by Eric Griffin
For Rafe,
Who slipped in between Tzimisce and Tremere and upstaged both.
The book you hold in your hands is something of a curiosity - an experiment in the reanimator’s art. It is a lumbering golem of a work, conjured to life by a process one part mad science, one part voodoo and one part hubris.
The Clan Novel (CN) series was originally released as a thirteen-volume multi-author series. Over the course of a mere two years (1999-2000), an eclectic team of writers and editors (or perhaps, a team of eclectic writers and editors) created a series of novels highlighting each of the thirteen clans in the Vampire: the Masquerade setting. A volume of short stories (also thirteen in number) brought the series to a graceful repose and when the last spade of earth was tamped down, we had put to rest a million-work epic:
CN: Toreador by Stewart Wieck (1999)
CN: Tzimisce by Eric Griffin (1999)
CN: Gangrel by Gherbod Fleming (1999)
CN: Setite by Kathleen Ryan (1999)
CN: Ventrue by Gherbod Fleming (1999)
CN: Lasombra by Richard Dansky (1999)
CN: Assamite by Gherbod Fleming (1999)
CN: Ravnos by Kathleen Ryan (1999)
CN: Malkavian by Stewart Wieck (2000)
CN: Giovanni by Justin Achilli (2000)
CN: Brujah by Gherbod Fleming (2000)
CN: Tremere by Eric Griffin (2000)
CN: Nosferatu by Gherbod Fleming (2000)
CN: Anthology ed. Stewart Wieck (2000)
I include this ordered list here for three reasons. One, because I want you to go back -- after you have finished this book -- and read the series as it was originally conceived. Two, to put you on your guard against the fact that there is misdirection at work here already; the books were not released in the order in which they were originally conceived. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Three, because I want you to pay particular attention to the authors, the men (and women) behind the green-marbled curtain. More on this anon.
Now I’m not going to say that a single story, spanning thirteen books, told in six different voices is an unprecedented achievement… Wait, yes I am. That’s exactly what I’m going to tell you. The CN series was an audacious project from its very conception. Gherbod Fleming (who should know) claims the very act of setting this series in motion was the work of a mad man. That is a professional opinion and thus admissible as evidence in a court of law, were it not for the fact that Mr. Fleming has been dead since the eleventh century. Misdirections within misdirections.
Up until the CN’s, when you thought of a multi-author series you thought of projects like Lynn Abbey and Robert Asprin’s Thieves’ World -- wonderful collections of short stories all sharing (and, in turn, adding to) a single setting. Or you thought of the Cthulu mythos tales, where a setting originally created by one author was later bequeathed to his disciples. Or again, something like Pern, where a living author sublet her creation.
The CN series was something other. From the beginning it was conceived of as a single “threaded” story - each individual novel a polished glass bead strung together on a braid of several overarching series plot threads. Sometimes this vision was artfully realized, sometimes less so. But the point I wanted to make is that if you’re watching the shining beads arcing through the air, you’re going to miss the trick. You probably already suspect that there’s more than a little sleight-of-hand involved in pulling off a million-word illusion, and you’re right. It’s the act of stringing the beads and knotting the cord into the final completed mystic circle that is significant - a feat of magic and unbridled hubris.
Which brings me back, full circle, to the current volume. If we think of the original CN series as a threaded strand of glass beads (and you do, don’t you? That’s called suggestion), then what the current edition does is smash each of the pretty glass beads and then meticulously arrange the shards on an overarching series timeline - like icicles hanging on a clothesline.
It’s a striking image and a beautifully deconstructive project with just the right hint of violent behavior. Here’s how the trick is done: when the series was first released, each scene opened with a newspaper-style dateline. The series begins:
Saturday, 20 June 1999, 4:29 AM
Piedmont Avenue
Atlanta, GA
and concludes:
Tuesday, 30 November 1999, 11:31 PM
The underground lake
New York City, New York
In between, it covers a lot of ground. What this current edition does is sever all the scenes from their novels, shuffle them up and rearrange them in chronological order. See, it’s fun and easy and nobody gets hurt?
Well, nobody but the little glass beads.
The danger of separating the individual scenes from their authors is twofold. First, it unravels the (hopefully fluid) transitions between scenes, giving the work a choppier, more music-video feel. Second, in jumping rapidly from one author’s voice to another, you run the risk of aspiring to mere cacophony. I will leave it to the reader to judge where this re-visioning has distracted and where it has attained the artistic.
There is a final hazard here that I wanted to warn you about (and being a perceptive reader, you are now asking yourself how many hazards I chose not to warn you about) - and that is the danger of the authors themselves getting lost in this artful shuffle.
Now I’m not going to claim that an author is something necessary for fiction -- much less something actually desirable. In certain early Chinese dynasties, novels didn’t have authors. Oh, they had writers, of course. Somebody put the characters to parchment. But novels were anonymous works; the author was not a significant factor in the decision to pick up a book.
This should not be a totally alien concept for us. We select many of our non-fiction books - computer manuals, car-repair guides, etc. - without ever thinking about who the author is. We trust that the friendly folks at Microsoft know something about how their product works (!) and that they publish accordingly.
With the proliferation of game- and media-tie-in novels, however, there is a disturbing tendency -- among both readers and publishers - to view the author as secondary to the license. The belief that a reader will pick up a novel based solely on the word “Toreador” on the cover -- without a thought for the name, much less the talents and achievements of the author -- much as he would select a “Windows” manual, is an insidious one. It is a dangerous slide along the slope to viewing the authors for such projects as essentially interchangeable widgets and to seeing tie-in books as being, in their very essence, something less than “real” novels.
This trend has already led to a ghettoization of tie-in novels and a worrisome degradation of the rights of authors working within this ghetto. You will remember that I asked you to pay particular attention to the men and women behind the green-marbled curtain. That is my real goal in this foreword (did I manage to catch you unaware?) -- to take the creators and put them back center-stage, where you can love them:
(for a while there, even I was receiving emails from readers propositioning Gherbod Fleming, under the mistaken impression that he was a she),
or hate them:
(my favorite response to CN:Tzimisce was from a reader who told me that reading it “made her eyes bleed”),
but you can’t ignore them.
So let’s do that. Let’s talk about the authors.
