I'm THAT Kind of Brujah

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

I'm THAT Kind of Brujah 

by Simon W. 

Nyx's alarm went off and they looked at the time. It was 6:30 am. They sighed, put a bookmark in the book they'd been studying and made their way to where they slept. They'd considered just setting up a place to sleep in the library about a dozen times but the idea of the books and scrolls being burned because some overzealous hunter wanted to kill them was just too much to stomach.

Some things are worth more than living forever, you see. Knowledge is one of those things. 

The song had played again in the night, and then a message from the Anarchs to the ex-Camarilla members of the domain of Los Angeles. And with that, it seemed like the third Anarch revolt came to another conclusion, only this time they'd won. The defeat of their forces and the treaty being signed in 2019 hadn't been the end of the story; it had only been a lull in the fighting. As the New Year approached to put 2023 to bed, it would seem the Anarchs were stronger than ever.

"This is because they believe in something,"  Nyx muttered to themselves as they waited for the deathlike sleep to come with the dawn. 

Nyx didn't believe in anything, unless the accumulation of knowledge could be considered believing in anything. Something about being murdered and turned into a vampire had stripped them of their ability to be an idealist like they had been when they were alive. They'd taken the job with Pentex because it paid. They spied on the Camarilla for Pentex because that was part of the job. They'd spied on Pentex because they were super shady and Nyx wanted to know what they were up to. And they'd started working for the Anarchs because the other option was to be a prisoner. The Anarchs had made it very clear that killing Nyx was never on the table; granted they did that after Arne had thrown his life away trying to defend Nyx. All in all, it hadn't been a night of very good decisions made. 

And now? Now the Anarchs were openly running the domain of Los Angeles with their friends from the Independent Alliance. It was a bizarre turn of events. And Nyx had helped, slightly. In truth the biggest way they had helped was to simply stop helping the Camarilla which everyone thought was totally reasonable because Arne had died. Well, and they had neglected to actually warn anyone that the Anarchs were coming. 

"I wonder what sort of libraries the Anarchs have" Nyx mumbled sleepily as the dawn approached... 

Liminal Space

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

Liminal Space

by Simon W. 

    The dirty lie that our culture likes to tell us is that the only important kind of love is the romantic kind. It's supposedly secondary to everything else; the love between parent and child, the love between siblings, and it's most definitely supposed to be so much stronger than the love between friends. We are told that friendship is a different feeling than romantic love, rather than both of them simply being different facets of the same feeling. 

    It is, as I said already, a dirty lie. That's one of the things you learn real fast when you realize that you're aromantic. And tonight I feel the weight of that lie; hanging around my neck like a chain. Arne is dead and it's partially my fault. Granted a lot of it is his own damn fault! He's the one who wanted to come and kill Phoenix Society folks and he's the one who, once we got jumped, refused to keep his mouth shut. He told me he'd be with me to the end... and then less than an hour later he was ashes at my feet. Maybe someday I'll have it all sorted out, but at the moment my rage is equally directed at both him and the assholes who killed him. 

    I guess he was with me to his end. But what about mine? The last lesson he tried to teach me consciously was right before my release. He told me "don't hesitate". I don't know what else I am supposed to do when I don't have all the facts.

    I'm still a prisoner. I'm still uncertain of what my future holds, although Arne's ashes certainly are a grim reminder that I'm still in a great deal of danger. I should be thinking, or planning, or scheming. But all I can do is feel this horrible emptiness. My brother, my friend, the closest thing to family I had in this complete nonsense existence I have found myself in is gone. 

    

    I guess now I find out what kind of Brujah I am. I suspect no one is much going to like the answer; me most of all. 

Nothing To Do But Think

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

Nothing To Do But Think

by Simon W.

    You ever just find yourself in a situation where you've got nothing but time and only the thoughts in your own head to keep you company? Maybe that's just me. It sure feels like I have spent a lot of my existence in that state. Back when I was properly human I would fill that time with studying, and learning, and arguing. Now? Not so much.

    Oh yeah, I guess I should explain that. I'm not what you would exactly call alive anymore. In January 2022 I was walking home from a protest and I got jumped in a dark alley in Boston. And when I came to I was different. I had no idea what all that meant eighteen months ago. I may not entirely understand it even if I actually have the eternity I've been promised.

    Of course, I also may not live to see another night. I am in somewhat of a precarious position at the moment. Let me try and sum up in a way that makes even remote sense.

