So, the Ordo Dracul was behind all sorts of monstrosities that befell the city. They kept a drauger chained up, and “observed” him in this bestial state for 30 years before idly tossing him into Dorian’s domain. They have been dealt with…and Raphael Pope was sacrificed on the alter of expediency. 2 threats removed. Not a bad way to cap the events.
Kat is now a hound…and an Acolyte of the Crone. I cannot say it surprises me; the “freedom” espoused by the Pagans would appeal to her sensibilities. Vitale is now the sole Vassal for Hell’s Kitchen, free to make whatever horrid arrangements or dealings he feels necessary. I fear for the safety of that domain.
Myself, on the other hand, have inherited Vassalage of Chelsea. I have fulfilled my obligations to former Coterie members: Jimmy has been…altered…and send to California. Evalysse and Vincent Cole Jr I have embraced. The former tenants of Chelsea have left, and I wanted to ensure my dominion of the area was not challenged…and could be molded to fit my ideal.
As I sit in the Limelight, watching the herd mingle and indulge in absent minded pleasures, I frequently wonder what is in store for the future. Will the Carthians rise up against the Invictus? Will the Sangiovanni attempt to betray the Lance? Will Salvaro be replaced as Regent? All these things clutter my mind, but as the pretty young woman that catches my eye mingles throughout the club, the potential for sweet, sweet Vitae tempts me more. Sometimes the best course of action is to focus on the future 10 minutes from now, instead of 10 years from now. For now…unlife is good.
I thought I left the hell of a battlefield behind me in my mortal days. I was far, far wrong. The mindless beast of a Carthian tipped his hand and showed himself tonight, and the damage wrought was…great and terrible.
We assaulted his base of operations, and it minded me of hell. Endless waves of annoying birds, resolve shattering dread, and deathly surprises at every corner…including the weaker willed and weaker blooded members of my coterie temporarily turning on each other and Kat almost ashing Rai!
That was not the worst of it though. Apparently, a robed figure that I can only assume to be Juan’s demented sire captured and attempted to kill Vitale…and damn near succeeded. Juan showed his monstrous allegiance, and attacked Kat, who was swiping at the mysterious vampire. After causing their retreat, I ran across the way to the other fight…where Rabies and his coterie, along with the Sheriff and a few deputies were engaging the naked larvae leader. I arrived just in time to see Rai get ashed by the feral beast. I promptly put a bullet into him, dropping him torpid, but the damage was done.
From this debacle, Rai has died, Steve was killed, Juan turned traitor, the Hounds are dead, and both Salvaro and Dorian politically weakened. This is not what I call a good day. And now, the fallout happens…and I have some debts to the dead and departed to repay.
Maybe there is a curse on Hell’s Kitchen, or at least that’s what the rumor is. With all the chaos I wouldn’t be surprised for our streets to have been jinxed by some awful hydra headed witch intent of damning us even further. The whispering around the Elysiums is that the power hole left in our hood will be hard to fill. With Steve, Rai, and Juan dead or missing, that brings the count up to 9 vassals in a matter of months. That can’t sit well with the brass. Not to mention that two of those disappearances are a direct result of a one very psychotic Nosferatu and his sire bent on killing the “wicked” around NYC.
The fact that the Doctor isn’t ash is only due to the fact that me and the old man were there to save his ass when the shit hit the fan…So, here’s the rub. The larvae and master slaughter the two hounds and their entourage of neonates sent in to investigate, I see this and bolt for the closest Elysium, contact the Sheriff and the blood hunt is on. We move in groups fighting our way into the youth center, and as we get to the worm master all hell breaks loose. The deranged “Draugr” pulls some trick that causes us to turn on each other, with claws and knives out we take a few good sized pieces out of each other until we snap out of it. Then the scream…we turn and the doctor is in the maw of this thing, huge, and black chewing on his neck like a chicken wing. If that wasn’t bad enough, Juan turns and tries to scare me away as I move in to slice this thing to bits , and again he’s vanished along with the boogie man after using the Doctor as a chew toy. I grab him and bolt to safety leaving the old man and Rai to fight the Draugr with the sheriff. I didn’t see what happened after, but the old man only brought what was left of Rai, some knives and clothes. Looks like the baddy got a few more licks in before going down.
And if that wasn’t enough, Juan comes back to finish the doctor. Like a fucking snake he sneaks in through the back door to kill him while his wounds are being tended. If it wasn’t for someone spotting him he would have done it too. We can’t find him now, long gone I’m sure, but if we do his requiem is forfeit along with his boogieman sires. So here’s to religious fervor, one large clawed middle finger.
