A Breed Apart
Now, here's a little primer on family relations before I introduce you around. According to vampire legend, we are all descended from Caine, son of Adam and Eve. Supposedly God punished Caine for killing Abel by turning him into vampire; the "mark" God placed upon Caine was in fact the curse of vampirism. Caine discovered he could pass his curse on through the Embrace, and created childer to ease his loneliness. Unfortunately, the process did not stop there. Each of Caine childer made childer, and they made childer, and so on. Caine realized his mistake, forbade the further creation of vampires, and vanished.
Of course, with the cat away the mice did play. The younger vampires listened about as well as one might expect, which is why I'm here. Of course, each step away from Caine - each generation of vampires - is a little weaker, a closer to mortal. Caine himself is the First Generation, his childer are second, and so on down the line. The 13th generation is about the last one worth the oil it will take to roast them in Hell; I'm led to believe that 14th-generation vampires are all mules anyway.
Newer ask someone her generation. Doing so is considered fatally rude.
That's not all there is to it - can you hear me over this din? Why do mortals insist on dancing to this, this noise at such high volume, anyway? In any case, we're not all like Caine. Heaven help the world if we were! Instead, each of Caine grandchilder - Antediluvians, we call these mythical beings, for they are presumed to predate Noah's little Flood - supposedly bore unique mystical gifts and curses, and all vampires descended from that particular Kindred kept those characteristics. We became specialized, bred like hounds or racehorses, and those specialized lineages became known as clans. Thirteen great clans are known to us, each in powers and purview. Those powers, by the way, we call "Disciplines". For all intents and purposes, they're magical. You've seen me use one of mine. Pray you don't see some of the others.
Oh, and then there is the Jyhad, of course. Yes, Jyhad. The Eternal Struggle, The Great Game, or whatever poetic sobriquet one wishes to attach to it. Most Kindred would say the Jyhad, like Antediluvians, is but myth, and yet many believe in it, deep in their cold, dead hearts. As the stories go, during the first nights, the eldest childer of Caine began fighting amongst themselves, using their own childer and the kine as pawns to be sent to and fro against the minions of their rivals. Naturally, since we vampire are immortal, the ancient feuds never quite died out, and so the game of feint and thrust, parry and counter continues - so they say - to this very night, with most participants entirely unaware of their part in the struggle. Kindred versus Kindred, clan versus clan, mortal nation versus mortal nation, all at the strings of hidden puppetmasters. A silly notion, really. And yet, I have seen many strange things in the night, and I occasionally wonder whether my action are indeed my own... Ah, well. Existentialist piffle.
Anyway, please allow me to introduce you around. Do you see that woman over there in the black lace skirt and top hat? No, not her, the other one. Her name is Jullian. She's one of us, but from different clan that I. Specifically, she is of Clan Toreador, the "Clan of the Pose", as they call it. Art, beautiful boys, imagining themselves to be characters out of Keats or Shelley - all these things are meat and drink to the Toreador. Or that is what conventional wisdom would have one believe. I put little stock in stereotypes, particularly the noble ones.
The gentleman in the charcoal suit and collarless shirt who's trying to be inconspicuous in watching Jullian and her flock? He's Paolo, a Tremere. The Tremere are sorcerers, quite nasty and secretive. Anger one and you'll have the whole pack of them expressing their disapproval all over you. And over in the corner, the ruffian in the biker jacket looking all harsh and brooding? Devin. He's a Brujah, a rabble-rouser, and he's actually hunting. Sooner or later, his Byronic demeanor is going to draw some female attention, he'll allow himself to be sheered up and taken home, and then... well, you know what comes then.
Don't even think about trying to interfere, or I'll kill you myself. Think of yourself as watching a nature documentary. That's what's going in here, really. Survival of the fittest. The herd of humanity loses one or two animals, but most get to move on, unharmed. It's balance between predator and pray.
That's what the Camarilla is all about, by the way, maintaining the balance. Making sure that we don't run amuck through the herd, and that you don't learn that there are hunters among you.
What's the Camarilla? Not much, according to some vampires. In theory, it is the umbrella organization of all vampires dedicated to providing order and maintaining the Masquerade. In reality, it has only seven of the great clans, plus assorted hangers-on. A couple of other clan style themselves independent, and the rest are in a beastly cult called the Sabbat. The Sabbat makes Devin over there look like a nursery-school teacher; they're a lot closer to what the Inquisition thinks it's looking for than we Camarilla types are.
Don't make the mistake that we in the Camarilla are nice, though. We're not. We just realize that at this point, it is a great deal safer to coexist and try to work through you than it is to ty to fight you. Never, ever be fooled into thinking we're the "good guys".
We just have more use for you alive than dead.
No good prospects tonight, I think - Devin is hogging the spotlight. Let's get out of here. You look like you could use some air, and this place is beginning to bore me.
No, I'm not going to kill you and drink your blood in the alley. The act of granting the Embrace should be done in comfort, in luxury. Besides, by now my ghouls should have garnered sufficient nourishment for your first Hunger; I'm generous sort of sire.
Please don't act shocked. Ingenuousness doesn't suit your complexion. I've been dropping hints all night, and you've been dutifully picking them up. Besides, you couldn't have thought I was going to tell you all of this and then let you just walk away? Oh, most of the world would think you were crazy if you repeated the story I've given you, but just enough people wouldn't. They believe, and they'd tell other people. And the whole thing would come tumbling down like a house of cards.
So, my dear, there's no way I can let you walk out of this alive.
You can walk out of it dead, though. You know what I'm offering you. You know that deep down, you want it, too. If you didn't. you would have tried to escape hours ago. But here you are.
So, lovely lady, am I going to make you live forever? Yes? I'm glad.
Take my arm, my dear. Are you afraid yet?
You should be.
