hill. (hidden:)[ --- {(if: $symbol is "rat")[As a Nosferatu, this task was easier for you than most. You were given permission to move through the warrens that connected the village at the base of the hill to the grotto of Neuschwantstein. At the fake wall in the dripstone, your sharp eyes noticed a curious symbol: a black rabbit biting into the neck of a red wolf. You pressed. The fake wall slid away, just a little.] (if: $symbol is "rabbit")[You knew what symbol you were looking for. Malkav had showed you several times, in (cycling-link: "plain old-fashioned dreams", "songs on the radio", "scrambled shop signs"). At home in the thick white mist, you climbed the steep hill and made it to the walls of the castle. There it was. Jaeger's symbol. It was your own. A rabbit, but this one was biting the neck of a wolf.] (if: $symbol is "lion")[As a Ventrue, you had a bit more intelligence on Jaeger Haas. He wasn't so much a blacksheep of the clan as a black rabbit: you saw the symbol he'd used at other bases before, that of a black rabbit biting the neck of a red wolf. That Haas chose a rabbit as his symbol seemed strangely humble for a Ventrue. But you had not stalked the Austrian border this long and not become fluent in German. (link-replace: "Haas.")[Hare, bunny rabbit.] Having found the symbol, you waited. You did not wait long.] (if: $symbol is "wolf")[It was much easier to drive up the hill in the form of a wolf. Incidentally, that night the moon was full. You'd gotten a good whiff of Jaeger's calling card. Kindred did not usually have a scent, but a Gangrel had other means of stalking their quarry. Jaeger had a peculiar scent that, while it did not originate with him, clung to him. Human affectations: cigar smoke, cologne, hair oils. You followed this trail, where you made it to the unfinished cornerstone of the castle. Jaeger's emblem was hardly subtle: a rabbit biting into the neck of the wolf.] (else-if: $symbol is "bloodhound" or "barn owl" or "swan")[The Nosferatu primogen of the area had flatly refused your entry into their warrens, so you had no choice but to climb the steep hill by foot and wait outside the gate. You were told to look for Jaeger's symbol, not signal, but a symbol, whatever that was. You could smell the officers just inside the walls. Good thing you'd had your fill earlier that evening. Still, to stay out of line of sight, you crept close around the wall, eventually stopping at the castle's unfinished cornerstone. And it was there you saw the symbol: a rabbit, biting into the neck of a wolf.]} "Look, a lonely $clan," He spoke in German, but his words had the softer endings of someone who had (either: "grown up", "learned the tongue") in Austria. You got a (link-reveal: "good look")[(show:?JaegerIntro)] at the Ventrue named Jaeger Haas.]<castle| (hidden:)[ Hitler would have liked him, but you had heard reports that Jaeger wouldn't have much liked Hitler, and not simply because he was squatting in Jaeger's Haven. But he had desirably blonde hair and clear blue eyes and no defect on him whatsoever: clean-cut, well-built, who knew how old. Some said he had been turned, rather reluctantly, in the 18th century. Others said it was a foible of youth: yes, you can have my heart's blood, my Sire, something regrettably romantic like that. Irregardless of his age, he had been hunted nearly as long by his progeny. You thought his smile looked worn thin. "You're here to do something about the visitors?" he asked, adjusting his cufflinks. You saw a stain of old blood on one of the sleeves but slipped that fact away for later. "Ah," he continued, "But there was something you wanted in return, wasn't there? It was--" He had seen you. But now he saw you like it counted. {(if: $title is "Mister")["Dear God," he said. Most Kindred didn't try to reveal their weaknesses, their unknowings. But he got up from his perch, and this next part you didn't notice. Like the film had been skipped. Suddenly he had clamped both hands on either side of your head and was turning it like a specimen to be examined. "Scheisse," he said, elegantly, "So that's [[why->MalePortrait]] you're here,"]} {(if: $title is "Miss")[Like love at second sight. He got up from his perch, and this next part you didn't notice. Like the film had been skipped. Suddenly, he had sped past several degrees of niceties and he almost touched your face. Almost. Most Kindred didn't reveal their weaknesses, their unknowings. It was the kiss of final death. But he turned so you saw his back. He looked strangely vulnerable. "Scheisse," he said, quietly, "So that's [[why->FemalePortrait]] you're here,"]} ]<JaegerIntro|

(link-reveal: "Einsatzstab Reichsleiter Rosenberg.")[ (print: "A.K.A. The Nazi art-looting organization.")(show:?next)] |next)[They'd placed (either: "priceless", "invaluable") artwork in salt mines, in chapels, in castles like these. Jaeger had his own ledger for every art piece currently in Neuschwanstein's vicinity. He moved through the castle like working through a kind of backwards dance, like shadowboxing. Secret passages, rooms behind rooms, obfuscation in shadow and trick-light. Even with just a skeleton crew manning in the site, the current occupation was a Masquerade breach waiting to happen. Despite this, and despite your first impression of (either: "a world-weary", "a cloyed", "an ambivalent") Jaeger, you could tell he was having at least a little fun. "My office," he offered. An unfinished part of the castle, in convenient reach of the library. Jaeger had appropriated his own belongings here, along with a bit of King Ludwig's bedding and woodwork, and several Armenian rugs, (either: "a delicately engraved cuirass", "a well-polished haulberk", "a dog-faced bascinet"), a stack of (either: "Goethe", "von Chamisso", "Rilke"), (either: "Shakespeare", "Donne", "Johnson"), and (either: "Flaubert", "Pascal", "Sand"). The room was windowless, (either: "sealed like", "quiet as", "stale as") a (either: "tomb", "crypt", "sepulcher"). You noticed there was only one painting here, and it was hung with care right above where Jaeger slept through his days. "The only one not accounted for," Jaeger explained. A tapestry covered the entirety of the painting. There was a bit of blood on the tapestry, but like the blood on his sleeve, you didn't ask and he didn't tell. "Sit down." It wasn't a suggestion. You sat at the edge of the bed, looking up at the painting. Jaeger approached it reluctantly, reverently. As he removed the tapestry, he folded it with care. You (link-reveal: "understood")[(show:?painting)] then why he had asked you to sit down.] (hidden:)[ --- {(if: $symbol is "rat")[You had lost your beauty long ago. Cancer. Bones breaking, reshaping. Angles where you shouldn't have them; your spine like a river with too many tributaries spilling over a mountain. Your ears stuck out, one higher than the other, enhanced, able to snatch up every insult, every Wilhelm Scream. But here, in this frame, was a woman who had your eyes, who still looked like you did in memory. Better, in fact.] (else-if: $symbol is not "rat")[You had lost your mortality long ago. Without a deliberate blush of life, your appearance now was a pale imitation of what you had once been. In some ways, you were more mesmerizing than you had been before. But no matter how close you drew to a creature that drew living breath, you could not escape the distance that came with being the ultimate predator. Any beauty you possessed was tempered by your bloodlust. The portrait, then, was of you--albeit a perfect you. Painted by an unknown master, flattered by a light like a final sunrise. And yet there she remained, unscathed by the light. ]} {(if: $instinct is "humane")[This was you as Helena of Troy. This was you as Mary, Mother of God. A being almost to be worshipped, a place of rest for a devoted soul. Jaeger Haas was that devoted soul.] (else-if: $instinct is "bestial")[This was you as Bathsheba or Delilah or Eve: a temptation before the fall of man. Jaeger Haas was that man. ]} Jaeger seemed reluctant to do anything further, but he cast a soulful glance back at you and said, "Doesn't matter now. I've got the real thing." Then, to your surprise, Jaeger took it down from the wall, flipped it face-down, and took out a pocket-knife from his breastpocket. He made swift work of removing the base canvas from the frame. He took out some wax paper and layered the paper before rolling it up and placing into a cask for you. He gently laid it on the bed. There was a strap so you could sling it around your shoulder. "I don't understand. It's just a painting. I came here for--" "--just a painting?" Jaeger intoned. He suddenly kneeled, "Or a palimpsest?" He reached over, not for his ledger, but for what looked to be a (either: "water-logged", "well-traveled") journal. He flipped to about the middle and placed the [[tome->Palimpsest]] before you. ]<painting|

The sign read: *52-Item Salad Bar and All-American Diner!!!*, except the 'em Sa' and final exclamation point had lost their neon. "(cycling-link: "I can't believe you still live here", "Of course you still live here")," "The toast is still cold and--" "--(cycling-link: "the orange juice is still hot", "the coffee's still the best this side of Dodge", "the sign still says Closed,")," "Actually, I was gonna say we finally fixed the jukebox," You went to get your luggage from the trunk.(click-append: "from the trunk")[...but hesitated, remembering what was in there. Chuey didn't even bother with a backward glance, was too busy fishing the keys out of his pocket. "What do you wanna do abut (link-reveal: "the body in the trunk?")[(show:?body)]] |body)[Chuey paused in his balancing act shuffle. Then burst out laughing. [["That ain't a body.-> Gangrel Part IV]]"]

What did //we do//? =|= |1>[(set: $diablerie to true)[[We diablerized our Sire.->194X Start]]] =|= |2>[[[We walked away saw our Sire again.->194X Start]]] |==|

It would be suicide to walk out now--. (text-style:"mirror")[It would be suicide to walk out now--.] (text-style:"upside-down")[It would be suicide to walk out now.] Ah, it //hurts.// ??? I--we--you--can't remember. This memory. It's tied up with something else. Something in-between. Between now and 1943. Between 1943 and 1991. Hold on. Just a little detour. Just an important pit-stop. Let's refuel. Let's remember. [[But what does the Hunter have to do with--?->196X Start]]

NOTE: Could I have players clearly choose clan at the beginning, instead of making it a symbol thing? And then the symbol is based on clan chosen instead. -- Clans: Ventrue - ending module Gangrel - the second half Brujah - Top to bottom Nosferatu - Top to bottom Malkavian - Top to bottom 1940s: Finish the show-down with Dietrich Choice: let Jaeger kill him or let him kill Jaeger Resonance: Sanguine - a lover gets attached to you and you have to decide how to shake them off. You discover that Anahid had died, and saw the holes at the bottom of her feet. Phlegmatic - you receive a note that the child is important and has been taken away for proper measures and that you fulfilled your goal. How do you feel about this? Melancholic - Write the bridesmaid and ghost's perspectives Choleric - Top to Bottom -- To Do Next: 1. Go ahead and write the ending 2. Then go back and clean up how the Clan Choice is presented 3. Then finish, in order of least-finished to most-finished, the remaining sections, now better informed by the ending Ventrue, Brujah, 1940s Ending, Phlegmatic, Sanguine, Melancholy, Choleric, Malkavian, Nosferatu, Brujah. 4. Clean up each purple bar error as you go through sample playthrouhgs that cover the bases.

You had heard tales of your kind from all over the world by now, and knew how they changed with the land. The Norwegian tales were patterns, patterns everywhere: intricate patterns in the frozen floes, rich patterns in the poorest of pauper's shaws, and ancient patterns from when there was only speech and fire. Sparse, though, so like the Danes that would shadow the Norwegian spirit for years to come. Then there were Arabian Nights: surprisingly cool, spice and sand gritting between the teeth, and endless--no wonder Scheherezade had spun her stories for a 1,001 nights. (click-append: "1,001 nights")[ (This was just another word for forever).] You had been a $clan for a thousand and then some nights, but the stories you knew in Bavaria, (link-reveal: "in the shadow of the Black Forest")[(show: ?darkGM)], were like the darkest woods themselves: (cycling-link: "tangled", "oppressive", "secret"). [Several pages of work had led Jaeger to his first translation: (text-style:"expand")[The Dark Grandmother?] Jaeger lit a cigar in agreement. You scanned the rest of the journal. The Dark Grandmother was a folklore element. Then again, so were (link: "werewolves")[Garou], (link: "fairies")[Others], and (link: "vampires")[Kindred]. "The world is dark," your Sire had told you once, in a bardic mood, "We need a lot of campfires." //And what do we talk about at campfires but what's out there, in the dark?// According to Jaeger's translation, the Dark Grandmother was the same stock as you: $clan. {(if: $clan is "Nosferatu" or "Tremere")[(display:"Perchta")] (if: $clan is "Toreador" or "Ventrue")[(display: "Spillagritte")] (if: $clan is "Gangrel" or "Brujah")[(display: "Convent of Bloodhounds")] (if: $clan is "Malkavian")[(display:"White Lady")]} ](darkGM|

//"No,"// Which meant yes. You hadn't felt the warm, assured waves of his dominance in so long. You used to hang on his every word; you still do; you had been starved all these years. "You could've resisted," Lazarus mused, taking your wrist, his lips soft and cool as petals, then looked you in the eye, "But you didn't," He touched your wrist with a tenderness you had only dreamed of. His teeth grazed near the bone. "The House of $surname," he mused, before kissing a ring on your finger. Like one would kiss the ring of their liege. He suddenly let go of your wrist, and instead moved to roughly move his tie and collar out of the way. Pulse point on view. He didn't have to command you this time; he kept the pitch of his tone just outside the purview. "Drink." Even so, it was a choice. =|= |1>[(link: "You drank.")[(set: $bloodbond to true)(hide:?2)(go-to:"Ventrue Blood Bond End")]] =|= |2>[(link: "You didn't drink.")[(hide:?1)(go-to:"Ventrue Independence End")]] |==|

You slammed up against your Sire's will with all the grace of an egg hitting concrete. "Don't make this ugly," he said, but for once he didn't sound bored. Part of you still wanted to listen. (if: $instinct is "bestial")[It would be easy. Like giving in to the Beast. You'd done it so many times before.](else-if: $instinct is "humane")[It wouldn't be easy. You were so practiced in resisting sirens' calls: your Beast bellowed all the time, but you wouldn't heed.] It took all your strength, however, just to remain seated in your chair. You couldn't move a hand to wipe your forehead, but you felt blood-sweat beading there. "So," your Sire still spoke in the pitch of dominion, every word like a blow from a heavy scepter, "This is the power of the Family," He stood, walking toward you like a lion come to (seq-link: "hunt", "heel"). //"The House of $surname."// He'd released that voice, spoke in a soft decibel just below compulsion. You didn't gasp as you came to; you didn't need to. But your relief came in the form of blood, hacked out onto your crisp white blouse. He stared at the blood a moment. Suddenly, roughly, he knelt at your chair, moved his tie and collar out of the way. Pulse point on view. He didn't have to command you this time; he kept the pitch of his tone just outside the purview. "Drink." Even so, it was a choice. =|= |1>[(link: "You drank.")[(set: $bloodbond to true)(hide:?2)(go-to:"Ventrue Blood Bond End")]] =|= |2>[(link: "You didn't drink.")[(hide:?1)(go-to:"Ventrue Independence End")]] |==|

