Wake Up, Mother!

Character fiction from a troupe Vampire: The Masquerade LARP...

Wake Up, Mother! 

by Simon W

Jakob took a steadying breath he didn't really need. He'd been a Brujah for over a hundred years. But right now the second scariest vampire he'd ever met was asking really uncomfortable questions. 

"Did I stutter?"

Jakob couldn't help the small flinch. "No, sir.... uh, I mean No, Imperator. I heard you. I just.... she asked for ten years."

"She's not getting it. She's needed now."

Jakob gulped. Imperator Black had a reputation and from what he could see it was well deserved. While not currently threatening violence, he carried himself with the air of that being able to change very quickly whenever he wanted. There was only one other vampire Jakob had ever met who carried themselves in that same way. He wondered, briefly, if it was a characteristic of the Gangrel clan. 

A look from Imperator Black made him stop wool gathering. Jakob realized he needed to be rational. It's not as though he was actually being given anything remotely like a choice. "Ok," he said, "follow me. It will take a moment to prepare things."

And with that, he went to one of the outer buildings in the compound where he and two others of his line had been living for the past three years. They didn't participate in kindred politics out here and it wasn't near anything like a proper domain. It was just the place they lived and they did their best to keep out of the way of their neighbors, both supernatural and mortal. He quickly grabbed one of the herd of sheep that they tended and, after considering for a moment, simply broke the animal's neck. He was going to need all of it. After that he led the Imperator to the stone cairn that was near the back of the property under a tall conifer. He hung the dead sheep so that the blood dripped down onto the stones. And then, as he knew he would need to, he waited. 

Once gravity had done its work and most of the sheep's blood had fallen to the stones and been absorbed into the ground Jakob took a breath and yelled, "Mother! Mother, wake up! You're needed." There was no response for several moments. Jakob stamped on the ground. "Mother! Mother, wake up! Nathaniel Black is here and he says you're needed!"

Several more moments passed. Jakob was prepared to shout again when he noticed the soil starting to shift under the stones. He backed up. 

The creature that burst out of the ground could only be called humanoid because of its shape, not its demeanor. They had blood red eyes, long sharp claws on what might be hands, and a sense of fury that was palpable; they leapt at Jakob nearly pummeling him to the ground. Only his superior strength allowed him to maintain his own balance and hold the creature as they spent their rage. He kept saying, over and over, "Mother, it's me Jakob, your youngest son. I'm here, I'm here, I'm here."

During it all, Jakob was aware that the Imperator was watching the entire scene with a neutral expression on his face. 

After what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few moments the creature's fury was spent. Red eyes dimmed, claws retracted, and Jakob found himself embracing rather than grappling a woman of slight stature who was sobbing into his shoulder. He let her cry it out; from experience he knew she would calm herself after a moment but only if not admonished to do so. 

Her sobs subsided and soon she was standing in front of him. "Jakob, did I hurt you? What's wrong? It hasn't been ten years already has it?" 

"No, Mother, you didn't hurt me. It's... it's only been three years. But you see..."

"Nathaniel Black?" she said questioningly, looking past Jakob. "Are you here for clan business or does Hasfa need something?"

"He's not a servire anymore, Mother," Jakob said quietly. "He's the Imperator now... and Mother, there's something you should know..."

"Imperator?" said Saoirse at the same time that Imperator Black said, "A lot has changed in three years." They both looked at one another and raised their eyebrows. 

It was only at this point that Saoirse even seemed to become aware of her disheveled state. She looked down at herself. She looked at Jakob and Nathaniel. "How urgent is your business... Imperator? Do I have time to check on my children here and get cleaned up?

"You have until tomorrow night. I'll be back to collect you and explain everything." And with that he left, nearly as quietly and quickly as he had arrived. 

Saoirse looked at Jakob. "What has happened to the world since your father died? Maybe... maybe just the really important bits."

As they walked back toward the compound two other vampires came running out, greeting Saoirse with a combination of delight and fear. As the four entered the main house Jakob could be heard saying, "well first of all, the old Camarilla fell and now... now there is a new one."

Reflect Upon This and Weep

Character fiction from a troupe Vampire: The Masquerade LARP...

Reflect Upon This and Weep

by Simon W. 

