Vampire 20th anniversary pdf free download

A SOURCEBOOK FOR VAMPIRE: THE MASQUERADE 20TH ANNIVERSARY EDITION DARK AGES

Steffie De Vaan, Lawerence Hawkins, David A Hill Jr, Matthew Dawkins, Hayley Margules, Malcolm Sheppard

Credits Authors: Steffie De Vaan, Lawerence Hawkins, David A Hill Jr, Matthew Dawkins, Hayley Margules, Malcolm Sheppard Developer: David A Hill Jr Editor: Ellen Kiley Creative Director: Richard Thomas Art Direction: Mike Chaney Layout and Typsetting: Becky Jollensten Cover Art: Sam Araya Interior Art: Andrew Trabbold, Sam Araya, Michael Gaydos, Felipe Gaona

Special Thanks I want to thank the Kickstarter backers for making this book happen. The core V20 Dark Ages book was a thing we were doing regardless. The book was written. But, you dedicated fans from the Kickstarter showed us so much enthusiasm for what we were doing, we had to overflow content into another book. This gave us the chance to flesh out stuff we barely had room for. This is the kind of stuff we love to chatter about amongst each other, saying, “Damn, I wish I could do XXXX.” You let us do XXXX. And YYYY. And ZZZZ.

© 2016 White Wolf Publishing. All rights reserved. Reproduction without the written permission of the publisher is expressly forbidden, except for the purposes of reviews, and for blank character sheets, which may be reproduced for personal use only. White Wolf, Vampire, World of Darkness, Vampire the Masquerade, and Mage the Ascension are registered trademarks of White Wolf Publishing AB. All rights reserved. Vampire the Requiem, Werewolf the Apocalypse, Werewolf the Forsaken, Mage the Awakening, Promethean the Created, Changeling the Lost, Hunter the Vigil, Geist the Sin-Eaters, V20, Anarchs Unbound, Storyteller System, and Storytelling System are trademarks of White Wolf Publishing AB All rights reserved. All characters, names, places and text herein are copyrighted by White Wolf Publishing AB. This book uses the supernatural for settings, characters and themes. All mystical and supernatural elements are fiction and intended for entertainment purposes only. This book contains mature content. Reader discretion is advised. Check out White Wolf online at http://www.white-wolf.com/ Keep up to date with Onyx Path Publishing at http://theonyxpath.com/

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Table of Contents Chapter One: The Dark Medieval World

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Introduction 7 What This Book Is 7 What You’ll Find Inside 7 Abyss Mysticism 7 Assamite Sorcery 7 Fiefdoms 8 Holy Things 8 Knightly Orders 8 Koldunism 8 Necromancy 8 Setite Sorcery 8 Unholy Things 8 Warfare 8 The Bloodless Crusade: The Creidne Diaries 9

Chapter Two: Forgotten Sorceries 31 The Horrors of Abyss Mysticism 31 The Oubliettes 31 New Background: Oubliette 32 Denizens of the Abyss 33 Blatherskite 33

Infantile Bezoar Umbriferous Man The Minacious Legion Ingurgitant Vortex Abyss Mysticism Rituals • The Abyss Knows • Locating the Oubliette •• Abyssal Blade •• Implant the Bezoar ••• One with the Dark ••• Summoning the Blatherskites ••• Angra Mainyu Consumes Spenta Mainyu •••• Lord Aludian’s Orifices •••• Boukephos’ Gateway ••••• Beckon the Ingurgitant ••••• •••• Boukephos’ Chosen Oubliette Assamite Sorcery Alamut Terrain and the City Itself Chamber of Elders and the Pool The Watchtowers The Trance of Return Viziers and Sorcerers Generational Conflict Keepers of the Pool

33 33 34 34 35 35 35 35 35 36 36 37 37 37 37 38 38 38 39 39 39 40 40 41 41

The Keepers Way 42 Sense the Ripples (•) 42 The Gift of Haqim (••) 42 The Distant Crimson (•••) 42 Know the Fate of One (••••) 42 Cast into the Pool of Blood (•••••) 42 Rituals 42 Strength of Haqim (Level 1) 42 Ritual of Return (Level 1) 42 Blood Calls to Blood (Level 2) 43 Strength in Wisdom (Level 3) 43 A Shield of Mirror (Level 3) 43 Rebirth in the Light of Haqim (Level 4) 43 Occlude the Western Road (Level 5) 43 The Secrets of Koldunic Sorcery 44 Koldunic Rivalry 45 The Many-Headed Seekers 45 The Bialowieza Kraina 46 • Domain Breach 46 •• Fingers of Bialowieza 46 ••• Grondrska’s Impasse 47 •••• The Mouth of Djabelek 47 ••••• The White Tower 47 Rites of the Kraina 48 Table of Contents

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Unnatural Decay 48 Drinking Death 48 Treasured Ornaments 49 Master of the Domain 49 Truth in Water 50 Servitor’s Perception 50 Borne by Wind 50 Autumn’s Armor 50 Concentrated Vitae 50 Eyes of the Dead 50 Animate Curios 50 One with the Forest 51 The Floating Dead 51 Scrying Pool 51 Evoke the Storm 52 The Dark Arts of Necromancy 52 The Spoils of Death 52 Concealed Paths 54 The Path of Skulls 54 • Calvaria Emissicius 54 •• Consilium Mortuus 54 ••• Ammorsus Vicarius 55 •••• Exedo Animus 56 ••••• Degulo 56 The Path of Woe 57 • Finding the Locus 57 •• Expurgate the Damned 57 ••• Blood Scourge 58 •••• Cursed Eucharist 59 ••••• Purge the Apostate’s Soul 59 The Secrets of Setite Sorcery 60 The Winter of the Witch 60 Heretical Sympathizer (2 pt. Social Merit) 61 Hunted by the Hierophants (4 pt. Social Flaw) 61 Postulant of Echidna (3 pt. Supernatural Merit) 61 Akhu 61 The Revelations of Duat 61 • Sight of the Jackal 62 •• Weigh the Virtues 62 ••• Pharaoh’s Sentry 62 •••• Imbue with the Grace of Anubis 63 ••••• The Sorcery of Life 63 The Revelations of Eden 64 The Revelations of Midgard 65 • Bestowment of Scales 65 Table of Contents

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•• Suffer for Jormungandr 65 ••• Swallow the Tail 65 •••• Cycle of the Midgard Serpent 66 ••••• Apep’s Transformation 66 Witchcraft 68 Witchcraft in the Dark Medieval 68 Religious and Philosophical Witchcraft 69 The Varieties of Witchcraft 69 Folk Wisdom 69 Incantations 69 Paths of Sorcery 70 Awakened Witchcraft 70 Folk Wisdom and Incantations 70 Folk Wisdom 70 Incantations 71 Incantation (2 Pt. Supernatural Merit) 71 Incantation Procedure 71 Sample Incantations 72 For Luck 72 For Wounds 72 To Bestill the Grave 72 To Find Treasure 72 To Summon a Being 73 Greater Witchcraft: Paths and Pillars 73 Path Magic 73 Adapting Blood Magic 73 Ways and Limitations 74 Foundations and Pillars 74

Chapter Three: The Weight of Nobility Fiefdoms and Vassalage The Liege, the Land, and Many Hands By Oath of Fealty Territories of Another Kind New Social Merit: Vassal (1–5; Special) Why Would I Ever Want To Be a Vassal? High Value is Hard to Come By Legitimacy Can’t Be Bought Being Valuable Has Its Benefits

77 77 77 78 78 79 79 79 79 79



Long Turns 95 Long Turns in Combat 95 Enemies All Around 96 Example: One-Eye and the Splitter 96

Chapter Four: Faith 99 The Holiest of Things 99 True Faith 99 True Faith In Play 99 Aspects of Faith 100 Holy Artifacts 100 The Finger Bone of Sofia • 101 The Water of Meriba •• 101 The Hand of Nikolas ••• 101 The Caul of Jos •••• 101 The Mercy of Ra ••••• 102 Biblical Necromancy 102 Pull of the Grave • 103 Clarion Call to the Loyal •• 103 The Blessing of Valhalla ••• 103 Lure of Elysium •••• 103 Weighing of the Heart •••• 103 Restoration of Styx ••••• 103

Lazarus Rises ••••• • 104 The Warriors of Dazbog 104 Stereotypes 105 The Faithful of Nikolas 105 Factions 105 Combination Disciplines 106 Nikolas’ Blessing 106 Messenger’s Voice 106 The Unholiest of Things 106 Unholy Worship 107 Blasphemous Pact (6 pt. Supernatural Merit) 108 Demonic Patron (5 pt. Supernatural Merit) 108 Profane Trappings (4 pt. Supernatural Merit) 108 Unholy Stain (3 pt. Supernatural Flaw) 108 Dark Thaumaturgy 108 Die Heriroschaft des Wyrm (Tyranny of the Wyrm) 109 • Malfean Infection 109 •• Bane to the Soul 109 ••• Dissonant Miserere 109 •••• Feed the Wyrm 110

••••• House the Maeljin Rego Calatio (Rule of Summoning) Jollux, Petty Demon Shp’murrl Tsong, Madness Demon Tuqburni, Passion Demon Sacristan, Murderous Demon Marquis Decarabia, Named Demon

Appendix: Player Options Combination Disciplines Bulgroth’s Exquisite Torture Livia Yorke’s Ouroboros McShaw’s Grace Nikolai Steen’s Acuity The Rod Raw Rending Abyss Mysticism The Third Eye of Rickard Argentis (Level 3) Thaumaturgy Rituals Samira’s Kihanah (Level 3)

110 111 112 113 113 114 114

115 115 115 115 116 116 116 116 116 117 117

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Introduction W

elcome to the Tome of Secrets. Welcome back to the 13th century, to the Dark Medieval World presented in V20 Dark Ages. Here, we’ll be treading some familiar ground, and we’ll be finding new trails. We’re going to pull back some curtains and let you see the meat, skeletons, and bile behind them.

