Alternative Orc

I guess that I have never appreciated shallow stereotypical villians. I think that in pretty much any media the villians usually have more depth than the heroes. Back in the 90's I probably spent way too much time playing pbem role playing games. I felt that a lot of games and characters were overly stereotypical, and wanted to try something different. This is the character concept and campaign diary that grew out of it... Gar u'Vok e'Tov, a lesser shaman of the Crooked Plains People was one of the more creative ideas I've had.

Every year during the Hare Moon, the third full moon of spring, the Crooked Plains People like many others drive the pubescent males out of their settlements to protect the breeding females and young from their aggressive behaviors. This also prevents the maturing males from being killed by the alpha male who is coincidently, frequently their father. For some unknown reason, this annual rite came upon me as a young male completely unaware. I whined and begged, but as dawn broke my mother broke my bow over her knee and my father chased me from the encampment while my sister cheered, as was the custom among the People.
After being driven out of their homes, and if they live long enough, the young males join together, forming small nomadic groups that are reputed to prey on passing travelers, small settlements and each other. Less frequent but far more hazardous, the marauding bands sometimes flock to banners of charismatic warriors and mages, the so-called Dark Lords. As a member of the People, this option wasn’t really open to me unless I wanted my sister to come hunt me down and drag me back home in disgrace. I thought that I could stay near the boundaries of my tribe’s territory and scavenge enough to make a new hatchet and bow, before beginning my vision quest. Unfortunately the tribal boundaries were also near human territory, and I found a human whom I was more or less honor-bound to help.
The human’s name was Faerin de’Harkwood, Harkwood remarkably enough being his father’s name rather than his mother’s. He had the misfortune to have been beaten and exiled by his father for attempting to mate with a female. As the Truth of Hospitality required, I healed and fed this human and eventually learned his language. Also as Hospitality required, he invited me to accompany him and I was duty bound to go with to ensure his safety as he had no survival skills. What he did have, although it shouldn’t have surprised me, was the power of a greater shaman. Maybe human males are more effeminate than those of the People? This would have insulted my sister, as she could have broken him much easier than she had routinely beaten me. Maybe their physical weakness was the price of greater magics? I didn’t know.
I had discovered another thing as well, he was both more curious and a better musician than me. His musical skills almost got us both killed though. Faerin asked me to show him my spirits, with absolutely no awareness of the improprieties, and he didn’t catch on when I merely stared at him in disgust. So I thought to demonstrate his foolishness. I walked away from the fire and politely dusted off a rock and said, “Sit here.” “This is a drum.” I said, pulling out a small tambour. “You tap it here, this is the beat.” I said, tapping it slowly. I then retrieved my herbs and offered smoke to the four winds and began a simple blessing. Granted I was somewhat irate, but he changed the beat. He started improvising and the spirits started dancing. The fire flared up, taking my eyebrows. The spirits roared around our camp, wrapping Faerin’s blankets around his throat and tearing the drum from his hands. Out of my depth and acting on instinct rather than from ritual, I cut my arm and offered them blood sacrifice in apology. Although they accepted the blood, they demanded further payment in terms of an unspecified service at a later time. I agreed, planning on taking that service out of Faerin’s hide.
As agreed, I accompanied him on his journey when he recovered. I jogged beside his horse as we neared the borders of the Rock Diggers, the Dwarves. The area we were in had been abandoned by the dwarves many generations ago, so I was more interested in explaining to Faerin why we should eat his horse, rather than ride it. After all it wasn’t any faster than I was on foot, it made much more noise and needed too much care. It would also save time if we didn’t have to hunt. He disagreed, claiming he couldn’t run as fast as I could, and I was forced to agree that he was a poor physical specimen, although I think the idea of eating horse bothered him more than having to run.
I suspect that Faerin had been planning on the meeting others, but had neglected to tell me out of some perverse pleasure he receives by watching others reactions to the unexpected. I know he thought the spirits had been amusing. The first of the others was a female, although neither Faerin nor the males who joined us later deferred to her leadership, as I would expect among the People. Her name was Jade, though she gave no lineage. I wondered why she hid her matronym, as the strength of her mothers was obvious. I was certain she could stand against my sister Kor by will alone, and physically she might have been her equal as well. Jade claimed descent from both elves and humans, and was aggressive in this claiming. She said her father was among the elves and that she meant to find him. I thought by the strength of her anger, she meant to hunt and slay him, and wondered if he had perhaps insulted her mother in some way, that he was alive but not with her. Like Faerin to my disgust, she also rode a horse, and claimed to be a musician.
Two others joined us. One was a human carrying a long curved sword, and to my shame I never knew his name as he was from a far land and spoke a different tongue. The other was a Rock Digger. He was as wide as he was short, and he was covered in metal disks. He held a metal club and stood in the trail like a boulder in a stream. Faerin and Jade prevented our fighting, and because of it changed the course of the People. He said his name was Kayin and he would not give his lineage to an orc. I asked if he was shamed by that lineage or if he was humbled by the greatness of the People. Again Faerin and Jade prevented our fighting, and turned our words into a child’s game we took delight in. Thank the spirits, Kayin was not a musician nor did he ride a horse. The first of our bonds was forged as we outran the mounts of our comrades.
Kayin led us to a large hill, saying he was sent by the dwarves of Stone Haven to find and re-open their former home. Kayin did not know why his ancestors abandoned this place, but he was a builder and not a scout or warrior, so suspected the move was political. We were to discover that he was wrong; he was a warrior.
Dirt Haven I called it, and Kayin did not object. We entered by a hidden door and found only empty halls and a great beast. Kayin called it a rock worm and said it knew all of the history of this place. The worm sent us to the mines in the depths of this place, claiming some power had stolen her magic and slain the dwarves that lived here. We found the first bodies near to a hole torn in a wall. We entered the hole, and the second of our bonds was forged as Kayin and I fought back to back against insect-warriors.
We entered the domain of the large bugs three times. The first, to our misfortune saw the loss of the human who spoke a different tongue. Kayin who knew him best, and spoke his tongue quite well, said that he was from a land across a great lake. The second time we entered, Faerin revealed the strength of his magic when he cast lightning across the caverns, slaying many and setting the mosses and lichens afire. The third time we entered the charred caverns, we discovered the rock worm’s orb. The insects pursued us, but the torn wall closed behind us as we returned with the orb.
I must go back and address the issue of our comrade’s death. He was slain in the first encounter with the insect-warriors, dying while the rest of us fought for our lives. When all was done, I attempted to save him and followed him to the very gates of the underworld through which he ran willingly. Perhaps, if I had known his true name I might have saved him. His death is on my shoulders, as I never bothered to know him.
Kayin judged his work finished and said he needed to return to make his reports. Rather than returning directly to Stone Haven, he brought us first north to a strange tower where we passed through fountains of fire and walls of wind before meeting another human male who was obviously also a greater shaman such as Faerin. Maybe they aren’t really males? His name was Eliphas, and he agreed to return our dead comrade to his homeland when Kayin finished telling him about Dirt Haven. He then requested that we look into retrieving an artifact for him at some dead shaman’s valley on the other side of Stone Haven, when Kayin was finished giving his report to the dwarves. Apparently this was part of an agreement between Kayin and Eliphas, in which Eliphas helped Kayin find the location of Dirt Haven.
