Dreams at the Crossroads

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In the Beginning

April 4th – June 10, AD 1071

TempCaine.pngAfter recovering a fragment of an ancient Greek manuscript from the site of a ravaged merchant’s caravan, Vasco Ordonez and his childe Rodrigo de Pelayo recognized the scroll could potentially originate from the legendry Book of Nod. The pair of Nosferatu began investigating the scroll, tracing the route of the caravan back to the Abbey of Cluney near Marseille in the kingdom of Toulouse. Unwilling to let the trail die there, Vasco sent a missive to his acquaintance Abbot Maieul of Cluney, a Cappadocian responsible for the expulsion of the Fraxinet Saracens from Toulouse at the hands of the lords of Provence, and requested information on the mysterious scroll fragment in exchange for certain services only a Nosferatu could provide.

When the Abbot’s response arrived, disclosing the fragment’s passage to Cluney from a small Orthodox monastery near the Croatian port city of Zara, the two Nosferatu prepared to journey to the abbey. When the time came to depart however, Vasco was nowhere to be found. Concerned, Rodrigo searched him out and discovered his sire on the verge of final death in a secret haven. Vasco had been poisoned, and his symptoms corresponded with those of a virulent substance rumored to be utilized by the dreaded Nictuku. A cynic of the Nictuku myth, Rodrigo determined that only a fellow Nosferatu could use such a poison but also know to exploit its implications. With Vasco’s dying breath still clinging to him, Rodrigo smuggled himself out of the city with the hidden Nod fragment on a ship destined for the bustling ports of Marseille.

TempCaine2.pngBut all was not well in the abbey either. Not long after Abbot Maieul sent his response to Vasco, a similar poisoning claimed the life of Brother Estienne, beloved childe of the Abbot and ward of Prioress Odette and Sister Geneviéve, the monastery’s Lamia guardians. Upon discovering the toxin’s Nosferatu origins, Maieul quietly began preparing to take vengeance on the local lepers.

Needless to say, it was quite a surprise to the Cappadocians of Cluney when a lone, Lisboetan Nosferatu arrived at the monastery’s gates requesting an audience with the Abbot. Curious, Maieul agreed to allow the neonate entrance and hospitality… so long as he provided some insight into the motives and means of the leper assassin.

The meeting went long into the night, and as the Cappadocians and lone Nosferatu compared notes, the clearer it became that the murders were connected to the trail of the Nod fragment. Acknowledging the improbability of Rodrigo’s guilt in the matter and his equal right to vengeance, Maieul dictated that Rodrigo was free to pursue his quarry, but only if he conceded to be accompanied by Sister Geneviève and his childe Brother Gaurin of Cluny.

The trio of Cainites departed Marseille on the Plutonova Exo, a Dalmatian galley destined for Zara.

Sessions 1-2

A Fateful Voyage

June 11 – August 1, AD 1071

The first leg of the Plutonova Exo’s journey proceeded smoothly, stopping off at the Isle of Pisa and then the city of Messina in Sicily, which proved quite a lucrative stop despite the fact that the city was still in shambles after being torn from Saracen hands by Byzantium. After leaving Messina however, a dark pall of madness quickly enshrouded the ship. Crewman who the night before had been stalwart of mind and spirit suddenly suffered delusions and paranoia, the captain fell into a nearly catatonic melancholia, and rumors of a blood-drinking, malignant spirit spread through the galley like Greek fire.

The terror peaked three nights after the ship’s haunting began when, unbeknownst to the Cainite passengers, the ship’s cook, Luka, fed stale bread infected with ergot fungus to the crew. At the terrible urgings of St. Anthony ’s fire, his shipmates jerked and howled in agony like marionettes animated by a palsied puppet master. Amidst the desperation and madness of his captive audience, Luka pronounced himself a prophet of St. Michael the Archangel. He’d been sent a vision to prepare his ‘flock’ for the Lord’s judgment.