    First off, the monsters in the night that you, me, and thousands of generations of people have told children scary stories about are very, very real. I'm one of them now. I'm a vampire. Vampires are real. Werewolves are real (and they are complete assholes). The Fair Folk are real. Mages are real. Demons are very real. God is probably real and He is not happy with.... well certainly not with me. I don't know if He really likes anyone although there are certainly some humans who are convinced He is on their side. Fortune 500 companies are actually worse than I believed as a human and also I work for one now. Boy how the mighty and idealistic have fallen.

    So yeah, jumped in a dark alley in Boston. Boston isn't really known for its dark alleys or its nightly street crime but this was a special case for some reason. I got knocked out, woke up buried in a hole in the ground and dug my way out. It was not what you'd call a fun time, not the least of which because I was both hungrier and angrier than I'd ever been in my life. A bunch of dudes in suits were there when I came out and instead of running away from the obvious monster that I was they handed me what I legitimately was a Capri Sun and let me calm down. Spoiler alert: it was not juice.

    One of the guys there gave me the basic run down that I was a vampire now, that I shouldn't go out into the sun, and that I was now on a very exclusive and slightly awkward diet. He also mentioned that if I didn't get myself killed I'd just live forever and that there is some weird political system I was going to have to learn to navigate. Then I got offered a job doing statistical analysis, told that I should never tell anyone who was gangrel who I worked for and shipped in a box to California after six months. I soon learned that gangrel wasn't just a fancy old English word for feral; it was a specific type of vampire. 

    Once in California I discover that in addition to statistical analysis I am supposed to integrate into the local vampire society. That actually isn't so hard because there is current a war going on, sometimes an actual shooting war, but always an ideological one. There are three organizations and they all always want new recruits and they all think they know the only correct way to be a vampire. Another spoiler alert: they're all wrong. 

    So now I'm here and I'm told I will be a provisional member of society for a year while they do their best to indoctrinate me into their culture. Honestly, that's a pretty short time all things considered. We start the inculturation of children at birth and don't really consider them full members of society until at least puberty. I guess the fact that I don't have to spend at least six years learning how to talk and recognize that other people exist outside of my own experience was an advantage there. But I digress (I do that a lot). The first person to take on my education was Nate and he was very concerned that I was a plant or a spy from one of the other vampire organizations. He was half correct; I was a plant and a spy but not for vampires. More on that later. Also, if I survive this Nate is going to probably tell me I'm an idiot for a couple of hours next time I see him. Is it weird that I'm kind of looking forward to that possibility? I'd like to not die in the immediate future which is a weird thing for a literal corpse to say but there you go. 

    Nate figures out that I'm not a spy for the folks called the Sabbat. He also figures out that I am working for Pentex but he doesn't really care about that. So after a month he tells the guy running Southern California that I'm fine and won't burn them all down in their sleep or something. There was some debate as to who was going to take on the rest of my education, I mean indoctrination. Which is how I met Arne. Arne is pretty cool, if about a thousand years out of date. He's pretty much the only family or friend I've got at this point, sort of a combination of brother and father all in one. He's been teaching me how to be a vampire and how to survive in the Camarilla for the last eleven months. 

    In the last eleven months all of my bosses at Pentex murdered one another (I told you Fortune 500 companies are awful!) and there is new management. The original mission I was on is obsolete so I guess I have found a home for real? Except for the fact that I am currently in enemy territory with Arne and we are both unconscious and I have no idea if we're going to be killed, questioned, or some combination of the two. I'm really worried about Arne because the things I have heard about what the Sabbat do to Elders is not good and the things that I know the Phoenix Society does to Elders is even worse. 

    In my defense (do I have a defense; who exactly am I trying to defend myself from here?) it was his idea to come here. But it was my contact that facilitated it. So I guess if we die we have each other and ourselves to blame. 

    I've been beaten all to hell, I'm angry (really, really angry), and I have no idea what is going on and no one to talk to but the empty spaces inside my own head. This seems like it could be really bad. I wonder if death has finally caught up to me...

    Only time will tell. But I swear to you, me(?), whomever... if these folks kill Arne and not me I am going to make them regret every single one of their life choices. 
   

The Nightmare

Character fiction from a Classical Greek era Werewolf the Apocalypse LARP. 

The Nightmare

by Simon W. 

"Ellll-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-saaaahhhhhhh...."