A part of you had always trusted Lazarus, implicitly. He was your Sire, a modern King, and the dipping of your will into the cool assuredness of his always felt like coming home. You loved to serve. You loved how it gave your purpose. So what he did next shocked you, tipped the scales of power. Lazarus got up, as though from a throne, and paced slowly to where you sat, immobile, obedient, in your chair. "The House of $surname," Lazarus mused, before kneeling. There was a ring on your finger; his kissed it. Like one would kiss the ring of their liege. He let go of your hand, and instead went to move his tie and collar out of the way. Pulse point on view. He didn't have to command you this time; he kept the pitch of his tone just outside the purview. "Drink." Even so, it was a choice. =|= |1>[(link: "You drank.")[(set: $bloodbond to true)(hide:?2)(go-to:"Ventrue Blood Bond End")]] =|= |2>[(link: "You didn't drink.")[(hide:?1)(go-to:"Ventrue Independence End")]] |==|

You slammed up against your Sire's will with all the grace of an egg hitting concrete. "Don't make this ugly," he said, but for once he didn't sound bored. Part of you still wanted to listen. (if: $instinct is "bestial")[It would be easy. Like giving in to the Beast. You'd done it so many times before.](else-if: $instinct is "humane")[It wouldn't be easy. You were so practiced in resisting sirens' calls: your Beast bellowed all the time, but you wouldn't heed.] It took all your strength, however, just to remain seated in your chair. You couldn't move a hand to wipe your forehead, but you felt blood-sweat beading there. "So," your Sire still spoke in the pitch of dominion, every word like a blow from a heavy scepter, "This is the power of the Family," He stood, walking toward you like a lion come to (seq-link: "hunt", "heel"). //"The House of $surname."// He'd released that voice, spoke in a soft decibel just below compulsion. You didn't gasp as you came to; you didn't need to. But your relief came in the form of blood, hacked out onto your crisp white shirt. He stared at the blood a moment. Suddenly, roughly, he knelt at your chair, moved his tie and collar out of the way. Pulse point on view. He didn't have to command you this time; he kept the pitch of his tone just outside the purview. "Drink." Even so, it was a choice. =|= |1>[(link: "You drank.")[(set: $bloodbond to true)(hide:?2)(go-to:"Ventrue Blood Bond End")]] =|= |2>[(link: "You didn't drink.")[(hide:?1)(go-to:"Ventrue Independence End")]] |==|

Ivan would be turning the |lights>[lights out](mouseover:?lights)[(show:?out)] at any moment--. |out)[Lights out. Not just here, but across the block. A hysterical laugh that didn't know if it was supposed to be a |scream>[scream.](mouseover:?scream)[(show:?heartbeats)]] |heartbeats)[Warm thrush of bodies; oh, their |heartbeats>[heartbeats](mouseover:?heartbeats)[(show:?disappear)] were almost irresistible.] |disappear)[In the darkness, you moved to meet the other player. Lysbeth never told you who. You took the painting from the wall. They would place the counterfeit in its place. You would disappear. //[[You would disappear.->Bonfire]]//]

(text-style:"bold","italic","condense")+(text-rotate-z:359)+(text-colour:#e03131)[= Tommy Boy was right. Sweet. Sweet-sweet-sweet, $resonance and fresh. And suddenly, its like you had five senses again. The smell was so rich you could practically taste it. You felt your heart skip, a cold dagger of breath in your chest. It hurt; it was so much better than not-hurting, not-feeling. And before your eyes, a $colorAdj trail, laid down like (either: "train track", "a path of roses", "notes ordered on a music sheet"). {(if: $instinct is "bestial")[You'd followed this trail many times before. You practically threw the Tommy Maggot off the railing in your pursuit. Just one, two practiced leaps.] (if: $instinct is "humane")[You'd always resisted this road before. Your body moved with a nightmare logic. I do not do what I want to do; what I don't want to do, I do. The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. Oh, she was so close.]} You collided with something, someone. You bit into their shoulder. No, this wasn't it. This was bitter, not sweet. Wrong. Wrong-wrong-wrong. [[WRONG->Hunger]].

(text-style:"italic","expand")+(text-colour:#ff8787)[= A Hunger like all other senses had never existed before: you had never known softness or kindness, had never heard music or been full. You had always been hungry. No matter how many you consumed--the Roman legions, the plagued of London, the emaciated of Haiti, the Cleopatras, the Roses and Nadeshikos and Marias, your own brother Abel--and no matter how many you Embraced--the desperate, the dangerous, the beautiful, the outcast, kings and paupers and television hosts--no matter how many nights you walked the Earth--there was the Battle of Thermopylae, the Battle of Waterloo, the 1,001 Nights of Scheherzade, the night that Copernicus discovered the shape of heaven--even now, especially now, you were still so (seq-link: "hungry", "ravenous", "starved", "empty"). (link-reveal: "Then.") [ Blood is guzzling down your throat--only you could cool my desire--only a fool would cool my desire--$name. $name. The House of $surname. The House of Carthage. Converge, converge, like a [[chord of scarlet.->Tremere Part IV]]]

{(set: $darkGM to "Weisse Frau") Selene had called her both names: the Dark Grandmother, the Weisse Frau. The progenitor of the Family. A Saint.} "She's a secret--" you began to tell Jaeger, "--because she reached the state of Golconda," He scoffed. "Do you actually believe in all that?" At the time you (cycling-link: "believed", "did not believe", "were content to be on the fence about the whole thing"). But then you both had heard the unmistakable [[thunder of a shotgun.->Fake Climax]]

{(set: $darkGm to "The Eternal Huntress") The Eternal Huntress. That was another name for her. She had a pack of childer, all daughters, all trailing her heels in the form of dogs. The Convent of Bloodhounds.} {(if: $clan is "Gangrel")[For the few Gangrel who knew of her, she was a potent symbol. A Protean through and through. One who had taken the maxim of living in the wild to its (seq-link: "heights", "depths"). Some said she had not changed from her bestial form in years. Others said it was because she couldn't; she was cursed. Not an eternal Huntress, but an eternal Bloodhound.] (else-if: $clan is "Brujah")[Of course, this was probably mythic licensing. The Huntress was Brujah, after all. Though it wouldn't be impossible for a Brujah to learn some of the Protean gifts of the Gangrel clan, the few Brujah who knew of her legend had focused on her philosophy. A philosophy for bloodhounds.]} Just at that moment, you heard the bay of a very real bloodhound. You and Jaeger exchanged glances. That had come from the [[inner courtyard.->Fake Climax]]

{(set: $darkGM to "Perchta") Perchta. That was her name in the $clan legendarium. By some accounts wickedly ugly, by others frighteningly beautiful.} {(if: $clan is "Nosferatu")[But as a $clanNoun, you knew the former must be the truth. Perchta was a Nosferatu whose face was so ugly she hid it behind a hideous mask. She was the one who dwelled at the bottom of wells. Master of a labyrinth that sprawled from beneath the Black Forest and angled out into Provence and Copenhagen, making an unholy triangle. If she ever removed her stooped robe, you would not find a body. Rather, a river of rats would scurry forth, leaving behind only that nauseating mask. Perchta could walk into sunlight and appear again the following night. She was forever hunted and forever hunting.] (if: $clan is "Tremere")[By all accounts, Perchta had been a very convincing blood witch. Convincing in that she had convinced the likes of Signora Oriente, and the Lady of the Game, and an army of sickle-bearing housewives besides, to join in her ranks. One of the first all-female chantries; one of the first to stand outside the Pyramid and laugh in scorn. The few Tremere who knew of her sometimes invoked her as a sign of hope; a dark fairytale that reminded the Kindred that the Tremere were makers of their own destiny.]} --But you stopped short of telling Jaeger about Perchta. You both had heard the unmistakable [[thunder of a shotgun.->Fake Climax]]

{(set: $darkGM to "Spillagritte") To the $clan, few things were more insulting than defect.} Old age was a defect. Infirmity, not wisdom, came to mind. So there was a love-hate relationship with the one known as Spillagritte. (if: $clan is "Ventrue")[She was an authoritarian. Conservative, powerful, indisputable. She punished those who weren't doing the good work of the Ventrue. She kept order. These were all respectable Ventrue traits. You asked Jaeger if he had ever heard of her. He had not. Not very many Ventrue could say different. But the few who did...Lazarus...you...those who contributed to the Family. To the House of $surname. You knew.] (if: $clan is "Toreador")[She was not beautiful, but she was beguiling. Some called her the Spider. In the distant past she had woven the clothes of debutantes and Princes; she had woven webs of deception, made matches in heaven and hell, created a tangled web of carefully cultivated childer. Lysbeth had been one in that long line, and so you after her. All in contribution to the Family. To the House of $surname.] --But you stopped short of telling Jaeger about Spillagritte. You both had heard the unmistakable [[thunder of a shotgun.->Fake Climax]]

Except when the lights came back on, the source had changed. Smoke, heat, a $color haze: //fire fire fire [[FIRE->Frenzy]]//

(text-style:"bold","italic","condense")+(text-rotate-z:359)+(text-colour:#e03131)[= The SUN--the SUN was rising--the SUN was here--oh God, every sin on display--oh God, your skin was on fire--oh God, if you had no skin left, there'd be nothing left--no soul--no breath--no blood--you'd disappear. (link: "Final Sunrise.")[Final Death.] (if: $instinct is "bestial")[This is what the Beast had been protecting you from. Look at us, squirming our way with kine like we were the same. Put a wolf in a slinky lambskin number--they'd still bite your head off. You tore through every soft thing you could, desperate for an escape.] (else-if: $instinct is "humane")[You were supposed to be in control. This was your body, your frame, and you had something else in there. Not just hunger and thirst and desire, but, but--what else could a Toreador call it but beauty? You had tried so hard to cling to it. Now it slipped through you like sand through hardscrabble claws. You were clawing your way through every soft thing in your way, desperate for salvation.] (text-style:"wavy-strike")[0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000] (align:"<==")+(box:"==XXXXX===")[= Did we take the painting with us? //[[Yes->paintingTaken]]// //[[No->paintingLost]]//

{(set: $inquisition to true) The Beast ran on instinct. By instinct, you knew that the painting shouldn't be lost. It was still in your hands. Awkward, cumbersome, you tripped.} The fire, the fire. Who had set it? Lysbeth? Ivan? An Inquisitor? Then, you were (link-reveal: "bit.")[(show:?fire)] (hidden:)[(text-style:"wavy-strike","emboss","expand","upside-down")+(text-colour:red)[THE ONLY HOPE, OR ELSE DESPAIR LIES IN THE CHOICE OF PYRE OR PYRE TO BE REDEEMED FROM FIRE BY FIRE] It licked up your left calf. First, second, third degree within three seconds. You'd lived so many lifetimes and had never felt anything like the pain you felt now. (if: $clanChoice is "presence")[You looked up and locked eyes with a kine scrambling for one of the exits. //Come to heel, pretty boy.// The man faltered and started shuffling back towards you. He took off his own shirt to battle the flames and then started to drag you out.] (if: $clanChoice is "celerity")[You accessed an inhuman knack for adrenaline. You started moving so fast even the flames went out with the whiplash. Sweet, sweet celerity. It left all the other poor scrambling kine in the dust.] (if: $clanChoice is "auspex")[You didn't see so much as sense what would happen next; that part of the building was about to cave-in, and you lying here moaning about your skin melting off wasn't going to change that. You pooled your awareness into this sixth sense rather than to your five troubled senses and followed that uncanny trail the hell outta there.] You [[hung onto the painting->Toreador End]] for dear life. ]<fire|

You saw it burn. Your copy. The original. Not that you had long to look. The fire had spread quickly throughout the house. But the original mesmermized you, slowed time for a crucial millisecond: As one layer burned, another was revealed, and as that layer burned, another behind that, and so on. And beneath all the layers, blackening, curling, gold-leaf and chiaroscuro and all those oils turned to toxic dust, you recognized Lysbeth's face, you recognized $poss face, you recognized your own. You [[got the hell out of there->Toreador End]].

(set: $reachedMillennium to true) [[196X Start]]

Turned out Beatty's middle name was $surname; a distant relative on his mother's side. He certainly was a hot-blooded young man. He had that choleric resonance, your favorite, the kind that reminded you of what a (cycling-link: "Whiskey high ball", "racing heartbeat", "second wind") used to feel like. After a hit like Beatty, you felt like you could flip a forklift into oncoming traffic, felt like you could run the world. It was all going so well until his (link-reveal: "Hunter girlfriend")[(show:?hunterGF)] showed up. |hunterGF)[She seemed so innocent at first. So (seq-link: "forgettable", "replaceable", "plain Jane"). That was her name. Jane. And she was smart. And Beatty liked her. Kept her around. Stopped his usual girlfriend roulette. Which was starting to make the backseat uncomfortable. You would have abandoned the whole thing except for this fact: Beatty. He was part of the plan. Jane wasn't. You'd have to do [[something about Jane->Choleric Part III]].]