As the grim possibility of being lost at sea grew, Rodrigo, Geneviève, and Gaurin, who had lain low up until this point, were forced to take the matter in hand. As the three Cainites moved through the dimly lit, swaying decks, and saw the carnage wrought by Luka’s madness, the prospect of reaching Zara appeared doubtful. At least half the crew had succumbed to the fungus and another quarter remained enslaved to all manner of perverse delusions. Desperate to regain control, the trio defeated the mad cook and sought out the galley’s captain who’d confined himself to his quarters.

Gari.jpgIt was upon reaching the captain that it became clear another passenger was aboard the Plutonova Exo. The captain was not alone in his cabin. He’d been fed on by an invisible entity that fled the room as Geneviève entered. The coterie tracked the specter to the cargo hold of the ship and discovered it to be a swarthy skinned Malkavian who identified himself as Gari.

According to the stowaway, he’d stolen passage on the galley in Messina, and had been unaware other Cainites were aboard the vessel. Apparently, he was either unaware that his feeding entailed such dire side effects or was surprised by the crew’s susceptibility to it. Neither party desired further conflict so the four Cainites came to an agreement that would ensure the safety and security of all involved. Gari ghouled the remnants of the crew, including the captain, to increase their efficiency and prevent another incident. In exchange, Gari agreed to provide Gaurin, Geneviève, and Rodrigo safe passage to Zara.

Session 3

A Shadow over Zara

August 1 – 2, AD 1071

St._Donatus.jpgThe coterie parted ways with Gari and his new galley upon reaching dry-dock in Zara’s expansive harbor and began their inquiries as to the location of the Orthodox monastery said to reside near the city. Their investigation brought them to the attention of the local Archbishop Cosimo Madii who promptly had them intercepted by Grimaldi, a man to whom the shadows clung like pitch, and brought to St. Donatus’ Church.

Before discussing his reasons however, Archbishop Madii insisted that his visitors participate in the Sacrament of Confession. Rodrigo, Gaurin, and Geneviève all acquiesced, even to the extent of sharing their sins honestly, and despite their preconceptions, were given sound spiritual and moral counsel by the Archbishop.

Once the three finished their penances, they were brought to St. Donatus’ tower. Each noticed strange inconsistencies with common Roman Catholic symbolism in the stained glass that lined the stairways on the way to the Archbishop’s chambers, the most conspicuous being the striking resemblance between the countenances of St. Donatus and Cosimo Madii.

The meeting took place on the tower’s balcony, the dawn drawing closer with each word. According to the Archbishop, a ward and convert of his named Zubor had disappeared, most likely kidnapped by the Obertus monks at the self-same Orthodox monastery that Geneviève, Rodrigo, and Gaurin were seeking. Madii offered his hospitality in exchange for the return of his student. The three travelers agreed and were escorted from the tower to the church’s catacombs.

After a day’s rest, Grimaldi saw the coterie off the church grounds to their horses, but left a warning before departing. “Do not return.” Whether a favor or a threat, the three young Cainites heeded his message and rode east toward the snow-capped Dinarides.

Sessions 4-5

St. Gesu’s Children

August 2 – 3, AD 1071

Travel through the mountains was cold and treacherous. Enshrouded in heavy fog, surrounded with the heady smells of the forest, and harried by the howling of wolves echoing through the trees, the three Cainites nervously picked their way along the crooked trail until the monasteries’ battlements came into view. Geneviève, Gaurin, and Rodrigo approached the imposing gatehouse cautiously, and after a brief explication of their purpose at the monastery, were granted the monk’s hospitality.


Upon entering the monastery, the coterie was greeted by Abbot Heroch, a bald old man with a wispy, white beard. The Abbot explained that the monastery shared the namesake of its patron, the Sanguine Saint Gesu, a figure entirely unknown in the Latin Church, and that it followed the Orthodox saint’s prescribed Obertus tenets.

It became readily clear Heroch and his monks were well aware of, perhaps even awed by, their guests’ supernatural natures. After inviting his visitors to stay the night and offering sanctuary from the sun’s hateful rays, the Abbot acknowledged that he and all those within St. Gesu’s walls were ghouls. The blood of Cainites flowed in their veins. Apparently, the monastery’s children had even been born with the blood, something Heroch and his fellows perceived as a miracle of faith.