The voice drew Eli down a long hallway. Compelling, beguiling, impossible to ignore; it sounded like wind chimes on warm summer nights and the calming crackle of a peaceful hearth fire. It promised warmth, love, and never being abandoned. Eli nearly tripped in their hurry to reach the source of the sound. 

As they were running down the hallway, they missed when it changed from smooth stone covered in tapestries to a catacomb lined with bones. The voice drew them on as the hallway got darker, narrower, and danker. But as the surroundings grew more unsettling, the voice sounded all the sweeter. 

The hallway finally ended in a small room filled with bones, both human and wolf, and as Eli stepped inside the door disappeared behind them. Whirling around to find the way out, they found themselves facing Khui as he had looked the day they married.

"Oh.... Love is this really you?" Eli asked breathlessly.

"Of course, death could never separate us." He drew Eli close and held them close. In their relief at seeing their beloved once again, they didn't think it strange that he was cold. He wrapped his arms around them, only they turned into snakes hissing into their ears. 

"I died because of you"

Eli finally realized the danger and tried to struggle out of Khui's grasp. 

"You failed your mother."

The arms turned into snakes only grew tighter. 

"You abandoned Lysander. Theodore is dead because you left; abandoned him just as your mother did you." 

Eli twisted and turned, trying to see Khui's face now that he was saying such vile things. 

"Our son will die before he has a chance to live because you cursed him to life as a full moon born."

Eli tried to cry out against this but their voice had been stolen by the snakes now squeezing around their neck. 

"Your other children resent you. Your siblings see you as a burden. Even the dead know that you are unworthy and not to be trusted."

The room they were in dissolved, and Eli found themselves on a wide desert plain, hearing the wind rising in the distance. Looking to the horizon they could see the sand coming toward them like a wall.

"It's beautiful, is it not, the Storm? Soon we will ride it together. And you will never be weak or useless again."

The voice was no longer sweet and comforting. It was sibilant and cold. Eli knew without a doubt that whatever it was that held them, whose face they still could not see, was not their beloved Khui. 

"You will be the instrument of my vengeance. None of them will suspect weak, useless, Elissa of Carthage, unable to even speak to a single spirit. First you will destroy the children of Owl and then you will destroy all of the Gaians. And, you will enjoy it."

Eli shook their head violently in denial, since they still could not speak. They struggled with all their might to break free. 

"I'm waiting; I'm always waiting..."

The sandstorm hit with full force and Eli felt themselves being torn apart by the violent wind. But just before they were completely annihilated they heard one last whisper.

"Mine..."

Elissa opened their eyes, heart pounding, to the relatively comforting normal darkness of their house on Dokos. They took slow, deep breaths and carefully listened. They only heard the normal nighttime sounds of the the pack sleeping. They ran their tongue over their teeth to see if they were normal. They were normal teeth, not fangs. Finally after what seemed like an age, Eli was able to convince themselves that they were not actually a vampire. 

They got up and went to look outside. From the position of the stars it was only a couple of hours until sunrise. Eli figured they might as well get up. No more sleep would happen tonight. They shivered. If only it were possible to go without sleep at all.

It was going to be a long day. And Elissa of Carthage had work to do. So they may as well get an early start. 

Nightly Musing

Snippets of character fiction from a D&D game I'm currently in...

Nightly Musing

by Simon W. 

"It wasn't hard to give up something I wasn't actually using." 

Esme still seethed whenever they remembered the words the other Reborn, Jackson, said. He had signed onto their little rag tag bunch of would be heroes rather recently. He had chosen this existence. The more their band travelled around, the more it seemed that every Reborn aside from Esme and Kerryon had chosen this existence.

In the middle of the night when no one was awake and they were staring into nothing, Esme wondered if on some level they had chosen this existence. It wasn't a comforting thought. Maybe at the moment of death, Esme had been given what seemed like a better offer and had taken it? Esme didn't sleep anymore, and thus didn't dream, but that thought right there is what nightmares are made of. 

Esme remembered the strange trip they had taken to the city of Rhest with Itali and Kerryon some months ago. Itali had been going trying to solve the mystery of her ancestry. Kerryon was there... Esme wasn't sure actually; maybe he'd been trying to gain insights into his new state of being since it was after he'd become a Reborn. Esme had been there to try and find information on Goreshade, the necromancer who made them the way they were but had instead been on what seemed to have been an attempt to woo them.