"Careful young $gender," Annie had said, "You're starting to remind me of my ex-husband," You'd only met the Prince of $place2 the one time. He was tall, dark, and handsome: a coiled snake if you ever met one. Annie asked a follow-up question: "Do you know how old I am?" It wasn't the first time she'd asked you that. You'd given up guessing. Her answer was always the same, and she'd give it unprompted. "I'm older than I should be." But that night, //that// night, her usual answer came with an appendage. "But I'm ready to go," she said, "I just have one more thing to do. And you're gonna help me with it." =|= |1>[(link: "You humored her.")[(goto: "Sanguine Part III")]] =|= |2>[(link: "You threatened her.")[(goto:"threat")]] |==|

The bond of blood. If you could describe your Sire's blood, the following came to mind: The taste was (cycling-link: "tart", "bitter", "surprisingly sweet"), changed somewhat by the smell of (cycling-link: "guillotine metal", "expensive cologne", "a dim blue rain-slick highway"). You could practically feel the (cycling-link: "cold weight of a loaded gun", "sting of a thorn", "muscles of a lion") in your grasp. As your eyelids rushed to close, a $color film played there: (cycling-link: "a boy with nowhere to turn", "a fall from a great height", "a great hall, deserted"). Blood was always like this. A distillation of life. The blood that flowed through Lazarus' veins still held trace amounts of his once-mortal sensibilities. It was surprisingly intimate. Even more so when one was blood bound to another. Your Sire looked (link-reveal: "pale.")[(show:?choice)] |choice)[ =|= |1>[(link: "You kept drinking.")[(go-to:"Diablerie Ending")]] =|= |2>[(link: "You stopped drinking.")[(show:?mercy)(hide:?1)]] |==| ] |mercy)[You broke away before it was too late. Lazarus rested on his knees a moment, jaw slack. The two of you sat like that for a while. "You're the only one of the childer that has stayed," Lazarus said, his voice barely above a whisper. He closed his eyes, "I won't apologize for what I've had to do. In the end, I still gave you a choice." He really did look pale. You got him a glass of blood from the mini-bar. He hesitated before taking it. He swirled it, a contemplative look on his face. Lazarus lifted the glass. [["For the Family."->194X Start]]]

You stared at him a long time. A contest of wills, but the playing field was even this time. It was suprisingly gracious of your Sire. "You wouldn't be the first," Lazarus said. He remained kneeling by your chair, hands on knees. "This is one mistake I can't seem to learn from," he continued, "But is this truly what you want? Do you want to be alone?" =|= |1>[(link: "I never said that.")[(show:?notAlone)(hide:?2)]] =|= |2>[(link: "Yes. I'm not a fledgling anymore.")[(show:?alone)(hide:?1)]] |==| |alone)["With power," Lazarus had told you once, long ago, "Comes a proportionate solitude." You repeated his words back to him. He slumped by your chair, a laugh without mirth escaping his perfect lips. In time he said something, in a language you did not understand--perhaps (either: "Koine Greek", "Mandarin", "Provencial"), perhaps (either: "artificial Esperanto", "Algonquin", "Archi"). (if: $sireShip is "negative")["Even now, you're keeping secrets," you said, and stood up from your chair with (cycling-link: "disgust", "finality"). You opened the door. "You may leave."] (if: $sireShip is "positive")[You still held enormous respect for your Sire, but you were no longer innocent. You could no longer follow him blindly. Both of you had bigger things to occupy your nights than a codependence on one another.] Lazarus finally got up with a semblance of dignity, buttoning his shirt as he went. He paused at the threshold, and you gave him the courtesy of meeting his eye. "Don't forget," he leaned in, whispering, "[[For the Family.->194X Start]]"] |notAlone)["You do not need to bind me with blood," you whispered. He slumped by your chair, a laugh without mirth escaping his perfect lips. In time he said something, in a language you did not understand--perhaps (either: "Koine Greek", "Mandarin", "Provencial"), perhaps (either: "artificial Esperanto", "Algonquin", "Archi"). Then, clearly, he said, "You must learn to be alone, $name, or you will end up like me. We must not let that happen," Lazarus finally got up with a semblance of dignity, stood by a window overlooking the dark $place skyline. You stood beside him. [["For the Family."->194X Start]]]

Tooltip Code: Greyelf Stylesheet: (recover name) Dark Pack Logo All quotes sourced from and used within copyright (get better verbage).

One type of ending is going back to the beginning. But you're a (either: "hundred", "century")-year-old vampire. You know you can never go back. Even so, that's where you are, at the beginning. A certain poetry: it's the same day your tenure in (cycling-link: "eternity", "Sheol", "Hades") began. The child(e) is born December 31st, 1999. You were reborn [[December 31st, 1899]].

St. Augustine was America's oldest city; built to keep, and it had kept. It now funneled kine in, mostly tourists with bright $resonance blood, and kept Kindred in with invisible ties equal parts (either: "loyalty", "fealty", "Camarilla allegiance"), convenience, and a justifiable fear of the (either: "wilderness", "wild dark", "untamed darkness", "haunted swamp") beyond: territory of other (either: "preternatural", "supernatural", "ancient") (either: "terrors", "horrors"), most of them with a bone to pick with the sons and daughters of Caine. So $name found (print: $objective + "self") behind the $color walls of a lean-to house on New Year's Eve, (cycling-link: bind _attitude, "musing about", "ignoring") the end of the world. "The world is dark," [[$sire->ClanOne]] had repeated, like a mantra, "We need a lot of campfires."

Savannah was the most haunted city in America. One could still trip over cobblestones that had been laid down a good century before. The sea whispered at one end, the steamy Georgian wilderness on the other. There were very few Kindred here, and they liked it that way. Old-fashioned, indisputably Camarilla, almost, //almost// unassuming. It was a great place to (seq-link: "hide", "plot"). So $name found (print: $objective + "self") behind the $color walls of a 19th-century house on New Year's Eve, (cycling-link: bind _attitude, "musing about", "ignoring") the end of the world. "The world is dark," [[$sire->ClanOne]] had repeated, like a mantra, "We need a lot of campfires."

Cincinnati had once been poised to enter the Big Leagues--a crown American jewel alongside New York and Chicago. But the Ohio River gives and takes away. The Age of Steam had given way to the Age of Anxiety, but Cincy still held the title of "Queen City," and, at least in Kindred circles, it still was. Tucked amongst |tooltip>[sevenIs that not always a mystic number?] hills, there were plenty of places to find sanctuary from the sun, and the Tri-state flowed deliciously with $resonance blood. So $name found (print: $objective + "self") holed up in an underground haven in Over-the-Rhine on New Year's Eve, (cycling-link: bind _attitude, "musing about", "ignoring") the end of the world. "The world is dark," [[$sire->ClanOne]] had repeated, like a mantra, "We need a lot of campfires."

The trajectory of $name's unlife had changed since their last fateful meeting with $sire. As for the Family, that was still first and foremost in $poss mind. It was the reason for $poss existence, after all. {(if: $sireShip is "positive")[Looking at $poss progress, $name wondered if $sire would be proud. $name was no longer a fledgling, and $sire was no longer around. There was much more interpretation of the spirit, rather than the letter, of the unwritten laws that governed the House of $surname.] (else-if: $sireShip is "negative")[ But $pronoun'd be twice-damned if they took $sire's way of getting there. $pronoun had plans of $poss own.]} This Millennium would be the (either: "ultimate", "supreme") reign of the $clan. And within that unhallowed bloodline, the name $surname would (cycling-link: bind $secrecy, "be known", "remain unknown"). What better time to welcome a newborn into the Family than (cycling-link: "the dawning of the New Millennium", "the End of the World")? [[Time to watch the dominoes fall.->New Year's Baby]]

{(set: $mother to (either: "Delilah", "Sarah", "Miriam", "Ruth")) These were the facts as $name knew them: the Mother wasn't a $place native, but had ambled her way here from $place2. For years now she'd been drinking blood like it was as innocuous as a (either: "5 o'clock", "5 p.m.", "Happy Hour") (either: "Heineken", "Michelob", "Budweiser").} "Started when I was (either: "ten", "eleven", "twelve", "thirteen")," she'd admitted {(if: $resonance is "melancholy")[(print: "morosely")](else-if: $resonance is "phlegmatic")[(print: "sheepishly")](else-if: $resonance is "choleric")[(print: "brashly")](else-if: $resonance is "sanguine")[(print: "all friendly-like")].} Her name was $mother {(if: $resonance is "phlegmatic")[(print: "Davenport")](else-if: $resonance is "sanguine")[(print: "Grigoryan")](else-if: $resonance is "melancholy")[(print: "Ormond")](else-if: $resonance is "choleric")[(print: "Beatty")].} She was going to be $name's [[first and only Childe->NYB Part II]].

"I'm ready," she told $objective that night. "You have to be," $pronoun answered, (cycling-link: "matter-of-factly", "harshly", "tenderly"). $mother rubbed her pregnant belly. She was peering (seq-link: "at", "through") a picture of a $symbol on the wall. She did this often. Disassociated. $name could guess her thoughts. $mother still had a soft spot for the Father. $name had tried to pick him with some semblance of care, even if it was only his last name that mattered. //(link: "His name had been Jon Haas.")[(set: $father to "Haas")(show:?HaasFather)]// //(link: "His name had been Jon $surname.")[(set: $father to "House")(show:?HouseFather)]//\ {(hidden:)[It was no coincidence, the link between Haas and $surname. The boy's death, like his child's birth, had been foretold in Blood.]<HaasFather| (hidden:)[There was always a $surname vessel. And the boy's death, like his child's birth, had been foretold in Blood.]<HouseFather|} "I'll give you some vitae," $name told $mother, "It should make things easier," {(if: $instinct is "humane")[$name had come to care for her: the one human element in the Family. Though, not human for long.] (else-if: $instinct is "bestial")[$name didn't need her squacking all night.]} And besides, it was no sacrifice. The Blood would be returned soon anyway. She drank, and drank, and wiped the scarlet dribble from her chin. She was now visibly (either: "relaxed", "relieved"). //(link-reveal: "Ready?")[(show:?labor)]// (hidden:)["Didn't I say I was?" $name answered, her face flushed, eyes dilated, tone easy--and $name's teeth sunk easily into her (cycling-link: "wrist", "neck"). {(if: $instinct is "humane")[$name shook with the controlled lack-of-control. $pronoun had never indulged the Beast like this before. Each gulp $pronoun slid further into intoxication.] (else-if: $instinct is "bestial")[The Beast always enjoyed this part. Still, it wasn't often It was given permission to drain. $name may have been bestial, but they weren't a wight.]} It was natural for $mother to stiffen, to even thrash a little. The instinct to survive is paramount in all living things. Yet she had been prepared for this role. She paled, went from cherry to snow. And then her arm stopped twitching, and she breathed her last. $name hadn't even bothered healing the wound they'd cut earlier. For the second time that night, $pronoun offered the girl a drink. The vitae gushed past unresponsive lips, and then, $name felt the girl's tongue lap against the wound, and then her small hands trembled in search of a clasp, and then her eyes fluttered open and she [[drank->NYB Part III]]. ]<labor|

--- {(if: $clan is "Nosferatu")[The Embrace of a Nosferatu can still be ecstasy in the moment, but is nothing but agony in the aftermath. Sometimes, the change took an hour, a day, a week. Skin puckered, bones dislocated, hair and fingernails fell out. Still, $mother had known and accepted the (either: "risks", "reality"). $name and $mother both were mainly concerned about the unborn child. Still, they did not need to wait for the full changeover; it was safe enough now that $mother had popped her fangs.] (else:)[The Embrace was ecstasy, but sometimes the Change could take an hour, a day, a week. $name had not been worried about the full effect; it was enough that $mother had popped her fangs.]} {(if: $clan is "Tremere")[$name would be inducing the birth (print: $objective + "self"). Most Tremere studied up on human biology in their coveted swathes of spare time, and $name had been no different. It wasn't the first birth they'd overseen. Nor the first death.] (else:)[$name had arranged a doctor: a ghoul, a contact of the $place $clan. That was their secret knock at the haven door.]} And so $mother was escorted to the birthing room, and so the [[labor->Full Circle]] began.

You remember exactly what your Sire took from you. He'd only chosen you because you were a rising star. The Nosferatu love a good fall. You had been: (link: "A vain and beautiful debutante.")[(set: $discipline to "Obfuscate", $background to "debutante")(go-to:"Nosferatu Part III")] (link: "An athlete with Olympian horizons.")[(set: $discipline to "Potence", $background to "Olympian")(go-to:"Nosferatu Part III")] (link: "An early proponent of and celebrated lecturer on cryptids.")[(set: $discipline to "Animalism", $background to "cryptid expert")(go-to:"Nosferatu Part III")]

{(if: $background is "debutante")["Heartbreaking," that's how they'd described you. That's how you describe yourself when accidentally looked into a mirror. You'd become a master at obfuscation.] (else-if: $background is "Olympian")[And it wasn't as though the distinction had been handed to you: having grown up as a young $gender with a sickly disposition, it was a miracle you had gotten that far. If anything, your transformation had only increased your potence, beyond even that of an Olympian. But the mortal world would never chant your name.] (else-if: $background is "cryptid expert")[An unusual background, to be sure. And your Sire liked to collect unusual things. It was more tolerable to consider the animal world, which you felt closer to, than to contemplate the mortal world that had been taken from you. In this way, some of your mortal habits had remained in tact: you considered yourself an expert not only on cryptids, but the animalism and the social labyrinths of kine and Kindred alike.]} In time, you'd learned to view (link-reveal: "your Sire's")[(show:?goodnight)] Kiss as a (cycling-link: bind _sireShip, "gift", "curse").{(if: _sireShip is "gift")[(set: $sireShip to "positive")](else-if: _sireShip is "curse")[(set: $sireShip to "negative")]} (hidden:)[His name was creative, just like all the others. Mr. Goodnight: $place's (seq-link: "Finest", "Foulest"). And so he re-entered the warren one (either: "damp", "sweltering", "foggy") night in 1991, dressed like a pianoman who made his living in (either: "smoky", "neon-lit", "struggling", "moldy, crumbling") (either: "bars", "speakeasies", "clubs"). "$name." he greeted you through damaged vocal chords. He didn't wait for any (cycling-link: "greeting", "diatribe"). [["It's time."->NosFam]]]<goodnight|