Curious about St. Gesu’s true master, presumably a Cainite, the travelers questioned the Abbot further, and Heroch asserted that he and his flock had been out of contact with the Obertus hierarchy in Constantinople for some time. Satisfied with his explanation and after supping upon a few willing monks, the coterie accepted the Abbot’s hospitality and retired to the catacombs for their day’s rest.

Geneviève, Rodrigo, and Gaurin became aware of their grievous error of trusting the Abbot when they woke in a pitch black chamber inside suspended, solid iron cages. Panic quickly consumed them as all manner of gruesome possibilities surfaced in their minds, and it wasn’t long before they noticed a fourth cage in the room was occupied as well. The figure identified himself as Archon Theodosius Konstephanos of Byzantium, and confirmed the three travelers had fallen into a dire situation.

Suddenly the sound of voices could be heard beyond the chamber door, and then monks began filing into the room. Abbot Heroch soon joined his brethren, bringing with him the monastery’s children. Muttering a prayer, of which the four trapped souls could only understand the words “of the Within,” the Abbot speared each prisoner in turn, allowing their vitae to spatter upon the stone floor below. As torpor began to claim them, Gaurin, Rodrigo, Geneviève, and Theo watched while the children crawled across the floor, lapping up the blood like leeches…

Session 6

A Dream of the Crossroads

August 3 – 4, AD 1071

Within the silence of torpor arose a dream. Each prisoner suddenly found himself freed, standing before three arched, golden gates, the middle larger than the other two, and flanked by angelic bronze statues, one of Victory, the other Fortune. Above the gates, a stern, fatherly man in the armor of a Roman centurion stood in an elephant drawn chariot: the bearded man taller, prouder, than the beasts.

The Gates opened, revealing a flagstone road leading through the heart of a great city bristling with stone buildings wrapped with intricate mosaics. Golden domes reached towards the heavens, like a thousand, thousand suns, the crosses on their peaks momentarily disappearing in the rolling clouds. Marble statues of angels and saints lined the thoroughfare, hands outstretched, almost pleading with the dreamer to venture further into the city.

With each step down the boulevard, the sky grew brighter. Soon, as the clouds broke overhead, the sun’s rays rained down, warming the skin with the soft kiss of morning light. Behind the angelic sculptures flanking the roadway, lush gardens stretched out on each side, buffering the towering facades of the city’s manses and providing ample shade for weary travelers.


Each dreamer heeded their calling…


As you took in the sublime beauty of the scene, there was movement at the end of the street, a small figure darting through the willow branches. The figure, a child, ducked into the corridor between two imposing villas lording over the gardens before them. You called out, reaching after the child, your pose momentarily the inverse of the saintly statuary flanking the roadside, but he didn’t hear.

Following him through the willows, you drifted into the alley, the smell of the surrounding lilies suspended in the air. He was sitting on the ground, his back against the building. At the sound of your approach he looked up, and you saw that he wore your face. Not the deformed, monstrous visage of unlife, but the vulnerable, delicate skin of your mortal childhood. You’d chased yourself here.

Tears began to stream down your cheeks as you reached out for the boy to embrace him, to guard him from the vicious, hungry world you knew would soon be breathing down his back. Your twisted, clawed hands gripped his shoulder and arm as you pulled him in. At your touch, the boy’s face, your face, suddenly transformed from curiosity to revulsion and horror. He loosed a scream. It pierced the air as he squirmed and kicked, terrified of the bent, grasping monster.

Suddenly, as you wrestled the boy to stillness against your chest, you noticed the choking smell of smoke. Embers danced in the air and came to rest on your wretched, bald pate and face, singing like dozens of tiny punctures. The idyllic garden around you was no more, replaced by a blazing hellscape: the trees transformed into sharp, blackened bones, the lilies and ferns mere shoots of flame from the earth. Where before the city’s noble buildings and towers reached up to the sky, they now hunched like the shattered teeth of a gnashing madman. The sculptures of angels and saints that lined the road lay dashed upon the ground, and the flagstones jutted from the earth like tombstones.