I’ll start with Stewart Wieck. Some of you may recognize Stewart as the talented and accomplished author of CN:Toreador (as alluded to earlier) and CN:Malkavian. What many folks do not know is that he is also an owner and founder of White Wolf. He is the mad progenitor of the Clan Novels. At the time, he also headed up the fiction line and acted as co-editor of the CN series. A visionary with more hats than good sense.
Stewart is a physical presence, instantly taking over a room when he enters it. He towers well over six feet tall and has a bad habit of appearing in public armed with exotic weapons ranging from klaives to South American war clubs.
Stewart says things like:
Eric,
Hello. Stewart here.
I know that John has spoken with you a bit about the possibility of you writing one of the upcoming clan novels, but I wanted to finally get in touch directly to make the offer official. I'd like to offer you the Tremere novel. This book is scheduled for November 1999 release, which means a final draft will be due sometime in the Spring of that year. [snip terms of payment information]
I make this offer to you based on good word from both John and Justin, as well as the very good scene in THE WINNOWING that John says you wrote. This was the one with the bits of the songs quoted back and forth between the dueling Garou. Very nice.
So, let me know if you're interested. I'm trying to wrap these assignments up ASAP.
--Stewart Wieck
Publisher
White Wolf Inc.
This is the email that suckered me into… er, that was my first introduction to the CN series. The "John" in the note is John Steele, the other co-editor of the series and a familiar WOD author in his own right. John unreasoningly insists that I am the foremost living writer of the mystical and mythical -- a notion of which I am reluctant to disabuse him.
John and Stewart had hatched the idea of the Clan Novel series in the previous months and had already bitten off the herculean task of lining up story ideas, settings, plots and characters for the unprecedented 13-novel series.
John is also the one who drew the short straw and ended up being the Keeper of the Continuum. That left him writing and updating the Character Bible, a descriptive write-up of all the characters appearing in the series. And the Series Plot Outline. And the Series Timeline, which is, ironically, a direct forebear of this edition of the work.
John says things like:
Stewart,
Eric and I were discussing plot ideas last night, and this is what we came up with. I wanted to run it by you before sending it to Kathy. If possible, give it a quick peek and then give me a call.
John
Hazimel, the Eye, and the TzimAD Hazimel, in the days of prehistory, was a great architect and the most skillful worker of stone. His greatest endeavor is one that has lived in legend long after his name was lost to the memories of mankind. A great tower Hazimel set out to build, a tower that would reach to Heaven itself.
[snip of a fourteen page email containing thousands of years of the myth and history of Hazimel and the Eye]
John is also the one who pitched in to help when a tornado blew my house away (shades of the Wizard of Oz and the man behind the curtain) in April of 1998. It would be another seven months until my family was able to move back into our home. At the risk of reenacting a Monty Python sketch, after the house blew down, we moved into an apartment building, which promptly burned to the ground. [and then sank into the swamp...] Sparing the sensitive reader the full excruciating sequence of disasters which followed (events which were becoming increasingly difficult to avoid taking personally) I will simply say that we moved no fewer than six times before our house was put back together again.
On each occasion, John found himself drafted into the continuing effort of moving my ever-dwindling store of personal possessions around a four-county area. He’s one of my favorite humans.
I’m not sure who I could possibly follow an act like John with, except Gherbod Fleming. Gherbod is White Wolf fiction. Not only is he WW’s most prolific author, he is also its most gracious.
As mentioned above in Stewart’s note, I had previously "pinch-hit" some scenes in earlier WW novels. Gherbod, who is a terribly good sport about all this, insists that he cannot discuss that book with anyone without them instantly saying, "Oh I loved that scene where..." And, bless him, every time he puts on his long-suffering smile and tells them who wrote it.
There was some scene-swapping within the CN series as well, particularly when insane deadlines loomed or when the series plot called for one author’s signature character to appear in another author’s book. Looking back, there are only four of the fourteen books in which my writing does not appear. There are none that do not contain Gherbod’s words.
Gherbod says things like:
Justin,
Do you have any problem with us killing off the three Kindred mentioned in Rage Across Appalachia (pp. 121-2; Nathan Van de Brook, Joshua Stein, and Jasmine)?
Gherbod
the Vampire Slayer
Justin is, of course, Vampire: the Masquerade's own beloved Justin Achilli - the game developer you love to hate. Justin’s online persona, a scathing wit crawled directly from the bottom of a vodka bottle, helps him keep the more rabid fans at arm’s length. Justin is the author of the wonderfully gritty CN:Giovani and served as our compass for all thing Vampire. This may explain our brash stagger.
I had worked with Justin back when he was developing the Dark Ages line on Three Pillars (incidentally, my favorite sourcebook for any game). He actually gave me my first assignment for White Wolf, so he has no one but himself to blame.
In response to Gherbod’s polite inquiry, Justin says things like:
KILL 'EM! KILL 'EM ALL!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA!!
Er, you can kill them off if you'd like.
Regards,
Justin
Rich Dansky was our other resident White Wolf guru. Rich wrote the excellent CN:Lasombra and is perhaps best known as the developer for the Wraith line. It is not inappropriate, then, that we consulted Rich after the fashion of an oracle. He always had a handy answer on topics as arcane as the feeding habits of orthodox Islamic vampires. Rich says things like:
I find that when naming Lasombra, it's easiest to go to the John Benson baseball register and steal the names of ballplayers from the Caribbean. It's the best way I know to get a nice wide range of authentic Hispanic names fast.
--deadguy
Rich is also nice to have around at conventions because he’s easy to talk to and he scores big points for being nice to my kids. One Dragoncon, he passed the time at a long signing by sharing his light-up Eye of Hazimel™ ball with my oldest son (who I think was signing books as Gherbod Fleming at the time), and encouraging him to hurl it at random passersby. He’s good folks.
The final CN author, Kathy Ryan, is also a White Wolfer from way back. Kathy long held the dubious distinction of being the official Layout Maven, which I think meant that she got to clean up everybody else’s production messes. Like spelling the authors’ names wrong on the front covers (happened) or omitting them entirely (ditto). This lumped her in firmly with the other unsung hero of our creative team, Copy Editor Anna Branscombe, who had the singularly unenviable task of rendering my purple prose (and even more horrendous Latin) into a form that was not toxic to unsuspecting humans.