{(if: $place is "Cincinnati")[He was talking about the |tooltip>[AronoffCincinnati's Aronoff Center for the Arts.]. He was talking about Desdemona "Dessie" Arbagast. His greatest mistake.] (else-if: $place is "Savannah")[He was talking about the |tooltip>[Lucas TheatreSavannah's own odeon.]. He was talking about Desdemona "Dessie" Arbagast. His greatest mistake.] (else-if: $place is "St. Augustine")[He was talking about the |tooltip>[AmphitheatreFor "Cross and Sword."]. He was talking about Desdemona "Dessie" Arbagast. His greatest mistake.]} =|= |1>[(link: "Are you sure?")[(show:?plan)(hide:?2)]] =|= |2>[(link: "Whatever you say, boss.")[(show:?plan)(hide:?1)]] |==| [You had been in many warrens, even traveled the world, but the $place warren was Mr. Goodnight's warren. His return was as auspicious as it was destined to be (cycling-link: "tragic", "triumphant"). ](plan| //The memory has gaps and gap-stops. It's like two radio stations are vying for the same frequency. Tragedy. Triumph. It skips toward the next signficant piece...the Inquisition, [[1943->194X Start]].//

In (either: "retrospect", "hindsight"), your family had always been a little (either: "odd", "strange"). Aunts, uncles, cousins, grandmothers and grandfathers had disappeared under (either: "storied", "haunting", "suspicious") circumstances. The family tree boasted (cycling-link: "mediums", "gamblers", "detectives"), (cycling-link: "mafia dons", "fringe scientists", "traveling magicians"), and (cycling-link: "poets", "musicians", "sculptors"). The $surname mauseleum was larger than the $surname mansion. "But isn't everybody's?" your (either: "spinster aunt", "alcoholic uncle", "long-suffering mother", "superstitious grandmother") had said. It wasn't until your Sire entered your nights that (either: "chilly", "frigid", "frozen") New Year's Eve that you realized that you weren't just part of the $surname family, but the Family. The long bloody work of the Dark Grandmother. And then, the (link-reveal: "Embrace.")[(show:?embrace)] (hidden:)[ --- I will let you describe it. It was a singular experience, after all. At first, the Kiss was (cycling-link: "sharp", "unexpected", "a long time coming"), then it was (cycling-link: "comforting", "frightening"), slowly enveloping you in (cycling-link: "a warm", "a blazing", "a cool", "an Antarctic") (cycling-link: "dream", "nightmare", "paralysis"). The images were of a $color $symbol and a scattered $metaphor, till inevitably it could only be described as: (cycling-link: "torrid", "torturous", "tantalizing") and {(if: $discipline is "Dominate")[(print: "dominating")](else-if: $discipline is "Potence")[(print: "potent")](else-if: $discipline is "Auspex")[(print: "auspicious")](else-if: $discipline is "Animalism")[(print: "animalistic")](else-if: $discipline is "Fortitude" or "fortitude")[(print: "fortitudinous")](else-if: $discipline is "Protean")[(print: "Protean")](else-if: $discipline is "Obfuscation")[(print: "obfuscated")](else-if: $discipline is "Celerity")[(print: "swift")](else-if: $discipline is "Thaumaturgy")[(print: "sorcerous")](else-if: $discipline is "Presence")[(print: "arresting")]}. The experience of a $clan. --- A [[hundred years->summary]] had passed like a single afternoon.]<embrace|

Was the Curse of Caine forever? Were the Damned truly damned? It was (cycling-link: "dangerous", "pointless", "important") questions like these that started the centuries-long debate surrounding the fabled state known as (link-reveal: "Golconda.")[(show:?golconda)] (hidden:)[ The ultimate mastery of the Beast. Some said Golconda was nirvana; some, like Selene, took it a step further and said it was salvation. If the legends were to be believed, those rare few who acheived Golconda could walk in sunlight and resist the call of the Blood. Some took that further and said the taste for Blood disappeared. Slowly and all at once the body came back to life: heartbeat, soulthrush, inhale, exhale. {(if: $sireShip is "positive")[And you were Selene's disciple. She had seen you through death, birth, baptism.] (else-if: $sireShip is "negative")[For someone who touted salvation, Selene had had no problems in pulling you down to her level. She had forced death on you, but she couldn't force a baptism.]} Now there was another significant date to add: that (either: "balmy", "windy", "rainy") [[night->Malkavian Part III]] in 1991. ]<golconda|

For multiple-choice: =|= |1>[(link: "")[(show:?hookname)(hide:?2)]] =|= |2>[(link: "")[(show:?hookname)(hide:?1)]] |==| --- For hovering tooltip: |tooltip>[Hover over meTooltip text] --- For pictures: <div id="portraitL"><img class="responsive-image" src="portraitLeft.jpg"></div><div id="portraitR"><img class="responsive-image" src="portraitRight.jpg"></div> --- For Malkavian Text: (if: $clan is "Malkavian")[(float-box: "=XXX=","======Y")[(text-style:"fidget", "superscript", "italic", "bold")+(text-colour:#333ac2)[The Voice of Malkav]]]

Every hint was just a drip on a parched tongue; never enough to satisfy. "Unlike the Lord," Selene would answer, "We did not create for the joy of creating. No. `<redacted>` wanted the ultimate way to circumvent the Curse of Caine," //To circumvent the Curse of Caine?// =|= |1>[(link: "To reach Golconda?")[(show:?wrong)(hide:?2)(hide:?3)]] =|= |2>[(link: "To incite Gehenna?")[(show:?wrong)(hide:?1)(hide:?3)]] =|= |3>[(link: "To become saints?")[(show:?right)(hide:?1)(hide:?2)]] |==| {|wrong)["No-no," Selene shook her head, as she had many times before, "Neither the smell of teenage spirit nor a cant on the back of Thanatos. All I ask from you is (link-reveal: "sainthood")[(show:?sainthood)],"] |right)["Yes-yes," Selene smiled, like you'd finally understood, "For that, we must become (link-reveal: "more human")[(show:?sainthood)] than human,"]} |sainthood)[She had laughed at your (cycling-link: "incredulous", "piercing") expression. "Who better?" she continued, "The poor sheep have, perhaps, fifty, if blessed, eighty years to accomplish this. [[We have centuries->Malkavian Part IV]]."]

"Whether you choose to be a sinner or a saint, $name, you have a part to play. Of that I have no doubt. Witchcraft, idolatry, adultery, murder, incest, prostitution. And that's just the family tree of Christ. Even so, none of that could stop salvation." But you would not fully understand the signficance of that last evening until years later. That was the last time you would ever see your Sire. "For all I know, $name," she had last said to you, "I am just apocrypha. No, that would be the best-case scenario. But--" She stopped, as though she heard something on the wind. It was nearing morning, and you'd been shuffling anxiously, wanting to crawl back into your bunker. //"But I'd like to [[feel the sun->Malkavian End]] again."//

Bloodlines. It's what any Kindred boiled their selfhood down to. That Kiss was as good as //I now present to you Mr. and Mrs. $clan.// You were part of that family now, and forever. Death was not a parting but a marriage certificate. But you, $name...you were chosen with a double-purpose in mind. The Family within. A secret, hidden, shared. //"Always there is a member of the House of $surname."// $sire's words, a constant (cycling-link: "comforting", "unwanted", "chilling") (either: "reminder", "echo"). The question was: (seq-link: "To what end", "Why")? [[Why?->Malkavian Why]]

To circumvent the Curse of Caine, plain and simple. //To circumvent the Curse of (link-reveal: "Caine?")[(show:?caine)]// |caine)[Yes, Caine. Thousands of years, and the only talk we get is of Gehenna, the end of the Kindred. Each generation, we grow weaker. How can a dynasty be sustained in such a way? At first, we thought we needed a //new// Caine. A re-start. Going back to a first generation. But that was (link-reveal: "thinking too small.")[(show:?Adam)] |Adam)[We need a new (link-reveal: "Adam.")[(show:?Eve)] |Eve)[A new (link-reveal: "Eve.")[(show:?Family)]] |Family)[That is what the Family is for. We are the new Family from which our kind can spring: immortal, reigning, supreme. But no longer slaves to the Blood, to the moon, to the night. {(if: $bloodbond is true)[[[What better Clan to see this through than the Clan of Kings?->Ventrue Blood Bond End]]] (else-if: $bloodbond is false)[[[What better Clan to see this through than the Clan of Kings?->Ventrue Independence End]]]}]

To circumvent the Curse of Caine. //To circumvent the Curse of Caine?// The Toreador Clan, as a whole, were rather obsessed with things they couldn't have. They lived vicariously through kine, patron and artist, lover and beloved. They could not have souls, so they sought the souls of others. No more. What if we could go back? What if we could start over? Oh, not literally, mon amie. But what we //need// is, not a new Caine, but a new Adam. Or Eve. The Family's sole mission in unlife, generation by generation, was in service of creating this Kindred in swaddling clothes. To birth a vampire with a soul. Or, perhaps, to prove that Kindred still had them. --- "Is //that// why you showed up?" Lysbeth smiled. "Yes. And no." Then she did something that, no matter how long our torpor could have gone on, you would never have forgotten that (either: "tell-tale", "signature") shrug. She was planning a [[heist->Toreador Part II]].

After a few gigs, it's just like old times. You traveled ouside $place, heading west. Despite upending your lifestyle, you could at least enjoy the certainty of warm blood and (either: "safe", "sanctioned") nights. And, as Dido was wont to do, she collected more (text-style:"double-strike")[groupies] ghouls in every city that $band passed through. Essence was a better juicebag than she was a tambourine-player, that was for sure. You couldn't explain what it was about her blood, except that it had that $resonance resonance you favored. The others varied; they seemed about average, really. Only a few of them lasted longer than a three-night stint. Then, there was (link-reveal: "Tommy Boy")[(show:?tommyboy)]. |tommyboy)[Tommy Boy just //fit.// A pallid, twitchy, fiercely intelligent man in his late twenties--and he could actually read music. Three nights turned into five turned into a week, two weeks. Dido was pleased. But (seq-link: "where did Dido go, sometimes for hours, after each concert", "why was it that every abandoned payphone seemed to have a call exclusively for your Sire", "why did the new groupies smell different before they left")? Dido (link-reveal: "brushed off")[(show:?Tremere4)] your questions.] |Tremere4)["I've always thought mystery was our Clan's greatest boon," she said one night, grinning as she placed a long black nail between a molar and a fang. But that night was different, and you could see it in her eyes. She stopped grinning. Started to smile rather intellectually instead. It was an affectation you'd only known a few individuals to pull off. Dido (link-reveal: "beckoned you")[(show:?Tremere5)] to follow her out, out into the night.] |Tremere5)[You were in the middle of something that passed for a city. There was a (either: "full", "quarter", "crescent", "half") moon, and despite the western clime, the air was (either: "misty", "sticky", "chill"). "I'm not in the mood for mystery-thriller tonight," Dido smiled at you with that smile again. Then, after a beat, "$name." The way she said your name was, despite yourself, spellbinding. She had your full attention. "I like that name," Dido continued. The two of you walked around a corner, past (either: "a broken traffic light", "a bent stop sign", "an abandoned homeless tent"). "There's power in true names, you know," Dido put her hands in her pockets. Snorted, "That's why I've never told anyone mine," Another corner. "But I've known Dido so long, I think I know her better than I know myself," You felt a freezing hand on the nape of your neck. "She's in your blood as well," Dido whispered, "The House of Carthage, and the [[House->TremereFam]] of $surname."]

Why? Blood sorcery. No more parlor tricks, no more rabbits in hats, no more restrictions. The motivations of the Tremere were arguably different from most Kindred. They were sorcerers, and though they could claim immortality, they could not claim the heights of magic. But what of a magic ritual generations in the making? And what is a Family [[without a Childe?->Tremere Part III]]

To circumvent the Curse of Caine, of course. //To circumvent the Curse of Caine?// Who wouldn't desire that more than the godforsaken Nosferatu? "We're gonna take off the mask," Mr. Goodnight had said, "The Family won't be known for scabs and sewers--no. We'll create the most beautiful creature that's ever graced the night. And they will call that Nosferatu an angel," It wasn't a shallow pursuit. This was about lifting the Curse altogether: to keep the immortality, shed the disease, perhaps even show one's face to the sun. So Mr. Goodnight's return had, as always, something to do with the Family. Of course, when he said it was time, you also knew it had to do with the [[reason->Nosferatu Part IV]] he'd left $place in the first place.

Ah. So this had to do with [[the Family->GanFam]] after all.