And the boy… the boy was changing too. His skin was blanching, growing boils and pustules. His bones popping. His joints swelling. The boy had ceased his struggle, and his screams sunk to a whimper. Your presence had crumbled this gilded city to its foundations. Your touch had turned the boy’s purity to ruin, but you couldn’t let him go. You held him like an infant as he turned to ash in your arms.


At the end of the street a door inched open and a figure ascended from the darkness of the room beyond. At first the figure was little more than a silhouette, a ghost of shadow-play and light. As you drew closer, however, and he stepped out into the street, his features became illumined by the sanguine rays of the dawning sun. The man had broad shoulders. His shirt was dusty and his hair was as dark as the shade he’d left in the doorway. It was the eyes though, hazel like a maple leaf in early autumn, that gave him away.

For a moment, disbelief took hold, stealing away the recognition your eyes shared with his, replacing desire with doubt. The denial withered, however, as his deliberate steps brought him within the full scrutiny of the daylight. Henri smiled as the sun beat down on his face, his eyes swelling with the same revelation framed in yours. Even death hadn’t the power to dissever your love.

A cry of exultation and relief escaped your lips as you grasped him, nearly dragging him to the ground. After all the torrid nights of blood, you’d almost forgotten his smell: sawdust from his workshop, wood smoke, and something else… lilies? Tears brimmed from your eyes as you embraced one another. Sobs wracked your shoulders and back. You’d always felt so small in his arms, so whole.

Then, as you fervently pressed your lips to his, you noticed the choking smell of fresh smoke. Embers danced in the air and came to rest on your cheeks and brow, singing like dozens of tiny punctures. The idyllic garden around you was no more, replaced by a blazing hellscape: the trees transformed into sharp, blackened bones, the lilies and ferns mere shoots of flame from the earth. Where before the city’s noble buildings and towers reached up to the sky, they now hunched like the shattered teeth of a gnashing madman. The sculptures of angels and saints that lined the road lay dashed upon the ground, and the flagstones jutted from the earth like tombstones.

And Henri… his skin was being blown from his body by the fire’s hell-winds. It was flaking… no, not flaking. Burning. A feeling greater than desire and more terrible than love reared in your breast. Panic consumed you, and even a century of loneliness and longing couldn’t quench its demand. You flung yourself from him. You let him go.

His body fell backwards as it was dismantled by the flames, revealing elongating eyeteeth. Your touch had changed him into a thing of the night. As the sunlight amplified by the fallen, golden domes had its way with your love, you realized death had never been the barrier between you. It was the sun. He was barely able to whisper, “I love you,” before the conflagration took him. His dusty shirt, his raven-black hair, even his hazel eyes came apart in the air like hundreds of fireflies and were lost amidst the spiraling embers of the once beautiful, once holy city.


The street led to a great, abandoned plaza, the brilliant, domed façade of the Hagia Sophia rising before you. Above it, the moon still hung in the reddened sky as the morning sun winked over the horizon, the pair like estranged twins glimpsing one another as they pass on the road. Black-tipped spires towered from the grand shrine’s cardinal points, and the air reverberated with the stirring chorus of the Holy Liturgy.

A marble pedestal stood before the Shrine of the Holy Wisdom of God, a thick, heavily bound codex resting upon it, inviting you to open it. As you ran your wilting, psoriatic fingers across its face and spine, recognition crashed over you like a brigade of horse. Before you lay the Logos, the Wisdom of God.

A sudden sense of admonishment fell upon you, as though the celestial bodies above were profound, disapproving eyes. You lifted the weighty cover reverently… cautiously, like a starved orphan sneaking a pastry from a distracted vendor. Anticipation built in your chest, and your reaching hand quaked as you pulled the cover open, considering the mysteries to be revealed within; could you too be saved?