So we went south against my better judgment to let the dwarven nation imprison and ridicule me for crimes they committed against the People. Kayin said that this would make a better orc out of me, but he had also said, “the only good orc was a dead orc.” I had stopped telling him I was of the People and not an orc, as he never listened. The dwarves stopped hitting me after three days, but then hit me again for another day when I told them my sister hit harder. I didn’t tell them where she usually hit. They released me after a fortnight, when the others were ready to find the dead shaman’s valley. The dwarves replaced my leathers and gave me steel weapons to replace the ones of bone, and Kayin turned red when I allowed that dwarves do good woman’s work. The Rock Diggers treated Faerin with great respect when we left, and I didn’t understand why but Jade explained that it was because dwarves made the sword of his fathers. I didn’t know why this was important.
We were led for several days through tunnels under the mountains before coming out into the outskirts of a Grass Eaters’ kingdom. Although not as structured as the dwarves in how they arranged their lives, the humans went about things in a manner that frightened me. They lived in buildings of stone and wood laid out in straight lines. If there were many buildings, the lines were longer or there were more lines. Even the plants and grasses and trees of this land grew in straight lines as if mimicking the homes of these strange people. The humans did not hunt, but the herds of strange animals came to them to be slaughtered, too polite to stay in the wilds waiting to be hunted. Grass Eaters frightened me; they were small and weak, but there was something in their way of living that allowed them to grow and become something greater than what I could see. I knew that I would have to look longer, to puzzle out their riddle and perhaps bring it home to the People.
Another fortnight and we met a small band of the People, single males traveling together for protection. They baited Kayin, holding him to account for the actions of all the Rock Diggers as they tried to do to me. They did not beat Kayin as his folk beat me, but threatened him and asked Faerin to sell him to them so that they could have him to punish. Faerin and Kayin both thought their lives were at stake, and perhaps they were because these males were angered, accusing the human and dwarf of submitting themselves to others as none of the People ever would. This concerned me and I asked questions of the older males in my role as shaman. Not having a shaman among them, they laid their burdens on me and expected me to take them up, as would any shaman of the People. Thus relieved, they ceased their antagonizing of Kayin, and shared meat with us and told us of the valley of the dead shaman.
To their shame and to the shame of all the People, a greater shaman of the Grass Eaters had come upon this band of males, and as it was of old, some were beguiled and went with this human when he took his leave. The human made his home in the valley of the dead shaman, and when the People went there to reclaim their lost siblings, the human shaman turned his magics on the People and the People again fought one another as they had in the time of the Daemon. It was now my duty to defeat this shaman to prevent further losses, the lives of the lost siblings becoming a lesser concern.
Thanks to the directions of the People, we entered the valley a couple days later. A small tower presided over a wasteland, through which trailed a drying riverbed. Freestanding pillars on which rested the statues of the shaman and his daughters could be seen in the distance, positioned around a mudflat. We determined that it would be best to tend to the human shaman first, so that he and his followers wouldn’t interfere with the task Eliphas set us. We also thought it prudent to attempt to eliminate him before he learned that we were here.
Unfortunately events proved that he already knew of us as his followers fired crossbows at us when we approached the tower that night. When things went bad, we charged the tower to minimize our chances of getting hit. Faerin called up a wind, further fouling their aim and hardening the mud of the tower’s moat. The door crumbled when we hit it, and Kayin let me slay the first of my People. I slew five of the People before burying my knee spike in the kidney of the shaman while he battled Faerin; later when I released their spirits, they thanked me for their deaths.
Jade found Eliphas’ artifact and instructions on revitalizing the valley in a hidden room. Restoring the valley required no sacrifices or great magic, only the reciting of words at the base of each statue. I found it mildly disappointing. Eliphas’ Artifact was a golden quill.
I didn’t return to Eliphas’ tower with the others, but told them that I would find them in a couple of seasons. I wasn’t sure at the time if I wanted to find them or not. I had slain some of the People, and I believed that if I continued to travel with Kayin, Faerin and Jade I would kill more. While the People routinely fight to survive, we have seldom killed each other since the time of the Daemon. On the other hand, those I killed were serving one who would have set himself up as another Daemon; my vows as shaman required me to slay them. Maybe I just wasn’t one for adventure.
I also stayed behind to learn more of the ways of the Grass Eaters and particularly I wanted to learn more about their animals and growing things. I thought that this might be something that would benefit the People. The first Grass Eater I approached had her animals chase me away; the second had her animals and her whole tribe chase me. The third was a lone male living on the outskirts of the Grass Eater territory; he laughed, but agreed to teach me. His name was Aaron, and I believe that he was a shaman although I never saw proof. He taught me as he agreed to, but he also got labor out of me such as none of the People has ever done; I learned about the food plants and herbs of the Grass Eaters, and I also learned about their dogs and horses and goats and sheep. I also learned that goats and sheep do not stay where you put them as do the plants and herbs, they move and go places that one wouldn’t put a growing plant, and they go to these places when its raining or snowing or the middle of the night. I learned to not like the goats and sheep, but in the spring of the next year I took five goats with me when I left Aaron to return to the Broken Plains of the People.
I managed to avoid my father Tov e’Shuk and the other males residing with the women’s camps. My sister Kor on the other hand broke my nose again and ate one of my goats. Despite being a sibling and male, my role as lesser shaman and preserver of the People convinced her that I had the interests of the tribes in mind. Not for her brother, but for the shaman she gathered young females to learn the care and husbanding of goats. I left the plains again quickly, before the females decided I was meddling in their interests or another male thought I was threatening his position.
I returned to the tower of Kayin’s friend, and he sent me on with dire warnings. Perhaps because of that I decided it was time to do something I had been putting off for a long while. When I was young and still living with my mother, I experienced my first vision quest and learned I was to be a shaman. Much later, although before I came of age, I had a second vision quest and learned of my death. Now it was time for my third vision quest, to learn of my totem. I prepared myself and had dreams of being chosen by wolf or bear. While I readied my fire, my more practical thoughts agreed that fox or even antelope would be good totems. I offered smoke to the spirits of the four winds, first East for an auspicious beginning, then South for purpose, West for clarity and north to ground his desire. Then I turned to the fire pit, sat and added the proper herbs. Tapping softly on a small handmade drum, I chanted and willed the spirits to show me my totem. A candle-mark later my concentration was disrupted by the bark of a small brown animal lying in the dust outside my circle. That’s how I met my totem the Plain’s Marmot, prairie dog.
A full year after leaving them, I found Kayin, Faerin and Jade where Eliphas said they would be on the eastern edge of a soon to be battlefield. Faerin and Jade appeared glad to see me, Kayin simply muttered that I was late, the armies of Elves and Grass Eaters didn’t notice I was there. The Grass Eaters were different from the ones I had seen and stayed with before; first of all they were much farther north and much better armed. Faerin said that they were the empire from which he came, while Jade said they were the empire from which her kingdom had fled hundreds of years before. Elves I had never seen before, although I had memorized many stories regarding them and their feud with the People. They were tall and pale, sitting on tall and pale horses, fewer though more imposing than the human empire’s army. I wanted to stay and watch, but the others insisted we leave. We traveled north and east to a long abandoned city of elves, once again in search of an artifact for Eliphas.
I do not wish to speak anymore of the city of elves. It should suffice to say that a friend is no more, though the People speak of him as the Daemon of Winter; it is his sword I carry. Kayin has returned to Stone Haven and will not leave it again except for war. Jade has returned to the folk of her own kingdom to raise an army to oppose the empire. The People have agreed to join with the elves when they are called, to fight against the human empire’s army