Every hint was just a drip on a parched tongue; never enough to satisfy. "Ever tell you how I got the nickname Chuey?" your Sire asked. He flashed you his right wrist again, "I can see the future. And in the future, they got a legend called El Chupacabra," As he moved, he began to walk less, prowl more. His back hunched just so, and his fangs were far more noticeable. He spread his fingers wide, and when they came to a comfortable chokehold around your neck, they were more like claws. "El Chupacabra is the ultimate Beast," Chuey moved closer, sniffing, his face changing, but you didn't have the words for it. Neither beast nor man. "And that's what |tooltip>[Abuela OscuraThe name sends a shockwave through you, stirs up a memory buried in foreign soil.] was all about," "The Family? Casa de $surname? It's all about doing the Curse of Caine the right way. One of us that's pure Beast, but in control. Terrible belezza, eh?" =|= |1>[(link: "Terrible beauty?")[(show:?beauty)(hide:?2)(hide:?3)]] =|= |2>[(link: "Pure Beast?")[(show:?beast)(hide:?1)(hide:?3)]] =|= |3>[(link: "El Chupacabra?")[(show:?beast)(hide:?1)(hide:?2)]] |==| |beast)["El Chupacabra--he's about as mythical as Caine hisself," Chuey finally removed his hand from your throat, "He's the Beast, purified. All that strength. But none of the frenzy. I don't even come close, but the nickname's still stuck. They won't coin it till 1995--but I heard it, in a dream. You remember what I always told ya?" "Dreams (cycling-link: bind _dream, "don't follow straight lines", "are spiderwebs", "are like campfire tales")," you (link-reveal: "recalled.")[ {(if: _dream is "don't follow straight lines")["That's right. Clocks, highways, the great straight skyscrapers--those are all manmade products. Rules and time and uncrooked ways. Dreams aren't beholden to anything like that. And [[neither are we.->Gangrel Part IV]]"](else-if: _dream is "are spiderwebs")["Si. There's lines and all, but it's not about getting anywhere. It's about holding the center. All dreams do is make a home for the spider, then suspend her on a gossamer reality. Dreams, spiderwebs, they can be blown away by a child's breath. But the spider will just spin us another one. Dreams don't die. And [[neither do we.->Gangrel Part IV]]"](else-if: _dream is "are like campfire tales")["Yes'm. A story can be suspended in time, a whole 24 hours or 24 years can pass, and when you go back to the telling, there's our villain, there's our hero, right where we left them. I had the first half of that dream a hundred years ago, and looky here, the second half just revealed itself. Dreams ain't beholden to time. And [[neither are we.->Gangrel Part IV]]"]} ]] |beauty)[ (if: $title is "Miss")["Yes," he said, and at this point you had a choice to throw his hands from your throat. =|= |1>[(link: "So you did.")[(go-to: "Gangrel Part IV")]] =|= |2>[(link: "But you didn't.")[(go-to:"Gangrel Part IV")]] |==|] (else-if: $title is "Mister")["Trust me, you ain't it." he laughed, but he finally [[removed his claws->Gangrel Part IV]] from around your throat.] ]

"The mind is not just the soft stuff in the skull," Locke admonished you. You were sitting at the booth, a real Tiffany lamp shade above you, old license plates and signed baseball cards and old-timey photos with the eyes crossed out on the walls. You should've known he's drag you all the way out here just to discuss philosophy. Yes, yes, but there's a gap here. A huge, bloody one. Why? What did //we do//? =|= |1>[(set: $diablerie to true)[[We diablerized our Sire.->194X Start]]] =|= |2>[[[We walked away from our Sire again.->194X Start]]] |==|

"Is that a threat, little girl?" you asked. She laughed so hard you felt the spittle on your face. "I must be three-hundred-years-old if I'm a day," she said without mirth, "I'd say you're a scant...oh, what, three-quarters of a century?" Despite her blindness, her eyes found yours. "(link-reveal: "Three-hundred-years-old?")[(show:?request)]" |request)["That's right. I knew the Prince when he was mortal. I knew him when he was a fledgling in Armenia. I protected him from the sun, from the Turks. In return, he gave me diamonds and the bloody elixir of life. I used to think he was just a vampire. Now I don't know what to call him. But yes, I know what your kind are. And if you don't want me revealing the whole operation, you'll do what I say,"(if: $instinct is "bestial")[(show:?bestial)](else-if: $instinct is "humane")[(show:?humane)]] |humane)[ [[You listened.->Sanguine Part III]]] |bestial)[Your Beast whispered harshly: //let's just kill her.// The vision is scarlet after that...what did we do? =|= |1>[(link: "We killed.")[(go-to: "Killed Annie Ending")(hide:?2)(set: $killedAnnie to true)]] =|= |2>[(link: "We abstained.")[(goto: "Sanguine Part III")(hide:?1)]] |==| ]

You heard what Annie had to say. She'd heard what you had to say, plenty of times. There was also no escaping the fact that Anahid Gregoryin was part of the plan. "What is it that you need, Annie?" Annie straightened up in her tiny hospice bed. "I need to get my last living grandchild the hell out of $place2." But that, //that// was not part of the plan. You knew exactly who Annie was talking about. You knew because you'd come to $place2 for the express purpose of keeping tabs on this little offshoot of the Family tree. A piping hot batch of sanguine individuals, complete with an Armenian Kindred in their pedigree. They were perfect. Nearly so. When Annie said her lasting living grandchild, she meant that the rest of her family--her children (the fathers were numerous), their children, their children's children, several generations down, really, they had all been turned (or killed for not turning) around their coming-of-age. The youngest was about to turn twenty. For most kine, the peak of their physical existence. "I can't wait," Annie said, "Whether it's tonight, or tomorrow, or ten years from now--I won't be here much longer. I'm--tired." She waved a bony hand back and forth. "Get Armine out of here. Keep her safe," (link: "...")["They'll find her." (show:?resolve)] |resolve)[You knew the Prince's |tooltip>[reputationEverything in $place2 was an extension of himself. He had taken a painstaking census. He knew the number of hills and homeless and homicides on any given basis.]. "No," Annie said with [[finality->Sanguine Part IV]], "They won't." ]

In the beginning, $darkGM had begun a new work. Perhaps the work didn't even begin with her, but was inherited from a time when records were not kept as well as they are now. But this story got told around a lot of fires, potent reminders of a Kindred's greatest fear. Perhaps it was in defiance of this primal fear that the work began. The House of $surname was not a bloodline. No, you were still $clan through and through. But the House of $surname sought something beyond the leylines of their clan, sought a way to circumvent the Curse of Caine itself. And what was the Curse of Caine but eternal stagnation? What better way to circumvent than to create new life? {(if: $clan is "Brujah")[Locke had taught you that the Eventual Child(e) would be a New Caine. The progenitor of a new city, but built for and by Kindred. No longer parasites in constructs made by kine. They could have Plato's Republic, writ in blood.]\ (else-if: $clan is "Gangrel")[Chuey had carried on the dream of the ultimate Beast. The height of Kindred society wasn't in shedding your fangs but embracing them. What if a child could be born that was pure Beast, yet unable to frenzy? Always in control of that raw, beautiful strength. Thet terrible belliza.]\ (else-if: $clan is "Malkavian")[Selene had an uncompromising belief that the Kindred would one day be able to walk in the sun, and give up blood, and even join the rare echelon of the saints. To Kindred society, the Malkavians were fools. But at least to Selene, to the House of $surname, they could be--like Sir Parsifal--the Holy Fools.]\ (else-if: $clan is "Nosferatu")[Mr. Goodnight had been a romantic trapped in the body of a brute. What if the dark desires of the Kindred could be circumvented? The scabby overgrowth of a murder never truly forgiven, brothers never truly reconciled, that was the Nosferatu curse. They knew deeper than most, in their bones, in their sores. That was the Curse of Caine. Mr. Goodnight, and the House of $surname, believed that the end of Kindred could be like the end of //Beauty and the Beast.// First, to turn the Beast into a beauty.]\ (else-if: $clan is "Toreador")[Lysbeth had believed in the idea of a Kindred who could one day be a true artist. Could capture life in that heightening way that Ver Meer had captured her mortal form. The ultimate Toreador dream: the Golden Age of the Toreador.]\ (else-if: $clan is "Tremere")[The Tremere of old had chosen vampirism, but saw their magical abilities suffer for it. There was a reason Dido spent more of her time singing than playing the typical Chantry role. In the House of $surname, the heights of magic would once again be in Kindred hands.]\ (else-if: $clan is "Ventrue")[The Ventrue had always been destined to rule. And what if they, what if, by extension, the House of $surname, they were the first clan to create new life?]\ } All this from a child who was born [[dead-but-alive.->Snag]]

The Childe was born (link: "breached")[dead(show:?turnabout)]. |turnabout)[But they did not need to breathe. You took the Childe, silent as its Mother limp on the hospital bed, and looked into its slowly blinking eyes. They were $color. They are the same eyes of a painting that had survived the Einsatzstab Reichsleiter Rosenberg.{(if: $clan is "Toreador")[The same eyes that had stared hauntingly as Lysbeth burned.]} They were [[perfect.->Fate]]] (if: $clan is "Malkavian")[(float-box: "=XXX=","======Y")[(text-style:"fidget", "superscript", "italic", "bold")+(text-colour:#333ac2)[~And the cradle will drop~]]]

(text-style:"expand")[Present Day] In the dark, you remember. {(if: $clan is "Brujah")[The Child(e) had looked perfectly ordinary, except for the intelligence in its eyes. The Child(e) seemed older than you; those eyes had seen more than you had after over a century. A newborn Brujah.]\ (else-if: $clan is "Gangrel")[A newborn Gangrel. The Child(e) had been born with teeth, and its eyes were not only $color, but shaped unlike a human's. Those eyes...they reminded you of the Chupacabra.]\ (else-if: $clan is "Malkavian")[The Child(e) had looked perfectly ordinary. The name Evangeline was so pure and right; it fit her well. The Voice of Malkav was already singing her lullabies.]\ (else-if: $clan is "Nosferatu")[The most remarkable thing was that the Child(e) was born without defect. Its skin was luminous, its limbs perfectly formed. And when you pulled back their tiny, perfect lips, you saw the little tipped fangs. A Nosferatu, born without malice.]\ (else-if: $clan is "Toreador")[The Child(e) could have modeled for a painting. It was fat and luminous, fair as porcelain. In fact, since it did not breathe, and only slowly blinked, you could have mistaken it for a doll. A gorgeous newborn Toreador.]\ (else-if: $clan is "Tremere")[There was an aura about the Child(e). Already you could sense the crackle in its blood, the sage look in its eye. What kind of warlock would they become?]\ (else-if: $clan is "Ventrue")[Truly a Child(e) born in the purple. Healthy, luminous, porcelain, rather large for its age and the Mother's size. A creature with a birthright. A newborn Ventrue.]\ } (if: $inquisition is true)[The bittersweet night would soon turn bitter. It could have been a letter you did not burn, an heirloom you did not abscond, a lover you shouldn't have taken, a single phone call: the Inquisition came bursting in. Ah. Ah. Painful, the failure. Painful, too, the stake they drove through your heart. Pitiful fools: at least they were superstitious. They must have thought that would kill you. Instead, you lost twenty years to (link-reveal: "torpor.")[(show:?inquisition)]]\ (else:)[And you had guarded this secret so well. You had burned letters and paintings, dashed priceless heirlooms and chosen solitude, run away from countless things good and bad: all to hold the Child(e) in your arms. Of course, your arms are (link-reveal: "empty")[(show:?noInquisition)] now.] |inquisition)[No matter. Here you were, safe, entombed, remembering, //scheming//. Yes, here you were, opening the (link-reveal: "chest.")[(show:?chest)]]\ |noInquisition)[And you were remembering what this (link-reveal: "chest")[(show:?chest)] was for.] |chest)[It truly is a memoriam. All these memories; it's a casket. It was made to hold a [[body.->Whose Body?]]]

You'd find the girl yourself. In a way, she was your responsibility. You suspected (link-reveal: "Kindred had taken her.")[(show:?kindred)] |kindred)[The machinations of the Family were a well-guarded secret. There was good reason you had spent much of the 20th century collecting heirlooms related to the Family: dangerous and compromising in the wrong hands, dangerous and effective in the right ones (i.e., the House of $surname's). But even so, when one was developing such strongly resonant specimens, like you were with Mrs. Davenport and her family tree, that proved a strong temptation for most Kindred. The [[Circulatory System]]...the Hunter was on to something.]

You'd first heard about the League of Housewives sometime around the debacle of the King and the Duke and the World War. After the Haas fiasco. All of the sudden, hunters were popping out of the woodwork. It was a league calling themselves the Housewives: ordinary women all, some of them virgins, some of them harlots, some of them nuns and prioresses, some of them laymen and professionals, and, of course, the majority of them were housewives. You never did see the same face twice. You just knew them as the Woman. Sometimes the Woman was (either: "tall", "lanky", "leggy", "buxom"), (either: "lithe", "swarthy", "pale"), (either: "red-headed", "curly-haired", "brunette"). Sometimes the Woman was (either: "short", "squat", "pear-shaped"), (either: "Frankish", "Gentile", "Romani"), (either: "common-eyed", "bespectacled", "freckled"). Their anonymity was their strength. But you'd had weeks of coming and going to study Plain Jane. Turns out the surveillance was mutual. {(if: $gender is "woman" and $name is not "Rook")[A check between two queens.] (else-if: $gender is "man" and $name is not "Rook")[A check between a king and a queen.] (else-if: $name is "Rook")[A check between a queen and a Rook.]} (link: "You decided to follow her home.")[(goto:"Chase")]

(set: $resEnding to "killedAnnie") It was easy to overpower a bed-ridden 300-year-old blind woman, so you did. =|= |1>[(link: "She had forgotten her place.")[(show:?blood)(hide:?2)]] =|= |2>[(link: "You were ready to get outta here anyway.")[(show:?blood)(hide:?1)]] |==| |blood)[ "They'll...hunt you..." Annie was strong-willed. She managed to speak even with your teeth in her neck. Almost like she had practice. "They'll...haunt you..." But she wasn't talking to any rational part of $name $surname at the moment. Talking with the Beast was about as effective as a band-aid on a shot-gun wound. "The Grigoryans need me," you'd boasted in your drunk-on-blood state. Annie had smiled. "Not them," she said, eyes darting like she was dreaming, "The Hunt. I coulda protected you...but now...no matter..." She talked too much. You finished what you started. The last drop of blood still tasted bitter. All the more because it was pulsing with an unseemly sanguine resonance: like Annie had died //happy.// You cleaned the wound. A strange attention to detail followed. Like everything was brighter, clearer. Her room number was [[4-1908->196X Ending]].]

{ #(text-style: "smear")[100 Years A Vampire] } [[Are you ready to remember?->Story Start]] --- DISCLAIMER: //“This game was created as a part of Vampire: The Masquerade game jam. Events portrayed in this game are not canon within World of Darkness universe."// ---

What had Caine failed to do? He had simply taken his curse and spread it. He had failed to create the perfect city. A new Caine, erecting a city made in the Kindred's image. Like Plato's Republic, writ in blood. Every generation, the Cainites grew weaker. A renaissance was needed. And who better to lead the renaissance, to raise the new Caine of the new Kindred City than the [[Clan of the Philosopher-Kings->Brujah Part II]]?