But the leaves were blank. Empty. Every one. Unilluminated sheets of skin. Nothing else. And as the starkness speared you, the choking smell of fresh smoke filled your nostrils. Embers danced in the air and came to rest on your mealy, stiffened cheeks, singing like dozens of tiny punctures. The idyllic garden around you was no more, replaced by a blazing hellscape: the trees transformed into sharp, blackened bones, the lilies and ferns mere shoots of flame from the earth. Where before the city’s noble buildings and towers reached up to the sky, they now hunched like the shattered teeth of a gnashing madman. The sculptures of angels and saints that lined the road behind you lay dashed upon the ground, and the plaza’s flagstones jutted from the earth like tombstones.

And the Logos… its spine was crumbling, its pages moldering. Dust fell from the text in sheets, like ashes released from an urn. Beyond, even the shrine itself had changed. Its golden dome, once a beacon for the light of God, now burned and smoldered like the grisly, bald pate of some brutish fiend depicted in a nightmarish fresco of hell’s torments. Its double doors opened, revealing eyes wide as the moon and hungrier than sun-fire, and the spires twisted and curved from the earth like sickle shaped horns. You looked on in horror and trembled to the terrible rumbling from underground.

Suddenly, you felt a hand grip your shoulder. You flinched and spun to face the aggressor, but it was no enemy, simply another soul damned as wholly as yours. Gaurin stood beside you, his eyes replaced by sunken shadow, his pale face displaying the alien serenity of a death mask. As if whispered through a reed, his voice shivered in your ear.

“It doesn’t have to be as this. The Logos can be saved. This is a vision. Your flesh is not here. You are splayed out upon a stretcher by the monks, destined to be staked and left for the sun. I can call you back to the flesh, but only if you free myself and the others of our bonds. We will save the Logos… just take my hand.”

As you reached out and your fingers touched his, a strange sensation washed over you. His hand was clammy and cold as the peak of Olympus. The stygian chill burrowed into you, stealing your brief reacquaintance with body heat and the embers’ singing kiss. The icy wave halted your pumping breast and emptied you of life’s remnants as surely as a Saracen sword. In its place was only hunger. Hunger, and the shriek of the Beast being loosed from its cage.


Session 6 continued...

Eyes Wide Open

August 4, AD 1071

Theodosius’ sudden awakening was very unpleasant for the two monks who were loading his nearly blood-dry carcass onto a stretcher for disposal. In short, the two unarmed mortals were no match for the frenzied, slavering, blood-starved sanguisuge who ripped them to pieces in mere moments. After slaking his terrible thirst, Theo released his fellow prisoners whom he revived with the monk’s remaining blood.

The four exhausted Cainites navigated St. Gesu’s winding catacombs until they finally found themselves at Heroch’s quarters. Furious, they assaulted the elderly abbot, quickly subdued him, and barred the door against the alerted monks rushing to his rescue. After coercing Heroch to reveal a hidden tunnel nearby, the coterie escaped with the concussed, unconscious abbot as a hostage.

Gesu1.jpgThe passage led out of the monastery to a small rose garden surrounding an imposing statue of red-veined black marble. It depicted a tall man in long robes with hauntingly beautiful features and a lean, nearly emaciated physique. Though nothing as mundane as a placard identified the mysterious figure, the coterie deduced it must depict the monastery’s patron St. Gesu.

The statue’s hands were open in a gesture of humble invitation, and his legs extended down into the bare, snow-covered rose bushes at his feet. It was there that Rodrigo discovered a little cloth bundle, nestled in among the thorns. Inside, he discovered the frozen body of an infant. Convinced this was some dark ritual that granted the monastery’s children the blood, the coterie fled into the forest to find shelter before the sun rose on the horizon.

Session 7

The Road to Byzantium

August 5 – September 6, 1071


The next night, the four beleaguered Cainites drained Abbot Heroch of what pitiful life remained in him and began a harrowing journey from the snow-peaked mountains of Croatia to the gilded city of Byzantium, crossroads of the known world. The road was cold and dark, like a slab of stone resting heavily upon a tomb. They passed over churning rivers and mountains rumbling with thunder, and stalked through slumbering villages and hoary forests stirred by their driving hunger… and above it all, the pitiless black sky gazed down from above like the distaining dark eye of an onyx, pagan idol.