Truths, Shadow Truths, and Shaman:

As you do not know the People's Way, I know that you do not intend to insult. I will pardon your slight, but know that you impinge on my honor. Listen now, and learn what I have to teach. Honor is the Second Truth. The People do not lie or steal or covet, as do the Stone Diggers or Grass Eaters. What one of the People says she will do, she will do. When an elder speaks, the People listen to her unless she has lost her honor. If one becomes an elder, she must care for all the People as she accepts another at her fire.

Hospitality is the Third Truth. When one of the People accepts another at her fire, she must feed, clothe, heal and protect her guest; and when the time comes for parting, she must attend to provisioning for her guest’s sojourn. When one of the People guests at another’s fire, it is demanded of him that he accept what is given and give what is asked, save where the First or Second Truths hold precedence.

According to the Shadow Truths, Grass Eaters once aided the People. Because the Grass Eaters’ aid allowed the People to live, the People also aid others.

The First Truth is this, the People submit to none, nor do they demand submission. In the time before the moon, the Daemon beguiled the People and demanded submission. Those of the People who refused were slain by the Daemon and those of the people who submitted were slain by servants of other daemons. The People were scattered until the Daemon sent the Others to again beguile them, and the People were slain. Then the People sought out the Covenant of Truths and they refused the Daemon and the Others, though again many of the People were slain.

According to the Shadow Truths, when the Covenant created the first shaman and the People warred with the Daemon, Grass Eaters also joined with the People in their defiance. Because of the Grass Eaters, the People lived and now desire only peace.

You dwell according to the Covenant of Truths as if you are People, and as long as you strive as the People, the People will be your ally. Acceptance is the Fourth Truth; which allows that there is no single way of living. When others allow you to live according to your way, you also should allow them to live according to their way.

According to the Shadow Truths, the People worship no gods. Gods are only greater spirits or daemons that have gained power, and worship which is also power. As the Daemon demanded submission of the People, the people submit to no spirit.

I am a shaman of the People. As a shaman, I carry the history and laws within my soul. I know the herbs that heal and aid, and I know the healing and bone setting. I guide the souls of the dead to their rest and when necessary guide them back from their resting. I go among the spirits and daemons, and beseech them to heal or bring rain for the People. Sometimes I banish those daemons who challenge the First Truth demanding our submission. Although you live according to the Covenant of Truths, I do not wish to give insult; and therefore will not practice my beliefs among you until you give me leave.

I am Gar u’Vok e’Tov, lesser-shaman of the Crooked Plains People. I am male, as only females of the people may be greater shaman. I was whelped during the snowmelt before the summer of lakes, twenty-six of your years ago.

The Grass Eaters and Stone Diggers call us orcs, but we are the People and find this “orcs” a demeaning name, as you find Grass Eater likewise a disliked name.

I am a shaman of the People, and as such must concern myself with the significance, propriety and respect of the People I serve. When I speak of the Covenant of Truths and the History of the People, I speak as the ritual demands. When I speak to the spirits and daemons, I speak as their nature demands. When the rituals and spirits are done with their demands, I act as my totem and my nature demand.

My totem is the plains marmot that you call prairie dog. Like my totem, I prefer to live with others rather than alone. I am protective of my community, but frequently accused of being frivolous. Often curious, I like to watch and play and make jokes. I enjoy basking in the sun.

Being both a lesser shaman whose duty is to serve, and a shaman of the plains marmot who is communal in nature, perhaps I am a little obsessive in regards to the People. I want the People to be come a culture that is no longer attacked, that is respected by the other races. I want the People to grow rather than merely exist, but I fear that in doing so, that the People will become as others and forget the Covenant of Truths. Also despite the Covenant, I find myself sometimes intolerant of the other races. Like the Daemon before them, other races have slain and enslaved the People. The other races look down on the People and call us inferior, all the while lying to and abandoning their own.

I am aware that like my People, I lack the sharp intelligence and education that those of other races have. The People have simple needs and live in a simple world. I am like my People. I am not smart like the Rock Digger dwarves or the Grass Eater humans, and I envy the beauty of the bright elves; but while I am aware of these shortcomings, I do not want others to throw them in my face. I am like my People in that I strive for peace, but am still able to defend myself with axe and bow.

Only one male in thirty is strong enough to win and worthy enough to gain acceptance by the females of the People. Never is that male a shaman.

The mother who whelped me is Vok u’Kor, a greater shaman as is my sister Kor a’Vok, as was her name-sake our grandmother Kor a’Mat. My father is Tov e’Shuk.

I am Gar u'Vok e'Tov, as tall as most humans, and as fit. My skin is a gray-ish brown like overly dry dirt, and my hair is long and black, braided with feathers and tufts of fur. My ears are pointed although not as sharp as an elf’s, and my jaw is heavier with prominent canines. I am dressed in poorly tanned leathers with bone spikes strapped to elbows and knees. A large bone and wood composite bow is in my hands. A quiver of arrows rests on my back, and a hatchet or tomahawk hangs on my belt.

A Malkavian Reality

Alone among the Kindred, every childe of Malkav's bloodline carries the gift, a blessing handed down from Caine, rather than with the curse the progenitor laid on all other bloodlines. What other Clans consider the derangement of a fragmented mind, and the horror of an eternity spent as a psychological cripple, is the awesome gift of enlightenment.

Never being alone. It is both a great consolation, and an uncomfortable, too crowded duty demanded by the Family. Their voices are always with me; occasionally as overwhelming as the roar of a cataract, sometimes only a soft murmur, but always present. Their discourse intermittently laced with venomous lies, and horrific truths of the cosmos: the past, present, and future resounds in my ears.

Nicky Alexander
- Scion of Malkav


The following history is taken from a play by email Vampire the Masquerade game, which occurred from early 2001 to mid-2002.