What This Book Is Tome of Secrets is a series of short supplementary pieces which add material to V20 Dark Ages. This is mostly material we wanted to add more of, but couldn’t squeeze into such a massive tome. Every supplement, every piece adds material for Storytellers and players alike; you’ll find options for your characters and for your stories. This book is an interesting collection, in that you helped make it happen. Not you specifically, necessarily, but the fans in general. During the Kickstarter campaign for V20 Dark Ages, we engaged with the fans, finding the sorts of things they wanted to see more of. Over that month, we added more and more material as we reached additional benchmarks. This is the sort of material we’ve always wanted to touch on, but didn’t necessarily have the space to address in the past. We also got to give more specific identity to these ideas. For example, we give Setite Sorcery more attention than before; it now feels very distinct from reskinned Thaumaturgy. We added more

content to our new Koldunic Sorcery system, showing some of the directions it could go beyond the baselines presented. We added a ritual magic system as well, at fan request. Also, this compiles the serial fiction from that Kickstarter campaign, detailing the strange phenomenon of the Bloodless Crusade. With the help of our Kickstarter backers, we’ve even added a series of lost letters, which help shed a little light on (or ask more questions about) the mysterious crusade. We’ve also added some new Combination Disciplines and rituals showcasing some of our fans’ characters. So where V20 Dark Ages was a love letter to Vampire: The Dark Ages, and Dark Ages: Vampire, this is a love letter to fans of V20 Dark Ages.

What You’ll Find Inside Here are the supplements you’ll find within:

Abyss Mysticism This section delves further into the darkness of Lasombra sorceries, including new rituals, and some of the terrifying creatures of the dark.

Assamite Sorcery This is a treatment of Clan Assamite, with attention paid to Alamut’s role in the bloodline. We showcase a form of sorcery which is inexorably tied to Alamut. INTRODUCTION

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Fiefdoms

Necromancy

This section offers tools and ideas for building domains and fiefdoms within your chronicles. It looks at the idea of territory in the Dark Medieval World, and gives game tools for presenting that to your players.

Here, we expand upon the magics of the Cappadocians, the Giovani, and Laibon necromancers. We add new rituals, and new concepts.

Holy Things This expands on the concepts of True Faith presented in the V20 Dark Ages rulebook. It looks at the nature of miracles, and how faith matters for Cainites.

Knightly Orders Here, we look at knighthood, both in a mortal and vampiric sense. This gives ideas for how to implement knighthood in your stories, as well as knight-specific combat options.

Koldunism This material expands on the Koldunic Sorcery content featured in V20 Dark Ages, including a system for ritual magic, and a new kraina for your Tzimisce sorcerers. THE DARK MEDIEVAL WORLD

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Setite Sorcery In this section, we offer further Paths and rituals for Setite sorcerers, as well as a philosophical approach to what Setite sorcery means.

Unholy Things This material deals with demons, the infernal, and vampires’ complicated relationship with the unholy.

Warfare Here, we look at warfare in the Storyteller System, and through a medieval lens. How can you run large-scale combats in V20 Dark Ages and make them truly impactful without wading into complex numbers exercises?

The Bloodless Crusade: The Creidne Diaries Entry 0: Prelude July 1242 Our patron has promised each of us great fortune if we uncover the city called Scáth. You must bring only a horse, and bring it immediately after nightfall tomorrow.  You ask why we’re traveling. You ask for what we travel. You ask for whom we travel.  We travel for the city. It’s not a place like Dublin. You cannot just consult maps. It moves. It vanishes from time to time. The city contains a great bounty of ancient and mystical treasures, treasures that can make kings of paupers. It contains a secret so dark, it shall shake our understanding of the blood to its very core.  Our patron is a great Cainite, a power amongst powers. I cannot divulge his name. He has given us a guarantee that within one night’s travel, we shall know his power. He asks not for blind faith, simply for one night to prove his credentials. Our first voyage is to Dublin. We canvas the city. We search. We question. Our patron tells us we shall know for what we search when we find it. This letter’s existence means that you are valuable to our hunt. Come with us.  We ride at nightfall. 

—Creidne  Entry 1: Dublin, July 1242 Our voyage takes us toward beaten roads. Our patron has come through on his assertion. We traveled hard the first night. When we awoke on the second night, we found our hunger gone completely.  That is a lie. Our hunger was not gone, and to suggest it was would belittle the truth of the matter. Our hunger was replaced by a new hunger: a hunger for the hunt, for the quest, for the road. Those of us who strayed from the path felt the pangs of starvation the way one might after a week without mortal lifeblood. Those buckling down and marching along felt sated, like we might right after a fresh meal. As we arrived in Dublin, we felt completely satisfied, elated even. This helped the voyage, since so many Cainites traveling together would tax if not eradicate a local population. Without the need for blood, we could devote ourselves to the mission. Dublin seemed a dead end for three nights. The locals had no concept of this city of Scáth. However, this newfound lack of hunger kept our interest in the search. Some of our number continued to hunt, just to keep the bloodlust at bay. This was a cathartic experience for many.  Our break came in the form of a forgotten alley between two derelict homes housing numerous poor families. The newly appointed Lord Mayor, John Le Warre, told us this tiny ward did not

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exist. He told us not to travel to this edge of the city, that any of the other 8,000 people were far more likely to help us on our search. But we found it. “Scáth Edinburgh.” This oblique reference made our hearts feel engorged, as if we just slaked our thirsts on a freshly killed, healthy vessel. While the reference was vague, that feeling was enough to send us to our next goal.

Entry 2: Edinburgh, July 1242 Now, the loss of hunger is truly proven a miracle. We have traveled for over two weeks, and none of us has collapsed from the absence of blood. None of us has fallen to the Beast, or to dread torpor. Our blessings are many.  Edinburgh was a quick stop on the voyage. A woman waited for us. Or did three? I cannot remember. I believe I recall their faces. But I only remember one speaking to us. She told us a great many things, but each and every one of us forgot her words. She said we’d remember when it was important to remember. She gave us a fingerbone, clawed, ancient, cold. We kept it densely wrapped, for any plant within a foot of the bone withered in seconds, and no fewer than three horses died while carrying it. One of our charge, an Assamite, holds the bone on her person, and runs with the quickness of the blood alongside our caravan.  She told us to continue on to Norwich. She told us Norwich would not end our journey. She told us that Norwich would give us a knuckle up on the competition.  We have competition? The plot thickens. Did our patron hire multiple companies? Certainly not. Our miracle could not be replicated by anyone short of Caine. Could even Caine abate the need for blood?  We traveled on toward Norwich. With Norwich our next waypoint, I have to wonder, to where does this voyage take us? We’ve marched over most of the British Isles, and we do not appear to be stopping. 

Entry 3: Norwich, August, 1242 Norwich gave us an immediate clue. We looked toward London, and saw in the night sky a red halo around a star. When we looked to this halo, our hearts pumped the way a young mortal child’s might. We knew this was our path.  However, Norwich offered something else. It offered up the first signs of danger ahead. While we discussed with the locals, a messenger came from London to tell the city that the Church sought out a coterie of demons traveling the countryside toward the capital city. This most certainly referenced our band. The messenger said to the locals that they are to lead the questioning devils to London Town. There, the messenger said, the demons shall meet their end.  Some of our number left the party at this juncture, not willing to risk the Final Death for the voyage. They risked hunger, however, and I do not know at this time what happened to them.  Others girded their loins for battle. We took some of the greatest hunters and warriors in Norwich, and Embraced them into the fold. As expected, our patron’s great miracle extended to them, too. None of the new childer hungered. None attacked their sires upon rising. We quickly integrated them into the fold.  At that, we moved on toward London. THE DARK MEDIEVAL WORLD

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Entry 4: London, August, 1242 As we arrived, London was silent. This could not be good. As such a massive entourage, we marched to the gates, and were denied entry. The guard told us to find a rural stable to put us up, and to return come dawn. They said current policy forbade strangers from entering at night.  We had a plan.  We would not buckle. We would not wait. The hunger for the quest was too great, and the Beast murmured under our dead flesh. One of our Toreador summoned the guard to a nearby house. We had no time to feed him for three nights, so we gave him the Embrace, and a rapid education. We sent him into the city to investigate and report back.  He did not report back, but he did give us all the information we needed. He screamed. He screamed to high heaven. He growled. He hissed. All the while, we saw the warm orange glow of a bonfire above the city gates.  We would not enter London as a coterie. We dispersed. We surrounded the city walls. We each found haven, and planned to move the next night in a concerted effort, both directly militant and covert. 

Entry 5: London, August 1242, Night 2 Tonight, we laid siege to London, a siege of shadows.  Our fearsome Assamite blessed us all with a veil of the very night. She gave a prayer in her native tongue, and our warriors and spies moved without trace or sound, and London’s fog clung to them like cloaks bunched in the wind.  Our spies quickly found the source of the travesty; a lone church stood aside from the bustle of the city. This church still bore the ashes of our unfortunate childe across its lawn. “The Ghrian shall tear down the walls of Scáth,” some of the congregation murmured under their voices. Tear down Scáth’s walls they may, but their eyes could not tear down our sorcerer’s blessing.  Our warriors moved in to strike, their claws, fangs, and blades empowered by the hunger we shared. A frightening number of the congregation, at least a dozen, fought with the fires of True Faith. We lost some, mostly the young. But the blood of Caine is strong within us. No man, no mayor, no god will hold back an alliance of the Damned. A peculiar fact overtook us; some of our number were lost in the act of feeding. Our hungers gone, we’d not bothered to explore mortal blood since starting our voyage. But to the knights of our crusade, mortal blood turned to ash like so much food to Caine’s get. What were we becoming? We fought hard, and we conquered after a scant few hours of the siege.  We took exactly one prisoner, one Father Childebert Longivad. Like so many fathers of faithful flocks, his faith was not so true. He was nothing more than a power hungry pervert, manipulating the pious to serve his disgusting ends. Under pain of torture, he told us of his order’s home in Toulouse. Our hunger calmed. We knew we were on the right track. We strung him to a horse, and dragged him along the next steps of our journey. His body gave out, shredded, and fell into a ditch before the first night ended.