May 2025 

The demon's mocking voice rang in Nyx's ears as they raced through the Abyss. Steven, the new mystic in town, had helped them into this plane of existence and by all rights they should be following him as the actual expert. But their blood was up and Mjölnir was singing and glowing blue with rage. So they charged into the depths and didn't even notice the slight curvature to the path or the ever downward slope. 

Eventually they reached what could only be called the bottom of the Abyss. The demon stood before them; tall as a building, their golden horns reaching to the sky. In that moment, Nyx realized that the curse of this Fae treasure, Mjölnir, was in fact going to come to pass. They'd had a great few months killing demons but now here was the very inevitable fall. They'd flown much to close to the sun and were about to suffer the same fate as Icarus. 

The demon looked at them, impassive and unreadable; and then something unexpected occurred. Nyx stood before themselves. Nyx found themselves chained, arms splayed out while they looked at themselves. The reflection smiled but it didn't reach their eyes. "You are so stupid; running in here without a plan. Some Sage you are. In the end you're as much prey to your emotions as everyone else. Only in them, it's normal and expected. From you? It's shameful and unworthy."

Nothing existed after that but darkness, dreamless sleep, stasis. Time stopped; which Nyx understood down to their bones because of the inherent nature of their blood. 

***

Time started again. A half second before the darkness lifted Nyx felt the inevitable ticking of the universe marching on. But something was wrong.

***

December 21, 2025

Nyx was standing outside a building that appeared to be in the woods. There was a moment of confusion and then, in a wild rush of sensation and chaos, eight months worth of memories suddenly flooded into their brain. 

Instructions, messages, reports, diversions, misdirection.... Nyx remembered everything that the reflection of themselves had done. They saw, in their mind's eye, every time the reflection had lied, had diverted attention away from the demon threat, had spied on the domain, had given the Mirrored Sovereign every bit of information he had asked for. And it had worked and he had succeeded and now Nyx was left with the knowledge that someone wearing their face had just betrayed everyone and everything they ever had cared about.

Nyx walked into a gathering in full uproar. The New Camarilla had finally realized the enormity of the problem they had missed for the past several months. The Elders were trying to organize and rally and everyone needed to ask Nyx what had happened. Nyx was as honest as they could be but they looked around and didn't see the person they really needed to apologize to.

In the midst of all of this, Reinhart, who claimed to be an ally and a friend suddenly attacked. But he didn't attack Nyx, he attacked Mjölnir. His overpowering strength from the potency of his blood destroyed the hammer utterly. It was later revealed that he had not been himself, but another reflection. But that was cold comfort as Nyx lost the last connection they had left to Arne. They'd given up the memories of him to a Dark Fae shortly after he'd died and only had gotten them back when they'd gotten the hammer. And they knew that those memories would fade again now that it was gone.

Eventually Nyx was able to go and try make their apologies to their own clan Elder but when they did there was another problem. Luka, who until recently had been calling himself Ulfric, said that he'd had a vision of the Fae mustering for war and no one knew why. But then he looked at Nyx. "where is the hammer?" he asked.

Nyx shrugged, "it got destroyed.... about an hour ago."

The silence that descended after that statement was heavier than millstones. And then, there was a frenzy of activity. The Prince told Luka to go take care of it and next thing Nyx knew they were in some sort of ritual circle. And then... they were in a green, sunny field that was filled with otherworldly beauty and a standing army. They same troll that Nyx had returned Mjölnir to after Arne's death was there, looking extremely disappointed. 

"Who destroyed the hammer?"

"I did, by way of not being able to prevent it from getting destroyed."

Luka didn't like that answer and revealed the name of the person who had actually done it. He and the king of these particular Fae creatures talked while Nyx just sat there wondering when the price of failure was going to be revealed. Eventually it came time to talk cost, which there always is with the Fae. 

"You will have the memories of the one who wielded the hammer before you. No one will be able to take them away from you and you will not be able to give them away."

Nyx agreed. Luka seemed relieved that the price wasn't higher. But that's because Luka didn't understand the nature of those memories. 

Eventually they returned back to the more normal world, which was still in chaos due to the events of the evening. Nyx still had more apologies to make and much work to do to make up for the damage they had caused over the course of the last eight months. But for now they were going to go home and grieve. 

And they knew, that on some level, they would be grieving the loss of Arne for all eternity now... 

Extremes

Extremes 

by Simon W

Druid Kaelan was looking expectantly at Ithil'lyn. He didn't need to say anything; Ithil'lyn knew he expected them to speak. They took a breath and tried to master their stage fright.

