ventrue file 3

8/3/2019 Ventrue File 3

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Your Majesty,

These are the files we found with the criminal.It appears he was in correspondence with another vampire, either working for him or blackmailing him. As you requested, I put his ashes in one bag and his hands in another.

Barnes



nail. My lineage. My sire was John Link. Hissire, my grandsire, was Octavia Werner, also

known as “Octavia the Mother” for the way she

babied – and punished – those lesser than her.

She was a great Dragon. Is a great Dragon, I

suppose, not that I’ve laid eyes or ears onher in the last thirty years. Her presence

was deeply commanding: a wash of red, a twist

of hunger, a flurry of old and dead passions

stirred like moths shaken from a branch. She

would hold me and her other lesser in her arms,gently scratching their backs until the skin

started to wear away. Comforting.

Lion: If you say so. And her sire?

Lord: Mindaugus. Lithuanian gentleman, as

old as the word “old.” Never met him, I’mafraid, but John described him as a long,

reedy, pale thing. Tall and dusty like a bone

stuck in the earth. He could feel the inti-

mate movements of his domain: every footfall

upon the ground, every snap of every twig,every breath from every traitor within its

borders. Not many kings like that anymore,

I’ll tell you that.

Lion:

They say some within our people cando that.

Lord: In the Savages? Forgive me, but notbloody likely. Anyway. Before Mindaugus, you

have Vytautas. Said to be a god, birthed from

the Crone’s own black belly. Don’t know that

I buy that. I know John didn’t, and Octavia…well, she’d seen enough in her life and Re-

quiem to question the realities of divinity

versus profanity. Still. It’s a fascinating

tidbit. Vytautas was said to be a “god of

impeccable grooming.” Perhaps that’s trueafter all.

Lion: Not a hair out of place.

Lord: Exactly.

Lion: Moving on. The salon with theFrenchie name…

Lord: Les précieuses. Though that’s not thesalon’s name. That’s who attends the salon.

It means “the precious ones,” more or less. We

gather, play word games, invent fairy tales,

engage in fervid but mannered debate.

Lion: I thought I was talking to a Lord, not

a Lady of the Daeva.

Lord: Don’t make me take another finger, or

worse, the hand.

Lion: Sorry.

Lord: Fine. The Daeva are ruled by their

insipid passions. They are slaves to them,

whereas we are masters of ours. Is it wrongto be the masters of language? Of the social

spheres? Of manners? All the tools of war,

the tools of authority?

Lion: Telling fairy tales is the tool ofauthority?

Lord: You miss the point. Fairy tales are

fantastical, even whimsical. But they contain

morals. Dark and grim little lessons. Would

you like to hear one?

Lion: Go for it.

Lord: Let me see, let me see. Ah! Yes. Thetale of ’Tattercoats.’ Heard this one?

Lion: I have not.

Lord: Young Tattercoats was a little girl,granddaughter of a mighty lord. This lord, her grandfather, dared not look upon or talk to Tattercoats – who was, by the way, calledthat because he would only allow her nursesto dress her in rags and –

Lion: Tatters. I get it.

Lord: Don’t interrupt or you’ll lose the

lesson. Where was I? Of course. The grand-father, you see, hated the little girl witha passion, for her mother died giving birthto her. The grandfather blamed the little girl for such a bloody and brutal grasp at life, and that is why he summarily ignoredher at every turn. One night the mighty lordwent off to one of his many grand parties:a ball hosted by the local prince. Tatter-coats was, of course, not allowed to go to the royal ball, oh no. She stayed in thewoods, playing with a local gooseherd andhis wandering geese, when along came – canyou guess?

Lion: What?

Lord: Guess. I’m giving you the opportunityto interrupt. This is how we do it among theprecious ones. Banter. Back and forth.

Lion: Along came a spider?

Lord: Different story, sorry. No, along came the prince. He was lost in the woodsand unable to find his way to his ownparty! So he asked for directions, anddirty little Tattercoats told him theway. He asked her to come to the ball at midnight, dressed just as she was, and hewould reward her.

Lion: So she went to the ball…

Lord: Obviously she did. And at midnight,

not only did the prince ask for her hand inmarriage, but the gooseherd became a magi-cal piper and the geese became her squires.And when they did, her tattered rags becamea gown as beautiful and diaphanous as moon-light. She became the princess and one day the queen, and the mighty lord – who had vowed to never look upon her – could neveragain rejoin the royals.

Lion: Great story.

Lord: The lesson, please.

Lion: The lesson, please, what?