Kathy had written several excellent signature stories for the Mage line and her work on the CN’s was something of an encore command performance. Her CN: Setite and CN: Ravnos were even more highly lauded, and justifiably so. Kathy is always both sharp and gracious, offering help to get around problems you hadn’t even realized you had backed yourself into yet.
Kathy says things like:
Do the Powers behind the Plot (that'd be Stew and John, not the AD [Antediluvian] and the Meth [Methuselan] running around these books) have a take on the nature of the statuette and little eye in Hesha's possession?
I intend to give the readers and the art historian a good look at the thing Saturday evening, and it'd be nice not to contradict ourselves.
Ta.
Kathy
To this day, I do not know whether or not Kathy had actually whipped up a replica Eye and Statue with the intention of running them past an art historian to check for authenticity. But I wouldn’t put it past her.
In response to which, I say things like:
Oh, was this an eye? I was under the impression it was a nose. It seems I will require some additional time for rewrites...
--Eric
But by now you’re probably about tired of hearing what “I say things like.” I appreciate your bearing with me for so long on what may already have become a long nostalgic ramble. In my defense I have to say only that my cause was noble and my subjects deserving of whatever praise my meager words may have paid them.
Look on the bright side; you’ve only got a million or so words left to go.
Eric Griffin
St. Columcille’s
15 May, 2003
The Vampire Clan Novel series broke all records for World of Darkness fiction when, throughout 1999 and 2000, it told an epic story through cross-cutting novels and carefully time-stamped chapters. Now, the entire epic is represented in four beautiful trade-format volumes. The Clan Novel Saga reorganizes the chapters from all 13 novels (and the Clan Novel Anthology) in strict chronological order, showing the progress of the epic night by night and even minute by minute.
Volume One features a variety of prologue material and the dramiatic events of June 1999. The vampires of the Sabbat move into the Camarilla city of Atlanta, and the dreaded relic calld the Eye of Hazimel makes its appearance on the scene.
For Clan Novel: Toreador by Stewart Wieck
"Vivid writing and a gripping plot...and an excellent beginning [for the series]."
--SF Site
For Clan Novel: Tzimisce by Eric Griffin
"Eric Griffin manages to plunge the reader into a chilling world that is unbroken by its graphic violence, as vampires do battle, killing and torturing each other with ghastly creativity."
--SF Site
For Clan Novel: Gangrel by Gherbod Fleming
"A very entertaining read and an excellent 'neonate novel.'"
--RPG.net
For Clan Novel: Setite by Kathleen Ryan
"An incredibly talented writer..., Kathleen Ryan delivers."
--RPG.net
For Clan Novel: Assamite by Gherbod Fleming
"A very good addition to the Clan Novel series."
--RPG Reviews
For Clan Novel: Ravnos by Kathleen Ryan
"I enthusiastically recommend this book, an exciting ride from start to finish."
--RPG Reviews
For Clan Novel: Tremere by Eric Griffin
"Both lyrically beautiful and deeply satisfying."
--RPG.net
by Stewart Wieck
Do or Die and Then Die Anyway
Somewhere, probably on a PDA I’ve not used for a couple years*, I have a digital photo of the enormous, wall-sized dry-erase board that John Steele (aka Gherbod Fleming) and I covered with scrawl plotting this “million-word” Clan Novel series. Fortunately, unlike a point later in this gigantic story, our scrawl was not in blood, though at the time if felt like we were spilling plenty of it. It was a weekend of intense plotting followed weeks of assembling puzzle pieces, especially with the help of Justin Achilli, the then and present mastermind behind the events of the vampires of our World of Darkness.
[By the way, Justin was very late delivering his CN: Giovanni, but I’d like him to know that I have now forgiven him, especially considering how he recently lead a team of White Wolf Office players to victory in a basketball grudge match in my name against the warehouse team. I’m not certain how I became the center of that mess, but I guess that’s something new to blame on Justin.]
Interweaving the events of 13 novels involving 13 (or more) main or POV characters is no small task. Every decision had fallout throughout the entire course of the series and plugging plot holes (ok, we didn’t plug them all) necessitated backtracking through the prior dozens of decisions and reformulating yet again. Much easier to be an eternal vampire and have a little more time for such plotting.
This level of difficulty held true even though we primarily plotted only the main story arc. We allowed the rest of the plotting to be “up to the author” of the individual novels. That was really just a seemingly generous way of saying we’d pretty much maxed out our brainstorming with the main story arc involving the Eye of Hazimel, the Tzimisce antediluvian beneath New York City and the near-end of the World of Darkness and so whatever portion of the novel wasn’t required to address those issues of the larger plot was the responsibility of the author. That turned out to be a real pain in the ass when it came time to write the novels we assigned ourselves.
[In my case, I wrote two - CN: Toreador and CN: Malkavian - plus portions of CN: Ravnos. John carried writing load of the series with five novels plus some pinch-hitting on CN: Ravnos with me. Together we addressed the continuity of the series overall and especially the contributions of authors besides the two of us.]
The main story was our focus because it had to be good. You see, the future of fiction in the World of Darkness was riding on the success of the Clan Novel series. Prior World of Darkness novels, trilogies and anthologies had achieved respectable sales, but that was what the best of them did. The slowest-selling titles were not moving off the shelves the way we thought they should nor even well enough to warrant publishing more of them.
So the Clan Novel series was to be an about face.
[Credit to Chris McDonough for his long-time encouragement of novels based around individual clans. I’ll remind him that he never proposed it be in a mega-series format like we did these books, but it was his continual pressure about a similar format that prompted the existence of the series in the first place.]
We wouldn’t pull any punches and so would use all our best-known characters. We would promote the hell out of the series, and we would make certain the events of the fiction reflected the nature of the events as portrayed in our game setting. A disconnect between our games and our fiction was long supposed to be a major weakness in our early World of Darkness fiction and correcting that was fundamental to the effort of this series (and fundamental to making fiction readers out of our game players). As it turns out, some of the mythology the Clan Novels added to the World of Darkness has been embraced now in other WoD formats as well, including an Eye of Hazimel card and storyline for our “Vampire: The Eternal Struggle” CCG.