"Lord Ren, I don't talk to you very much because you are just so... big and vast and I am, I am so small." Ithil'lyn's wavering voice grew stronger as they focused more upon the God they were trying to communicate with than the circle of Old Ways faithful looking at them. "But I promise you that everything I've got is yours; I will protect, defend, and heal you with whatever I have."

Druid Kaelan smiled his approval before asking if anyone else had anything to say and the rite continued. Ithil'lyn internally sighed. They hadn't realized that they didn't like speaking in front of crowds before they had started their druidic training and it was going to be something they'd have to learn to be better at as it continued. 

After the rite, the channeling ritual began and Ithil'lyn lost all sense of time. They, along with all of the other channelers in Port Frey, became one with the tree roots of Tear. They were formless energy. Ithil'lyn lost all sense of their body and much of their sense of self. Instead they felt all of the life energy of every tree on the entire continent. It made them realize how true their earlier words had been about the vastness and the power of Ren and how small they were in comparison. When the group of channelers started to move the life energy around it was so massive that the effort of it overwhelmed Ithil'lyn's senses and all they could feel was life, magic, movement, and a sense of connectedness to every living being on Adelrune. 

When the ritual ended and Ithil'lyn found themselves back in their rather small, single Effendal body it was extremely disorienting. How does a person reconcile what they had just experienced. They wandered back to Port Frey in a happy daze, muzzy headed and blissed out. Eventually they arrived at Purser's Bank vaguely remembering that they needed to be there for some reason.

"Ithy, dear, are you here for my party?" Ithil'lyn stared for a moment at the dark haired woman speaking to her. Slowly things started to fall into place in their brain. This was Thespia, one of their best friends and... something else was trying to make itself known in their consciousness. Oh right, they were fighting over something. Thespia was angry at Ithil'lyn but she'd invited them to a party. Ithil'lyn remembered thinking that it was probably a good thing to have gotten the invitation because that must mean that Thespia wanted to stop fighting and be friendly again. 

"I'm a little loopy right now Thespia, I'm sorry," replied Ithil'lyn, "but I'll try to get into a party mood."

"Take a rest in the back. I'm still waiting for some of my other guests to arrive," said Thespia with a smile. 

Ithil'lyn found a cot in the back and lay down. They must have truly fallen asleep because it seemed like no time passed when Thespia was waking them up. But the nap had at least cleared up the sense of being disembodied. Ithil'lyn felt more like themselves. 

Thespia introduced their other guests, most of whom were strangers to Ithil'lyn. But Cyren, the Effendal from Ad Decimum whom Ithil'lyn had adopted as a son, was there. And Thespia said that Cecil would be along shortly. Cecil had gone from kin, to ally, to friend, to brother in Ithil'lyn's heart in the span of a year. Knowing that both Cyren and Cecil would be at the party made Ithil'lyn think they would actually enjoy themselves after all. 

The place that Thespia led the entire little group to was somewhat desolate and out of the way. There was a table and chairs but otherwise it looked abandoned. "Oh, Cecil said he was going to set up but he must have been delayed," said Thespia. 

"That's odd," Ithil'lyn replied, "he usually...."

Whatever Ithil'lyn was going to say never left their mouth as Thespia hit their leg with a gold brick, breaking the bone. Ithil'lyn stumbled back, awkwardly trying to hop, and ended up falling into the chair behind them. Thespia proceeded to tie them up with a rope. 

The pain of their leg was making it hard to concentrate but Ithil'lyn did manage to ask "What is going on?"

"Ithy, this is for your own good. You have a terrible thing inside of you controlling you and it needs to come out... NOW!" Thespia yelled and her three other "guests" pulled out surgical tools. 

The sight of the surgical tools made Ithil'lyn panic and they started to struggle against the bonds. There would be time for answers later, now the only thing on their mind was escape. One of the surgeons poured a potion down their throat but Ithil'lyn ignored it through sheer force of will. After that another one of the surgeons held them down and the third stunned Ithil'lyn so they couldn't react while the first poured a second potion down their throat. Sleep followed, dark and dreamless. 

When Ithil'lyn woke up they noticed that Malik's friend, Kellen, had arrived. And Thespia and her friends were doing battle with a long, vicious looking worm with armor plating. Thespia was hitting it with her gold brick and the surgeons kept pouring smoking potions down its maw. Eventually it stopped moving.