The Reborn ambassador to Brindle had said something very similar to Jackson. He had chosen to become Reborn. He had been made an offer of immortality and had thought that his soul was a reasonable price to pay since he didn't value it much. He had mentioned that Esme was the only Reborn he'd met that had been particularly religious in life. 

How could anyone think they were not using their soul? The very idea was alien and weird to Esme. And if souls could be bought and sold and traded and used to power spells, then presumably the terrifying celestial being that Esme had bound themselves to knew this. So if Be Not Afraid didn't want Esme's soul, then what did it want?! Was it simply looking for someone to empower it and do it's will?

Esme's druidic training had taught them that nothing happens for no reason at all, not if their was any sort of consciousness involved. So now they had to wonder at Be Not Afraid's motives on top of everything else. They mused that it was probably a good thing they didn't need sleep, given how much there was to try and figure out. 

The Long Dark Night

 Snippets of character fiction from a D&D game I'm currently in...

The Long Dark Night

by Simon W. 

Esme stared into the middle distance while their traveling companions and the town of Haven slumbered around them. Well, all except the bard, but Esme was giving him space. He needed to come to terms with what he had become on his own, just like Esme had.

Esme didn't sleep, so it couldn't be said that they dreamed. But it was a bit less under their full control than thinking was. It was... remembering mostly. 

A lifetime ago, Esme had been Esmerelda Augusto, a druid in one of the sacred groves of the Green Man. It had been a good life. She'd had meaningful work, her family was nearby, and her faith was strong. She watched all of the cycles of the green world turn, over and over, in a dance as old as time. Her favorite cousin (but don't you DARE let him know that) had been selected as the chosen champion of the Green Man and she thought their faith was in good hands. 

It was more than just a good life, it was an excellent life. And then, the undead came. They came in the night and they were different than the normal shuffling zombies and skeletons Esmerelda had encountered before. They could think. They could plan. And they seemed to know exactly how to get into the grove and quickly incapacitate all of the druids there. 

As she was being carried off, trussed up like a chicken for a stewpot, all Esmerelda could think of was that someone had told these monsters how to find the druids.

What happened next is best not remembered, although that didn't stop Esme from doing so. Pain, so much pain. Esme had no idea exactly how long it lasted as eventually time lost any meaning in a sea of agony. But she did pray to the Green Man for release; for death. Eventually she got it and for a brief moment thought the worst was over. 

When Esme next became aware of themselves, they were in what appeared to be a sewer and they were no longer alive in any meaningful sense. Some experimentation proved that they could still move, walk, talk, think, and even feel pain. But there was no heartbeat, no breath, and no answer to their prayers to the Green Man. All of their ability to connect to the magic of the green world was gone. Esme wandered in despair for what seemed like a very long time, alone and angry. 

Unbidden, memories of the pain that had been inflicted upon them would rise along with the face of the being who seemed to be directing it. Pale, pointed ears, and a look of fanaticism upon their face; it was not a sight that Esme would forget any time soon. As they wandered somewhat aimlessly through what appeared to be an extremely ancient sewer, they grew angrier. 

At one point in their wanderings, there appeared a being of.... light? All Esme could see were thousands of eyes and flaming swords. It spoke to them inside their mind. "Be not afraid, for I mean you no harm." Maybe for moments, maybe for days, possibly for years, Esme and this strange being spoke. In the end Esme had brokered a deal. They would get a measure of power and a way out of this sewer; the being would get their soul... as soon as Esme found it.

The Esme who left the city of the undead was not the same as Esmerelda Augusto who had entered it. Esmerelda was a druid; Esme was a warlock. Esmerelda was contented with her life and wished only to serve a higher purpose; Esme's primary purpose now was twofold, find their soul to wrest it back from he who had stolen it and bring vengeance upon the person who was responsible for their not being properly dead. Esmerelda had faith; Esme was unsure if the Gods cared about people at all. 

When Esme did finally leave the city of the undead and found human habitation again, they were nearly halfway across the world from where they had started. And the first person they ran into was their cousin, Salazar. He had found himself on a quest to fight against the same person that Esme now bent all their will to destroy. It seemed like a very easy alliance to fall into.

Now, months later, Esme found themselves thinking of all of this while most of their companions slept. They were not sure what the future held. They were not really sure of much of anything at this point. 

Memory and Flame

 This is fan created fiction about a character in a Vampire: The Masquerade live action role playing game run by Modern Enigma Society. If you are a fellow player, please remember that anything you read here is considered out of character knowledge. If you are a lawyer, please don't sue me; I'm not making any money off of this and it's just for fun.