In a vastly complicated reflection of the convoluted World of Darkness, the storyline for the series would operate on a number of different levels. Each of the CNs was supposed to tell a self-contained story. The backdrop for those stories was the Camarilla v. Sabbat war that rages along the entire Eastern United States, and that contains innumerable elements and conflicts that are central and classic to the setting, such as Old World v. New World and Elder v. Anarch.
But it was the step beyond even that conflagration that was the true heart of the series. That step took us to ancient generations of vampires that had previously never been detailed and it took us stories deep into the recesses of New York City where dwells the Tzimisce antediluvian. In a perhaps too subtle attempt to communicate the layers within layers nature of the Kindred of the World of Darkness, the entire one million words of the Clan Novel series essentially demonstrates the courses of action and reaction that such an unfathomably powerful being puts into motion with the barest hint of stirring from a deep, deep slumber because it senses that without a countermove on its part, unfolding events will threaten its immortal life. With the barest glimmer of awareness, this antediluvian initiates activity - including the entire Camarilla v. Sabbat War presented here - that results in putting it beyond the reach of those who would harm it. That’s the central plot of the one million words: the shrug and an antediluvian. Don’t worry, I promise that the actual million words are more exciting than that base breakdown.
Of course, an ancient vampire that opens an eye might continue to rouse and soon open a fanged mouth hungry for Kindred blood, so something had to happen - someone had to happen - to save the world from destruction. Well, Anatole fended that off for a time, but the events of the World of Darkness unfolding soon after the time of this book’s planned publication were not foreseen by antediluvian or this creator (we both eventually get our way, though!). The Clan Novel series upped the ante, alright, but it evidently only served to create a new benchmark for armageddon.
Stewart Wieck
Clan Novel Series Editor
Co-creator of the World of Darkness
April 9, 2003
Chicago
*Despite my technological intentions, I always find myself using pen & paper to organize my day.
Monday, 21 June 1999, 4:43 AM
Thirteenth floor, the Ritz Carlton
Atlanta, Georgia
Three sharp knocks. At the sound, Sascha Vykos checked her pacing and looked up with more than a slight hint of annoyance. She carefully refolded the letter. It vanished into an inside pocket of the immaculate Chanel suit.
The door opened just far enough to allow Ravenna to slip through. He did not shut the door behind him but put his back against it, as if to keep it from opening further.
"I am sorry, Vykos. There is a...gentleman here who insists he must see you without delay." The ghoul managed to maintain just the proper tone of distaste, but his anxiety was obvious.
Vykos smiled at his discomfort. "And what is this gentleman's name?"
A look close to terror flitted across the ghoul's carefully controlled features. "My lady! I did not...one does not... What I mean to say is..."
It was apparent Vykos was not going to help him out of his predicament. Ravenna's voice fell to a conspiratorial whisper.
"He is an Assa..."
There was a sharp crack and Ravenna fell to the floor.
"Assassin is such an uncouth word," said the visitor, stepping over the inert body of the ghoul. "A thousand blessings upon you and your house. You may account this the first."
Vykos held her ground and studied the stranger. His motions were like dripping honey-fluid, tantalizing. His form was almost entirely concealed in a draping robe of unbleached linen. An unusual garment for an assassin. She had come to think that there must be some sort of unspoken dress code among those hired predators. All seemed to favor close-fitting garments that would not interfere with the necessities of combat or flight. She had already run through four or five ways her visitor's flowing garment might be turned to his disadvantage should it come to close fighting. It was quite likely, however, that those folds concealed a number of lethal ranged weapons which might render such speculation moot.
It was also her understanding that dressing entirely in black was something of a badge of office among practitioners of the second-oldest profession. This garment would shine even in dim moonlight, frustrating all efforts at stealth. Surely, not even an amateur would make such a mistake. No, it stood to reason that her guest was utterly unconcerned with concealing his approach. His words, his actions, even his dress, spoke of a healthy confidence in his own prowess. Vykos found this slightly irritating.
"Was that strictly necessary?" Vykos's tone betrayed only a businesslike displeasure-enough to make clear that she would not account the ghoul's death a service rendered.
Her guest turned up the palms of his hands and bowed his head slightly. His hands were long and elegant-the hands of a pianist, an artist, a surgeon. Their languid grace spoke of a barely suppressed energy. They fluttered gently like the wings of a delicate bird.
Vykos's eyes never left those hands.
"You might at least return him to the front room so that we will not have to look at him as we talk," Vykos continued. "I find it hard to believe that you are always so casual about disposal of bodies and the like. And bring in another chair as you come. My servants have hardly had a chance to unpack yet."
An ice-white smile stole across the visitor's chiseled ebony features. "I am not in the habit of concealing my handiwork. Unless, of course, you count the removal of witnesses. And you need not concern yourself for my comfort. I will stand. We are quite alone? You spoke of servants."
"Yes, we are now. I have, of course, sent my most valued associates away for the evening. Some of my guests have a reputation for being somewhat...excitable."
The stranger's voice became low and menacing, "And you do not fear for your safety? There are many in this city who would see you come to harm."
"Tonight, I am the safest person in all of Atlanta." Vykos purposefully turned her back to him and crossed to the cluttered desk. "Your masters are not so careless as to dispatch an agent to kill me when we still have unfulfilled business. Very unprofessional. Nor could they allow me to come to harm from a third party when suspicion would be sure to fall squarely upon themselves."
Vykos turned upon him and pressed on before he could interrupt. "No, I do not fear you, although you bring death into my house. Tonight, you are my guardian angel, my knight-protector. You will fight and even die to prevent me from coming to harm before you can conclude our business. Is it not so?"
"Tonight," again the Assamite flashed a predatory smile, "I am your insurance policy. But for tonight only, Lady."
From beneath his robes, he produced a burlap sack. With a sweep of his free arm, he cleared the clutter from the center of the desk and deposited his parcel with a thud.
Dramatic bastards, thought Vykos. But there was no choice but to play along at this point. She couldn't very well bring this business to completion otherwise. With a sigh of resignation, she opened the sack.
She recognized the familiar features immediately, from the reconnaissance photos. It was Hannah, the Tremere chantry leader. More precisely, it was her head. Hannah's hands had also been severed and were folded neatly beneath her chin. Nice touch, Vykos thought. Just the right blend of superstition and tradition. She was well aware that the Assamites' hatred of the warlocks was as ancient as that of her own clan.