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Entry 6: Toulouse, October 1242 We made our way across the English Channel at Bournemouth, and arrived in Cherbourg. We traveled quickly; our horses seemed quickened as if they shared our uncanny hunger for the hunt. We traveled every waking hour of the night across the countryside, south into Occitania. While we oft worried of wild threats such as Lupines, no monster in its right mind would attack a caravan of battle-hardened Cainites.  The “order” of which Father Longivad spoke was no order. No proper order, at least. The Ghrian were not known to the people, nor did they have a church. Indeed, the search for his order took several nights of canvassing. The Ghrian were men of letters, and Toulouse acted as a hub for their activities. Every day, never at night, couriers arrived and quickly left with missives dropped in seemingly random locations.  We made every effort to coordinate interceptions. Ghouls. Mind-controlled servants. Traps. The randomness threw us off nearly every time; when we managed to find a note, it came up utterly empty of meaning, as if our enemies were one step ahead of us. The second such note appeared to be a seneschal’s housekeeping records for Joan, Countess of Toulouse. This featured nothing damning, nor could our group decipher any form of hidden meaning.  Eventually, one of our mark contacted a local Ventrue elder, offering great prestation for the service of possessing a mortal shell to intercept a courier. The courier could give little information. His letter however, once recovered, revealed another step on what is becoming a voyage beyond any of our expectations.  Tomorrow, we will make our way to Toledo. We travel one stronger, for our friend Ventrue now possesses the same hunger for the quest, and has asked to accompany us in exchange for erasing the debts we owe. 

Entry 7: Toledo, November 1242 As we made our way to Toledo, I listened to my company speak of the city’s composition. Our Assamite friend told us tales of its inhabitants. Toledo was her first goal on her pilgrimage from the East; she came as part of a caravan of Muslim settlers looking to expand mercantile associations within the region. She said that in the time of her first pilgrimage, things looked very good for the Muslim settlers of Toledo. The Assamites maintained good relations with some of the Jewish Tremere of the region, where they drew boundaries both physical and conceptual, and traded notes for the advancement of their arts. This arrangement unraveled with the Christian Reconquista; tensions flared, and no faction could get along.  We quickly found two things in Toledo.  A foreman in the construction of the Catedral Primada Santa María de Toledo somehow recognized one of our number, and handed her an iron key. We attempted to question him, to uncover from where the key came, and in where it fit, but he had no awareness. In fact, he could not even remember ever having the key, or having given it to us.  The second came in similar fashion. A smith handed us a gorgeous dagger, a blade of Toledo steel. He told us that the key would plunge into the heart of darkness, and the dagger would open the door. Again, he did not know anything else that could help us.  We toiled for nearly another month, actively pursuing our next lead. We had these tools, but could not tell where they were to be used. Some of our number fled the party. Not many, but our

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numbers fell below the starting population. Discouraged, we followed the first potential lead. That lead came in the form of a dream. Our Malkavian, Catherine, told us to move west to the ocean. She said the red light rises in the east and sets in the west. She said tonight, whatever tonight means, we must travel and follow the falling star. Hungry for the road, we rode on.   Addenda: My friend Tremere on our travels tells us that there is no organization of Jewish Tremere. No formally organized cabal exists, and in the time period recognized, the Tremere did not exist properly in that region. He suggests that our Assamite friend may have referenced one of the many Tremori cults, some of which took refuge in the nascent clan. 

Entry 8: Lisbon, November 1242 The strangest thing occurred last night. We set out on our road westward from Toledo. We bedded down before the first dawn. When we rose at dusk, we were but an hour from Lisbon. This was not a night’s trip; we had expected our voyage to take the better part of a month. We verified the date and our location with farmers; we had traveled the full distance in one night’s time.  Where were we that night? How did we travel so rapidly? What of our mysterious patron? Did our patron help us in our journey? I cannot answer these questions. 

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We still have not fed on the blood of the living. Some of us lament the loss, and speak of how we miss the taste, the connection. One of our number, a Worm, says that the hunt, the feeding, is the only time he gets to remember what it means to be human, because it’s his only contact with the living.  We’re shaken to the core, one and all. Does this travel peculiarity truly matter? We do not know. But it certainly affects us, and our morale. We cling together. Since entering Lisbon, we’ve avoided the local Cainites. This is not out of any particular prejudice, but how could the locals understand us? We don’t share food with them anymore, and haven’t for some time.  Our next clue came from underneath the São Jorge Castle. As we combed through the tunnels in that hill, we saw shadows. We saw dozens of shadows, which scampered through the halls. Even the quickest of our number could not catch these shades; they would give us no answers. But what they did give us was a massacre. We followed them to an antechamber which had no fewer than three dozen bodies, each rent the way you might expect from a pack of wolves. Our hunger drove us to investigate, and we saw signs of the Ghrian. We saw coinage from Toulouse. We saw feathers we recognized from the church there. Amidst the brutality, we found a writ of command from a Bishop in Cordoba. If this Bishop was truly a church official, this puts the Ghrian in some peripheral involvement with the church. The writ spoke of a group of demons traveling from the East, in search of “the city.” I can only imagine they mean our Scáth. We decided to put aside our concerns about the rapid travel, and move on toward Cordoba. 

Entry 9: Cordoba, December 1242 We made our way to Cordoba. The trip was mostly uneventful. While we traveled, our Malkavians and Toreador swore they saw eyes on us, from the distance, from the wooded depths. We investigated, sending scouts out in every direction, but came up with nothing substantial. We found tracks for that to be Lupine, but are somewhat smaller than any of us are used to. Vaguely animalistic, with claws, but barely human size, let alone larger.  The city, freshly conquered as part of the Reconquista, was a hotbed of faith. Everywhere we looked, we found new churches built. The city had more than enough for its present population; we expect that they seek to expand and maintain a stranglehold on their Christianity. However, these churches gave us something to look into. Many of the buildings were in use, despite being currently under construction.  We learned from our time in London. We briefly took roots in the city, finding connections, and charming the locals. We made the city work for us, in seeking out our prey. Just under a fortnight has passed, and we have found our mark. We have received numerous, simultaneous reports of one certain church with a growing army. However, the reports wildly varied in their numbers. The Ghrian locally call themselves “The Church of the Wayward,” and flock around a figure called the Wayward. All reports have him a beautiful man. Some reports say he is old, some young, some clean, some filthy. One report, the one we worry most about, speaks of his sunlight-golden eyes.  We hoped to plan a greater siege, a starvation game, but the rumors speak of the church moving on to the next city, to Granada. Their plan is to move within the week, and thus, we will mount an assault to start the next sundown. 

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Entry 10 Addendum: Cordoba, December 1242 … I wrote this entry, but I cannot remember writing this entry, or what it contained. I see the faint scrawlings on the next sheet of paper, and they do not match my Entry 9. 

Entry 11: Granada, Date Unknown As I search for Entry 10, I find our coterie in Granada. Again, we know not how we arrived in the fair city. Before I speak of our time in Granada, I wish to compile my understanding of our time in Cordoba, after Entry 9.  We planned an assault on the “Church of the Wayward.” We formed a battle plan that night, after I penned Entry 9. Our plan included a thorough attack from ambush, using our Nosferatu and Assamite members to great effect, following with our other members immediately. Our plan was to overwhelm, and to take key hostages for information.  Not a one of us remembers the night after.  However, as we sit in Granada, near the beautiful Alhambra fortress, we assess our situation. Many of our supplies show traces of blood. We all wear different clothing from when we last remember. Many of our weapons are missing; some are broken and show intense wear.  Oddly as well, our mouths, our fangs, our lips show stains of blood. Our bellies feel full, very full. Unlike we have felt in nearly a year’s time. We didn’t hunger; we do not hunger. But what does this mean? Have we strayed from our voyage? Have we lost our patron’s gifts?  Tomorrow, we search Granada. We cannot work with assumptions. The mission must come first.

Entry 12: Granada, January 1243 After our investigation into the matter of our missing time, we discovered that nearly a month had passed since our last known night in Cordoba. Much of that could be accounted for in travel — although who knows, considering our mysterious journey between Toledo and Lisbon. It feels as if we know less of our mission now than before we began. We have a knife, a key, and a few vague references to organizations that may or may not relate to our city Scáth.  Granada offered a beautiful backdrop for our meticulous search. Our next clue came from an odd source; our resident Malkavian found a lamp in the marketplace. The seller spoke of its being possessed of a great spirit, a “Djinn of Scyth, or something close to that,” our Malkavian tells us. Our Assamite, A’isha, poked fun at him, saying that he fell for an old confidence scam, and that mystical lamps are a great source of profit for under-performing merchants needing to pay quick bills.  As we set down our encampment, we learned just how wrong A’isha was. The lamp spoke to our camp, and something incomprehensible manifested from it. I could try to describe it, but my words would betray the experience. It looked… like an epiphany. It looked like understanding, wisdom, and knowledge. It looked like so many things that have no look whatsoever. But let me not dwell on description. What it said was much more important.  It told us it was escaped from Scáth. It told us it was just another resident of the dark city, and that it fled. It told us that many attempted escape, but it knows of none other which survived.

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It told us that the city entrance moves frequently, but that it could help to guide us. It told us it would only appear to us again in the shadows, but that our navigator would forever hear its advice.  It helped our navigator, perchance coincidentally our Malkavian, telling him where to go through strange, riddle-like suggestions. He worked his craft, and determined we’d be heading to Valencia next.

Entry 13: Valencia, January 1243 The night before our arrival in Valencia, I had a dream.  Please indulge me. I should add that I sleep a dreamless daysleep. I’ve heard Cainites who speak of dreams, mostly Malkavians with a smattering of others. An ally of mine among the Tremere speaks of one very vivid dream of an Earth with two moons. He dreams it at least once per month.  I do not dream. But I dreamt.   I dreamt of a lovely field, a grove of fruit trees. I dreamt of a figure, sometimes man, sometimes woman. It was cloaked in moonlight pulled tight against otherwise naked flesh. It held me like a lover, and I swooned with its finger between my teeth. I felt vulnerable and helpless, but warm within its arms. “Creidne,” it whispered to me. It then hummed a song incomprehensible, full of words in a language I could not hope to understand. Not once, not in its whisper, not in its song, did its lips move. It held me, and I had no hope but to remain in its arms. I felt a fear of the unknown, a fear of the outside. Its arms were my only respite.  And in this dream, the sun rose on this bountiful grove. The sun shocked my eyes briefly, but then the figure wrapped me in glorious wings. These were wings not of feather, of flesh, or of bone. These were wings crafted of the starry sky. I knew I was protected by this darkness. I yawned like a babe, and the figure finally opened its mouth. It leaned over me as I sat cradled, and it spewed from its gullet a strange fluid into my mouth the way a mother bird might her young. This fluid mostly reeked of blood, but also bone meal, a horse’s urine, and freshly warmed wheat. I took down what I could, but gagged on the excess. The figure closed our distance into a flooded kiss, forcing the mixture down my throat. While this would seem frightening and stifling, I found this nourishment oddly comforting.  Then, I saw into its eyes. Its eyes were nothing, nothing at all. Not even the blackness of Lasombra blood. This was truly a void. As I looked, my mouth still sprayed with what it pushed between our lips, every bit of me began to pull into its eyes. First my flesh tugged from muscle. Then my eyes snapped from my face. I felt the pressure of being crushed whole, and my body shrunk down bit by bloody bit, snapping and shearing as the figure’s eyes drank everything of me in.  Not once, not once at all, did I feel afraid. I pray that I wanted it more. I woke asking myself how I could have that, outside my bastard dreams. 