(set: _song to "") Chuey told you to lay your luggage down anywhere. Meanwhile, he slabbed the not-body-bag onto one of the linoleum tables. It sure sounded like a body. It had the deadweight of a body. But it didn't have the smell. And there was something off about it. Whatever it was, it still gave you the heebie-jeebies. "Hey, kick the jukebox on," Chuey said. You slotted a quarter and picked something by (cycling-link: bind _song, "Brenda Lee", "The Drifters", "Little Jerry Williams", "Fred Niel"). Nothing happened. "No, I said //kick// it." You (link-reveal: "kicked")[(show:?gangrel2)] the jukebox. |gangrel2)[(if: _song is "Brenda Lee")[//♫ Why did I listen to my friends When they told me what to do ♫//]\ (else-if: _song is "The Drifters")[//♫ When this old world starts getting me down ♫//]\ (else-if: _song is "Little Jerry Williams")[//♫ Baby (Baby), Bunny (Bunny), Sugar (Sugar), Honey (Honey) ♫//]\ (else-if: _song is "Fred Niel")[//♫ I burned my fingers on the coffee pot Toast was cold and the orange juice was hot ♫//]\ You (cycling-link: "bobbed your head", "stoically listened") to the music and watched as Chuey finally [[unzipped the bag->Teaser]].]

You drove all night. Bunkered down in a motel during daylight. The following night it was all $color sky over a sparse landscape: you reckoned you were west of the moon. {Chuey (link-reveal: "hummed")[(show:?chant)], tapping his hands on the wheel. |chant)[ Not much a hum, not a half-remembered pop song, or anything you recognized. It was something old. Something like a chant. Even though a smirk tugged at Chuey's lips, the music deep in his throat sounded almost (cycling-link: "angry", "tortured", "sad").]} {You stared at the (link-reveal: "dreamcatcher")[(show:?dreamcatcher)] dangling above the dash. |dreamcatcher)[ He'd always been obsessed with these things. Collected them wherever you went. //Believed// in them. You'd heard him thrash in his daysleep before. But when he woke, he said he didn't remember any (either: "bad dreams", "nightmares").]} "The (cycling-link: bind $chueyMark, "scar", "tattoo")'s new," you remarked. He eyed his right wrist and gave a grunt. =|= |1>[(link: "You showed him your own.")[(goto: "birthmarks")(set: $hasbirthMark to true)(hide:?2)]] =|= |2>[(link: "You asked for his story.")[(goto: "chueyStory")(hide:?1)]] |==|

You had a (either: "five", "ten", "fifteen")-year-old $chueyMark on (cycling-link: "your forearm", "the side of your neck", "your left set of knuckles"). It looked like (cycling-link: "a cross", "a teardrop", "the number/letter V"). Chuey (either: "raised an eyebrow", "just flashed you a playful fang", "got stoic out of nowhere"). Finally, long after you thought the conversation was done, he said: "That's not the only thing that's different aboutcha." He reached over and mussed up your (cycling-link: "common-colored", "dark", "Norwegian-white", "golden", "auburn", "colorful") (cycling-link: "cloud of hair", "braid", "five-and-dime", "grunge-chic hairdo"). {(if: $gender is "woman")["You almost remind what pretty is."] (else-if: $gender is "man")["You ready for your coming-of-age ceremony, young blood?"]} Around (either: "midnight", "1 in the morning", "quarter past two"), Chuey eased into [[well-known territory->Gangrel Part III]].

"Mine?" Chuey retorted playfully, "Or his?" He brought his right arm up in a fist, the better to flex his wrist around. "Guy who gave this to me is dead," he said, with satisfaction. He licked his fang. You looked more closely at the $chueyMark. You thought it was supposed to be a V. "It's oracular, don'tcha know?" Chuey said. He had a way of appearing open and friendly without revealing a single thing. "What do //you// think it means?" =|= |1>[(link: "It's a Roman numeral right? Old Fiver?")[(show:?transition)(hide:?2)]] =|= |2>[(link: "V for Viva La Vampire?")[(show:?transition)(hide:?1)]] |==| |transition)[He looked at you with what you could almost mistake for approval. {(if: $gender is "woman")["You almost remind what pretty is."] (else-if: $gender is "man")["You ready for your coming-of-age ceremony, young blood?"]} Around (either: "midnight", "1 in the morning", "quarter past two"), Chuey eased into [[well-known territory->Gangrel Part III]].]

Chuey finally (link-reveal: "turned back")[(show:?bag)] to the body bag on the table. |bag)["This bag is for me." Did you hear him right? You (link-reveal: "inspected")[(show:?bodybag)] the bag more closely.] |bodybag)[You had seen what was inside, in that brief catch. Every family has heirlooms, right? Right after Chuey cut you loose, when you crossed the (either: "border from", "thin margin between") fledgling to neonate, you had been tasked with tracking down these scattered heirlooms. Both dangerous dots for the Inquisition to connect, and precious in and of themselves, you had collected (either: "haunted", "cursed") paintings, (either: "antediluvian", "17th century", "Civil War-era") (either: "skulls", "swords", "letters"), (either: "prismatic shards", "mystical memoirs", "even a copy of the Book fo Nod"). Inside Chuey's bag, however, he was correct about one thing: it wasn't a body. But it held the accoutrements of a body prepared for a (cycling-link: bind $ceremony, "funeral", "wedding", "baptism"). You picked up the long, heavy shroud. "You'll wrap me in that when we're done," Chuey was saying. Again, (link-reveal: "did you hear him right?")[(show:?what)]] |what)[ The fluorescent lights flickered. In between the flashes, you saw the many faces of your Sire. A wolf in man's clothing. "What do you (link-reveal: "mean")[(show:?diablerie)]?" |diablerie)["[[Diablerie->Gangrel Memories]]." Well, he'd never been one to beat around the bush.]]

Wolves don't play by the rules. Diablerie: it was almost in character for your Sire. But there it was again: something (cycling-link: "angry", "tortured", "sad"), underneath something as innocuous as a song. The jukebox continued like a (cycling-link: "bad joke", "cold comfort") in the background. Chuey, arms crossed, leaned back on the linoleum table. "(link-reveal: "What are you thinking?")[(show:?thoughts)]" |thoughts)[ You weren't so much thinking as remembering. Your memory had always been spotty. Memories of you and Chuey. (either: "Rain-slick highways", "Dripstone caves", "Cold deserts"); (either: "Lake Powell,", "Page,", "Tucson,") Arizona; (either: "wendigo", "great wolf", "mothman") sightings; (either: "thick as thieves", "Bonny and Clyde", "a fistful of dollars"); a $color $metaphor. You and him had made a pack. Now he wanted you to kill him. =|= {(if: $sireShip is "negative" or $instinct is "bestial")[(show:?1)] |1)[[["This exceeded your wildest dreams.->Gangrel Diablerie Ending]]] (else:)[(show:?2)]|2)[(link: "You wanted to hear his reasoning first.")[(show:?reasoning)(hide:?3)]]} =|= |3>[[[You absolutely refused.->Reasons]]] |==| ]

{(if: $instinct is "bestial")[For a monster, you could be surprisingly empathic. (It usually made the blood go down easier).] (if: $instinct is "humane")[Part of the work of chasing melancholia, what made it worth it, was that you felt you were of some help. You could help ease the burden. You could give them a bit of ecstasy.]} That's what you would do for never-a-bride, you could make things easier. Yeah, this was going to be nice and (link-reveal: "easy")[(show:?easy)]. |easy)[It was supposed to be (link-reveal: "easy.")[(show:?new)]] |new)[ --- She was the //newest// looking girl at the party. You heard the grinding of the rumor mill around her; her haircut was so //French//, her make-up was so //bold//, her dress was so //short.// Some approving, some not. She wasn't upstaging the bride, so only bored spinsters seemed to care much. She did have this unapproachable chic air about her. Pretty Baby. =|= |1>[(link: "She'd be easy to tease.")[(show:?tease)(hide:?2)]] =|= |2>[(link: "You'd play the confidante.")[(show:?confidant)(hide:?1)]] |==| ] {|tease)[You gave her wit. Made literary references. Pointed out the invisible wall around her, and then helped remove a few bricks. When you finally made her laugh, you asked if she wanted to (link-reveal: "escape")[(show:?end)] the stuffy air a bit.] |confidant)[You played nice. Made a disparaging remark about someone with a wandering evil eye. Only asked her questions about herself. Slowly the gate came down, till you found (link-reveal: "an opening")[(show:?end)], and you asked if she wanted to escape the stuffy air a bit.]} |end)[The two of you wandered to the [[garden]].]

This was work. You'd been doing it for a while. It's not that you held any malice. It's not that there was much satisfaction in watching people suffer. If anything, this helped ease their suffering. Yeah, this was going to be nice and (link-reveal: "easy")[(show:?easy)]. |easy)[It was supposed to be (link-reveal: "easy.")[(show:?new)]] |new)[ --- She was the //newest// looking girl at the party. You heard the grinding of the rumor mill around her; her haircut was so //French//, her make-up was so //bold//, her dress was so //short.// Some approving, some not. She wasn't upstaging the bride, so only bored spinsters seemed to care much. She did have this unapproachable chic air about her. Pretty Baby. =|= |1>[(link: "She'd be easy to tease.")[(show:?tease)(hide:?2)]] =|= |2>[(link: "You'd play the confidante.")[(show:?confidant)(hide:?1)]] |==| ] {|tease)[You gave her wit. Made literary references. Pointed out the invisible wall around her, and then helped remove a few bricks. When you finally made her laugh, you asked if she wanted to (link-reveal: "escape")[(show:?end)] the stuffy air a bit.] |confidant)[You played nice. Made a disparaging remark about someone with a wandering evil eye. Only asked her questions about herself. Slowly the gate came down, till you found (link-reveal: "an opening")[(show:?end)], and you asked if she wanted to escape the stuffy air a bit.]} |end)[The two of you wandered to the [[garden]].]

Armine was young, impressionable. You just needed to sweep her off her feet. Or trick her onto a Greyhound going as far away as possible. Those scant few nights between Annie's ultimatum and the (either: "eventual", "inevitable") (either: "fallout", "Armageddon") were ones of (cycling-link: "backward glances", "blood-sweat", "burning restlessness") and (cycling-link: "fevered planning", "anticipatory high", "manic glee"). There was something thrilling about it all. =|= |1>[[[You took Armine out for the night of her life.->Night Out]]] =|= |2>[[[You manipulated Armine from the shadows.->Runaway]]] |==|

(if: $clan is "Malkavian")[(float-box: "=XXX=","======Y")[(text-style:"fidget", "superscript", "italic", "bold")+(text-colour:#333ac2)[OUTGOING TRANSMISSION: --LITTLE GIRL GREY--Pant-pant-pant with the silver dog.]]] (else-if: $clan is "Nosferatu")[Annie told you you wouldn't have to hide your face. That, in fact, you shouldn't. You soon found out why. Another one of the Prince's secrets: you shared a common ancestor.] It was no secret that $place2 was dying. {(if: $place2 is "Flint")[](else-if: $place2 is "")[](else-if: $place2 is "")[]} Annie must have been doing some behind-the-scenes work; Armine couldn't say enough bad things about her hometown. Too, she hinted at a sheltered childhood, a caged spirit. She wanted to be wild and free. Her blood was naturally sanguine. You slipped her the Greyhound ticket, heading for $place, promising her revels. Then you waited for that night. Watched, from the shadows. Saw her hem, tremble at the bus stop. Smelled the sanguine resonance dilute, water down from bright hot red to pink-in-the-sink. Uncertainty. Doubt. Always imbalanced the humors. The shadow of one of her family members stepped forward. Their inhuman face remained shadowed, softened with some kind of trick. Looking at them was like looking at a photo out-of-focus. You knew you wouldn't make it in time. Yet there was no man-handling. No rush of men-in-black there to drag the girl back into her cage. Instead, they used a crueler tactic. A message-in-a-bottle. The news you never want to hear. Your (either: "preternatural", "heightened") senses couldn't help but pick up the words: //"Granny Anahid is [[dead.->Runaway Ending]]"//

(set: $resEnding to "feverPitch") This story was always going to end in tragedy--the question was what flavor it would come in. You didn't expect it to be the taste of Armine's blood. It was a slow intoxication. So slow you hadn't had a chance to guard yourself. There was something especially potent about the girl, and here, at the cusp of having her dreams come true, just a single night out on the town, the resonance was dynamite. (Of course, the whole reason the Family had targetted the Grigoryans is because they were conducting lineage experiments similar to your own: building and breeding a bloodpool so pure and potent, storing it and cultivating it across long generations, as uncompromising as a family of vintners). It wasn't you, then. It wasn't you, but the Beast that pulled her into the shadows, cut Armine off in the middle of a laugh. //(seq-link: "Just a sip", "Just a taste", "Or perhaps", "The whole bottle").// You cleaned the wound. A strange attention to detail followed. Like everything was brighter, clearer. Somebody had just won the strongman contest. The bell rang like a bell from hell, the numbers climbed up and up: wowzers kid, you got a hi-score of [[41908->196X Ending]]!

(set: $resEnding to "runaway") You were already resigned to shadow-work, so you watched the funeral from the shadows. The casket was so small. Annie was wrapped in her duvet; you realized now it had already been patterned with Armenian funereal patterns. But the curious thing. The damn curious thing was that they left her feet exposed. There were two small (either: "holes", "incisions") on the sole of her (either: "left", "right") foot. But you didn't get to notice much more than that before the (link-reveal: "smoke")[(show:?fire)] alarms went off. |fire)[ --- The Beast hates Fire with an ardent iciness. A frenetic instinct to survive compelled you to flee the scene. Annie had rigged her own funeral so her vampiric progeny would burn. Did she know that Armine would be present? Was this story always going to end in tragedy? You'd have to start your work again. Find even one scrap of a Grigoryan that hadn't been turned or burned to hell. You took the next Greyhound bus to $place. Your ticket number was [[41908.->196X Ending]] ]

(set: $resEnding to "ragdoll") Feeding is a painful experience because you actually feel human. Actually feel remorse. Not in the frenzying state. Not as you turned on the girl and grabbed at the knife with new increased strength, bending her arm painfully. You clamp down on her mouth so nobody can hear her scream. The knife hilt glitters; the old cross apparently doubled as a weapon. Her eyes are wide, but not nearly as wide as yours. You took it all in, sight bloodshot. Oh, you could tell. She was an amateur. She really was just a Pretty Baby. You sank your fangs into (cycling-link: "the wrist currently in your grip", "her perfectly exposed neck"). The (link-reveal: "taste...")[(show:?taste)] |taste)[That resonance of lost love. That hadn't been fake. The hurt ran deep, a deep current. But first. This was the strongest hit you'd ever felt. It was several moments compressed, out of place, only connected by the impression they had left. At the address of 41908 Cherry Tree Avenue: (cycling-link: "the blackberry taste of a first kiss", "the slap of a well-meaning hand"), (cycling-link: "rushing by at sixty-miles-per-hour", "at a bird's-eye view", "in the domain of a lazy cat-nap day"). (cycling-link: "Romantic", "Harsh") and (cycling-link: "docile", "thrilling"). (cycling-link: "Skinned knees", "Orthodoxy"), buried (cycling-link: "sister", "brother", "twin"), I'm sorry (cycling-link: "Daddy", "Mommy"). The last thing you saw was the face of the man she'd been pining over. Of course. Who else? The man had gotten married to another woman today." All this, and you barely noticed when the woman went (link-reveal: "limp like a rag-doll")[(show:?death)] in your arms.] |death)[She was dead. You had the presence of mind to at least clean her wound. A strange attention to detail followed. Like everything was brighter, clearer. One detail echoes in your mind, moving like a pebble falling down between the crags, lodging back into place: 41908. [[41908->196X Ending]].]