"Thespia," shouted Ithil'lyn, "what is going on, what are you doing to me?"

Three horrified faces stared at Ithil'lyn as all the surgeons seemed to realize at the same exact time that everything that had just happened was done without Ithil'lyn being aware of the plan beforehand. They came and started stitching them back up. "We are so sorry," they all said. 

"Stop!," shouted Kellen. "There's another one in there!"

Sheer pandemonium erupted as Thespia started yelling and the surgeons ripped out the stitches they had just been putting in. Without the benefit of a sleeping potion this time Ithil'lyn felt every cut and they screamed. "Cecil, save me!" and then "Somebody help, anybody, help!" Thespia put a gag in their mouth but Ithil'lyn still screamed. The pain was maddening; every nerve felt like it was on fire and it brought to mind every beating they had received in their childhood. 

The second worm was removed and killed and the surgeons finally stitched Ithil'lyn up. They were highly skilled but at this point it hurt to be alive, much less sewed together so Ithil'lyn couldn't really appreciate their abilities. They screamed at Thespia that she was a horrible person and a monster. 

"I'll be your bad guy if you need me to be, Ithy." replied Thespia, "I love you."

"Well I don't love you!" hurled Ithil'lyn with as much venom in their voice as they could muster. 

Cyren convinced one of the surgeons to repair Ithil'lyn's broken bone but of course it hurt. One more agonizing pain to lay at Thespia's feet. He untied the ropes and Ithil'lyn stood up. They took a step forward, eyes on Thespia, but Cyren put his body between them. "Ithil'lyn, listen to me," he pleaded, "that thing inside you was controlling you; it was killing you."

"Very slowly!" Ithil'lyn snapped. "Cyren, we had an agreement, that thing and I. I was handling it!"

He looked skeptical. "I don't think you were. And it was going to get worse and it would have killed you."

"That's hardly a compelling argument for me."

Cyren looked very sad. "Ithil'lyn, please. That thing would have killed other people. You're a member of the Effendal Council. Can you imagine how much damage it could have done?"

As his words sank in Ithil'lyn realized how stupid they had been. And with that thought came shame and extreme embarrassment. This, combined with the pain they were still feeling, made the world red tinged with rage. "Cyren, my son, you aren't the first target of my anger. But you also aren't my last. Get out of my way so I can deal with Thespia!"

He wouldn't move and Ithil'lyn reached their hand out to him. The same hands which had healed an entire continent only hours before drained some of his life away. Thespia yelled, "keep them away from me!" and Cyren just looked both sad and determined. He stayed between Ithil'lyn and Thespia and Ithil'lyn knew that there was no way they would actually kill him to get to Thespia so they just left. 

Ithil'lyn stalked down the road toward the bank with Cryen trailing behind. They tried to get help from several passers by, but every time they told the story of Thespia assaulting and hurting them, Cryen oh so helpfully provided context. Everyone took Cyren's calm retelling of the tale as truth and told Ithil'lyn they were sorry but they couldn't help. 

By this point the frustration of feeling like no one cared about their pain was overwhelming. It was at this point that they came across Cecil. "Cecil!" Ithil'lyn shouted, stalking over to him. "Did you know?! Were you in on it?!"

Cecil blinked down at Ithil'lyn in confusion. "Did I know what? Thespia said she wanted me to go to a party but she didn't say where. I've been walking around in circles in town looking for you." 

"I screamed for you. I hoped you'd hear me." 

"Ithil'lyn.... " Cecil now looked very concerned. "Tell me what happened."

Ithil'lyn told him. By now they were far enough from the worm's influence that they were able to truthfully tell him that it was probably for the best that it had been removed. But as they described the procedure that had been done and the fact that they had been conscious for most of it he looked more and more horrified. "Let's go find Thespia," he said, "you have to challenge her to a duel; I'll be your champion."

"I don't want to challenge her to a duel," snapped Ithil'lyn. 

Cecil wasn't listening. He was talking to another knight trying to sort out how to arrange this honor duel. Eventually Ithil'lyn realized someone had asked them a question. "Hmmm?" they asked. 

"What do you want to do? Do you want to challenge Thespia to a duel?" 

"No!" said Ithil'lyn through gritted teeth. "I want to kill her myself."