—Creidne Entry 14: Valencia, January 1243 After my peculiar dream, we made way into Valencia. Our clue, our lead this time, came in the form of a story. Not quite as peculiar as my dream, but none the less interesting. 

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For whatever reasons, most of our cabal found ourselves in a local tavern, a wealthy farmer’s manor. He owned most of the surrounding region, and gave lease to lesser farmers in his periphery. At the event, a traveled trobairitz entertained with tales of her time on the road. She came from the northeast, from Marseilles and Paris. In fact, had we not traveled to Valencia, we’d likely have run across her in our travels prior.  She told a tale she said is sweeping the countryside. She told us of a flock of pale riders, of gaunt hunters from the British Isles. Cheeky and subtle in her telling, she hinted that we could be mistaken for the very flock. We exchanged glances throughout, and later blood. But that’s another story.  Her story said this flock represented a premature Armageddon. She said it was the warning bursts of a volcano that may or may not erupt later. In Paris, she told us a prophet spoke of this “Bloodless Crusade.” She said he clarified that he did not call it a Bloodless Crusade because it left no corpses in its wake; he said the corpses left in its wake would be without blood, left somewhat preserved. Many of our company struggled to hold back knowing looks and abrupt reactions at this reference. We beckoned her to continue.  She told us the prophet’s words, and those words suggested the pale riders would meet an angel in Paris, an angel who would end the suffering of their dark crusade. We asked if this meant the angel would destroy the crusaders. Teasing, she told us she did not know, that the prophet spoke only madness, and nobody should take these silly stories seriously.  It seemed our fate was sealed. Of course we had to find this prophet. Or, if the prophet’s words were to be taken seriously, we had to find this angel to relieve our suffering.  That morning, we spoke as a company. We rested in the stables, discussing this issue. We hungered for the road, of course. But as a whole, we agreed that we were not suffering, so the story most certainly could not be about us. But if not about us, what pale riders from the British Isles leave bloodless corpses in their wake?  Come dusk, we will strike out upon the road again, and bid goodbye to our revelatory trobairitz. She has insisted she will see us again.

Entry 15: Marseilles, February, 1243 We stopped briefly in Marseilles en route to Paris. Marseilles held no revelations for us, but the trip did, however. I overheard a couple of our company whispering about dreams. As it happens, they dreamt dreams almost identical to mine. We spoke at length, then gathered the others. One by one, each admitted to a very similar dream. Stranger still, it appears that for the past two months, every night, exactly one of us has had such a dream. Never more. Never fewer. This means some of us have witnessed the dream twice or thrice now.  The dreams appear to differ only in superficial interpretations. Sometimes the event occurs in a fruit grove. Sometimes a garden. Sometimes a desert oasis. This correlates loosely with the vampire’s heritage. Our Assamite’s dreams occur in a dark, misty Eastern mountain, for instance. But they all end the same, with the sun, with the cloak of darkness, and with the phenomenon I call The Consumption.  So it was, I had a second dream the night we arrived in Marseilles. The only difference was that when the entity whispered my name in the first, this time it instead whispered, “Not their water.” I kept this difference to myself. I fancy myself something of a philosopher; I must test these things

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and observe, to avoid biases and stories retold to fit mine. After all, memory is part of the Cainite condition as much as the human condition, and we will remember differently to fit the flock.  King Louis felt it necessary to make villains of prostitutes in his kingdom, but the public had yet to cave to his interests. That night, I found a lady to lie down with. To her, I confessed it all. I told my story. This woman, this Alcelma, listened patiently and affectionately. She never once judged me. She barely seemed surprised at the darkest truths. I knew somewhere deep within me that I needed to confess and tell this story to someone outside the company. Once I did, I felt a great burden lift off my shoulders. She understood that if she spoke, she’d be killed as a heretic or madwoman. In a moment of impulse, I offered her my dark gift. She politely, and reasonably, refused. I felt I’d see her again.  With the falling night, we will move on toward Paris. Toward our prophet. Toward our angel.

Entry 16: Outside Paris, March, 1243 As we approached Paris, our trek grew quicker and quicker. In the final nights of our voyage, we only stopped when we could see hints of purple along the night sky. These nights, we’d find a farm house along the road. We’d march in, and our Ventrue would force obeisance from the owners. We’d stay the day, then leave the family no worse for wear.  On one last, inauspicious stop, we met with a family of Lupines. To put it lightly, they did not take so kindly to our encroachment. They called us “worms.” They fought tooth and nail — quite literally. However, their anger was no match for our numbers and our zeal. We did lose some of our number. Our Ventrue… I cannot recall his name. We lost him. The fight was against three Lupines and four other family members. Unfortunately, their children fell as well. They stood resistant to our gifts, and we couldn’t risk their growing into a pack of vicious dogs that would hunt us until Gehenna. One of our number advised we keep them — we take them as hostages, as subjects of study, and potentially as weapons. I made the judgment call to commit the act of mercy.  The bodies were strewn about, but we ignored their potent blood. In the distance, we could see signs of Paris. We did not bed down for nearly an hour after sun up. Instead, we gorged ourselves on the food stores in the Lupine house. Their grains, their breads, their meats, and their morning stew all found its way into our gullets. Not a one of us could describe the taste, but we most certainly did not suffer the normal fate of Cainites eating mortal food. We spewed no ash, no blood, nothing of the sort. We simply fell to the ground in our gluttony, while our sorcerous Tremere cast a ward against the coming sun. We slept for days. If the local farmers are correct, we slept three days.  We woke hungry for the march. We woke ready to see our fates.  We walk on to Paris, all hesitations and curiosities gone. 

Entry 18: Cologne, April 1243 Our encounter with our angel changed our crusade forever. After that night, none of the survivors dreamt again. We three, we felt her though. Each of us shared accountings of her voice, and of her warmth flowing through our veins. On our travels toward Cologne, we all felt

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the pangs of hunger. We felt the need for vitae. We hunted, surely, but we also moved on. We hungered for the quest, for the road. It was no longer an inborn hunger, we no longer starved upon straying.  Cologne meant nothing to us. Nothing of import, at least. It was but a waypoint, another step along a long hike. We were slowed by our need for blood, but we were not halted. We met a trader come down from the Rus called Jaredh Immanuel Konstantin. We shared tales of the road, of the hunt. Magdeburg holds our angel’s textile suppliers. It is our best lead. Before leaving Paris, we checked her shop, which had been burned to the ground. We know in our hearts that her fabrics held significance; maybe their source holds similar significance. 

Footnote from Eudocia: 

In my exploration into the issue, I have discovered ephemeral evidence that they did in fact feed upon this creature’s blood. This “angel.” It would be irresponsible to conclude that the creature caused their great fast; it would be as reasonable to suggest that her blood ended their fast. I have theories as to what caused the fast, and I have certain accountings from witnesses that suggest it was not nearly as holistic a fast as Creidne suggested.  However, in our sessions, she never once betrayed her piety and adherence to that truth, even under the pain of torture. She swore with conviction that her journal gave a full and accurate portrayal of her abstinence. If I am correct, her feedings were few and far between, mostly occurring during the “dark spots” in her tale, which I do believe she does not properly remember.  I am consulting with an associate of mine from the mountains in Anatolia. He’s Gangrel, and notoriously slow to answer letters. He tells me his daughter, Dominique, met them in the French countryside. He also raises questions about the veracity of their story of the Lupine massacre. Unfortunately, my sessions with Creidne were too short to ask for details about that affair. 

Entry 19: Magdeburg, May 1243 Magdeburg stood beautiful. The massive city brought in folks from all walks of life, mostly to trade and worship. The place was sufficiently dense that it took us a few nights of research, investigation, and questioning before we found our angel’s fabric supplier. The Hanseatic merchants were loathe to give up their sources, suppliers, couriers, and customers. We surmised he worked with a Tzimisce called Asen, but that bore little bearing on our crusade. The supplier told us that he sells to merchants across the empire and beyond. However, when we described our Parisian seamstress, he knew of whom we spoke immediately. He told us he remembers her so well because she has sisters, or at least identical likenesses, “doppelgangers,” in a number of cities. The closest being Nuremburg.  We stopped to admire the Magdeburg Reiter, which stood as an example of the modern Empire and its majestic art. The figure consists of three statues, two men and a woman. To our surprise, the lance-laden woman — a virgin — looked the part of our angel, of our seamstress.  After Magdeburg, we followed a false lead to Denmark. I wish not to dwell on the specifics of that lead; it’s a matter of much shame in our crusade. Fortunately, we moved quickly, and were able to find our way back to the path and toward Nuremburg. However, this was our first fruitless lead. We found this markedly worrisome, coupled with our resumed reliance on blood. 

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Footnote from Eudocia: 

The Bloodless Crusade did travel to Denmark. I felt it worth the effort to explore just why. A discarded journal entry I found in my search of Ionta’s libraries from Pisa told me that one of the three — not Creidne — felt strongly that the doppelganger narrative was unbelievable, and would lead them into a trap. This member, named Elaine Jennings, insisted they would find respite in Denmark. They did stay there for nearly two weeks, and Creidne wrote numerous entries in that time. They’re their own story, and fascinating, but I don’t believe related to the tale of the Bloodless Crusade.