World of Darkness content & materials is copyright 1990-2003 White Wolf Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved. This page is an entirely unofficial use of the Vampire: The Masquerade and A World of Darkness gaming materials published by White Wolf Publishing, Inc. and not intended as an official or profit making venture in any way, shape or form. Although the use of these concepts, rules, etc., is unauthorized, no infringement is intended. This page is not affiliated with White Wolf Publishing, Inc. in any way and should not be viewed as such. This page is freely available for viewing and personal use, but is, under no circumstances whatsoever, to be sold for profit

1

“Hold it right there!” she barked, pinioning me with her cane. She was short, overweight, pushing retirement age and had both legs in braces, explaining to her why we had to move to New York was not something I had been looking forward to doing. It wasn’t right; after all Colleen was my servant. I did not serve her, but she needed help because she was disabled and she’d had a stroke so she couldn’t talk very well, and she wasn’t very happy. The stroke made her brain not work right, and that’s why she couldn’t talk very well. I don’t know why she wasn’t happy, but it could have been the way she dressed in sweat-pants like the group home residents, or it could have been the blue apron she wore that had the big pockets.

Colleen prodded my arm with her cane, scowling all the while, “Donny told me we’re moving.” She yelled. “Why are we moving and when were you going to tell me?”

I held up my arms in defense, and stepping behind a chair for added safety, replied, “Its not definite yet. I didn’t want to tell you until I knew if it was going to happen.”

“Then why is Donny packing?” she glared. “One more time. When are we moving?”

Shoulders slumping, I gave in. “The end of the week? I really need to go there. Something big is happening, it’s calling me.” It was calling. I could still hear the voices; they had been louder, but not overwhelming since I had decided to go. Sometimes people are like that, not being so insistent once they get their own way. I smiled big, begging, “Can you find us a place?”

She stumped away mumbling, yelling as I went out the door, “Where in New York?”

You see, it all started back in nineteen hundred and ninety when I was studying to be an archaeologist, being an archaeologist means I’d get to study relics left by real old dead people. George Bush, he wasn’t the first President George because that was President Washington who chopped down the cherry tree and was named after the city, but he was the first President Bush, so George Bush was having disagreements with lots of countries so it wasn’t safe to travel; well it was as safe to travel as it always was, but it wasn’t safe to go to other countries, so I couldn’t go to Crete.

Relics are ruins kind of like garbage except that they’re too old to be garbage anymore, and I wanted to go to Crete to look at their ruined garbage, but I couldn’t so I stayed at home. I had learned about Crete because of Riane Eisler who wrote The Chalice and the Blade, that’s a book about the real old dead people who lived 10,000 years ago and weren’t patriarchal so they didn’t have wars. That was really because they didn’t have competition back then, but after the patriarchs got in charge they changed their religions so the men were warriors and couldn’t be nice any more, but had wars instead. The men that lived before there were patriarchs could be nice though, and their gods could be nice too and that was how I learned about Dionysus who was a nice man-god who wasn’t a warrior because he liked to grow things and make everyone happy.

The people that worshipped the nice gods before there were patriarchs and wars were called pagans, but I don’t really understand why because someone said that just means they weren’t Christian but that was before there were any Christians to not be. Someone else said pagan means country dweller, but that is almost as silly because they didn’t really have cities except for the first city, which was really only a town so everyone was a country dweller. While I was studying to be an archaeologist, I learned about pagans too, and thought I might like to be one, because they have pagans now just like there were 10,000 years ago, so I became a pagan even though I lived in a city.

When I became a pagan, what I really got to be was a Wiccan because that’s what all the other pagans were that were at the school I was at; and they helped me learn how to cast spell because they were witches because that’s what being Wiccan means. At first I wasn’t very good at casting spells, because none of the spells ever worked, and neither did anybody else’s. Then everybody else got all excited about a book they were reading about the real old dead people that lived 10,000 years ago that Riane Eisler wrote, and I was going to go to a conference that’s kind of like a big meeting except not so boring at the place called Crete except I couldn’t on account of the first President Bush being disagreeable.

So we decided to have our own conference at the school instead, except one of the students said it was a workshop, but I thought that was where you build things. Another student said we needed to invite somebody important to talk at the conference so people would come to listen, and I thought that was silly because they wouldn’t have to come and listen if no one was talking, but then I decided I was tired of listening to the student talk so maybe having someone else to listen to would be good. Then one of the professors, who were like teachers, except that they were paid more for not teaching as well, invited her friend to speak and all the other students thought that was okay.

The professor’s friend was named Michael and he talked about the real old dead people and their ruined garbage, and he talked about the man-god Dionysus and said he was a really great-grandsire. The professor’s name was Ellen. He talked about magic too and said that Dionysus’s pagans knew magic and we could know magic, then he gave us some real bad wine and some of the students had sex. I didn’t think that was magic, except that I didn’t get tired after that and I thought Michael was real nice because he said I thought I knew a lot. We had our workshop for three days and I kept being not tired and I thought that Michael was real nice.

After the workshop was over, Michael invited some of us students to the professor’s house and he told us more about Dionysus and magic with mead and wine and blood and sex. I kept going back to the professor’s house to learn from Michael and when other pagans were celebrating the full moon, we had a bacchanalia, which is kind of like a Wiccan Sabbat except everyone drank and had sex and the magic worked better because the spells Michael was teaching worked.

Then in the fall Michael said they were having a kind of harvest festival thing and there were some others waiting with Michael at the professor’s when I got there. Michael said the others were his family and he wanted me to part of his family too, and he introduced me to his father except that he was a she like the professor except younger and she giggled a lot, and I met her father too and he really was a man except he was kind of youngish, but older than her. There were some brothers and sisters as well, both youngish and oldish, but none of them real old. Well Michael had me lay down on a table and everybody else stood around it, and then he bit me and at first it hurt but then it felt real good and kind of ticklish. It became hard to see, although I felt something, someone, voices, voices, “Come with me,” I heard. Smell of jasmine and poppies, fear. Tasted salt, warm and wet and sweet, I swallowed, turned my head and he was there. Not Michael, but someone greater, wiser, not human, never human, Malkav! His voice, his voice, and others, many others cried and called out. Michael and his father Sara, her father Stephen and his brother Jon, Prester, Gregori and Shreck, again a Shreck, the Dionysian, they were there, then. I was there.

I felt bad about the professor afterwards, but she should have known better than to make me hungry like that and then look scared. Michael said it was okay and that we were leaving anyway. I knew he was right, but he wasn’t going to the city that was calling to me. Maybe grandfather told him, because she was going to follow me.

2

Well after I met Malkav and became part of the family, the family is called Malkavian because Malkav is our father; we’re named after him. He was supposed to have been killed thousands of years ago before Noah’s flood. Well as I was saying, after I became a Malkavian, Michael and I had to leave. We didn’t leave because of the professor who died, but we had to go to another town where something was happening. Some children called Kines were being ostrichized, which means they weren’t being allowed to have friends, and Michael told me that these children were doing or going to do something important in a few years. Kines are the mortal people that we get to feed from, kind of like how they eat cows.