Of course, she did not give him the satisfaction of expressing that admiration aloud.
"She's dead all right."
The Assamite tried his best not to look crestfallen at her matter-of-fact reaction.
Before he could respond however, she continued, with perhaps a hint of malice, "Are you certain it's her?"
His pride pricked, he seemed about to make a retort. Then he checked visibly and composed himself. "Ah, now I see you are having a small jest at my expense. Surely, you are more than casually acquainted with...the deceased." The Assamite's tone was soft and formal, like that of a funeral director - couching an indelicate concept in the gentlest terms possible.
"I have never seen her before," Vykos answered coolly, pronouncing each word separately and distinctly. "And if I understand you correctly, I did not even arrive in this country until after her death."
"Have no concern on that account. All has been carried out in exactly the manner you have specified. As to the matter of the witch's identity, there can be no doubt. If you will allow me..."
The Assamite absently knotted a fist in the hair of the severed head to steady it as he slid one of the lily-white hands from beneath its chin. He turned it over, palm up on the desk.
"The witch's magic is still in her hands. The knife cannot sever it, the scythe cannot gather it in." He recited the words with reverence, as if quoting some ancient scripture.
He caressed the hand gently, like a lover.
Under his touch, the network of delicate lines that crisscrossed the palm darkened, deepened. As he continued to brush the hand with his fingertips, the lines seemed to writhe and then curl up at the edges as if shrinking back from a flame.
As Vykos watched, the snaking lines knotted themselves into a series of complex and subtly unsettling sigils.
The Assamite drew back with a satisfied smile. The glyphs continued to twist and slide gratingly across one another. "Do you know these signs?"
Vykos said nothing, but her eyes never left the dance of arcane symbols.
"It is not given to me to interpret the sigils," the Assamite continued. "But an adept could give them their proper names. Each sign is a unique magical signature - a lingering reminder of some foul enchantment that occupied the witch's final days. Do you have need of such knowledge?"
Still staring at the hand, Vykos shook her head slowly. Then, as if coming back from a great distance, she replied, "No. No, it doesn't matter now. With Hannah dead, the entire chantry will be..."
She changed gears suddenly, but without pause. "But where are my manners? I must not bore you with details of such trifling and personal difficulties. Really, you are much too indulgent of me. Now, what were you telling me about indisputable proof of Hannah's identity?"
With a slight upward curl of his hand, the Assamite gestured towards the sigils.
"A fascinating exercise," Vykos countered, "and let us assume for the moment that I believe unquestioningly your account of what I have just seen." She held up a hand to forestall any protestations.
"But this still tells me only that the hand belonged to a Tremere witch. It does not tell me that it belonged specifically to Hannah.
"Appearances," Vykos intoned, "can be fatally deceiving." She sat down at the desk. As she spoke, her hands absently brushed aside a few wayward strands of Hannah's hair that had drifted down over the pallid face. She ran both of her hands slowly downward, stroking the unresponsive flesh of cheek and throat.
When she again addressed her guest, her gaze never lifted from the death mask before her. "I have seen her, of course, but only in photographs." Her fingertips came together at the nape of the neck. "Do you think her beautiful?"
The question seemed to take her guest by surprise. He snorted dismissively before regaining his composure. "Lady, these considerations, they have no place in my work."
Vykos smiled. Her thumbs swung up, tenderly smoothing closed the eyelids.
"No, of course not." Her voice was soft, her eyes lowered. Her thumbs lingered upon Hannah's sealed eyes, pressing slightly as if to ensure they did not flutter open again. "But I was not asking a professional opinion. You surely had ample opportunity to see her, to study her. Would you say that she was beautiful?"
The assassin wheeled away from her and muttered a few syllables in a harsh and foreign tongue. "You will, perhaps, forgive me if I say that you are the most exasperating of clients. Of course, I observed the movements of the witch. How could I not do so? There is room neither for error, nor hesitation, nor mercy when dealing with her kind. She is there before you now. Judge for yourself whether she is beautiful!"
Vykos, apparently unmoved by his outburst, regarded the unmoving face before her with a critical eye. After some deliberation, she opened a desk drawer, extracted a silver hairbrush and began to brush Hannah's long auburn hair.
"Yes, but you saw her in the full flush of the blood-when she was yet 'alive'-when there was still movement and gesture, expression, emotion. These are the things that the photographs-and this little keepsake-cannot tell me."
He paced the room briskly and was a long while before answering. "Yes, I saw the witch living. I was, as you well know, the last person who might make such a claim." His gaze fixed on some imaginary point in the middle distance as if seeing, not for the first time, people and things that were no more.
"I felt the arch of her back as my hand closed around her waist. I saw the delicate throb in the line of her throat as the flowing hair pulled taut. I saw the lips part to form words of power that they would never complete. Yes, she was as beautiful in dying as she is in death."
Vykos smiled and continued her brushing, counting softly under her breath.
Her guest stirred uncomfortably but did not resume his pacing.
An uneasy silence ensued, filled only by the regular stroke of the brush. As if suddenly struck by a thought, Vykos looked up and fixed her gaze upon him. From beneath half-closed lids, she asked, "What then shall I call you, my sentimental assassin? You have not yet told me your name."
He cocked his head to one side and regarded her for a moment as if to determine whether she really expected an answer or if she were simply goading him further. There was a peculiar undertone to her question. Something subvocal, almost feline, certainly dangerous. It belied the innocent allure of her gaze. Without willing it, he slipped into a more defensive stance.
"Nor am I likely to. You may call me Parmenides."
"Ah, a philosopher then. I had nearly mistaken you for a poet." She continued to muse aloud. "You do not appear to be a Greek and you surely are not so wizened as to have walked among the luminaries of the School of Athens. You are, then, something of a classicist, a scholar...a romantic."
He almost visibly shrank from this last epithet and began to protest.
"No. Say nothing more of it. The conclusion follows inevitably from the premises. But have no fear, your secret shall remain safe with me." She picked up her brush and resumed her task, apparently forgetting him entirely.
He stared at her in open disbelief, but she seemed completely absorbed. Under her unrelenting brush, Hannah's hair came away in great tangled clumps. Soon the surface of the desk was covered, but still she did not pause.