Entry 21: Nuremburg, June 1243 She told us she expected us. She knew our names. She told us that she regretted our brief time in Paris, and that she wished she could tell us more. She told us that our journey would end in Genoa, but we must travel through a different path than expected. That we would see many other cities on our voyage.  She told us that she would return her blessing, our holy mission. That we would sup of her blood, and be sated on our travels once more. We did, and alas, our hunger was no more. She told us Vienna was to be our next stop, but that she would be with us, to guide us, to walk us through the valleys. She told us great peril would come to us, but if we persisted and marched

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on, we would overcome the forces that seek to stop us. Genoa would hold our city of Scáth. She told us it does not currently, but when we arrive, it will.  Beware angels, she said. Angels are the greatest liars of them all. I met a Cainite called Gabriel Blake the night prior. Gabriel. “The Strength of God”. Coincidence?

Footnote from Eudocia: 

Genoa appears to have been the end of their mission. But I cannot find reference to what they found there, or what happened. I have done some amount of legwork to uncover their tracks, but the closest I found was a family burial site along a cliff. It matched precisely with one of the spots on her hand-drawn map of the region. What I most definitely did not find was a city of shadows — although her story does suggest that it moves. I’m not prone to believe such a thing happens, but it’s internally consistent at very least. 

Entry 22: Vienna, June 1243 With the wings of our angel, we flew fast to Vienna. We kicked up dust in our wake, and nothing could deter us. Our doubts were eradicated with her blood in our veins, and we knew that to continue would be to succeed.  I find no small irony in our newly emboldened states. We were more vampire than we’d ever been. We moved through the city. We hunted. We interrogated. We searched. We moved on. Nothing could stop us. Yet we needed not the blood of the living.  Our most interesting moment in Vienna was when we found a Venetian merchant, a man dealing in spices, masks, and other oddments. He told us of turmoil in Genoa, where the Venetians sought to starve out their commercial elements. This was seen as a form of retribution for their facilitating the Fourth Crusade. Our merchant said that Genoa is becoming truly a city of shadows. We pressed him on that statement. He said he heard the phrase from a wealthy, mysterious man in Pisa, one Anziani Giovani.  Krakow would be our next stop. We knew this because she told us in our dreams. No symbols. No taking turns. All three of us shared a dream, where she spoke clearly to each of us. As we woke, we felt something within us, coming from the southwest. Coming from Genoa. As we felt this push, this pull, this strange sensation within us, we knew we had to keep our distance until the right time. This is why we fled to Krakow; being closer would be perilous. A traveling Tzimisce, one Pyotr Stanislav, told us what to expect of Krakow. She protects us. And for her, we march. 

Footnote from Eudocia: 

Anziani Giovani, the “Elder Giovani,” is a term commonly attributed to Augustus, head of our nascent student lineage. This is no coincidence; even if this Anziani is not Augustus, none would dare call himself Giovani without affiliation to that family. While not all of the Giovani line are family, even the adopted outsiders bear the name. Circumstances do not permit my congress with the student lineage, elsewise I would investigate his role further. I have seen others use an alternate spelling. I know of one young member named Vincent Giovanni. I’m mildly curious at the reason for the difference. THE DERINKUYU LETTERS

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Eudocia, In Conclusion With this, we reach the end of the verifiable documents detailing the Bloodless Crusade. Since uncovering these documents, I have been presented with numerous “lost entries.” A man offered me a folio of supposed entries 23–30. They didn’t even pass cursory divination. Another found three alternate entries detailing the trip to Genoa. The ink still smelled. I found a separate collection in a clay pot, which is almost identical to the ones I have provided in this thesis. They differ in that they are signed “Conlaoch,” a man’s name. In my research, I’ve found that many such accountings and testaments have similar edits. However, I’ve met Cainites who knew Creidne in passing, or met her on her travels. I can only imagine

these edits were to manipulate the narrative if the story ultimately went public. It is my firm recommendation that we seal these documents. That we hide them away, and catalogue them without direct reference to the events. The stories of the Bloodless Crusade are few and far between, and do not feature many of the more controversial elements of the story. I do believe that if this story falls into the wrong hands, that it could bring about a heretical cult, which is to everyone’s detriment except for those ideologues who would wield such a group. Make no mistake: This document will do more harm than good. We may learn lessons from it. But it raises more questions than it answers. Indeed, it answers no significant questions. Lock it away. —Eudocia Melachrina

The Derinkuyu Letters he enclosed letters comprise the most legible of a colT lection related to the Bloodless Crusade. Consider this a footnote to my research on the Creidne Diaries. Some are

more related to the Crusade than others, but I consider all relevant parties to be at least nominally aware of the Crusaders. Future researchers would be wise to investigate these parties. Most of these letters were intercepted en route. Some were stolen from their respective homes. Some were given

over as gifts from survivors — or murderers. One, the one without an original draft analogue, I uncovered by scrying at an opportune place and time. In the codex, you will find the originals. The following are my translations. While I’ve taken liberties in localizing meanings, my authority should not supersede that of the original documents when in conflict. —Eudocia Melachrina

My Lady Ana de Mendoza,

I am regretfully informing you that your cousin has taken to the countryside. He walks from city to city with the nascent covenant of strange pilgrims. I dare not write his name, in case this letter is intercepted. But I trust you know to which cousin I refer. This is not rumor. This is not speculation. He was seen by one of my agents in Toulouse. He dealt with my agent, offering a remarkable favor in exchange for a rather benign use of the Voice, in intercepting a courier. My agent was not mistaken in identifying him.

More important than informing you, I am warning you. Do not intervene. Do not attempt to contact your cousin. I speak in strictest confidence: This cabal is not fated for success. It marches across dangerous ground. It makes many fast enemies with its brashness and its strange heresies. It speaks of defying the blood. It speaks of the light of day. Before long, it will stumble upon a force not only resenting its words, but also possessing the power to stop its graceless walk. Lady Mendoza, you cannot intervene. I do not make this request lightly. I hear murmurs from three factions, demanding the heads of these pilgrims. The first is a collective of Lasombra with clan sponsorship, who see the travelers as a threat to their Road. The second is a powerful coterie, some allies of mine, including an upand-coming Usurper named Meerlinda. This coterie sees the pilgrims as a potential upset, as a potential trigger for a great revolt. After all, if these young bloods buck the Covenant, what’s to keep power in the hands of the THE DARK MEDIEVAL WORLD

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elders? The last group is a great brood of the Baali, of which we know little. This is not a group we’ve known and watched for centuries. This is a powerful network that’s only surfaced recently, and perhaps in response to the Crusaders. All three groups aim to see these wanderers eliminated, their message whatever that message may be silenced. Strange bedfellows, indeed.

I know your ambitions. I know your methods. And I also know that my telling you to remain mum on this issue may fall on deaf ears. If you truly wish to intervene, I implore you to abduct him. Find him, take him, and leave unnoticed. Employ an Assamite if you must. Do so as indirectly as you are able. You cannot risk being on that field when it becomes a slaughter. On to kinder words. I have heard your petition for mentorship. I will be passing along my recommendation. With Utmost Sympathy, H

Pr estess L v a Yorke, Your aggress ve pursu t of Ca ne’s brood s w tnessed and respected. I have rece ved the art fact you’ve uncovered, and I have both good and bad t d ngs. On the good t d ngs, I do bel eve the br ck n quest on comes from one of the Second Generat on. I have all reason to bel eve th s. As you suspected, t comes from an oven. It looks s m lar to many p eces we’ve found from anc ent Pers a. Further, the p ece has dent fy ng features, h d ng for those so ncl ned to uncover them. Th s s Irad’s br ck. Ca ne’s second ch lde. You see, the mortar conta ns blood, trace amounts that I’ve been able to compare to numerous l neages, desp te com ng from a s ngle donor. Brujah. Cappadoc an. Lasombra. Ventrue. Th s s no co nc dence. These are the clans often attr buted to Irad’s creat on. If my research and d v nat on s correct, th s conf rms a long-stand ng bel ef supported by the Book of Nod. On to the bad t d ngs. I must say that I do not have long. S nce my d scovery, I’ve seen v s ons. I’ve seen shadowed f gures. These are not Lasombra assass ns; my s ght would p erce that blackness. These are someth ng else. Each n ght, they come closer. On the f rst n ght, I could not throw a rock and h t the shadows f I tr ed. Now, I can make out d st nct f ngers on the r hands f I focus. They have s x f ngers. Odder st ll, I’ve not hungered. I’ve not fed n a week, nor do I even want to. Some three centur es ago, I encountered a coter e who l kew se d d not need blood. They went over a month w thout. But at the end of th s per od, the hunger caught up w th them, they rended each other to shreds, then they fell apart at the very fabr c. All crumbled to the F nal Death. If the shadows do not get me f rst, I know that th s shall be my fate as well. I have a solut on. Metamorphos s w ll be my salvat on. If my theory stands correct, fate follows dent ty, and metamorphos s changes dent ty. We’ll soon f nd whether my theory bears fru t. Do not w sh me luck. W sh my ph losophy holds true. —Myca Vykos

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Amadeo Alejandro Ramirez, I am making this connection by way of Gabriella of Genoa. I need your assistance. And if you understand what this means, I do not need to elaborate. You’ve heard of the wanderers, have you not? Those claiming to be free of the shackles of the blood? Soon, they shall arrive in Valencia. I need your intervention. My sire has demanded my time, and in such a way I cannot refuse. But this matter must be attended to. A man called Augustine travels with them. He shares our blood. He must be eliminated. Unless I am mistaken, he’s the only of our line attending this voyage. Make no mistake: This group will fall, and soon. They cannot have one of our clan in their ranks. We cannot be associated with their malfeasance, as I know when the truth comes out about what they’re doing, it’ll be far worse than any of us imagined. Things are changing soon. Wheels turn slowly but steadily. We must be clean, pure, and ready for that future. We cannot be stained with this nonsense, because when the last wheel turns, we must be ready to rise righteous as dark and perfect beacons. Whatever enslaves these travelers, we cannot be a party to it. If you do this thing, know that I’ll be indebted. This is a task I’d otherwise never leave to another. It must be done, and must be done properly. Gabriella speaks well of your ability. For blood above all, —Lucita de Aragon