Lord: Tell me the lesson?

Lion: Don’t have kids?

Lord: Funny. No. The lesson is to always keep your eyes on your childer; because if youdon’t watch them, they’ll one day rise up totake your place.

Lion: If you say so.

Lord: Do you not think it’s true?

Lion: Hell if I know. My sire is nowhere tobe found, either off pissing on trees in thewoods or a greasy pile of dust in an alleysomewhere. And I don’t have any plans to embrace – not that I could get permissionif I tried. Unlike you. Which leads to –

Lord: Why haven’t I chosen a protégé?



Lion: Yeah.

Lord: I will. It’s no quick thing, thischoice. As immortal creatures we have beenafforded the greatest benefit in regards tothe Embrace: we can choose our children. Weonly need to shape them as much as we care to. Otherwise, we see what is best and pickit, like going through an entire orchardand looking for the juiciest, fattest plum.Others, such as you Savages, those Succubi,

beget childer out of passion and grotesque spontaneity. Most of our kind watch the potentials for years, sometimes decades.A wine grows better by the age. So doesblood. We children of the night get betterand stronger as the long nights pass, so it only seems fitting to let our potential choices have their chance to ripen a bit,don’t you think?

Lion: So you’ve been watching. Your “potentials.”

Lord: Oh, yes. You should see the dossiers.I’ve got at least five competing for the hon-or, and another four who still have a chanceto shine. They

don’t know it, of course.They’ll know it when I’ve chosen, though. The one shall live. Eternally. The others… well, if they don’t measure up, I dare notrisk some weaker lout plucking them up offthe ground.

Lion: You’ll kill them.

Lord: Most likely. One might end up in my service. The rest? Eh. Disposable.

Lion: That’s cold.

Lord: Is it?

Lion: Yeah, if you ask me. Though, shit, I’msitting here missing a finger. So maybe I’mjust holding a grudge.

Lord: Which is so unbecoming. Are we done? I’mgrowing tired of this. The veiled insults. The attitude with which you assail me.

Lion: I guess that’s good enough. You askedme earlier if I was frightened of you.

Lord: Yes. I did.

Lion: I am afraid. But I look at you, and I see that you’re still a man, still hu-man in there. Clinging to it like a pieceof driftwood out in the cold ocean. Me? Idon’t know that I care so much about that part of me anymore. And that makes me less afraid. Maybe less afraid than I should be,I don’t know.

Lord:You offend me. You should go now, whileyou can escape with the rest of your parts

still attached.

Lion: Thanks for the interview.

Lord: You owe me, remember. I’ll call upon you.

Lion: No doubt.



To: Anonymous ([email protected])

Start Time: 11:10:28 AM; End Time: 1:45:39 PM

>I am changing.

>I have no pride in ancestry. My ancestors can go to hell. Some of them have. Sometimes by my hand.

>I merely will the blood to change, and I feel it change.

>IcanhearthingsthatIcouldnothearbefore.Thewaydataows

through a conduit is the way blood ekes through my dry arteries.>I can hear the data.

>Iwonderifit’sGodspeakingtome.

>I admit: that would make sense.

>I am better than the others. If He were to speak to anyone, whynot me?

>I deserve this.

Th is i s pr oba bly bull sh it .T h e th ing s sugge sted h er e a re j u st not pos si ble. T h is i sn’t a r ef ni ng o t h e bl ood ,i t’ s th e ra y i ng o a n

a lr ea d y t a t ter ed mi nd . I h a v e pr ov i d ed i t only i n t h e i nt er e st o compl et ene s s.


Start Time: 1:30:17 PM; End Time: 2:25:32 PM

>I am changing.

>I feel the blood shifting. Some have said it feels like a hardening of

the blood, a tightening of the vessels within, a girding.

>Idon’t feel that.I feel itloosening, relaxing, easing freeof its

mooring.Easingfreeofitsexpectations.

>I hate the others.

>Iloathemysire.BecauseIamyounganddiferenttheyhumiliateand

abuse me.

>Iwillhavemyrevenge.Theydon’tknowwhatIambecoming.


Start Time: 3:22:55 AM; End Time: 4:13:20 AM

>I am changing.

>I can feel power moving through the walls.

>I can smell information.

>I can plug CAT-5 cable into my neck, my arm, the back of my legand I can feel the data coming through me.

>I cannot change it, not yet.

>I cannot communicate, not yet.

>I will be able to soon, though. Five years. Maybe ten. Soon.


Start Time: 12:10:28 PM; End Time: 1:12:45 PM

>I have changed.