There was a moment of stunned silence and then Cecil said, "I guess we'll go to the bank then." As they walked toward the bank he didn't say anything which Ithil'lyn was grateful for. If one more person tried to convince them that they weren't justified in their anger they would probably start crying. 

When they arrived at the bank, Thespia was there with some of her cousins. She looked up guiltily as Cecil approached her and started to say something but he cut her off. 

"Why did you hurt Ithil'lyn?" he demanded. "Yes, you got that thing out of them and I'm grateful to you for that. But don't you understand that Effendal senses are much more highly tuned than yours. We feel pain more deeply. You could have taken provisions to make sure they didn't feel so much pain. You could have planned better!" 

Ithil'lyn couldn't hear whatever Thespia tried to reply over the roaring of the blood through their ears. They had never felt this angry. Decades of people who should have protected them hurting them instead flooded their memory. A lifetime of mistreatment that they'd never complained about or been able to stop all coalesced into anger at this one Trahazi woman who had hurt them while trying to be helpful and the feeling of rage was all consuming. 

Ithil'lyn realized that, once again, they had missed someone asking them a question by being so lost in their thoughts. "What are we doing, Ithil'lyn" Cecil asked gently.

"I'm killing her, Cecil." There was no venom left in Ithil'lyn's voice. They were weary and just wanted this to be over with. 

"Where?"

"Let's take her to Effendal Camp."

Cecil picked Thespia up while she screamed. She shouted at Ithil'lyn that they were ungrateful and Ithil'lyn shouted at Thespia that she was a monster. Many of the citizens of Port Frey and many of the Returned stared at the little drama in shock. 

There were Effendal at the camp but Ithil'lyn barely noticed them. Cecil held Thespia down and Ithil'lyn reached for her to start draining the life out of her. 

"I'll be your bad guy if you need me to," Thespia said again. "I love you."

"I don't love you," snarled Ithil'lyn. 

Something made Ithil'lyn stop. Was it guilt? Was it friendship? Was it something else? Instead of killing Thespia, Ithil'lyn left her at Effendal Camp half alive. As they stalked away, guilty, ashamed, and still hurting both physically and mentally they said, to no one in particular, "I don't think we're friends anymore. How could we be with all that we've done to one another today?" 

And, for the first time since the whole debacle started, Ithil'lyn wept. 

Reaching an Accord

Character fiction from a troupe Vampire: The Masquerade LARP...

Reaching an Accord 

by Simon W. 

May 2023

Arne was so proud of himself. It radiated off of him like a warm glow. He'd encountered some actual Trolls and they had challenged him. After he'd successfully risen to the challenge they told him he was honorable and giving him a treasure, the hammer Mjölnir. It was a true religious artifact as far as he was concerned and he treated it as though it was approval from the Gods he revered. 

***

Of course, two months after gaining the hammer, in July of 2023, Arne was dead. After releasing Nyx into a society he was very honest about not fully believing in, he died for said society rather than spend any time at all acting as a spy or a turncoat. Nyx had wanted to die too, but the Phoenix Society hadn't given them that option. 

Nyx returned Mjölnir to the people who had made it in August. They had tried to convince Nyx that it was theirs now but Nyx told the Trolls that it had been a gift for an act of honor and Nyx had no honor with which to make any claims to keep it. The Trolls had been skeptical. But they accepted the artifact back. And then Nyx had sat back and not done a thing to help the Camarilla from the ravages of the 4th Anarch Revolt. They hadn't actively participated on the side of the Anarchs, they just hadn't lifted a finger to save the Camarilla from itself. Which, when it comes right down to it, was basically the same thing. 

The other Kindred of the Los Angeles domain assumed that Nyx was doing nothing because they were grieving Arne. Which they absolutely were. And maybe they couldn't have stopped the inevitable anyway, but occasionally the knowledge of their betrayal by inaction bothered them. 

The Anarch Movement ran Los Angeles for a while, until Lilith arrived with Her plans and Her schemes and Her power. And that was the end of Los Angeles. Nyx had been in an extradimensional space for a while so they hadn't seen the end. In fact, the last thing they had done in Southern California before getting swept into that space had been to try and go warn the Trolls that they were in terrible danger and they needed to get out of the area. Of course, Nyx had been too late. When they arrived the Trolls were all dead and the true horror of what Lilith planned to do had been laid bare. 