Addenda from Eudocia

I have confirmed that Augustine fell in Valencia. I found a diary from one of the travelers, a Tremere called Maximilian Skold, which stated that Augustine never woke from the pilgrims’ strange dream; that when they woke, he was but ash. Odder still, this author seems to think that his passing was largely accepted as coincidence, as an expected cost of their dream. Either that writer was mistaken, or the Crusade believed their dreams truly empowered to kill. I do not discount this possibility. Their circumstances were sufficiently strange that they might rationalize anything. To the Lord Berwich Nothisen, Greetings. We spoke briefly during your excursion to Paris. I introduced myself, we spoke of your nascent bloodline. I am Véronique d’Orléans. If you’re reading this, you’re on travels in Nuremburg, from your home in Saxony. A mutual acquaintance told me of your visit. I’m going to be direct with you, Lord Nothisen: I need you to create a childe. There’s a young woman in Nuremburg who claims to have seen angels. She says a group of angels rode through her town, and blessed her and a few others. I need you to make her like you, clanless. After the initial feeding, which should be ample, I need you to not let her feed for some time. Wait one week. Perhaps two. See if she shows the signs of losing control, or the call to torpor. If she does, feed her. If she does not, I need you to put a quickbeam shaft through her heart and ship her to me in Paris. THE DARK MEDIEVAL WORLD

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In exchange, I will grant you a great blessing. I have many ears. More importantly, I have many ears about Saxony. I promise you that each Cainite lord in the region will recognize your nascent bloodline. You’ll submit to me a coat of arms and a name, and I will see to it that our blood at large acknowledges you as its head. My offer, while generous, is highly subject to time. I must have you commit this creation within one month, and I cannot promise you my support past that month. So you must act quickly. But this window of opportunity is both rare and potent. I have leverage I can use in your favor, but I need to see results. We can create great things. Show me the initiative, and you’ll be rewarded in a way that cannot be taken away. You’ve seen the rise of the Tremere. You know this is possible. Sincerely, Véronique d’Orléans

Mister Jonathan Crowley, I know you watch our kind. My friend Anatole spoke of you, and told me where I could connect with you. I need to make this connection, and I hope you understand the gravity of why. My family faces eradication. Further, my race faces eradication. My family, my kind, we know. We find, interpret, and we teach the secrets of the world when we can. Unfortunately, we’ve been painted as devils, and each night, we grow fewer in number. Worse, we see the end; and like Cassandra, none will hear our tale. THE DERINKUYU LETTERS

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I’ve seen signs and portents. Some of our number no longer sup on the fruit of the living. While this appears an interesting blessing, and perhaps a new stage in our very identity, it’s a sign of our ultimate downfall. It’s the first rung in a ladder down to a thousand hells, a ladder which we cannot climb back up. I need to tell this story, these portents, to one not of our blood, but one not necessarily mortal. You travel. You observe. You bear wisdom. You speak for a legacy thousands of years old. You’re a candidate for this burden. From me, you’ll learn more of my kind in a night than you’ve learned in a decade’s research. I will be as unto an open book. If you’ll listen, I’ll be open with you. You know my kind enough to know how rare this opportunity is. I’m not afraid of you. Take this story to your kind. I am a woman who has lost everything. I cannot lose any more. My kind is doomed; there’s nothing you can do with this tale to make our situation worse. But, maybe, just maybe, you can carry our story forward. If we cannot have immortality in the blood, perhaps we can have immortality as a tale, as a piece of wisdom to carry on. He says you speak with the wisdom and free fickleness of a fox. That, I appreciate. I grow curious of what I may learn from you, if only from reverse observations. I want you to hear our tale. I want you to protect our tale. I want you to share our tale. You are not of our blood, and thus, you may be able to preserve this message. If you can find out how to connect back with me, to find me, I will tell you my tale. Great tidings, Teagan Watcher of Zao-Lat

Verdiana, Forget your name. Forget your family. For I will, and I wish to. The pilgrims march soon through your lands. We’ll fake your death. Your second death, as you faked your first in Tuscany. You’re not established in Regensburg yet. Walk away from it all. Flee. Here is my offer. Come to me. To the Courts of Love. We’ll repeat our moment together, a million times over. I’ll take you as my childe. I have the necessary blessing. To the world, you’d be but a clever Tuscan girl I took a fancy to. To the world, you’d be Toreador — no serpent, no disciple of Echidna. The night grows short on the followers of Set. As our courts grow in power, I hear rumors that we’ll soon be eradicating problem elements, low clans. We’ve watched the Salubri fall. Other clans will follow in this race for purity. My sire tells me that perhaps only six or seven clans are safe in the long term. I don’t begrudge you your faith, if that still drives you. You can practice in the shadows, the way your clan has for aeons. These pilgrims, they are the second in a series of signs. The first came just over a decade ago, when the sun was consumed by night. The third has the Clan of Death birthing their own destruction. We know not how long that will take. Then we see a serpent beheaded. I wish not for that serpent to be you. Consider my proposal. Even if you do not, please write. Each night, I worry your time has come and I was so very far away as to be ignorant of it. Yours, Rosamund of Islington THE DARK MEDIEVAL WORLD

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December, 1241 Initiate Ambrus Kelemen, I apologize for the shortness of this message. I hope you understand the lack of proper formalities, and for having it appear on your person, invading your privacy. You’ve warned us that the Ruthven Tzimisce line shall attack soon. You said you saw their troops gather. We will win or lose this coming battle on your strength. Here is what you are to do: • Draw or procure a tactical map of the path between the place where the enemy musters and Ceoris. • Highlight natural vantage points for our combat sorcerers. • Highlight large clay deposits for quick gargoyle creation. • Show advantageous spots for landslides and natural disasters we might influence. I also need the best inventory you can provide. You said they bring great forces. My best informant tells me one of their soldiers fled the Bloodless Crusade, and feeds not on the blood of the living. If you can verify this, we need to understand this phenomenon, since it could transform our entire operation at Ceoris. My informant called this one “Umbri.” I don’t know if that’s a constant name, or simply an alias for the crusaders. Any advice you have will be taken to heart. Understand that this is your chance, Initiate. Demonstrate greatness. Let us show the world that our place in this world of Cainites is destined and immutable. I can only presume their attack will occur before the next moon. Alacrity is the utmost virtue in this endeavor. Place your report in the container in which you found this letter to deliver it to me. From Ceoris with Strength, Etrius, The First Among Equals To the one called Leinad Carter, I have been invited on a great pilgrimage, and with permission, I seek to invite you to London, and immediately. I believe you need this opportunity, that it could change your existence forever. My group, my fellow pilgrims, we have gone a month without blood. I cannot explain this in more certain terms: We have not fed, nor have we wanted for feeding. We’ve wanted only for the pilgrimage. My fellows believe this is our one true chance for redemption. I know of your plight, of your wife-to-be. I understand the tragedy of your story; I understand the devastation it must have caused. I want to see you helped. I see you as a beacon. I see you as hope. I don’t speak for my sire, Jürgen von Verden, but I know he has hope for greater things. As his adherence to the Via Regalis falters, I wish to help catch him. I need something. I need a net. I don’t think I can find it alone. Each night, I hear more and more rumors that Hardestadt looks to see him destroyed. I owe him. Walk with me, please. Help me find this net. I know you share my hope for better things. Be my walking companion. My talking companion. Help me to sort this out and make something of it. Help me to bring it to the world. When you come to London, and I am confident you will, walk the riverside. I’ll look each night when the moon is at its apex. Understand that we may never have this chance again. Everything’s changing. You can be part of that. In hope, —Magda THE DERINKUYU LETTERS

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Holy Father Pyotr Stanislav, Childe of Karpeslav, Childe of Nikosya, Childe of the Dracon, Childe of Tzimisce, Childe of Enosch, Childe of Caine, Eldest of Adam, Created by God, Most Holy Koldun of the Tchernoknazi, Flayer of Sins I reach out to another scholar of the blood, of blood sorcery. I reach out to another of Tzimisce blood. I reach out for aid, for philosophy, and to teach and learn with the clan. You see, I have witnessed — or to be blunt, experienced — something reminiscent of the phenomenon we’ve been calling The Bloodless Crusade. It’s over now, but I took extensive notes, and conducted extensive experiments. Unfortunately, thus far my experiments have granted me no conclusions. And thus, I am calling a summit of sorts, a convocation of experts willing to put forth the rigor necessary to understand this oddity of the blood. If you are so inclined, this shall be a month-long summit, held in a month’s time. I understand the problems with urgency; however, time may be of the essence if we wish to grasp whatever was lost. I will be providing sustenance, and fulfilling any other needs. Come alone, or come with assistants if you must; mortal food needs will be of no consequence. I advise you bring texts and other research materials; I’ve yet to fully settle in my new home in these Balkans. My library is not what it could be, as the fires of crusade devastated it but decades ago. I rebuild, but not as rapidly as I’d like. Bring your Boy if you’d like. Bring Theresa and Tara, they will be accommodated. I anticipate answers, as should you. Existence without vitae? Imagine, if you will, what advancements we could make with that additional time, without that overwhelming drive pressing our every action. For many of us, this means centuries locked away, working toward our true passions. I don’t speak to others’ priorities, but I can nary imagine a Cainite this could not benefit. We stand on the precipice of greatness. Even outside the scope of best-cases, simply understanding our condition on a greater level is a boon. Your mind is valued. Bring it. Study. Learn. Grow. Teach. When tomorrow comes, let us stand at the forefront. Myca Vykos

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Alexus Comnenus, I write to inform you of affairs at home. Unlike many of the “Cainites,” we seem rather relaxed. We’re redoubling our efforts, and work to erode what’s left of the Dream. From a political standpoint, though, we work to distance ourselves from the filth called Baali. Forces work to weave us with them; as Beshter fell at the hands of the Baali, we’re associated in our opposition to his “utopia.” We speak to the public, attempting to wash our image clean. We need them to understand that our opposition to the Dream was separate from the Baali claim for power. I believe our best course of action is to phrase this as an inevitability that we are working toward. Constancia, one of the Cappadocian prophets, spoke of the Dream, and stated that it falls hard. In this narrative, we can act as agents of inevitability, of fate. This not only absolves us of some responsibility, but it helps us to find a place in their mythology. Their mythology seems to have no good answers for the Cainites who travel from city to city without blood. Some say it’s the work of an angel. Some blame the spirits who commune with the Lupines. Me? I take it for weakness. I blame these “thin bloods.” These “Cainites” deny Set, and grow further and further from the blood. Their very fangs come from serpents, but they call us heretical? The “Cainites” do not trust those they call “Laibon.” They do not trust anyone who balks at their Abrahamic mythology. Like it or not, I do believe we must use that mythology if we’re to progress. In their stories, serpents play maleficent roles. I think we can embrace this though, if we’re willing to accept that part in their society. Right now, we don’t need a war. But we can present ourselves as an undesirable necessity, and that will at least make us look like actors in the script, instead of outsiders. This will help bring us in. I have news about Nicaea, and in particular about Anna Comnena. I don’t want to be too specific, but Bishop Alfonzo of Venice shall be making moves soon. If you have aims toward Comnena, I can assist. I must admit, I know you have aims toward Comnena. Alfonzo will not simply work with our kind, but I have a favor owed that I can call in. Speak to me in the old ways if you wish to work with me on this. Glory Be To Set, Andreas Aegyptus