The distinctness of time receded, blurring together amidst the nightly struggle to reach that fabled city of God and gold. Each member of the coterie became as familiar with one another as with the resonance of the cricket song carried on the spring winds. At times, they laughed together or gravely discussed God and his great cosmic plan, a mystery often obscured by the urgency of life in the world, but occasionally made so clear it pangs as when one gazes upon the holiest works of art. At others, they frustrated one another with stubbornness, rankled at differences of faith, and blamed one another for the various difficulties experienced on the road. Sometimes though, alone and safe from the day in some roadside sanctuary, each Cainite wept for those he’d lost, those he’d pushed away, and of course, shamefully yet most poignantly, for himself.

As the Balkans gave way to the rolling hills of Macedonia and Thrace, the coterie gained a new vigor as they joined with the Egnatian Way, a maintained flagstone road, and their destination grew near. The road approached Hebdomon, a suburban sprawl of one room farmhouses with small cultivated fields, orchards, and small groves of trees. In the distance, the nighttime torch fires of Byzantium blazed, reflecting off the surrounding blackness of the Marmara Sea like a jewel or a star in the sable cloak of sky.

Outside Hebdomon, the travelers came upon a crossroads with a gallows and four cages hung from wooden posts. While three cages contained human remains in varying states of decomposition, one held a ragged looking man who identified himself as Paulidis. In exchange for water, Paulidis described the situation currently besetting the great city.

According to the rogue, he was an Anatolian levied at the behest of Emperor Romanos IV Diogenes to bring battle to Alp Arslan of the Seljuk Turks. His unit of hastily trained peasants was to provide support to the mercenaries and professional Byzantine army. The Emperor led his army across Anatolia towards the Seljuk fortress of Manzikert. Greedily, Diogenes split his army prior to reaching Manzikert, and when his half of the army came to blows with the Turks, the battle quickly degenerated.

Manzikert.jpgJohn Ducas, a Greek general and rival to the throne, refused to commit his troops, instead sounding a full retreat. Inevitably, what remained of the Byzantine levies routed and the conflict ended in defeat. Adding insult to injury, Paulidis heard rumors that Emperor Romanos IV had been captured during the battle by Turkish forces.

Furthermore, Paulidis informed the coterie that the cities walls had been closed to all refuges. Instead of being offered succor, the refugees were being petitioned off in internment camps outside the suburb of Hebdomon. He’d escaped the camps himself, but had been caught stealing his dinner from a baker’s shop. Thus, he explained his captivity.

Recognizing the significance of the rogue’s tale, Theo offered to release the miscreant in exchange for his service. After some coercion, Paulidis agreed, and became Theo’s ghoul. The coterie separated from the hapless refugee and continued through Hebdomon towards Jucendiae Palace, a haven and retreat for Malachite, Theo’s sire and the city’s lone Nosferatu.

Session 7 continued...

Home Sweet Home

September 6, AD 1071

Upon granting Paulidis his freedom, Theo ghouled the rogue and sent him out to gather information on the city’s current condition. As the coterie continued on its trek and came closer to the battlements, they passed small collections of homes painted white, light blue, or a pale yellow. Lazy curls of woodsmoke spewed from the chimneys and the faint glimmers of candlelight escaped from cracks in the shuttered windows. Beyond, the industrial quarter protruded from the city’s walls, like mass of ashen barnacles surrounded by a russet haze of noxious fumes sprung from various acids and dyes and the decaying piles of raw animal hides behind the district’s many tanneries. Even to the undead, the place seemed unclean.

Jucendiae_Palace.jpgThe coterie split from the Egnatian Way just as it began to sink into the slums of the industrial quarter, heading instead to a Nosferatu haven in the wine cellars of Jucendiae Palace. The road they followed took them first along the walls, and then back out into the surrounding countryside. Before reaching their destination, the four travelers came upon the outskirts of the refugee camps mentioned by Paulidis. Surrounded by a hastily built yet expansive palisade of garbage, overturned wagons, and sharpened logs, the grounds appeared to be more of an internment camp than a refuge for the poor sods escaping the Turkish hordes.