Memory and Flame

by Simon W

June 2012

"Maire thought you had such promise."

Aoife stared at the bonfire as it burned away the last physical remnants of Matheson's prophetic madness. She believed he had infused enough of his essence into the pages that she felt the grim satisfaction of killing a hated enemy. It didn't quite rouse her Beast in a way to give it greater control over her, but she could feel it in the back of her mind purring like a very large and dangerous cat. 

She pondered the words of the woman standing a little farther from the fire. She didn't know what strictures Anna followed, or what psychological gymnastics she had to contort herself into to keep her Beast at bay but if one of the things she needed to do was to cause pain, her Beast must we well pleased. Although, with the pathbound Lasombra it was difficult to tell. Maybe she thought she was being kind, after a fashion? 

Maire of the Sea! 

When Aoife first arrived in San Diego, over a century ago at this point, Maire had been Prince. And she was, to all public appearances, a Brujah of the Tower. Aoife was still uncertain where she fit into the new world of kindred and Beasts. She had two impulses driving her; one was to be in close proximity to Edmund for all she couldn't tell him this and the other was to prove that she was strong enough to be everything he thought she could be. She was hindered in this by both her own personality and the strictures of their clan. So she claimed a territory that was just outside of Camarilla held San Diego and growled and postured at him in public. 

Prince Maire accepted the fledging Unaligned Gangrel into her domain with grace. Aoife wasn't sure if Edmund had anything to do with that. She'd never asked him and he'd never told her. Over time, knowing her social position was precarious, Aoife set about seeing how she could be useful to the Court. It wasn't long before she was winging her way to and fro with messages and developed a reputation for both reliability and discreteness. 

What a strange relationship grows between a Prince and their favored messenger. What secrets get shared and what close contact they are sometimes thrown into. There were times when Aoife wondered if Maire truly needed to send as much correspondence as she did, or if she was simply looking for conversation with someone who made no demands upon her. Aoife's lack of political position made her neither threat nor advantage. 

It took less than a decade to realize that Maire had no mirrors. By that time Aoife's friendship with Deaglán had become comfortable enough so she understood the subtle signs. She never brought up Maire's true nature in conversation and, as far as she was concerned, it was a secret she would keep to her grave. 

They never declared themselves to one another. Sometimes Aoife even believed that Maire didn't know the depth of her feelings. Other times Aoife knew that was nothing more than a polite fiction. Maire knew and she didn't speak. Aoife left the area at the beginning of the 20th century to try and forget her. Two love affairs in quick succession only left her with the knowledge that as much as she did, truly, love both Gabriella and Teuta for themselves, she felt something much different and enduring for Maire. 

When Aoife returned, heartbroken over Teuta's death (or so she believed) she expected to find that the passage of nearly fifty years had changed things. It hadn't. She and Maire settled back into the same pattern of being polite and cordial in public and sharing conversations and secrets in private. All of that ended when Maire was killed as the Anarchs swept the area to take control.

There were some who were surprised that Aoife was willing to be messenger to the Anarchs like she had for the Tower for so many years. It was put out far and wide that the Anarchs had killed Maire when they seized power. But Aoife knew differently. She vividly remembered arriving as Maire started to fall to ashes. It wasn't an Anarch gang triumphantly standing over her, but a Tower Malkavian sidling out of the room as she entered. Aoife often wondered if her mistake that night wasn't that she didn't give chase right away. But at the time it was more important that she spend Maire's last seconds telling her, in Gaelic and in the hope that she didn't understand, that she loved her. 

Now, seventy five years later, Aoife was staring at a bonfire burning the last remnants of that same Tower Malkavian's essence. And Anna was standing behind her offering commentary. Her commentary revealed things Aoife hadn't known.

One, Maire was related to Deaglán and almost certainly had known Gaelic. Two, she had spoken of Aoife to others. So many puzzle pieces fell into place, niggling little loose ends that she just hadn't noticed before. But Aoife was much older now than the grieving woman she had been in 1945 so rather than turn and confront the Elder Lasombra she continued staring at the fire burning away the last of Matheson.

Aoife scooped up the ashes that remained of Matheson's book and then stared at the sea for a long time. Finally she said, "If you're going to stay in town and you want someone to talk to who won't make demands of you, look me up." 

Sometimes memory dies in flames; sometimes it ends up burning more brightly.