So here we are, beaten to hell, torpid, or worse. The Kitchen is going to be a lonely place for a while, I hope the old man likes to play cards. Oh, and merry fucking Christmas.
With Christmas approaching, I’m once again reminded of the pain and misery I’ve spread. Ever since my wife left me and took the kids to her hometown in Mississippi sixteen years ago, what once was a celebration of the joy of giving on the anniversary of God’s greatest gift to mankind, has become a time of reflection on some of the unspeakable gifts I’ve given. Christmas 1967 was the hardest. I mailed gifts to my wife and kids, and I called her. We only talked for a few minutes, coldly exchanging holiday well-wishes and long awkward pauses. Finally, I asked to talk to the kids. There was a long pause. Then she politely said goodbye and hung up the phone. I was destroyed, but it felt good in a strange way. It was something I needed to feel for what I’d done. When your life feels like a nightmare, much as you want to wake up and find yourself sleeping next to your wife, in a world where you hadn’t been molesting children for 25 years, it also feels nice to know that you’re not asleep, and it all really happened.
Christmas didn’t bring me much joy until after my Embrace. As a doctor and Catholic, I always wondered how much our emotions were just tricks of neurochemistry, and how much of it was spiritual. Since the soul lacks a physical representation, there is effectively no way for a human to even begin to unravel that mystery. That is, until one finds himself without a soul. As it turns out, the soul has a profound role in emotion. The pain I now feel on Christmas is a pale shade of what I once felt. The love I feel for my wife and children is considerably diminished, and the lusts I once felt have all but vanished. For most Damned, I expect this would be problematic. But for me, this has relieved me of most of the guilt and pain that once defined me, freeing me to pursue new interests.
I’ve done some Christmas shopping this year for my fellow Vassals. I also considered getting Steve a gift, but it turns out to have been for the best that I didn’t, as he was just destroyed. I can’t say that I’m “excited” per se to see the looks on the other Vassals’ faces when they open their gifts, but I’m interested. I enjoy the grim humor in soulless monsters going through the motions of exchanging Christmas gifts. I’m similarly interested to find out what happened to Steve. Which reminds me: I haven’t seen Cookie around in a while. I wonder whatever happened to her.
Losing my cool is easy, its no surprise to me, I’ve always had a temper. What always gets me is this thing inside of me that goes from puppet to puppeteer in the blink of an eye. One moment its the lion, the next its the gazelle. My little run in with the vampire worms makes me realize that I have to keep my head instead of letting the beast bubble up to the surface each time I get pissed. It almost cost me my life last time.
The worms need to die along with their master. He sent them in to sniff around the neighborhood, likely looking for me after I found him at the abandoned YMCA. If this asshole wants a fight he’s going to get one. And next time he and his pets are going to be more than surprised.
The other don’t know about my new gift, and I’m going to keep it that way as long as possible. Something in me has changed after the indoctrination ceremony into the arms of the Crone. The Priestess tells me that my liturgy alone is sign of my growth, I have taken what I fear most and let it consume so I can be reborn. It’s no surprise its changed me in more ways than one, I can now transform by body into my fears like many other beasts can do, though I’ve only seen one other monster transform into many. I think that the flock that consumed me from the inside out left a piece of itself within and now I can break myself into pieces. It’s a blessing and curse at the same time, many mouths to feed with makes quick work of my prey, but my mind can barely handle it. I feel less and less like myself everyday.
I am beginning to question my choice of allegiances. With The Agency, there was purpose to our actions. For the most part, operatives worked under rules of engagement and the harm caused was an unfortunate part of the job. Some operatives enjoyed inflicting the pain of interrogations or the act of killing, but they were usually the sort of problem that took care of themselves by losing precision. When we killed, there was some strategic purpose to it or something the target had done to warrant it. Bad men meeting bad ends, our bullets or blades bringing a close to a vicious wasted life and the threat that these men posed. Bombers, financiers, torturers. Some relation to the incivility that ran rampant in our areas of operation. This target was barely more than a child. Frightening in her… talents, but still a child. Obviously not much of a threat, she failed to injure anyone before killing herself. That was a costly bullet for me. Salvaro had mentioned earlier in the trip that he was going to need a new vassal to run the Limelight. My proposal to him earlier in the week met with delay, saying we’d discuss it over the trip. I have a sneaking suspicion that the proposal will meet with indifference at best. These creatures are beasts, inflicting pain with no regard for the kind of effect it has. Callous and cruel. I’ve been disturbed by the nature of my coterie members, and how inhuman they are becoming… it seems that the organization I’ve sworn allegiance to is providing the model for their behavior. I can’t abide this, I refuse to become so inhuman and purposeless. It looks like I may have to pursue my list of targets with little help, and as I do I’ll have to sit idly by while the my peers descend into madness.