And now here they were, in the domain of San Francisco which traversed the entire area from the city by the bay to silicon valley. Nate, no, Prince Black, had managed to convince the four remaining Anarchs that it was in their best interests to join his New Camarilla. And Nyx had rejoined, of course, but not because they believed in Nate's New Camarilla any more than they had believed in the old Camarilla. They believed in Nate though, and they thought that maybe they should try and give Arne's death some meaning. Like part of some macabre joke from an uncaring universe Mjölnir had showed up in Nyx's haven and refused to leave. 

***

March 2025

Mjölnir glowed a faint blue which seemed odd. Nyx carefully made their way down the dark alley outside of the museum that everyone else was gathering in. Something was scrabbling around in the dark area by a pile of dumpsters. As Nyx approached they saw a clawed hand reach out and then, in the blink of an eye, an actual demon launched itself at them. Nyx swung Mjölnir and it connected with the demon's body with a satisfying thwack. The demon was momentarily stunned and that moment was all Nyx needed; they beat the demon into a pulp until nothing was left but a pile of red and black ashes. In those few moments Nyx felt nothing but the absolute rightness of their actions. This was what they were meant to do, this is why they existed. Nothing mattered but the simple fact that demons were an existential threat which must be destroyed, preferably with maximum violence. 

Afterward Nyx stood in the dark alley, blinking slowly. Mjölnir's blue glow faded and it looked only like a hammer again. Nyx looked at it and then they looked at the pile of ashes at their feet. Mjölnir no longer felt like an unwelcome weight in their hands; instead it now felt simply like an extension of their will. 

Normally this would be the time when Nyx would have so many questions about what on earth was going on. But instead they simply squared their shoulders and turned to head back inside. They'd reached some sort of accord with the artifact and only time would tell if this would be beneficial or would be their doom. 

The Night Never Answers

Character fiction from a troupe Vampire: The Masquerade LARP...

The Night Never Answers

by Simon W. 

February 2025

Nyx stared at the chat log fragment like an amateur entomologist studies a particularly interesting butterfly. This was what they had been looking for. It wasn't actually good news. But it was news and right now that is what was important. 

“RedDeadProtocol: we got out. too many watching. can’t trust anyone anymore, they’ll track us down. safe houses have been compromised. don’t go to Philly. Philly’s dead. there’s some in san antonio. just stragglers. more are dead than we thought. cover your tracks. fear Vanessa and anyone with the mark of old revolution. old dogs compromised.”

Nyx was practically the newest dog in the revolution. And they had no idea how they were supposed to hold together something that they barely believed in. If the Anarch Movement was on life support, then whoever should be trying to revive it should be someone who burned for the cause. But instead they'd elected a disaffected academic who didn't give a shit about sectarian politics to the role of Advocate. Nyx shook their head. What was wrong with people, really? 

July 2023

Nyx leaned against the wall uncomfortable in a room full of strangers. The tall woman fully decked out in  motorcycle club regalia beside them didn't make things any better. They wondered if the was any way to give her the slip and leave this place.

"Fix your face, new kid," said the woman. Her voice wasn't exactly unkind but it was absolutely no nonsense. "Every thought you have shows up on it."

"You know what I'm thinking, Constable?"

"Yes, you're wondering if you could possibly give me the slip and run. And I promise you that you can't." 

Nyx grunted noncommittally but stayed put. The image of a sword slicing off Arne's head and him turning to ash at their feet still loomed large in their brain. No one here had a sword, that they could see, but still it seemed so stupid of these people to just.... keep Nyx alive like this. 

The one who'd introduced himself as Sampson earlier came back over from across the room. With him was possibly the most stunning woman Nyx had ever seen. Dressed in red, with long brown hair, and a beautiful smile, which Nyx noticed didn't reach her eyes, she had an air of command that was unsettlingly powerful. "Nyx, lovely name that, I hear you're our newest recruit." She laughed but it was so polished and perfect that it sent ice down Nyx's spine. "My name is Vanessa and I'm the Advocate around here."

"Hello... Advocate. I'm not exactly sure what the folks who dropped me here have told you but I'm not exactly a recruit, more like a..."

"Let me stop you there, Nyx," said Vanessa. "You've been personally vetted by the Phoenix Society. From what I understand you have no real ties of loyalty to the Camarilla and I'm told you're intelligent. What is the logic in betraying the Anarch Movement, when we mean you no harm and can offer you more freedom than that decrepit ivory tower ever could?" Vanessa gave Nyx a level glance. "You don't have any real ties to the Camarilla, do you?" 