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The Horrors of Abyss Mysticism Mere amateurs harness the Abyss without. True demigods exploit the Abyss within. — Boukephos hose who spar with Magisters may expect honor and grace, but they receive neither. Lasombra demolish their enemies with no quarter given or mercy shown. Such is their reputation for terror on the battlefield and manipulation of the court, and they must maintain it. Their arts of shadow manipulation and drawing forth the primordial darkness rightly infect their foes with fear. Yet, even those who face Lasombra in war, duels of words, or as victims at the ends of their writhing, twilight whips, only know the visible face of the clan. There exist Magisters who study the darkness. They spend nights staring into the starlit sea, gazing at a pitchblack sky, or examining the shadowed corners of a tomb. To the unenlightened, these Lasombra may be mistaken for Toreador captivated by some dark beauty. The Lasombra know differently; these Abyss Mystics are searching the dark for secrets, slaves, and gods worthy of their worship. Mystics speak to the blackness, and hear its many voices in response. They make offerings to entropy, and in return gain powers to bewilder, horrify, and destroy.

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Occupying a hidden role in the clan, Abyss Mystics are accorded both respect and distance by their Lasombra cousins. While Lasombra of all creeds exhibit adeptness with gifts of darkness, the Mystics take their powers a step further. It is a path few Lasombra wish to take. The Abyss — a plane of absolute oblivion and nothingness — occupies a part of every Magister. It is the curse passed down from their founder, who in the earliest nights sought the quickest route to power. Lasombra are at home in pitch black, but in a rare act of benevolence, even the most callous sires urge their childer to keep the Abyss at arm’s length. They advise childer of the clan’s tradition: “Use the Abyss, but beware, as it attempts to use you.” The childer who ignore such convention find themselves pulled by the desire to research, be used by, and succumb to the dark. To Cainites, the dark is supposed to be an ally. Abyss Mysticism ensures no vampire may find sanctuary in the shadows.

The Oubliettes Let it enter you. Let it use you. Make love to the dark! — Common chant from the Mystics’ dungeons Within the courts of Clan Lasombra, Abyss Mystics occupy roles as seers, counselors, spies, and secret weapons used to devastating effect against rivals and enemies. The Mystics come in many stripes, with the only unifying feature being an impossible lust for secrets, and willingness to do whatever it takes to acquire them. THE HORRORS OF ABYSS MYSTICISM

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Mystics are responsible for the Lasombra fashion of constructing Oubliettes deep beneath their domains. These impenetrably dark prisons serve a double-duty for the clan, inducing terror in their captured inhabitants, and creating bastions of absolute lightlessness for meditation and study by the Mystics. Within the Oubliettes, claustrophobia becomes a tangible enemy for those unlucky enough to be there against their wills. Some Oubliettes are one-room cells, with walls so tight the inhabitant must remain standing. Others are squat cages, rendering the inmate impossible to do anything other than squat, or bend painfully for as long as she remains incarcerated. The Abyss Mystics’ favored Oubliettes are subterranean labyrinths that wind down, through each other, and farther beneath the earth’s surface than many a mortal or vampire has trod. Each of these Oubliettes — no matter the size, shape, or scale — is unlit. The inhabitants must become one with the darkness, or be crushed by its dominance. Abyss Mystics occasionally study Oubliette-bound prisoners in seclusion, but prefer to run field tests in which they release up to a dozen Cainites in an underground maze and watch their actions from the safety of their ever-present friend; the oppressive dark. If a vampire let loose in an Oubliette shows tenacity, or embraces the lack of light, Mystics will offer the Cainite their respect and an opportunity to study the dark a little closer. Few survive with their sanity intact. Those who endure the rite of passage open themselves to Abyss Mysticism. A rare few even hail from other clans and bloodlines. The Oubliettes are the Magisters’ dirty secret. It’s not so unusual for a Cainite Prince to hold a horrifying dungeon of legend in her domain, but Mystics conceal their catacombs’ and prisons’ presence to vampires of other lines. Not all Lasombra appreciate the Mystics’ influence within their clan. Those feeling particularly chafed spread tales of the Oubliette rites being bastardized from those enforced by a dangerous vampire sect known as the Tal’Mahe’Ra. Mystics react poorly to accusations of connection to that group, but their knowledge of the sect is telling.

New Background: Oubliette Vampires who possess at least three dots in Obtenebration and one Abyss Mysticism ritual can construct an Oubliette within a subterranean structure. The darkness within the Oubliette drains Intelligence from mortals immersed within it, at a rate of one dot per night. This Intelligence is not recoverable. Nightmarish visions constantly beset vampires within the Oubliette, often leading to the swift arrival of Derangements. The player of any vampire immersed in an Oubliette must roll against the character’s current Willpower each night; the character may not recover any temporary Willpower FORGOTTEN SORCERIES

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BACKGROUNDS WITH EXPERIENCE

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ackgrounds are generally bought at character creation or developed during the course of a chronicle. A vampire embarking on a mission to build himself an Oubliette, acquire Resources, or recruit Allies is bound to lead to interesting interactions and challenges. Another method is to purchase Backgrounds with experience points. In the downtime period between chapters of a story, Backgrounds are purchasable for an experience cost of three points per level of Background. As always, consult with the Storyteller before spending hard-earned experience on something, and ensure it contributes to the upcoming narrative.

points while within the dark. Failure reduces the current Willpower by two points, inducing a Derangement in the vampire once the rating reaches zero. Willpower then resets, and the procedure begins again until the vampire’s extracted or discovers an exit. Vampires who enter the Oubliette willingly, and those on the Road of the Abyss or Road of Sin, lose one Willpower point per night. The darkness within the Oubliette is unnatural and therefore impossible to see through unless the vampire possesses the Darksight Merit. Entities summoned with Obtenebration or Abyss Mysticism within the Oubliette remain permanently, and cannot be dismissed unless they, or their summoners, are destroyed. Any Cainite who braves and survives 20 consecutive nights within the Oubliette and doesn’t succumb to torpor has the cost of learning Abyss Mysticism rituals reduced by one experience point for the remainder of the year. The greater the Oubliette Background rating, the greater the volume of the underground structure that is filled with foul darkness. Points in Oubliette are bought at character creation, or earned through roleplay. • Coffin or cupboard-sized chamber •• Single-room chamber •••

Dungeon containing up to five rooms

••••

Multi-level structure, containing up to 15 rooms

••••• Labyrinthine complex, containing multiple structures

Denizens of the Abyss Immersing oneself in an Oubliette is akin to crossing into another dimension. According to some Abyss Mystics, that is exactly what it is. Shapes warp in the darkness of Obtenebration, objects gain life, angles possess motion, and creatures not supposed to exist in our world manifest. After a certain point, the inmate of the Oubliette believes light has returned to her eyes, and she looks upon a nightmare-land populated by monstrous denizens, humanoid tricksters, and sucking vortices. This vision may be illusory, as Darksight enables vampires to see their mundane surroundings. A chronicle set in the darkness of an Oubliette will be a harrowing experience filled with nightmarish entities, riddles, tricks, and a fight for survival. The rewards are great — the danger more so. Impossible alien structures exist within the Oubliette, along with creatures never seen in the world above. Lore is hidden here, the secrets of Obtenebration and Abyss Mysticism rich in sunken sepulchers and bloody mires. Few native inhabitants of the Abyss are by nature charitable, but some will consort and converse with Cainites within the Oubliette, providing they have something to gain from such an interaction.

Blatherskite An entity comprised entirely of limbs, dragging lengthy fingers and toes along the ground in its wake: the blatherskite is no creature born of human gods. This whip-thin entity has no torso or head, instead bearing a trunk made of tangled shadows and a flailing array of arms and digits from stumps all around its body. The blatherskite communicates only in chirrups and belches, the origins of which are unknown, as it appears to possess no orifices. The noises it produces increase in frequency and volume the closer the blatherskite gets to any creature bearing blood. When in close proximity, it lashes out fiercely with its many appendages, attempting to choke and strangle its victim. The blatherskite continues to squeeze its victim until blood emerges. Once it obtains several blood points, it languorously flops to the ground and dissolves into liquid shadow.

Attributes: Strength 2, Dexterity 5, Stamina 2, Charisma 1, Manipulation 1, Appearance 0, Perception 4, Intelligence 1, Wits 2 Abilities: Alertness 3, Athletics 4, Awareness 3, Brawl 3, Empathy 1, Intimidation 3, Subterfuge 3, Performance 2, Stealth 4, Survival 1, Investigation 5 Disciplines: Celerity 4, Obtenebration 1, Potence 2

Willpower: 4 Health: 6 Notes: Blatherskites commonly have a reserve of five blood points.

Infantile Bezoar Abyss Mystics claim, “the Abyss exists within those who enter it.” They’re not just being poetic. An infantile bezoar is a living growth that occasions to manifest on the insides of any entity who consumes food or liquid in the Abyss. The bezoar starts insignificantly enough; a vampire foolish enough to drink from one of the rancid pools of blood or pillars of obsidian flesh stacked high in the Abyss may notice a tiny weight on her heart as the tumor grows. As each night passes, the bezoar gets larger. It continues to grow until it renders the heart an empty husk — draining all blood from it and then burrowing out through the vampire’s ribcage. Abyss Mystics have studied the bezoar in attempts to find out what happens after it escapes its host, but are still to discover its adult form. Vampires in the know are sure to carve Bezoars from their hearts before succumbing to torpor.