"My lady, I believe we yet have business to discuss."
Vykos still did not look up from her labor. The brush began to scrape gratingly across the exposed stretches of scalp now visible through the remaining patches of hair. The sound seemed to play directly upon the nerves without first traversing the intermediary of the ear.
The flesh began to blacken and bruise. After a long while, Vykos said absently, "You were endeavoring to prove that this is indeed Hannah, the Tremere witch and the leader of the Atlanta chantry. The more I subject this specimen to scrutiny, however, the less resemblance I see between the two."
She set down her brush and pushed her chair back to study the results of her efforts. She nodded, satisfied.
"There is a certain...luster missing." Vykos pinched the cheeks gently as if to bring up the color in them, but seemed disappointed at the result. "A certain defiance no longer apparent in this delicate line of jaw." She illustrated with a slow caress of the index finger.
"And the eyes. Even in the photographs one could see that the witch's eyes were set deep-as if shrinking from the things she had witnessed in the dark hours. These eyes bulge noticeably, and without any of the fire that is the legacy of the Tremere devilry."
Vykos ground her thumbs into the sockets as if to set things aright. Parmenides made a noise of disapproval or disgust and turned away. "Enough. You know these signs for what they are, my Lady. They are the marks of the grave, of the Final Death, nothing more. If you continue along these lines, however, you will certainly mar the remains beyond all recognition."
Vykos pushed back her chair and stood. Her voice was conciliatory. "Now you have gotten your feelings hurt again. Come here my young romantic, my philosophe. If you tell me that this is the witch, I will accept your pledge." There was a scraping noise as she rotated the head on the desk to face him.
"Look upon her. Do you not find her beautiful?"
Almost against his will, he looked. The flowing auburn hair was gone entirely. The flesh of face and scalp was bruised to a uniform blackness. The line of jaw was set proudly, powerful and masculine. The cheeks had lost their full feminine roundness and drawn taut so that a hint of the skull was discernible beneath. The eyes had become wary-small, dark, recessed.
None of these individual changes, however, made the slightest impression upon the stunned Parmenides. He had fallen victim, instantly and completely, to the sum of these alarming alterations. The face that stared back at him was unmistakably his own.
Vykos's voice, when it broke in upon him, came from directly behind him and very close. He could feel her breath upon his neck and ear. "...The reason I do not place my trust in photographs. Images may be altered."
He felt her lips upon his throat and let his eyes fall closed.
This is a question that has taken us the better part of two years to answer. I guess the best place to start is to just throw you in at the deep end and hope for the best. This is, after all, precisely how I was first exposed to the series.
For me, the "cold plunge" was an insidious little document euphemistically referred to as the Preliminary Series Plot Outline. This document came out of a flurry of planning meetings between series editors John Steele and Stewart Wieck. I'm going to include this entire document here. Not only is it interesting in and of itself, but it may also be fun for folks who have followed the series to see where it all started and where it diverged from our best laid plans.
I suppose I should state for those who have not yet read the novels (for shame...) that there are some spoilers in this outline (duh). There are, however, probably even more anti-spoilers -- ideas that never made it to print. Without further ado...
Main Story: Victoria Ash is holding a social gala in Atlanta. The guest list is quite impressive. The major tension at the party is between the Malkavian Prince Benison who, over the past year, has incited a minor anarch rebellion with his strict pronouncements, and the Brujah Justicar (Theo Bell's sire) who has come to judge Benison's actions. Victoria is an instigator and enjoys watching the prince squirm. The Justicar seems to have decided against Benison, but the party is disrupted by the initial Sabbat offensive, against which Benison and the Justicar present a united but hopeless defense, each earning the respect of the other.
Subplot (cutaways): Political maneuvering -- Benison and his Ventrue wife Eleanor (who is more subtle and devious than the prince) v. Victoria v. Justicar (who has his own agenda) v. Thelonious (Brujah leading the anarch revolt).
Subplot (cutaways): Sabbat spying and series of assassinations along East Coast; capture of Miami (if this hasn't already happened in WoD) and Atlanta.
Subplot: Setite Lackey steals the Evil Eye during the disruption of the party. He had been tipped off by the Nosferatu that he would have such an opportunity. Unfortunately, as he tries to escape, he is caught up in the Sabbat web and killed. Along comes Leopold the starving artist Toreador who left the party earlier but was skulking around in abandoned galleries. Leopold sees the Eye, which the Lackey had tried to hide by replacing one of his own with it. Leopold is entranced by the Eye's "beauty" and takes it.
*Need to provide: important characters at the party; specific rumors; list of assassinations; details of characters and power struggle in Atlanta.
Peripherals:
Tzimisce and Lasombra -- lurking about, spying; in fore of Sabbat attack.
Gangrel -- snubbed by Toreador; don't warn of coming attack
Assamite -- whacking a random Tremere (looks like Sabbat setup, but actually arranged by Nosferatu); kill Hannah in Atlanta?
Ravnos
Giovanni -- cut away to assassination in Boston.
Tremere -- mostly aloof from social climbing; one member (Hannah?) killed by Assamite
Nosferatu -- always watching; info to Setite Lackey; arrange Tremere hit; save someone (later killed by Inconnu or vengeful Assamite) from the impending attack.
Main Story: The Sabbat preparing and launching their grand offensive, and although Atlanta, Charleston, Raleigh, and DC all fall in rapid succession, there is dissent within the ranks. Vykos, who is helping plan the attacks, feels that he is far superior to his New World counterparts, both Tzimisce and Lasombra. Many conflicts, both strategic and personal, arise. Scheming, combat, carnage.
*Need strong cast of North American Sabbat characters against whom Vykos can contend.
Subplot: As the Evil Eye is put into use, the TzimAD begins to stir beneath NY; at first a vague sense of movement, but more distinct consciousness by the end of the book.
Subplot: Leopold has possession of the Eye. He begins a descent into madness as he searches for the "Philosophers' Stone" through his art. His media progress from stone to wood to mortal flesh, but none prove satisfactory. TzimAD is asserting influence over him through the Eye. At the end, Leopold, now in NY, plucks out his own eye to make room for the vision of the Eye.
Subplot: Old Clan Tzimisce returning to Old World. (Is this relevant to the series?)