"That Ventrue witch murdered the only tie I had to anything really, politically or otherwise, in front of me." 

"Wonderful," Vanessa flashed her insincere perfect smile again. "Well, I'm sure that Sampson and Lorena can sort you out nicely. Sampson, be a dear and let our Phoenix Society allies know that we've accepted the package." And with that, Vanessa turned to walk away.

"Wait!" Nyx stepped forward, surprising Lorena enough so that she didn't immediately stop them. "Why are you doing this? I'm not one of you. I'm not one of anything! But still, what makes you think you can trust me to not just immediately go back to the Cam and tell them where you all are? Why do all of you Anarchs have so much God damned faith in me?!"

Vanessa turned around slowly. "Oh my dear, I am an excellent judge of character. Which is, among other things, why I don't expect that you and I will ever speak again socially. You are driven by logic and rational thinking. And the course of action you just described would be emotional and impulsive. That simply isn't you. Welcome to the Anarch Movement, Nyx. Goodbye." 

Nyx watched Vanessa walk away, utterly bewildered. "That went surprisingly well," said Lorena who was once again beside them. Come on, new kid, it's time for you to learn. I hear you're good at that."

February 2025

Nyx groaned. Apparently Vanessa really was a good judge of character. Because she had been correct, they had never spoken socially again. Which is why Nyx had never been able to see what should have been obvious. But they'd been grieving during that one conversation of significant length so they had missed all of the signs. 

They stood up at walked over to the window in the room they'd turned into their library. San Jose's skyline reminded them of Boston, actually. Less brick, certainly, in this earthquake prone region, but still it seemed more solid and serious than Los Angeles ever had. This was a place that Nyx could make home, at least for a little while.

But what were they going to do about the Anarchs? They needed a champion. They needed a true believer. And Nyx... Nyx was just a three year old vampire who'd managed to successfully betray every single person or group who'd ever believed in them. It wasn't a great track record, all things considered.

"I wish you were still here, Arne. I think I wouldn't be such a mess if you were."

The night didn't answer. It never did. 

San Francisco Retrospective - Personal Notes

Character fiction from a troupe Vampire: The Masquerade LARP...

San Francisco Retrospective - Personal Notes 

by Simon W. 

Nyx takes out a notebook and starts writing in a cipher. The translation follows: 

This evening was the first official court gathering of the Court of San Francisco, domain of the New Camarilla. I see little evidence that is has deviated very much from the "old" Camarilla. 

Nathaniel Black, Prince: The mantle of prince seems to lay very heavily on Nate's shoulders, not because he isn't good at it. In fact he's very effective and probably will be an admirable leader. But it's so clear to me that he hates it. Something about the way he stands. The only time he seemed comfortable all evening was when he was shouting at Jane. 

Vex, Nosferatu Primogen: Overly friendly, helpful, and interested in interpersonal connection. These are excellent qualities in a human politician. In a Kindred they are a trap. Almost certainly useful as an ally; he is a scholar and trader of information like the best of his clan. He is probably someone I can work effectively with once we establish some boundaries around the fact that I am not going to be his friend. 

Byron Creed, Brujah Primogen: Insecure, frightened, and possibly weak willed. He has too much to prove and is very loud. Of course he is hiding something. Only time* will tell if the rest of the domain finds out what it is before I do. He is playing his part very well but I wonder who is directing the action, his own internal drive or someone else. Clearly I will need to interact with him more. 

Felix Stone, Sheriff and Victor Zane, Scourge: Both able and willing to hide themselves with ease. They seem devoted to their particular tasks but otherwise could be entirely ignored. This, of course, makes them exceptionally dangerous. I shall have to find a way to observe them without their noticing me.  

The local Anarch Movement is comprised of only 6 members, all of whom are refugees from Southern California. The intelligence we were given is that all of the rest of the Anarchs from Southern California either joined an infernalist cult or died. I will need to verify this independently. 

Nyx, Brujah (Sage): Myself. Only notable because for reasons I am still trying to understand, the others elected me to be Advocate. I will do the job temporarily until one of the others is in the proper mindset to take it over. It sits heavily on my shoulders and I hate it. 