So we went to the new town by the mountains, and it was exciting because the big tanks that had all the airplane fuel at the airport, caught on fire. We could see the glow while we were still over Kansas because we were in an airplane and that was the first time I had been in an airplane, but I didn’t like it much because I didn’t know the pilot so I didn’t know how well he flew. Several of the passengers cried on the flight, but that was probably because of the flight attendant breaking her arm, and not the man who broke it when he tried to open the door; her arm did look like it hurt. We had to wait until the airplane landed before anyone tried to open the door again, but we still had a good view of the fire.

The town by the mountains was called Denver and had lots of people who wanted to be Nazis. Michael said that they were all crazy and not much fun, and that I should stay away from them. I didn’t understand what they saw in the short little man with the mustache, but I understand that my family still avoids Germany. Michael and I were in Denver because of the ostrich children, but they weren’t ready when we got there so we had to wait half a dozen years or so.

While we waited, Michael taught me about being Family and being Kindreds. Being Kindreds isn’t as nice as it sounds, because it’s like having a whole bunch of relatives that don’t like each other. They dislike us most of all because they think we do things wrong, but they don’t understand that they need us to take care of all of them. Being family is much better than Kindreds, because we Malkavians do all the things a family is supposed to do like communicate with each other; we aren’t dysfunctional like all the other families are. Malkavians always stick up for each other and don’t let the other Kindreds abuse us. Michael also taught me his magic, except it wasn’t really magic because it was called Disciplines and some of it is secret so I can’t tell you that I learned to feel the call of another’s emotions and to make them stronger and harder to control. I’m not supposed to tell you about how well I see and hear or hide either.

We were still waiting for the children to be finished getting ostrichized, when two things happened to our south. The first was the great funeral pyre I thought was so sad, but Michael told me that was what they wanted so it was all right, and I guess that he was right because they come and talk to me sometimes and tell me so. The second was that horrible bomb-thing where all the innocents died; Michael said the people who did it were just like the Nazis in Denver who were crazy and not any fun, and that was why we avoided them.

During this time I also found a haven of my own, which is where I sleep and stay safe during the day. Michael said that Tremeres call their havens Chantries, and the Followers of Set call theirs Temples; I call mine a Group Home. I have Herds, which are Kines who let me feed from them, and they live in my Group Home. They used to live in an institution, but were let out because of budget cutbacks. My Herds’ names are Gary, Donny and Greg, except Greg isn’t always at my Group Home because he likes to go to other places. Donny isn’t always at my Group Home either because he likes to wear diapers and have people treat him like a baby so he tries to go to nursing homes, but he keeps coming back to me because the nursing homes don’t take care of him right. Gary is always at my Group Home though, mostly because he’s afraid to go outside unless Colleen goes with him. Colleen is my staff who used to work at the institution but came to my Group Home to take care of my Herds because she didn’t think I knew how.

Finally I heard the ostrich children do what they were supposed to in the suburb, and I felt bad for the innocents, again. Michael wasn’t happy either, but said that out of the madness that would spread, some Kines would learn more about social integration and resiliency factors, and that some day they would learn to stop ostrichization. After this, Michael went west to watch what he called the next act. I stayed in Denver because I felt bad about the innocents and I could still hear their voices, and because all the reporters were doing things that wouldn’t let me leave then.

Later, I started to hear other voices again, but this time Kindreds were dieing in the East. They told me about Atlanta burning again, and the decimation of the Ravnos even though I didn’t know then that Ravnos were other Kindreds who were irritating kind of like younger siblings who ask too many questions and are too loud. They started shouting then, wanting me to come, and I had to look at a map. Who is Dearbhla? The voices got quieter when I decided it was time to move to New York.

3

She was leaning on her cane, waiting for me as I came down the concourse. Still wearing her blue apron, gray hair awry, Colleen scowled, “Do you know what they call ma-ma-mountains out here? They’re foothills,” she laughed, “foothills.”

It was going to be one of those, I sighed. “Did you find a suitable place?”

She grinned, eyes glinting as she smiled. “Oh yeah, you are going to love it. Donny took his new dresser apart to get it up the stairs, all the way apart.” She laughed.

There were nights when I really hated this woman. I didn’t say that of course, she’s the better predator. I thought about things as she limped along next to me. I never even made it into the mountains before I left Denver; too many lupines, and the Gangrels were prickly. I wouldn’t miss the Neo-Nazis either, lunatics.

I knew I would have to present myself to the Prince as soon as possible, wherever, whoever he was. I hoped I could meet our Primogen first. I was nervous about this, because I had only met one Prince before, and that was in Denver. Before when I was first embraced, we didn’t stay for Michael to introduce me. That was the professor’s fault for making me hungry and then looking scared, she should have known better even if Michael said it was all right.

“Whoa! What do you mean it’s on an island?” Pay attention Nicky. What else did I miss?

“You’ve heard of it? Staten Island?” she laughed, again. “That’s where Greg said we were supposed to go. He’s been wa-wa-wa-wa,” she stopped and took a breath, “W, A, N, D, E.”

“Wandering?” I asked impatiently.

“Yeah,” she nodded, “all over town since we got off the plane. You know that’s what he does.”

I wondered if I’d get seasick, and tried to think if I knew anything about Staten Island besides it having a ferry. Was that where the Statue of Liberty was? Oh well, I guess I would find out soon enough. And who was Dearbhla?

I was about to ask when I saw him. Leaning back on a bench against the wall, he had short graying hair, a gap-toothed grin and wet stain on the front of his sweatpants; he was holding a piece of candy out to a young girl.

“Gary!” She had him against the wall, cane against his throat. People turned to watch, the mother never realizing the threat to her child.

I left the better predator to deal with her wayward charge. “Meet me at the ferry. I have an appointment to make.” I called.

4

Routine is paramount for most Kindred. With that thought easing my mind, I set out to introduce myself the Prince. The Prince, ruler of the city is an unknown to me, but the odds were good that whether male or female they were Ventrue. Ventrue covet power like an obese person covets their next meal. In this country power meant money which in New York meant Wall Street or 5th Avenue, although I sincerely hoped they picked Wall Street, as 5th Avenue was so overdone it could truly only be appreciated by Toreadors or Ravnos. Donald Trump built his place on 5th I remembered, and wondered if he was someone’s ghoul. Then I remembered he also built the Taj Mahal in Atlantic City and decided that with all the entertainment stuff, he must belong to a Toreador.

Because I didn’t think they had the right kind of meeting place on Wall Street, it really is a very small street, and I didn’t want to go to 5th Avenue if it wasn’t necessary, I tried to think of other expensive places in Manhattan. I heard Park Avenue, and then another voice said 42nd Street. Since no one laughed, I decided to find a taxi and go there. I knew taking a cab would use most of my money, but I wasn’t brave enough, or crazy enough to try a bus or subway yet.

While I did find a taxi, I never made it to Park and 42nd Street. I was trying to speak to the cabbie, the cabbie was trying to talk to me, and then the others were trying to talk to me. Because of all the voices talking, I couldn’t concentrate very well, so I had the cab driver let me out near Soho. I walked a little bit, going first right and then left, and then through a door and another. A Kindreds was there waiting for me and her name was Dearbhla just like one of the voices I had been hearing. She was part of my family like Sara, and appeared to be just as young. She was very beautiful like the Toreadors were rumored to be.