Peripherals:
Gangrel -- shown as ferocious warriors.
Ventrue -- suffering heavy losses.
Assamite -- rumors of interference from this clan; another Tremere assassination.
Malkavian
Ravnos
Brujah -- in the fore of the meager resistance.
Giovanni -- Tzimisce trying to muscle in on Boston.
Tremere -- Tzim trying to capture/turn Tremere now that antitribu Tremere are dead, but Assamites keep killing Tremere first.
Nosferatu -- out of harm's way; secretly playing both sides; losing stragglers to the TzimAD
Main story: Leopold kidnaps Ramona's friend; Ramona and other neonates track him down but are repulsed. Call in the Gangrel elders. Elders decimated by Leopold who is empowered by the Eye/TzimAD. Ramona witnesses aftermath of the slaughter. The Gangrel believe they have faced some ancient power, an AD of Caine himself. They call for immediate action from the entire Camarilla but are ignored.
Subplot: Hesha uncovering ancient texts describing events parallel to what is happening to Gangrel.
Peripherals:
Tzimisce -- Gangrel coterie catch unfortunate Tzim loner -- cat and mouse, torture.
Ventrue -- arguing w/ Gangrel elders about response to (early) Sabbat attacks and to (later) the slaughter (though this disagreement might wait for Ventrue book).
Lasombra
Assamite -- Tremere hit #3
Malkavian -- introduce Anatole; having visions of "art" that will be produced during/at the site of the Gangrel massacre.
Ravnos
Brujah -- seeking Gangrel support for Brujah as Camarilla war-time leaders (this aspect, also, probably more evident in Ventrue book).
Giovanni
Tremere -- sensing activity of the Leopold/AD.
Nosferatu -- caught off guard by the slaughter of the Gangrel which occurs away from any city.
Hesha does not know that his Lackey found the Evil Eye but was killed. Hesha does possess some means (one of two gem/eyes to which the EE played third eye) to discern that the Eye is being used and individuals in three places are viewing through it (Leopold in NY, Inconnu in ?, RavnosMeth in Calcutta). Hesha goes to Calcutta where he begins an uneasy alliance with Khalil. Hesha discovers that the Eye is not at the temple of the RavnosMeth. But perhaps through some scrying device there, Hesha witnesses the destruction of the Gangrel.
Possessing the matching gem/eye to Hesha's is his mortal rival Idaho Smith who arrives at the Gangrel battlefield shortly after the slaughter. It is day and he finds Leopold seemingly dead in a cave where he has constructed a monstrous, monolithic statue of corpses and near-death, mutilated Gangrel. Smith plucks the Eye from Leopold. Unfortunately for the mortal, Hesha shows up, smacks him around, and claims the Eye. Hesha wants the Eye because he is creating a supernatural Frankensteinish creature to defeat Horus/Osiris.
*Do we want Hesha to strike up a relationship with Ramona? If so, he could search her out before travelling to the battlefield, since she had contact with the Eye and might have useful information. Hesha could become almost a mentor type figure for her now that she has lost her sire in the slaughter. Of course, Hesha is subtly corrupting her, leading her to give in to her bestial nature.
Peripherals:
Tzimisce
Gangrel -- Ramona trying to make sense of what she has seen, seeking knowledge of Antediluvians
Venture
Lasombra
Assamite
Malkavian -- Anatole still plagued by visions of the grotesque statue but does not know where it is.
Brujah
Giovanni
Tremere -- investigating aftermath of Gangrel slaughter, but withdraw (to secretly prepare for Amarilla attack on NY).
Nosferatu -- influencing the direction Hesha's investigation will take; directing him to Ramona, in exchange for which Hesha will share with them what he finds.
Main Story: The Camarilla is in disarray, yet many elder European Kindred see no reason for alarm. As a concession to the alarmists, they send Jan Pieterzoon to the US to help organize resistance to the Sabbat attacks.
The Gangrel officially withdraw from the Camarilla, and there is intense infighting among the Ventrue-Brujah-Toreador for control. Jan manages to push through his strategy, and with Theo Bell concocts a secret plan. Buffalo and Atlantic City are abandoned. Buffalo falls immediately.
Jan seeks help from the Giovanni, and arranges via the Nosferatu for Lucita to do her thing.
Peripherals:
Tzimisce and Lasombra -- ever-present opposition; spy within the Camarilla revealed.
Setite
Assamite -- Tremere hit #4; seen (by Jan) as possible allies.
Malkavian
Ravnos
Giovanni -- feeling pressure from both Camarilla and Sabbat.
Tremere -- marshalling strength, preparing for attack on NY
Nosferatu -- gathering intelligence, passing on parts to Camarilla, first to anticipate that NY will be left exposed; arranging for Lucita to off Sabbat bigwigs.
Main Story: The Sabbat War continues but is a much more evenly matched affair after the initial wave of attacks. But news is spreading that the Gangrel have withdrawn from the Camarilla. Rumors abound of some demonic force unleashed by the Sabbat (although no one in the Sabbat knows what it was, or if they do, they're not talking). Despite having overextended their forces, the Sabbat begin another major push. Atlantic City is captured. Initial resistance in Baltimore is heavy.
The Sabbat, as always, has other internal problems. The Tzimisce Vykos is still sidling for more power. Worse yet, Lucita, Lasombra antitribu, is killing off Sabbat leaders. The POV Templar is charged with protecting them, even the despicable Vykos. In a final confrontation, Templar saves Vykos but other important leaders are killed (in a way that leads Templar to believe that Vykos himself arranged the killings).
The decimation of the Sabbat command is lessened slightly by the news that Archbishop Moncada is coming onboard with his New World brethren. He brings deviousness and expertise that are sure to turn the war back to the Sabbat.
Also, after her many successes, Lucita receives a disturbing sign that Fatima has been watching her.
Peripherals:
Toreador -- bitch, moan, bitch, moan; but still looking out for number one, almost to the point of collaborating with the enemy to discredit the Ventrue and Brujah.
Gangrel
Setite
Ventrue -- have managed to slow, if not stop, the bleeding.
Assamite -- Fatima taking note of Lucita's exploits
Malkavian -- Anatole and more visions.
Ravnos
Brujah -- Lasombra attempt to turn/assassinate Theo Bell fails miserably.