I have found out firsthand the power of even the lowliest of our kind in large numbers. A few of the Carthian…spawns…were attempting to track me to my haven. Apparently, they like the smell of Lordly blood. They nearly managed to destroy Kat, for which I would not shed too large of a tear, but Rai and myself put the 3 of them down. We were going to interrogate one of them, when a more pressing engagement came to our attention: the death of our fellow Vassal, Steve.
Something is hunting vampires, be it ghosts, fellow Damned, or those pesky hunters. It worries me that something could be preying upon us, but I am not sorry to see Steve go. He was a vice-ridden pleasure seeker with loose morals. The kind of decadent Damned that waste their Requiem playing to mortal pleasures instead of doing the work of Longinus.
Perhaps it is time to expand our dominion. I would not mind stepping up to being a Vassal, or expanding our claimed territory. Then again, such frivolous concerns for mortal desires tends to get one destroyed in this city. I hope to see the day when this house of cards built by the arrogance of the First Estate erupts into flames of damnation and retribution.
The days at a new school are always hard. You go from being an 8th-grader, a lord among elementary students, to a lowly freshman, a little kid in a school of seemingly full-grown men and women. Until last week, that was my Requiem, but now I feel like I’ve passed a huge developmental milestone. Since my first night, I’ve had The Sight, and that’s a very useful thing, but I still felt like the psychic sheep among wolves. But now that I can move about unseen, I no longer hunt like a two-bit mugger looking for the lowest-hanging fruit. Now I slip through private places and take what’s mine. I follow people, hear their private mutterings, and witness their guilty pleasures. That’s when I like to reward them with a Kiss. The child pilfers a cookie after bedtime. The lonely man relaxes in the tub. The widow peruses dog-eared pages of campy ribaldry. The warm aftertaste of moral lust make these the most delicious moments.
Oh, and I think I may have just joined a secret society of Kindred doctors, there are swarms of mindless vampires in Dorian’s domain causing wanton destruction, and the FBI is coming down on our mortal allies. But I’m a touch intoxicated with my new-found power right now, so that may have to wait. For now, I’m going to go crawl into someone’s closet and kiss their skeleton.
Looks like my pet decided to open its big mouth about the gang activity in Hell’s kitchen in exchange for protection. I’m not surprised, its been wearing on him lately. He left a note saying he didn’t want to hurt me; I don’t know if that’s sincerity or fear talking. Either way, I didn’t do my job and the leash got a little too loose. The little fucker didn’t take into consideration the shit storm he brought down on all of us. Now I have cops and feds crawling around his sisters apartment in expectation of reprisal, and I have to find a new place to sleep. Not to mention the “police brutality” I exacted in order to find all this shit out. I’m not happy, not happy at all.
My options are to lay low, and hope that the Kitchen vice has enough or my blood in him to help me clean this up and stay hidden, or fake my own death if the feds want to come after me when the Westies start cutting deals for less jail time.
I’m remembering things I never thought were there for me to recall. I see feathers and beaks protruding from the cavity of my stomach. The priestess standing above watching makes me feel comfort in some degree. All I can hear is the soft scraping sounds of wing against wing, and that rubbery sound of flesh tearing. It’s all a haze of pain and fear at this point.
I remember being lost some four years ago, wandering around aimlessly in some shit hole swamp. The old woman is there, she lets me drink from her and I am satisfied. the blood is hot like fire. She says she is Bruja like me, but I don’t feel the beast within her.
The frenzy at my gut is getting more chaotic. I watch as two of the birds fly out of the hallow and fly onto the shoulders of the Priestess. They both pierce her head with their beaks and whisper something. She smiles.
I remember the two women in the woods. One with snakes for hair, the other covered in scorpions. When I saw them last they were asking about their sister, lost and confused. Now they are watching me from the rooftop giggling to each other like children.
Finally, as the pain reaches its crescendo. I see something crawl out from between the birds. One of them must have hit the spine because I scream before I even feel anything scuttle up my chest. She’s short and squat and partially covered in feathers. Her bare breasts hanging low laden with ruby nectar. Her eyes are lidless, her mouth agape. She cocks her head and something sharp jabs me in the chest. She drinks. Only a drop or two. It doesn’t hurt but I can’t feel anything beyond the weight on my chest.
Finally, it stops. The birds gone after their fill. I feel empty in more way then one. The fear is still there, but its washed out. I am unshackled and greeted with open arms. I am almost free.