Dearbhla was very nice because she was agreeable and polite. She asked about my past and told me what I needed to know about my family here in New York. She didn’t understand about Iowa, but I guess that’s all right because no one else understands about Iowa either. It was Dearbhla who introduced me to Alisade. Older, more powerful, wild with the attraction of an animal, a predator, she frightened me. Dearbhla kept me off-balance with her grace and beauty, Alisade’s intensity scared. Together they reminded me of what I was; what I could be.


5

I met the Prince! I can’t believe I met the Prince! Dearbhla and Alisade took me along to a Council meeting. The new Prince’s first, and she took time to recognize me. She recognized me, and welcomed me, and she was beautiful. I new that the women of my family, the Malkavians Dearbhla and Alisade were lovely, but I knew I erred when I compared either to a Toreador.

My Prince is a Toreador, not a power-grubbing Ventrue, but one of a clan that was once able to see as we do. Beauty, grace and vision if she cares to use it, but Sire told me that the horror of sight was too much for those of her clan. They deny reality in search of the beauty they emulate. Is that who Dearbhla is, one like a Toreador but with the courage to embrace the truth?

Three women, all icons whose example has placed me back on my path. Reminded of my heritage, I know that I must follow in the footsteps of my clan and of my sire’s bloodline. Life, unlife has a purpose, and this purpose needs be celebrated!

6

Having spent the better part of a decade avoiding the notice of Denver’s skinheads, I guess you could say I’ve learned to avoid what the Toreadors would consider Center Stage. Such a short time in Her city, and my speech is already being colored by that clan’s perspective; it’s a disturbing way to view the world, narcissistic. Well, anyway I could I stayed Stage Left, Stage Right or behind the curtain as much as possible these last couple weeks. I had needed to learn my territory, not yet my domain because I needed to share with my “aunts”, Dearbhla and Alisade, but still my territory.

Territory, Malkavian Domain, who would have guessed that Staten Island had so much to offer. A college, The City University of New York – The College of Staten Island, had students. Even better they were students I could understand, majoring in Anthropology, Sociology and Psychology, with a smattering of Social Work types to take care of the herd, my herd. It even makes that stupid boat bearable. Maybe I could take night classes?

Greg is gone again, “Party. Party, friend’s house.” Was all he said, and now Colleen can’t find him. She hasn’t had time to learn the island, learn his haunts. She can always find me, and I find that disturbing. Angry, so angry I can almost feed off the air around her. Gary still won’t leave the home unless she accompanies him, and that is for the best. It is always hard to explain the children.

Learning the territory, that is what Donny is for, everyday always the same and a little bit different. He comes home from the pharmacy, stopping even if he doesn’t have to get medications. He always dresses the same in black polyester pants and a logoed t-shirt; he only recently bought enough pants for the whole week without doing laundry. Always, he has cheerios for breakfast and coffee at the corner, same TV shows, medication taken per doctor’s orders to the minute, but he likes to be the tourist, he likes to be independent, and sometimes he tells me something new.

7

I paused in the doorway, letting the shadows slide away from me, catching the Childe in mid-thought. So young, so young she didn’t know what I was. Her elder knew, though it took him a moment to process. Adolescent Gangrel. Brujah-wanna-be maybe? He was taking their assigned role. Careless of them, so careless I should never have heard of this meeting of the unhappy. The dissatisfied are often dangerous, especially to themselves and their friends. It was too easy, overhearing from the shadows. Briefly, I understood the power of the Nosferatu. Knowledge is power, but the careless give that power away.

He appeared nervous, first squatting down on his haunches like a boy drawing in the dirt with a stick, or like an animal, and then standing as if he couldn’t articulate as a human unless denying his inner nature. Disappointed oh yes, disappointed that he put out his call and only got myself and another Beast masquerading as one of the Warrior-Poets. He started talking, misleading, and claiming he was a Bertian, wanting freedom and no responsibility. He said we could do what we wanted, be what we needed to be. He wanted all of us to be Malkavian which is fine for the Family, but I didn’t, don’t necessarily want to claim the other Kindreds as relatives. My brothers and sisters, aunts, uncles and grandparents would never be as foolish as some of the others.

Malkavians are not what the others are intended to be. They don’t have our understanding and cannot learn. Impatient, I tried to explain that you could beat their heads against the bricks, but all they’ll learn about is bricks. Each vision is different. I wanted to say more, make him understand, but then he just gave up. As I watched, he visibly wilted, distracted like a dog that had learned only part of his trick, maybe? Or the adolescent, sulking when caught misbehaving by the parent?

Sighing, I left them to their fugue. They showed promise but were not yet ready, or so I told myself. Sometimes it’s easier to lie than admit that they just didn’t want me around. Once again, not picked to play on either team.

8

There is a scene that is over-used in the current genre of entertainment. The too beautiful young hero or heroes stride out of the darkness or fog, determination evident on their faces, leather coats flapping behind them … I’ve seen its inverse, its broken reflection in the mirror that is Malkavian.

I come home to my island, my territory that’s not yet my Domain. Gliding down the street, wrapping the shadows around me to savor my herd, my prey without distraction. They come to my call, before I call, knowing my presence. Around the corner, out of the darkness, out of the fog that is ever-present in the nights of island cities, they come. No subtlety, no finesse, they limp into sight. Colleen in her worn blue apron over Woolworth pants and oversized shirt, both legs in braces, leans heavily on the cane in her right hand. A predator’s smile, a barring of teeth is evident under unkempt iron gray hair. Gary follows behind, her obedient dog also limping along in urine stained sweatpants, hands trembling as he tries to inhale his cigarette. His teeth are brown from years of smoking; fingers blistered and callused from too frequent burns.

My anti-heroes are neither young nor beautiful. They’re unable to stride, limited by the brain injuries of stroke and abuse. Determination is not evident, having been replaced by their joy of the hunt, joy in the kill. A more frightening sight appearing out of the darkness, I do not wish to see. Frightening, they answer to me.

9

From Sire to Childe, all Kindred learn The Traditions, the commandments of our kind. Defined by Webster’s, traditions are the handing down of beliefs and customs, or inherited patterns of thought or action. Traditions are like routines, a regular course of action. It is said that people are creatures of habit, but for Kindred routine is paramount.

Tradition, routine, habit, everyday always the same but a little bit different. I wake at the same time every evening all that remains of the sun is an orange-red smudge in the west. I like to start slow, shower and shave, change clothes and read the paper. Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday I feed from my Herd, Greg, Donny and Gary respectively. The other days I go out to eat. Tuesdays and Thursdays I troll for night-students, and on Saturdays I hit the clubs. On Sundays I check in with Dearbhla Triona O’Riagain, my Primogen, although we don’t always talk and I don’t always see her, but I still check in. Every night after the bars close I scout the perimeter of my territory, my route pre-determined by day and weather. Everything for a reason, and everything in its place; change is bad. Predictability, status quo is comforting.