Giovanni -- still resistant in Boston despite Sabbat pressure.
Tremere
Nosferatu -- liason between Camarilla and Lucita (though she has already been hired by Vykos?); also monitoring Hesha
Main Story: Khalil approached by awakened RavnosMeth (or minion) who wants to ensure that the Eye is in circulation (or maybe that it is safe?) Khalil, seeking personal power, makes a pact with the Meth.
Khalil tracks down Hesha and offers (?) to give him info about the Eye, but after their dealings in the Setite book, Hesha wants nothing to do with the Ravnos. At least not until Leopold, still running on AD fumes, shows up and kicks Hesha's butt and reclaims the Eye. Hesha reconsiders Khalil's offer. Khalil reveals what he knows of the Eye. In exchange, Hesha -?
Subplot: Anatole has shown up on the scene and reveals -? Prophecies regarding the awakening of the methusalehs.
Peripherals:
Torreador -- Leopold on the rampage
Tzimisce
Gangrel -- Ramona still with Hesha?
Ventrue
Lasombra
Assamite
Brujah
Giovanni
Tremere
Nosferatu -- observing dealings between Khalil and Hesha; learning much aout the Eye, Leopold, and extrapolating about the RavnosMeth.
Main story: Fatima has taken notice of the Sabbat assassinations by her rival/former lover Lucita. Fatima unfolds her elaborate plot and killls Moncada, throwing the entire Sabbat into disarray.
Subplot (cutaways): Glimpses of Fatima and Lucita's past/evolving relationship.
Subplot (cutaways): Assamite's breaking the Tremere curse; Fatima's refusal to renounce Islam despite clan pronouncements.
Peripherals:
Torreador -- quietly applaud (even aid?) Fatima's hit.
Tzimisce
Gangrel
Setite
Ventrue -- worried by rumors of Fatima being up to something
Lasombra -- Moncada laying out plans.
Malkavian
Ravnos
Brujah
Giovanni
Tremere
Nosferatu -- Trying to keep tabs on Fatima; not sure if she's going after Camarilla or Sabbat target.
Main story: Anatole makes his way to the grotesque sculpture that Leopold has fashioned and is overcome by prophetic visions. Anatole records some of his madness/visions in quite transitory fashion (blood? sand?). His mad scribblings would have been lost were it not for the vigilence of the Nosferatu.
The visions are of Gehenna, but provide some clues about current affairs -- TzimAD, RavnosMeth, Inconnu?
*How does Anatole die? Are the Inconnu involved?
Torreador -- Leopold's art sparks Anatole
Tzimisce -- revelations from Anatole about AD beneath NY
Gangrel -- still writhing and moaning as part of sculpture
Setite -- Hesha and Ramona confront Anatole at art cave, learn something that, along with Khalil's info, will be the final piece of the puzzle for Hesha.
Ventrue -- damage control, downplaying what Anatole says and does
Lasombra
Assamite
Brujah
Giovanni
Tremere
Nosferatu -- though they gather all the secrets, their blindspot is the interpretive vision that Anatole possesses, so his ramblings are valuable to them.
Main story: The Sabbat march into Baltimore, the final Camarilla stronghold on the East Coast and find... nothing. The enemy are gone. But where?
Lead by Theo Bell, the Camarilla sweep into NY and take the lightly guarded city with unbridled brutality. Just as everything looks under control, Leopold rears his head again.
Peripherals:
Tzimisce -- AD oozes (but Inconnu are now fueling Leopold).
Gangrel -- Ramona finally called away by her elders who want nothing to do with the Camarilla or what is going on in NY
Setite -- Hesha trying to keep out of the crossfire
Ventrue -- put full support behind the invasion, but wary that Bell might become too powerful.
Lasombra -- getting their teeth kicked in. Remember Moncada!
Assamite -- Fatima shows up and gets the drop on Theo but doesn't kill him. She's just making a point.
Malkavian
Ravnos
Giovanni
Tremere -- helping with the assault; have been snooping around at the Gangrel battlefield; are caught off guard when Leopold shows up in NY.
Nosferatu -- still losing stragglers to TzimAD; what is that thing down there?
Main story: The clan in Boston is playing the Camarilla and the Sabbat against one another and in doing so retains control of the city.
Subplot: Through the fallout of Enoch's destruction, the Giovanni come upon startling information (?) regarding the Antediluvians (perhaps proof that some of Anatole's prophecy is coming to pass). Since the clan is relatively isolated from much of the other action, however, they do not see their discovery in its larger context.
But the Nosferatu do.
Torreador
Tzimisce
Gangrel
Setite
Ventrue -- courting the Giovanni
Lasombra -- trying to muscle in
Assamite
Malkavian
Ravnos
Brujah -- True Brujah join Old Clan Tzimisce? (Probably this should be dropped.)
Tremere
Nosferatu
Main story: Aisling Sturbridge at Chantry of Five Boroughs is having little success battling Leopold until Hesha arrives with vital information.
*This feels too thin now that the Saulot/Goratrix plotline is gone.
Torreador
Tzimisce
Gangrel
Ventrue -- Sabbat War has become a stalemate; how long until Sabbat reconcentrate forces and take back NY?
Lasombra -- outbreak of serious factional strife after death of Moncada effectively prevents counter attack.
Assamite
Malkavian
Ravnos
Brujah -- Theo leading the struggle against Leopold.
Giovanni
Nosferatu -- suspect Inconnu involvement
Main story: Realizations abound. Margin Dude at first hypothesizes that Inconnu were controlling Leopold (which is what Inconnu would like anyone who sees beneath the surface to think) but later suspects AD involvement.
This book is largely a series of seeing previous scenes through the eyes of hidden Nosferatu, interspersed with Dude speculating about related motivations/cause and effect.
Subplot: Nosferatu Flunkey discovering presence of "something" beneath NY, telling Dude who starts putting two and two together -- until he's visited by the Inconnu who kindly tell him to back off or else. As much as Dude knows, he realizes how much more there is out there.
Peripherals:
Toreador
Tzimisce
Gangrel
Setite
Ventrue
Lasombra
Assamite
Malkavian
Ravnos
Brujah
Giovanni
Tremere
Copyright © 1997-2006 Eric Griffin