Upon reaching the cellars of Jucendiae Palace, Theo introduced his 3 companions to his sire Malachite, who was residing there to gather news on the disaster at Manzikert. Although somewhat vexed by the sudden intrusion upon his haven, Malachite welcomed his childe’s companions, but made it clear that they were being granted sanctuary thanks to his good graces.

Session 8

Reunions & Patrons

September 6 – 9, AD 1071

Malachite.jpgOnce they were settled in, Malachite insisted his guests explain the circumstances surrounding their arrival and intrusion upon his solitude. Over the next several hours, the weary coterie told the hoary Nosferatu elder of their travails; of the companions lost to poisonous assassination, of the connections between the murders and the transportation of a Nod fragment from the Croatian city of Zara. They described their passage across the sea to the Obertus monastery, its perverse ghouled monks, and their discovery that the fragment’s journey had originated in Constantinople. Finally, they reiterated the oath they’d made to one another and to the memories of their lost friends: to find the unknown assassin and bring all those involved to justice.

Malachite listened in silence, and when the telling had finished, declared his support for the young coterie’s mission. There were problems however. The rogue Paulidis had told them true, the city had restricted traffic into and out of the city to refugees, but the number of mendicants seeking asylum beneath the Wall of Theodosius grew exponentially every day. As a result, the city had completely closed its gates to non-citizens. Furthermore, at the behest of the Antonian basileus Caius and Domestic Prefect Epirius, all Cainites who’d been outside the City and unaccounted for during the weeks leading up to and since the battle at Manzikert had their citizenship revoked. According to Malachite, rumors had surfaced that Turkish sympathizers within the City had betrayed Byzantium. Thus, the coterie would be unable to gain entrance to the city and continue their mission. Dismayed and exhausted, the night’s young travelers submitted to the day’s rest.

Baron.jpgIt was decided that an appeal must be made to the council of quaestors to be granted special dispensation for repatriotization and official citizenship. To secure the opportunity for this appeal, the coterie would need the patronage of one elder for each aspect of the Triumvirate. Naturally, Malachite offered his patronage for the Michaelite block of houses. After much deliberation, it was decided that Baron Thomas Feroux (representing the Obertus houses) and Lady Septima Dominica (representing the Antonian houses) would be most likely to respond to a request for support. Letters were drafted, and early that morning, pigeons were released to carry the messages to their intended targets.

On the following night, a bird returned not long after nightfall. The Baron had responded. In exchange for a boon at some undisclosed time in the future and so long as each would be citizen made an oath to leave Obertus affairs to the Obertus, he would support their bid for special dispensation. He also reinforced that it was due to Malachite’s word of support that he had even entertained the idea and therefore, their debt to the Nosferatu should be double what they owed him for his patronage. The Baron went on to say that upon granting his support, the coterie ought to act with honor and discretion as his reputation was now bound to theirs. Finally, he warned that any action to tarnish his standing would be treated gravely indeed.

The second bird didn’t return until much later, after Malachite had already left for a hunt. Though the Lady of Blood’s response was less enthusiastic than the Baron’s, it did open the possibility for her support. In it, the caesar magister explained the impediments standing before their appeal and her reluctance to invite five more Cainites into the city. Already burdened by over-population, suffering from the sting and accompanying strife of Manzikert, and struggling with the sudden resulting imbalance of power and the blooming of both ancient and fresh grudges, the Crossroads had no room for any other destabilizing elements – and inevitably, new blood would further disturb the delicate dance already underway.

If, however, the potential citizens were to illustrate their personal goodwill and then demonstrated their ability to be a stabilizing influence, she would consider supporting their bid for a special dispensation. Humbly, Septima submitted an opportunity through which they could prove their commitment to these values: meet Damianus, an agent of hers, in the Industrial Quarter Harbor on the night of the 9th of September, and follow his instructions to the letter. If they successfully accomplished the endeavor he set before them, she would consider them friends of the Antonians and speak on their behalf before the quaestors. With few options before them and even fewer friends, the coterie agreed that they would champion the Lady’s cause… whatever it may be.


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