Now it is all being threatened. I’m in a quandary, and I’m angry. Dearbhla has asked me to perform a duty for her, and I cannot say ” no” to my Primogen. I know I should consider it an honor that she thinks I could do the job, but it means that sometimes I would have to go to meetings, and I can’t go to the college if I have to go on the ferry. When would I go out to eat?

10

I was torn. Equal parts sadness and betrayal, missing her. Why did she leave? She was the foundation he rested on, the pinnacle he strived to reach. She couldn’t be replaced, could she? Hmmm …

This required some thinking, planning. Who else was there? Could Alisade be persuaded to accept, to lead? While I was aware, in the back of my mind, that others existed, resided here in the city, they were unknowns. Dearbhla had told me she didn’t know them; that they had avoided her. They certainly had avoided my territory, not yet Domain.

Could they be called? Should they be summoned? Was this my responsibility, or should I wait for Alisade to act? She was rather unpredictable, even for our family. If someone isn’t chosen soon Chyna might step in, and it would be a bad thing to let the Prince choose a new Malkavian Primogen.

11

Taking care of a Herd is a full-time job in many ways more difficult than shepherding one’s Domain. It had temporarily become more difficult, as I had to learn the new state and county regulations that applied to my situation. Generally the county and state are totally oblivious to herds unless they are herds of cattle, and while they continued to remain oblivious to the nature of my Herd, they were involved because my Herd was developmentally disabled.

Funding streams for the developmentally disabled remain essentially the same nation-wide. The names and dollar amounts may fluctuate, but the sources remain the same. As a large portion of the funding comes by way of social security, namely disability and supplemental income, the local agencies don’t get too upset when someone new moves into an area. While there are often complaints regarding the state funding of housing and medical assistance, the population involved generally has sacred cow status, so a way to make things work is usually found.

Housing for my Herd is supplied through a combination of Adult Foster Care and HUD, usually a lot of hoops to jump through, but again D.D. is a sacred cow, and once one becomes familiar with this particular system, skill or intelligence isn’t necessary; just persistence. It also helps that the bureaucrats don’t want you to traipse into their office with clients in tow.

Each of my Herd is being assigned a county case manager, but foster care is less stringent than the larger licensed facilities, and their meetings are in the evenings to accommodate those who work day jobs. So I now have one meeting a month to attend to protect my Herd. The government pays me to take care of them, plus they provide two weeks of respite care if my servant and I need a “vacation”.

12

It was making my head hurt! She asked me to be her back up, her Whip, and then ran out as soon as we agreed. It wasn’t right, it’s not right. What she did was wrong, wrong, and now we had to take care of even more.

We need to find someone who could take care of the family, someone we could trust to take care of the family. We need someone who will stay, someone who is strong enough, ethical enough to become a parent. First of all though, we had to take care of damage control. The Family Malkavian needed a representative on Chyna’s Council.

I tried to meet with her first thing this evening. I went to her hotel, but was told she was unavailable. I wasn’t surprised, we weren’t. To her I’m nobody, a neonate. I, we don’t know if Dearbhla told the Prince that I was the clan’s Whip. So I waited. The hotel staff wouldn’t let me upstairs. Couldn’t think, couldn’t wait; although the Prince still stayed here, it wasn’t Elysium anymore. I was in another’s Domain. What to do? I asked the concierge for stationery and a pen; he sneered at me as he handed them over. They dictated …


My Dearest Prince,
I must beg your pardon, but when Dearbhla brought me to be recognized by you a month ago the events that have led to this letter were already in progress.

During my short stay in your city, I have had the opportunity to converse with my former Primogen frequently and at some length. Unfortunately this resulted in her asking me to become her Second, the clan Whip if you will. Having agreed to her request, I find myself now in a very awkward position as she has abandoned her post and the needs of her clan. I have the unenviable task of taking care of my family here in New York until such a time as I find the individual better suited for the job.

With that in mind, I humbly request that you allow me to present myself to you as Interim Primogen of Clan Malkavian, until such a time as another more fitting representative is chosen.

Your servant,
Nicholas Alexander


Okay it took three drafts, but finally they thought it was good enough. I sealed the envelope, and leaving it un-addressed brought it back to the concierge who only resisted another sneer by sighing heavily instead. Having admitted to knowing to whom I wished the letter delivered, he agreed to deliver it to her “secretary” himself. They said he would deliver it out of fear I’d return and further soil his lobby.

13

Well you see it was all Dearbhla’s fault because she asked me. Dearbhla used to be Primogen, not of everybody, but just the Malkavians, my family. If she hadn’t been Primogen, she wouldn’t have been able to ask me, and if she did ask, I would have said “No.” So Dearbhla was Primogen and asked me to be her Whip; not that I knew what a Whip was supposed to do, and she didn’t explain it very well, but I agreed to be her Whip because she was Primogen and I had to say “Yes.”

But then the Primogen left, and I had to take charge. Someone had to protect the Malkavians, didn’t they? I didn’t really want to become Primogen; I was unsuited. People, Kindred just don’t like me that much because they think I’m different. They don’t want to listen to me, much less follow, so I can’t lead.

Okay, so Chyna, the Prince didn’t contest me appointing myself Primogen. She welcomed me into to my new position amazingly fast. Is that a good thing, or bad? Now I have to attend her masquerade party, so maybe becoming Primogen wasn’t that good. It is fortunate that most high schools have theater departments from which to choose an appropriate costume. It also helps that they usually have meetings there in the evening, so I didn’t have to break into the school. All I had to buy was tights, excuse me, hose.

Now I think it’s a bad time to be a Primogen in New York. All the other Malkavians are leaving, which hasn’t happened anywhere since Germany in the 1930’s. I don’t think there is a connection, but I believe there’s only one other Malkavian in the city. I know Dearbhla is gone, and I can’t find Alisade. Why can’t I feel anything? The voices have stopped shouting; they’re waiting for something.

14

Leaving the party, I wrapped the shadows around me, becoming an Unseen Presence. I had much to think about. There were few Kindred I recognized in the city now; fewer attended the evening’s festivities. The betrayal of Dearbhla’s leaving followed by Alisade’s disappearance still hurt. As I walked I mulled over this, and Chyna’s odd performance. All things considered, it’s good that she doesn’t take things too seriously, but it’s likely to bring her grief as the others expect more decorum from their Prince.

As I boarded the ferry for the 25-minute ride home, I considered the lone Kindred who danced with me. I was, am sure she wasn’t one of my family, she just didn’t seem right for that. Maybe she was one of Chyna’s; the Toreadors do have something of our vision if they choose to use it. As I consider all this, I notice a homeless man staring at me, and realize that I should have discarded my costume.

Colleen met me at the door, eyes bulging, a frown on her face, “We’ve got a problem. Come into the living room.” She demanded, turning away from me and leaned on her cane as she limped into the other room.