>Godhasgiftedmewewiththewaytodestroymybetters.

>Godhasshownmethewaytheworldsmerge.

>Godhasshinedhislightdownuponmeandgivenmehope.

>Godtoldmehowtoleavethisemptyeshbehind.>Godtoldmehowtheeshisasin,howmatterisbase,vile.

>Godtoldmehowthesoulandmindarefree,arepure,aregood.

>I will be good. My blood is pure.

>IamGod.

>Upload complete.



The Houston underworld is tricky in recent nights. We used to share the night with home grown criminals, people who respected order and hierarchy (if you took them on their own terms). One of the lovely things about damnation, of course, is being able to tell people what their own terms are. Now... we’re packed in. Stuck with foreigners and heretics and parasites, the living and the dead alike.

Colonel Lake could have kept a lid on this stew. That was his one and only virtue.Unfortunately, Lake went rabid, and I had to put him down. I have to put down a lot now. Which is why I met with Clark White, the Middle Man.

GENEVIEVE: May I call you Clark? Mister White?

We’re on neutral ground. A shed out in the suburbs. There’s a tone of respect in the

air, and I can’t tell if it’s his blood or his reputation.

CLARK: Sure. You know it’s not my name.

Yeah, I know. The kids say he’s been awake ve hundred years – that he sold himself to

the devil and drove a hard bargain.

G: Anything you prefer?

That devil was one of us. Always is. And so I’ve got a picture-perfect Indian, dressed in

a nice blue suit. Neat haircut, too. Bet he has to do it over every night.

C: Nothing you could pronounce, whitey.

Hint of a smile, there.

G: Whitey’s not my name, either.

He laughs, and that’s the rst sign I have that he’s a day past fty. New lines spider

across his skin, and for a moment I can believe he’s as old as they say. Scares the hell

out of me.

C: You wanted something?

G: A year ago, I hadn’t heard of you. Now I can’t stop. I’m curious.

C: You want to make a deal.

G: If we can.

C: If not?

G: Then you’re someone else’s problem. My College is worried about the peace, about

the Masquerade. Violence is someone else’s job.

C: Very civilized.

G: Very organized. Now, you’re from New Orleans?

C: Most recently. I’m from up northeast.

G: And your sire?

C: An Englishman. An exile who came to hunt savages in the woods. Easy prey, he

gured.

That ghost of a smile again.

G: You weren’t, I take it?

C: Oh, I was the easiest prey. Happens he realized the same the humans did... he

needed a native guide. So he and I came to an arrangement.

His accent slides around, this guy. Now he’s parodying a Texan, and it rubs me the

wrong way.

nother terview,d another ece from

enevieve, eaker for e College Harpies Houston.

e certainly a busy

ttle bee.



G: You make a lot of arrangements. The foreigners must respect you quite a bit.

C: ‘Foreigners.’ Not that far. Yes, they respect me. I understand them. They’re exiled,

hungry. A few were lucky enough to follow their herds, but now they face poach-

ers. Helps them to know that there’s somebody who will listen. Somebody who’ll be

listened to.

G: You’ve got quite a few friends in those herds, too.

C: My words go a long way, and they know that. Their families have been taken away.

Their homes, businesses. I’ve been helping them nd new ones.G: You’ve been helping some of them go back. Kindred and kine?

C: A few, yes.

G: You haven’t been sending them back alone.

C: I’ve been having a look at the territory. I told your Commander what they’ve seen.

G: And he’s shared it. Ghosts, demons, degenerates... we’re taking it with salt.

C: Even though your men say the same thing?

G: Our men are still having their look. They tell us your guys seem to be setting up

shop. Making reservations?

It’s an outside shot, but it’s an insult. Hooks what I want.

C: You know about that, huh?

G: We know. We know you helped generations of Yankee soldiers push your peoplearound. Box them up nice and neat so you didn’t have to follow them around.

C: Jealous?

G: I admire the elegance. New Orleans took the Catholic centuries to put together.

You’ve been putting up happy hunting grounds for fun every fty years or so.

C: Don’t give me too much of the credit. The mortals did most of the work.

G: The way it should be. You’re putting a lot of work into New Orleans now, though.

C: People who listen to me are.

G: Everyone listens to you.

C: Exactly.

G: Except for the Commander. He’d like to be friends. But he wants you to pull your

men back here.C: He’s not in a position to make me listen to him, either.

G: Fair.

We’re both smiling, right into each other’s eyes.

C: We can’t do business, can we?

G: I don’t think it’s my problem.

ventrue file 3

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