(set: $resEnding to "lost") The police found the button-eyes of her stuffed rabbit first. Her night-time curlers (she'd been taken in the night) came next. The curious thing was the |tooltip>[shoelacesYou recall she'd always tripped over her shoelaces. Her mother scolded her for never tying them. The girl was positively afraid of failing to tie a knot, so she avoided doing so.]. She had asked you, one evening, to teach her how to tie them. So, she'd been given time to put on her high-tops. They found all this, but (link-reveal: "they never found a body.")[(show:?ending)] |ending)[ --- You heard, a few years later, Mrs. Davenport had a new last name, and was expecting again. You kept tabs. Her new address was was at [[41908->196X Ending]] Springfield Lane.]

Yet, your mistakes would come back to haunt you first. You left the labor room when you heard a dull, out-of-place //click.// But there is nothing in the halls. You just hear pipes moving from the cold. {(if: $resEnding is "lost")[There's a bit of abandoned shoe lace that catches your eye. Mrs. Davenport...?(display:"The Housewives")] (if: $resEnding is "deadJane")[Jane...? Beatty...?(display:"Haas")] (if: $resEnding is "undeadJane")[Jane...?(display:"Jane the Caitiff")] (if: $resEnding is "killedAnnie")[Annie...?(display:"The Housewives")] (if: $resEnding is "ragdoll")[//Something Borrowed, Something Blue, Something Old, Something New//(display:"Haas")] (if: $resEnding is "feverPitch")[Armine...?(display:"Haas")] (if: $resEnding is "runaway")[Armine...? Annie...? You smell fire. Oh god, fire.(display:"Fire")]}

(set: $reachedMillennium to true) That was it. That was the passcode. Key in lock. --- (seq-link: "You", "I", "We", $name) runs a hand over the chest. The numbers click into place. $name opens [[the chest.->Millennium]]

The local hub of the Circulatory System, an international human trafficking ring with an express interest in blood, was in the least savory part of $place2. You shook down the first high-generation thug you could find. You were just lucky your Sire's name pulled some weight around here. The fact of the matter was, whoever had absconded the Kid had done so on your turf. Havens, domains, those things were as close to sacred as the Kindred could muster. There were rules to be followed. "I'd help you, I would!" the thug cried, arms upraised. You wanted to spit at his pitiful state but you also didn't want to waste the blood. "I swear I know which chick you're talkin' about," the lick blubbered, "They reported her dead half-way to Tucson. It-it was a big deal because her blood was supposed to be real delicate, y'know? Boss was pissed," But you didn't want to hear anymore. The worst part was you knew [[he wasn't lying.->Lost Ending]]

(set: $resEnding to "chase") Which is how you ended up not in the back-seat of a Chevelle but driving it nearly eight-miles-an-hour through country road as hilly as it was full of potholes. The night was misty. The moon was full. And Plain Jane turned out to be a crack shot. Poor Beatty, bound and gagged in the trunk. He hadn't had a chance to put up a fight, but you didn't want any chances of him waking up and thrashing about, and he guarded his Chevelle like a hound to a bone. You'd expected, at worse, to use him as leverage. Plain Jane was ahead, her car as plain as she was, and her custom (either: "Saturday night special", "pocket pistol", "mouse pistol") glinting pearly and pristine in the moonlight. If she'd just cruised along like a good little girl...but now you had a potential Masquerade breach at your hands. You'd have to handle this in a bloody way. {(if: $instinct is "humane")[It's not like you wanted things to end this way.] (if: $instinct is "bestial")[Oh well. You preferred the action. When you got your fangs in her veins, you were sure you'd get the choleric rush of your unlife.]} Another hill, another pothole. But this one must have been carved special-made by fate for one $name $surname. Plain Jane's Dodge-veg-o-matic hit it at just the wrong speed and angle, and you saw it flip end over end. You were lucky you came to such a graceless stop yourself. When you found her, crumpled up in the driver seat, she was still alive. //"Please."// There's a word you hadn't expected. "Please," she said, "I want to //live."// =|= |1>[(link: "There's no kinda life I can give you...")[(show:?undeadJane)(hide:?2)]] =|= |2>[(link: "It's better this way.")[(show:?deadJane)(hide:?1)]] |==| |undeadJane)["I know." [[She knew.->Undead Jane Ending]]] |deadJane)["Please? Please! Please come back. Pleasepleasepleaseplease--" You had to [[see to Beatty.->Dead Jane Ending]]]

In the end, it was all reported as another crime indicative of $place2's decline. It took Beatty a long time to get over the death of his girlfriend. Over his kidnapping, though they never found the culprit in what appeared a crime without motivation. You had disappeared shortly after that. Every now and then you got snatches of Beatty's development. He got married. Good. His wife popped out some kids. Yes. All according to plan. But it was such a weird thing, what stuck in your mind. It haunted you in whatever passed for Kindred dreams. A number forever stuck. Mileage. Some of Jane's blood had been smeared over the dash, but the number stood out clear as a neon sign in the dark: [[41,908->196X Ending]] miles. And not a mile further.

(set: $resEnding to "undeadJane") On paper, in theory, what would go on the record, is that $name $surname only ever had the one childe, and that wouldn't be for some time still. But that's not the whole truth. There was another. You did what Jane asked. Your Beast was crying, and who knew when you'd get something carte blanche like this again? You even held up your end of the bargain when you didn't have to--you fed her some of your blood. You welcomed her into endless night. A hunter, turned. The last you'd heard of that happening, you'd been in a haunted castle on the border of Bavaria in the middle of a world war. But unlike the childe that came later, you left Jane to her own devices. You didn't want the Camarilla coming down on you, asking why you hadn't gotten Prince so-and-so's permission. It was...it was a severe mercy. Last you heard, Jane the Caitiff was still eking out an unlife. The important part was she never messed with Beatty again, and everything went according to plan. He got married. His wife popped out some kids. All was as it should be. But it was such a weird thing, what stuck in your mind. It haunted you in whatever passed for Kindred dreams. A number forever stuck. Mileage. Some of Jane's blood had been smeared over the dash, but the number stood out clear as a neon sign in the dark: [[41,908->196X Ending]] miles. And not a mile further.

It was a good night for a wedding. Clear and warm, and in the garden there were just a few lampposts to light the way. Plenty of darkness for when you'd make your strike. As way of pre-dinner conversation, you asked the woman about: =|= |1>[(link: "Her cross necklace.")[(goto:"Melancholy Hunter")]] =|= |2>[(link: "The man she was obviously thinking about.")[(goto:"Blue Ending")]] |==|

"It looks quite old," you commented. She held it, considering. "I got it from my father's side of the family," she said, "They came from-" And at this she dropped her voice, "-from Austria," There was still some anti-German sentiment in that decade (and by extension, anti-Austrian); many people had fathers and brothers and sons who had fought in the second world war. You, too, had a (link-reveal: "scar")[(show:?shadows)] from that time. |shadows)[You wanted to forget about all that. You'd waited long enough, hadn't you? There was the perfect patch of darkness. Obscure, adorned with silvery ivy. The picture of melancholy. You pretended to traipse there accidentally, (cycling-link: "to pick some flowers", "to swat at a non-existent mosquito"). You (link-reveal: "waited")[(show:?knifepoint)] until the girl was nearly at your side.] |knifepoint)[You felt a sharp blade at (either: "your neck", "your kidney", "your side"). "Perhaps you knew them," the girl whispered, "They certainly knew you. A monster who went by the name of $name $surname. You crossed paths with Jaeger and Dietrich Haas in 1943," //[[You said nothing--you frenzied.->Taste of Blood Ending A]]//]] |==|

(set: $resEnding to "blueGirl") A pregnant silence. There was the perfect patch of darkness. Obscure, adorned with silvery ivy. The picture of melancholy. You pretended to traipse there accidentally, (cycling-link: "to pick some flowers", "to swat at a non-existent mosquito"). You (link-reveal: "waited")[(show:?answer)] until the girl was nearly at your side. |answer)[ "I was thinking about a lot of men, actually," she said. She leaned her head against your back, between your shoulder blades. "My grand-uncle died in Bavaria in 1943. He had a little brother who had to fend for himself. Became my grandfather. Grandfather was always so angry. Always saw shadows in the dark. I grew up so afraid," She snaked her arms around your waist. "Until I met him," she sniffed, "I cut my hair. I learned how to laugh. I walked in the sun. But my cousin was nicer. Prettier. She wasn't afraid of the dark. She hadn't been taught to be afraid of the dark. She doesn't //know// what's in the dark," Her grip tightened. //"But I do."// You swallowed. "I want to know what my blood tastes like," you heard her whisper, "Can you [[tell me->Taste of Blood Ending B]] what it tastes like?"]

(set: $resEnding to "ragdoll") Feeding is a painful experience because you actually feel human. Actually feel remorse. She really was just a Pretty Baby. You sank your fangs into (cycling-link: "the wrist currently in your grip", "her perfectly exposed neck"). The (link-reveal: "taste...")[(show:?taste)] |taste)[That resonance of lost love. That hadn't been fake. The hurt ran deep, a deep current. But first. This was the strongest hit you'd ever felt. It was several moments compressed, out of place, only connected by the impression they had left. At the address of 41908 Cherry Tree Avenue: (cycling-link: "the blackberry taste of a first kiss", "the slap of a well-meaning hand"), (cycling-link: "rushing by at sixty-miles-per-hour", "at a bird's-eye view", "in the domain of a lazy cat-nap day"). (cycling-link: "Romantic", "Harsh") and (cycling-link: "docile", "thrilling"). (cycling-link: "Skinned knees", "Orthodoxy"), buried (cycling-link: "sister", "brother", "twin"), I'm sorry (cycling-link: "Daddy", "Mommy"). The last thing you saw was the face of the man she'd been pining over. It was too much. Too good. The resonance was so potent. You felt it so keenly a tear of blood escaped your eye. All this, and you barely noticed when the woman went (link-reveal: "limp like a rag-doll")[(show:?death)] in your arms.] |death)[She was dead. You had the presence of mind to at least clean her wound. A strange attention to detail followed. Like everything was brighter, clearer. One detail echoes in your mind, moving like a pebble falling down between the crags, lodging back into place: 41908. [[41908->196X Ending]].]

Double-click this passage to edit it.

(if: $clan is "Malkavian")[] (else-if: $clan is "Nosferatu")[Even though Annie had told you that Armine would understand, "better than most", about your true mien, you still had to borrow a face for the evening escapade. {(if: $instinct is "bestial")[You stole a face from a looksome stranger who frankly hadn't earned their beauty.](else:)[You manipulated the Blood into obfuscating your true appearance, and wore something bright, attractive, unassuming.]] If you were going to do Annie's bidding and skip town, you might as well enjoy one last hit. You'd work the kine's joy up to a fever pitch, and then you'd take a snack for the road. You weren't sure how this was going to affect the Family down the road, but the plan was only supposed to involve one Grigoryan. You figured (link-reveal: "Armine")[(show:?armine)] was it. |armine)[Ferris wheel. Hot dog stand. Cheating at darts. You floated in and out amongst carnies, feeling like a (cycling-link: "a shepherd herding a sheep who didn't know she was lost", "a " + $symbol + " in sheep's clothing", "the worst carnie of them all"). It was obvious that Armine was sheltered, vivacious. Her temperament did not match her circumstances. She made funnel cake grease seem like ambrosia, and she spun wildly underneath a smoggy sky like she was in view of the aurora borealis. She couldn't stop smiling. The resonance of her blood was at a [[fever pitch->Fever Pitch Endings]].]

The memory burns through you. Just one look at your left calf brings back that (either: "primal", "basic"), incessant fear. You shiver in the dark. There is also, of course, the painting itself. It hung in a forgotten corner of our crypt. Twenty years have not done a thing to you, but the painting was warped. Some of the layers were missing. The eyes, however, layer after layer, remain unchanged. But there, underneath it all, was the thing you expect Lysbeth had been after. The sigil of the House of $surname. Ah. Of course. This wasn't the only palimpsest in this sordid affair. This was only part of the saga. It's another memory, reaching further back. Another story that your skin remembered before you did.

You had made it, unscathed, but you noticed how the walls of this crypt were strangely bereft of personality. Nothing on the walls. And yet you know this for fact: that painting that Lysbeth had found...it absolutely had to be burned. To this night, you don't know if Lysbeth had meant to end it all, or if she had just been the victim of a longue duree, some game played by another Caineite. But just because she was gone did not mean that the House of $surname would fall. Your Sire had taught you the basic lore, but you had to write the ending. But it's a tale told backwards. There was another painting. There was a hunter. There was a world war. This was only part of the saga.