Attributes: Strength 4, Dexterity 1, Stamina 3, Charisma 1, Manipulation 0, Appearance 0, Perception 3, Intelligence 2, Wits 3 Abilities: Alertness 3, Athletics 1, Awareness 2, Brawl 1, Intimidation 2, Subterfuge 1, Stealth 4, Survival 4, Occult 3 Disciplines: Fortitude 3, Obtenebration 2, Potence 1 Willpower: 3 Health: 4 Notes: An infantile bezoar drains and immediately expends one blood point on the first night it attaches to a host, and a cumulative blood point for every night thereafter. It can drain a maximum of six blood points in one night; thus achieving this full amount on the sixth night.

Umbriferous Man The Umbriferous Man is a source of much conjecture among Abyss Mystics — the main questions being whether it is a humanoid(or shadows coalescing to form one), or whether there are many Umbriferous Men. To select visitors, the Umbriferous Man will speak in a hundred languages at once, and pose riddles with splendid rewards for those who solve them. Failing to solve such a riddle has no immediate aftermath, contrary to Lasombra tales. Yet, all who fail know the Umbriferous Man will — one night — claim them from the shadows of the world above. THE HORRORS OF ABYSS MYSTICISM

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Cainites disappear from their havens, no evidence of their passing remaining. That is, except for shadows permanently imprinted in corners of the room. The Umbriferous Man is a tall figure clad in multiple swirling rags and cloaks, his yellow eyes barely visible through layers of swaddling. Despite the coverage, his voices ring clearly from his mouth, and he treats all visitors to the Abyss kindly. If attacked, the Umbriferous Man attempts to fight back, but he is no adept combatant. He’s said to carry thousands of pieces of silver that spill from his bandages upon death. Any who take the coins disappear soon after.

Attributes: Strength 2, Dexterity 3, Stamina 2, Charisma 4, Manipulation 4, Appearance 2, Perception 4, Intelligence 5, Wits 4 Abilities: Alertness 2, Athletics 1, Awareness 4, Brawl 1, Empathy 3, Expression 4, Intimidation 2, Leadership 3, Subterfuge 5, Commerce 3, Etiquette 2, Performance 3, Stealth 2, Survival 1, Academics 3, Enigmas 5, Investigation 2, Medicine 2, Occult 5, Theology 3 Disciplines: Abyss Mysticism 2, Auspex 3, Chimerstry 2, Dominate 3, Obtenebration 4, Obfuscate 2 Abyss Mysticism Rituals: Eyes of the Abyss, Subsume the Darkness, The Abyss Knows Willpower: 7 Health: 10 Notes: The Umbriferous Man commonly has a reserve of 12 blood points, replenished after spending a day in pitch blackness.

The Minacious Legion Throughout the Abyss reside entities resembling knights riding upon steeds. They are clad in thick, black, spined armor, and wield swords and lances of nebulous shadow. This Legion of knights never dismount their coursers, causing some Mystics to assume they are one with the beasts they apparently ride. The Minacious Legion are watchdogs and hunters within the Abyss. They speak several dead languages, but rarely find time to converse with their victims — it benefits them more to harry and torment prey, inflicting wounds and instilling terror. Each night pursuing a victim rewards knights of the Legion with increased power, drained directly from those they hunt. The mounts used by the Minacious Legion are headless things with flicking shadow tendrils for legs and ropy tentacles of black for bodies. These creatures resemble horse-sized woodlice, and smell strongly of urine. FORGOTTEN SORCERIES

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Attributes: Strength 4, Dexterity 5, Stamina 5, Charisma 2, Manipulation 1, Appearance 2, Perception 4, Intelligence 2, Wits 3 Abilities: Alertness 4, Athletics 5, Awareness 1, Brawl 4, Intimidation 4, Animal Ken 3, Etiquette 1, Melee 5, Ride 4, Stealth 2, Survival 3, Investigation 3, Medicine 1, Occult 2 Disciplines: Abyss Mysticism 2, Animalism 2, Celerity 3, Fortitude 3, Obtenebration 1, Potence 3 Abyss Mysticism Rituals: Eyes of the Abyss, Abyssal Blade Willpower: 6 Health: 12 Notes: Members of the Minacious Legion commonly have a reserve of six blood points. For each night spent harrying a victim, a knight of the Legion gains one point from one of the victim’s Disciplines. This starts with the highest Discipline dots, and prioritizes in-clan Disciplines first. Conflicts are resolved by the Storyteller. Once the knight has all the Disciplines of his victim, he attempts to make the kill. The Minacious Legion are armed with broadswords and lances (see V20 Dark Ages p. 349) and armored in Class Five Armor (see V20 Dark Ages p. 350).

Ingurgitant Vortex Inhabitants of the Abyss are terrifying and varied, yet Mystics fear nothing more than consumption by an ingurgitant vortex. These churning windows of ingestion can appear in anything solid — floors and walls being the most common, coffins and beds being the most dreaded. The vortex is a concave depression, slowly grinding in an anti-clockwise spiral. It’s typically between one and three meters (3 to 10 feet) across, though rumors hold of ingurgitants of greater size. From within the vortex pours a mass of thin, grasping tongues, attempting to pull victims inside. None consumed have ever emerged, and their souls have proved impossible to locate. The ingurgitant vortex strikes without warning. Deterring the ingurgitant takes application of a natural light, or fire — no mean feat in its domain of the Abyss. Most horrifying of all is the sweet, singing voice emerging from inside the vortex, beckoning victims inside in the voice of someone once dear to them. Once the vortex has a taste of its victim, it will continue to manifest in proximity to the vampire night after night. It can only change locations three times a night.

Attributes: Strength 5, Dexterity 1, Stamina 5, Charisma 1, Manipulation 4, Appearance 0, Perception 2, Intelligence 3, Wits 5

Abilities: Alertness 2, Athletics 1, Awareness 3, Brawl 5, Intimidation 5, Expression 4, Stealth 1, Subterfuge 3, Occult 4 Disciplines: Fortitude 2, Obtenebration 5, Potence 4 Willpower: 5 Health: 20 Notes: The Ingurgitant Vortex commonly has a reserve of ten blood points

Abyss Mysticism Rituals The Abyss is a weapon for those sturdy enough to brandish it. — Lord Rickard Argentis, Knight of the Abyss Abyss Mystics hoard their secrets. Members of other groups may not access their Rituals without first dedicating their existences to the Abyss. Some attempt to make such a dedication of words without speaking truthfully, but the Abyss knows. Through rites practiced by the Abyss Mystics, sacrifices of liars are commonplace.

• The Abyss Knows Mystics make clear that any Cainites implementing the rituals of Abyss Mysticism must stare into the starlit sea and dedicate their eternal selves to the Abyss. They must open all their secrets to intrusion by the darkness. The pledge is only words, but those who do not make it, or state it without conviction in their hearts, are visibly liars to practitioners of The Abyss Knows. System: The Cainite must possess the Abyss Mysticism ritual Pierce the Veil (see V20 Dark Ages p. 271) and have the Darksight Merit. By spending one blood point and rolling Perception + Awareness (standard difficulty versus an opposed Conscience/Conviction roll, if resisted), success indicates whether the target is a true servant of the Abyss or an impostor. Failure has no effect; a botch means the Abyss Mystic misreads the result.

• Locating the Oubliette Abyss Mystics obsessively guard the locations of their Oubliettes from Cainites outside their ideology. Among their own, it becomes useful to know the nearest entry-point to the Abyss. Despite the dangers within that plane, Inquisition or Lupine hunters often drive a Mystic to hide within the darkness, or even lure her pursuers inside to face perils far worse than Cainites. System: The Cainite must cut herself and expend at least one blood point. On a successful Perception + Occult roll (difficulty 5); the vampire is able to see a line one kilometer (2/3 of a mile) long (with an additional kilometer per success), leading to the nearest Oubliette if one exists. This

line remains visible to the Abyss Mystic for one night per blood point spent. On a failure, nothing happens; a botch leads the Cainite to the nearest location bearing True Faith, regardless of distance.

•• Abyssal Blade Abyss Mystics are assassins and warriors as often as they are cloistered scholars; the Abyssal Blade ritual grants them a deadly force against even the most hardened of opponents. The Abyss wreathes around a Mystic’s edged weapon, coating the metal in a swirling ichor of shadow. The ritual enables the blade to cut through armor as if it were immaterial, and inflict wounds impossible for mortals to heal. System: The Abyss Mystic must immerse the blade of his weapon in the blood of any living creature, holding the weapon’s handle as she dedicates her future kills to the Abyss. She rolls Strength + Occult (difficulty 7), with success imbuing the weapon with an unholy power allowing a weapon to bypass armor — not Fortitude — and inflict aggravated damage on mortals. Each success results in the weapon remaining imbued for a night. Once the power runs out, the weapon corrodes and becomes useless. The ritual can be enacted more than once on the same weapon, prior to corrosion. Failure leads to no result; a botch causes the weapon to corrode immediately, and prevents the ritual from being incanted again that night.

•• Implant the Bezoar Bezoars are native to the Abyss, but Mystics know of ways to draw them out into the world above. Among the smallest creatures in the Abyss, windows of darkness give up these tumorous parasites. Initially stored in pools of blood by Abyss Mystics, they are set loose on the Mystics’ enemies to act as a slow poison. Many a foe has fallen to torpor without even knowing she bore a Bezoar clamped to her dried-out heart. The only evidence is a bowl stained with dried blood found outside the vampire’s haven, and a small slug-like trail leading from it to the Cainite’s preferred resting place. System: The Abyss Mystic must have access to an Oubliette, or stand in a lake during the new moon, and cut off a finger to produce a blood point. An Infantile Bezoar heads for the vitae, and attempts to enter the Abyss Mystic, unless she is prepared with an existing bowl of separate blood. The Bezoar will remain in the bowl for a night as it drinks its fill, during which time the Mystic can exit the Oubliette — if she knows the way out — carrying the bowl and the feeding parasite. The Bezoar will continue to feed until dawn, at which point it will travel to the nearest sleeping Cainite and crawl inside its mouth to avoid the daytime. The Infantile Bezoar’s statistics are stated on p. 33. It dissolves into a puddle of shadow after exiting its victim. THE HORRORS OF ABYSS MYSTICISM

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