Reinhard, Ventrue (Crusader): The logical choice for Advocate. He was around during the founding of the sect and clearly believes in the cause (unlike myself). Has some sort of familial relationship with one of the Camarilla Elders. He claims he wishes to "retire" which strikes me as false given that he is both Ventrue and idealistic. 

Jane, Gangrel (Coyote): Still has impulse control problems. Still values clan/familial ties more than sectarian/political ones. Develops strong personal relationships and is fiercely loyal to those she cares about. A logical solution would be to encourage her to form a friendship with Kait. 

Kait, Brujah: Another true believer in the cause, like Reinhard. A logical choice for his second and enforcer. Emotionally volatile but able to control most of her impulses. 

Peter, Clanless: Ambitious, canny, enjoys being underestimated. Could be very dangerous if influenced by antisocial forces. Also logically should be encouraged to form a friendship with Kait. 

The Smith, Torreador: I remember them from Southern California. Adept at their craft and seemingly uninterested in politics. Could be a useful person to ground the others into seeking to build something rather than tear things down. 

Logical next steps are to encourage the Anarchs to bond emotionally so that they all depend on one another more than they look to me for leadership. With careful planning I may be able to remove myself from a leadership role in a few months and go back to my studies. 

There were some other persons of note in the domain.

Roberto Giovanni, Don of the Southwest: Has been a helpful ally in the past. We have an adequate working relationship. He has not yet adjusted to my new limitations (or are they advantages) but he, of all people, will be less put off by my being less emotional than I was previously. 

Tiberius Crassus, Ventrue Elder: Has some familial relationship to Reinhard. Carries himself like an apex predator. His attitude toward Anarchs is very specifically hostile which tells me that the stories of the Southern California infernal cult are considered vital enough to relay to elders awaking from torpor very early on in their debrief. Whether this is because the information is factually correct or propaganda is still unclear. More research is needed. 

* this is clearly my attempt at humor 

Nyx stared at their handwriting for several minutes after finishing. Then they placed it in a file labeled "Sociological Research - SF 2025". After that they wandered over to the window in the room and stared out at the nighttime skyline of downtown San Jose. It was going to be a fascinating year. 

Popcorn Worthy

 Character fiction from a troupe Vampire: The Masquerade LARP...

Popcorn Worthy

by Simon W. 

Nyx read the invitation again. They found themselves wondering who exactly this Hand of the Prince, Shoto Sasaki, was because their missives left a fascinating impression. 

"His Grace will meet with his Primogen prior to the official Gathering and then take audience from those of the New Camarilla. Following, he will speak with representation from the Independent Alliance, followed by providing a small amount of time to members of the Anarch Movement who wish to undoubtedly wish to offer a chance at forgiveness. I am sure His Grace will be considerate and merciful."

Nyx wondered about the local Anarchs. They hadn't really had a chance to find many of them yet. And they weren't sure if they were actually in as weak a position as the Hand's message was trying to convey or not. It could absolutely be true. But it could also be that this is what the Hand wanted people to believe. Nyx was skeptical and intended to keep an open mind. Still, this sounded a lot like wishful thinking. Nyx remembered the brutal efficiency with which the Anarchs had destroyed so much of the old Camarilla. They doubted that all of those who'd planned and organized that had been in Southern California when whatever it was that happened down there had happened. Which meant they were still lurking in the shadows. And that probably terrified the Kindred who were trying so hard to form this New Camarilla. 

Sectarian loyalty was not a concept that Nyx found comfortable. That's what happens when you start your entire journey as a vampire as a double agent and then quickly discover that the only person you can really trust is yourself. They used to feel like they could trust another, but he'd died for his ideals and Nyx found that... distasteful. Believing in anything that much seemed like a liability and Nyx didn't intend to make that mistake. Still, the Anarchs had provided a better environment for unfettered scholarship than the old Camarilla had. Nyx wasn't sure if this New Camarilla would be any better. They didn't plan on jumping ship, however. There was no reason to leave the Anarchs at this point, unless it was to set off completely on their own and belong to no sect at all. Which was still very much an option on the table as far as Nyx was concerned. 

It would be interesting to see Nate again. Nyx was very curious to see if the relationship between himself and his second was really as strained as it appeared from afar. Because it certainly seemed like it wasn't a match either of them were entirely happy about. Watching the interplay of the court of this New Camarilla would probably be excellent research. Nyx resolved to bring a notebook to court... and also some popcorn.