Lazarus had as good as abdicated. {(if: $sireShip is "positive")[It was the Beast that told you that. And yet, weren't you doing exactly what Lazarus had taught you? To take power where you could? To recognize weakness and make it strength? You would take your Sire with you. He could live through you. You'd always wanted him to. Yes. Yes. As you drank, you understood Lazarus better. You could taste his memories, his fears, his desires. He didn't even resist. You felt a feather-touch on your forearms, a weak grasp, almost affectionate. The only sound that escaped his lips was a sigh. Can you imagine? Kindred don't even need to breathe.] (if: $sireShip is "negative")[It was the most satisfied you had ever felt. He'd always treated you like a thumb tack. Always given you the subserviant role. He'd domineered over you, attempting to ragdoll you with his mesmerizing cadences and then with his own hot blood down your throat. Like poison. All so you couldn't resist him--and yet he had bared his throat to you. Now it was he who couldn't resist--just a soft, ineffectual fist against your knee, and that was all the strength he could muster. Why shouldn't you drink? Why shouldn't you live? You could be more than a Prince. You could be King.]} In fact, you convinced yourself, this was what was best for the Family. And then the room was empty. Lazarus slumped against the chair, like he was only sleeping. Nothing breathed in the room. Nothing moved. No sound, no fury. Just the Blood coursing through you. "With power," Lazarus had told you once, long ago, "Comes a proportionate solitude." You sat there for hours before the coming sun forced you to seek sanctuary. The Blood stirred up another memory; it flashed, rippled silver. Was this your memory, or your Sire's? No, it was assuredly yours. The [[next piece->194X Start]] in the puzzle.

"Not out in the open." Even with the various boards and posters and tacked-on newspaper, there was still specks of glass, still places where two Kindred could be //seen.// "There's my hideaway," Chuey said, straightening up. He didn't seem nervous at all. No fear. Almost, an arrogance. You followed him to the back room. Completely sealed in. Old posters on the wall, broken records on the floor. It looked like an animal had frenzied in there. The door made a sickening sound as it closed. "That door's always been a screamer," Chuey chuckled, then, turning, "Now, how do ya want to do it? Standing up? Lyin' down?" You have him a (cycling-link: "withering", "concerned") glance. "Your pick." =|= |1>[(link: "Wrist.")[(show:?wrist)(hide:?2)]] =|= |2>[(link: "Throat.")[(show:?throat)(hide:?1)]] |==| {|throat)[You didn't care. You just grabbed him by the hair at the nape of his neck, tilted his head, and (link-reveal: "sunk your teeth")[(show:?diablerie)] into his neck.] |wrist)[You didn't care. You just grabbed his wrist and (link-reveal: "bit")[(show:?diablerie)] down.]} |diablerie)[You thought the onslaught of memories before had been (either: "intense", "intrusive"). At first, there's just a bit of spice. The Blood is cold, and there's no pulse for you to enjoy as it slicks down your throat. Chuey's bravado slowly morphed, and you heard him whimper. Not like a man, but like a dog. But then he steeled himself. You had memories of a wolf licking its wounds, a bird escaping a trap, the mountain lion in its lair, the tumbling dark things watching from the hills. But pervasive throughout it all was the music: a chant from old lips, an ancient rain dance, or some inscrutable ritual: a memory of Chuey when he had a real name. A coming-of-age ceremony. Smoke. His own Embrace. Then it stops. Like before you get to the better part of a dream. Your Sire is limp in your arms. You had not noticed during the high of it, but he had changed. His hands were claws. His face...his face was unrecognizable. You dragged the body bag from the front. Wrapped him in the shroud. Zipped up the bag. After you slept through the day, you tossed the body bag back into the trunk. There were instructions on where to take it: somewhere in Arizona, somewhere, you can only guess, that your Sire had once called home. His power coursed through you. You could only guess at your Sire's mind. But you know he wouldn't have done this unless it was for the good of [[the Family.->194X Start]]]

"Perhaps it's because you don't understand my //reasoning//," Chuey grinned (like a hyena, you thought). He gestured over to the diner top. You sat at a bar stool while Chuey rummaged behind the bar. He took out a pack of smokes. "Thought I still had these," He offered you a cigarette. You (cycling-link: "took", "didn't take") one. Always that little pinprick thrill when the lighter ignited, like the Beast got a brief itch it had to scratch. "It's about the Beast," Smoke fanned from Chuey's mouth. He scratched the side of his cheek, added, "It's about the Family," "(link-reveal: "Explain.")[(show:?explain)]" |explain)[ "When you take all my blood," Chuey said, not looking directly at you, looking at some old newspaper clipping still stuck to the wall, looking at something in his mind's eye, "When you take it all, it's not gonna be like I'm gone. You got it wrong. The two of us, we'll be stronger," He spoke more philosophically when he smoked. You waited for him to continue. "How do I know?" Chuey said, "That's what you're thinking right? How do I know? I know because my Sire asked the same thing of me," Another cloud of smoke. "And I did what I was asked." "(link-reveal: "But why?")[(show:?why)]"] |why)["There is no death," said Chuey, "but Final Death. And Final Death is when you die, alone. When you die, your family takes care of you. I want to feel my spirit again--I've been chasing him here and there for centuries now. And the work of the Family will come to a close, by your hands, and then what? You won't need me anymore. No. I understand now why my Sire asked what he asked of me. Each of us lives in the next. My blood in your veins. My eyes are your eyes. My teeth are your teeth." He had leaned across teh bar, brought his face into the light. Shadows played there, made such interesting shapes. Softened the angles where there was snout and muzzle, sharpened the soft places that were still strangely vulnerable. He didn't look red-gold in this light; he looked pale, anemic, ethereal, take your pick. "I want this," Chuey said, "I know what I'm askin'. Haven't I taught you nothin'? You think I left you on your own because I couldn't trust you with anything important? This is the second most-important thing I could ask of you," "What's the most important thing?" He didn't miss a beat. "The Childe, of course," He brought his face out of the light. "Come on kid, we're losing the night." =|= |1>[[[You finally agreed.->Gangrel Diablerie Ending]]] =|= |2>[[[Your mind hadn't changed.->Gangrel Frenzy Ending]]] |==| ]

So he frenzied. You didn't understand what was going on at first. He moved almost within the shadow of a shadow. A low growl. Your hands gripped the countertop, bracing yourself. You heard scratching on the tiles. Sound of bones rearranging, wet panting. Two eyes, glowing, bloodshot, focused only on you. The quiet before (link-reveal: "the storm")[(show:?reaction)]. |reaction)[ {(if: $discipline is "Animalism")[Animalism is a supernatural affinity, an understanding, of the lower fauna. In the Gangrel, it's taken a step further: the grasping of the tiger's eyelash. The animal is pure being: no virtue, only instinct. You acted on instinct. Scratching at the exposed eyes. Grabbing the lighter carelessly left by the cigarette pack. Grease can always be found in a diner. Keys, keys, where were the keys? Meanwhile, the creature-that-was-your-Sire came into the light. //Mierda.// There were the keys to the Datsun. You snatched them up, barely missing the snapping jaws of the Chupacabra. Come on, come on, why wasn't the lighter working--there! A tiny flicker of primal fear. You held the lighter up to the grease. It caught. You bolted for the exit. Go. Go. Go. An animal would just run. Run and not look back. You threw yourself into the Datsun. The creature slammed against the diner door, leaving a trail of blood. Another hit and the glass would break. //Go.// The car finally (link-reveal: "started")[(show:?ending)].] (if: $discipline is "Fortitude")[Fortitude is the ability what is the ability to resist the irrisistible: even fire, even sunlight. You tore yourself away from those spellbinding eyes, from the bar top. When the creature slammed against you with the weight of a legend in its prime, you barely rolled out of its grasp. The keys, where were the keys? You saw the lighter by the pack of smokes. The cigarette was still smoking. Fire. You grabbed the Datsun keys and flicked the lighter. Fire. You resisted your fear long enough to bolt. The fire was at your heels, and so was your Beast. ] (if: $discipline is "Protean")[Protean is shapeshifting, is becoming one with the earth, is to return to dust and come back //different.// In the Gangrel, it's the most noticeable gift. And you didn't need any moonlight to grasp it. Your hand became unrecognizable, shaped now into a claw. You wouldn't take it as far as your Sire did. You could keep the Beast from frenzying. You matched him, blow for blow, tooth and claw. You only saw flashes of the creature's face in the bars of moonlight: you wish you hadn't. You had never seen Chuey take this form before. //El Chupacabra, El Chupacabra.// Is this what we'd become? No, no, you didn't want to see. You swiped at those all-seeing eyes. Take it away, take it away. The creature staggered back. Bleeding. Blind. The smell of blood was tempting, but you tore yourself away. Scrabbled, while you had the time, for the Datsun keys. ]} You got the hell out of Dodge. That was the [[last time->194X Start]] you saw your Sire. ]

"Hello, $name." It's coming from the telephone, and you can barely hear it. It had been left off the hook, and as you grab it to bring it up to your ear, you hear a dissatisfied laugh. "Tell me," The voice had (cycling-link: bind _Haas, "a German", "an Austrian") accent. You gripped the (link-reveal: "receiver")[(show:?haas)].(if: _Haas is "a German")[(set: _Haas to "Dietrich")](if: _Haas is "an Austrian")[(set: _Haas to "Jaeger")] |haas)[ "Tell me," _Haas repeated, "Is it a boy, or a girl?" Just then, $mother screamed. You turned and ran. {(if: $clan is not "Tremere")[When you see the doctor, he is shaking his head.]} There is no life in the birthing room. Sunlight and childbirth--things that could kill a vampire. But what of the [[Childe->Child(e)]]?]

"Hello, $name." It's coming from the telephone, and you can barely hear it. It had been left off the hook, and as you grab it to bring it up to your ear, you hear a dissatisfied laugh. "Tell me," And for some reason it sounds like (if: $resonance is "choleric")[Annie, and Armine, like every woman's voice.](if: $resonance is "phlegmatic")[Mrs. Davenport, and the Kid, overlapping, too similar.] "Tell me," the Woman repeated, "Is it a boy, or a girl?" Just then, $mother screamed. You turned and ran.{(if: $clan is not "Tremere")[When you see the doctor, he is shaking his head.]} There is no life in the birthing room. Sunlight and childbirth--things that could kill a vampire. But what of the [[Childe->Child(e)]]?

"Hello, $name." It's coming from the telephone, and you can barely hear it. It had been left off the hook, and as you grab it to bring it up to your ear, you hear a dissatisfied laugh. "Tell me," It was a lilting young woman's voice, the kind that sounds like it has no punch in it, but you recognized her. "Tell me," Plain Jane repeated, "Is it a boy, or a girl?" Just then, $mother screamed. You turned and ran.{(if: $clan is not "Tremere")[When you see the doctor, he is shaking his head.]} There is no life in the birthing room. Sunlight and childbirth--things that could kill a vampire. But what of the [[Childe->Child(e)]]?

Fire followed the House of $surname everywhere. Your family estate had burned in a fire. That's how $sire had found you. You were a $background, but you were still a $surname first and foremost. The loss had gutted you. There was nothing human for you to embrace anymore, so you took the Embrace of the Damned. {(if: $clan is "Malkavian")[Not Damned. You can just hear Selene now.]} Well, damned or no, you certainly were afraid of hellfire. You can smell the burning dashnovar again. But when you open your eyes, you're still in the old creaking hall. $mother screamed. You turn.{(if: $clan is not "Tremere")[When you see the doctor, he is shaking his head.]} There is no life in the birthing room. Sunlight and childbirth--things that could kill a vampire. But what of the [[Childe->Child(e)]]?

(if: $diablerie is true or $inquisition is true)[(display:"Player Final Death")](else-if: $bloodbond is true and $inquisition is false)[(display:"Childe Awakens")](else:)[(display:"Full Grown Childe")]

In fact, the chest is just your size. Just then, you hear a knock at the hidden entrance. Is there any choice but to (link-reveal: "open")[(show:?open)] it? |open)[ "It's time." It's the Child(e). Full-grown. Stunning. Beautiful, but not in the way of children's book angels: more like the seraphim, the cherubim. An unknowable, overwhelming beauty. Blinding, like fire. Terrifying, like fire. For, opening the door, you felt the sun for the first time in a hundred years. //End.//]

The silk lining is a $color color. {(if: $metaphor is "train")[Amongst the forged paperwork and compromising missivies, there is a child's train set. You thought it had been broken to pieces. You had gotten it for the Child(e).] (if: $metaphor is "song")[Amongst the forged paperwork and compromising missives, bright jewels and artifacts, there is a songbook. You thought you had forgotten the melody. It was something you used to hum for the Child(e).] (if: $metaphor is "rosary")[Amongst the forged paperwork and compromising missives, bright jewels and artifacts, there is an olivewood rosary. You thought you had lost it; you thought it had been broken. It was just a curious affectation from mortality. The Child(e) had played with the beads.] (if: $metaphor is "castle")[Amongst the forged paperwork and compromising missives, there is a miniature castle. You thought it had been broken to pieces. It was a reminder of Neuschwanstein. A reminder of ambition, of failure.]} Just then, you hear a knock at the hidden entrance. Is there any choice but to (link-reveal: "open")[(show:?open)] it? |open)["Always there is a member of the House of $surname." It's the Child(e). Full-grown. Stunning. Beautiful, but not in the way of children's book angels: more like the seraphim, the cherubim. An unknowable, overwhelming beauty. Blinding, like fire. Terrifying, like fire. "So you were the one to wake me?" "Yes, for there is much to do, and the nights aren't long." They turned to go. "Wait." They waited. "(link-reveal: "Open your mouth")[(show:?final)]." you said.] |final)[They hesitated, then did as they were told. Then they smiled the smile of a Kindred. //End.//]

The Child(e), in torpor. The two of you, sleeping through the New Millennium. Secret, safe, like Moses in a basket of reeds. Waiting for the right time. If you woke her, the work would begin. But one question still remained, still bothered and wormed its way under your pallid skin: Who had woken //you// from torpor? A phone is off the hook. A strange sense of deja vu accosts you. The phone rings. You go to answer. "$name." (if: $gender is "female" and $clan is "Ventrue" and $sireShip is "good")["Oh, Lazarus." you exhaled, almost (cycling-link: "worshipfully", "relieved", "uncertain how to feel"). You could hear him smirk. //"Welcome back to the dead."//]\ (else:)["$sire?" You heard a knock at the hidden entrance, and glanced between the door and the casket. Three makes family. //End.//]