I followed her in to see Greg and Donny sitting ramrod straight on the couch, both looking distinctly unhappy. Only Gary slouching in his chair appeared himself, t-shirt, urine stained sweatpants, the smile of a secret joke on his lips; he stared ahead at something, someone unseen.

A chill went up my spine, “Hello Nicky.” a female voice giggled.

15

I’m so alone! Dearbhla’s gone, and so is Alisade. As far as I have been able to determine there isn’t another Malkavian in the city. Why did they leave? What did they know that I’m missing? This is bad. The last time any place was abandoned by my family was Germany in the late 1930’s. I can’t believe that we’ve reached that point yet, the Prince isn’t bad as far as princes go; neither is the mayor or governor. Now President Bush, not the first President Bush, or even the first President George, but the second President Bush, George W. is not very good by many people’s standards, but he’s still not that bad.

So I’m alone. I need to know, I need to discover why I’m alone and what chased my clan away; and I need assistance. The first and perhaps most important way a Kindred garners assistance is by creating Ghouls, servants loyal to you through the ties of blood; I need my Prince’s permission for this. The second and in some ways a superior method of garnering assistance is through allies, not necessarily loyal, but frequently more helpful. I can begin my search for allies now.

I am alone, but I have achieved what many Kindred can only imagine. My territory has expanded. My territory, my Domain, Malkavian Domain is the whole of Staten Island. Now I have to hold it. While the Justicars granted the island to the Malkavians, historically the sewers of the world have belonged to the Nosferatu. The Nosferatu are the key to retaining my island.

As soon as I seized on it, I couldn’t let go of the idea. I went out into the night as soon as I had fed, and as I made my rounds, making sure my territory was secure, I did what was necessary. At each open storm grate, at every manhole I stopped and I called. “Here Nossie, Nossie, Nosferatu.” I walked and I called into the earth, “Here Nossie, Nossie, Nossie. I need to talk to you.” I called and I waited, and I know that one will come.

16

“Oof,” what little air I had in my lungs whooshed out as my back hit the wall. It seemed to be happening a lot tonight, as I discovered that Sara, my Sire’s Sire was an impatient teacher.

“Pay attention Nicky,” she yelled. “Michael spent the better part of a decade trying to beat this into your head! Maybe he should have done it literally.” In a blur, she closed the distance between us, “Now lets try it again.” The apparent cheerleader, my grand-Sire was similar to my former Primogen Dearbhla; they both appeared young and attractive, easy to underestimate. They both could shove football players around like rag dolls.

Slowly, hesitantly I got to my feet and returned to the table. There lay my “Library”, a large 15”x12” red paper covered, cardboard binding holding together coarse manila sheets, an old shoe lace threaded through it all to keep the pages from scattering. On the pages were clipped tabloid articles, crayoned symbols and my poor notes written in Aramaic, Greek and Latin. Sometimes what lay between those bindings was crystal clear to me, other times it appeared to be someone else’s handwriting. There too were Sara’s traveling-books, a complete set of Little Golden Books supplemented with her notes and colored pages; mustached Mother Goose, purple sky for Chicken Little, the Gingerbread man in varying shades of green. Confused, I looked to my book, and Sara again lost her patience.

“That’s it.” She barked, knocking the pages out of reach. “You’ve forgotten everything, haven’t you?” She marched over to Greg who was standing stiffly and quietly by the door. “Can you still make others feel or act differently? Do something to him.” She demanded.

Flustered and rushed, I did the first thing that came to mind, stirring his emotions and was unsurprised but still angered when he began to laugh. Passion, the easiest weapon to use in a Malkavian’s arsenal is also the most uncontrollable.

Sara watched as he fell to the floor as his laughter evolved into hysterics, then turned back to me. “That was better. Simple, but still better.” She nodded. “Now do something more. I came here for a reason Nicky, and this isn’t it.” She stepped back toward the table again and stared at me expectantly.

I hated this. Not manipulating the Kine, that was kind of fun and I enjoyed learning more, but I hated being made to feel like I was a little boy to stupid to even try to look up the girls’ dresses. Gathering what little ego she left me, I reached out and triggered the reaction she wanted, one I had subjected Greg to so often he no longer had any resistance. His head nodded, and laughter turned to giggles as he lay on the floor. “Intoxicated. Is that better?” I sighed.

Sara examined him, and then slowly nodded her head. “Methyskein; at least you can do that. What about Omophagy, do you remember how?” she asked, calmer now.

“I never learned,” I shook my head. “Michael left before teaching me that.” I paused then added, “Columbine.” Before she could ask why her Childe had abandoned me before completing my training.

She added her sigh to the quiet of my embarrassment, then asked, “When was the last time you celebrated a Bacchanalia, Nicky?” She stopped me before I could explain, adding, “It’s understandable, the depression, but you need to celebrate what’s worth cherishing.”

She giggled, becoming excited and spun around in a circle, her arms outspread. “Let the other Kindred plod along in all their seriousness. We’re not like that, Nicky. Malkavians aren’t like that, and even more, our bloodline is not like that. We’re Dionysians, Nicky! Don’t you know what that means?” She stopped in place, grinning at me like the Cheshire Cat. “We celebrate the joy of being. We revel in us being Kindred, and we revel that the Kine are Kine. We’re priests celebrating the cycle of life and unlife and death, and it is a celebration, Nicky. It needs to be celebrated in all its aspects, in birth and death, sowing and harvesting, and yes we celebrate too with eating and drinking and f-fornicating!” She emphasized that last.

I watched her, and started to grin sheepishly at the end of her speech, but then had to quickly reverse directions again as she returned to the prior lesson.

“Now you can do intoxication, its time to learn hunger.” She again grinned, showing teeth this time. “This is the real reason the Romans had Vomitoriums.” Sara paused, giving me time to adjust, to react, and then she re-started the lecture that was interrupted the last time I was thrown against the wall. “When you use Methyskein, you’re pushing triggers activating biological responses where your celebrant behaves as if they are drunk, and you’re also lowering inhibitions and letting some emotions have release. Now Omophagy is similar in that you’re triggering a behavior response, this time hunger, but now hunger is also a desire, a craving, the Beast. So now you’re looking to release a specific emotion instead of removing inhibitions blocking all of them. In some ways it’s similar to Passion, although it’s from a different Discipline; and in some ways it’s the logical progression.”

She stopped, allowing me to catch up mentally, and maybe to digest a new concept. What I am trying to do, supposed to be doing is moving from the general to the specific. Using Methyskein I can release some general behaviors, those associated with intoxication. Now I needed to release a specific behavior associated with hunger, gluttony. Or was I looking at releasing the Beast? Was it that simple, that awful?

I looked down at Greg, human, Kine. He didn’t have the Beast, not like Sara or myself, but he liked, no he loved to eat, he loved to drink; Greg had the celebratory nature that Sara was trying to instill in me. I reached out, and he stared back, looking into my eyes. He didn’t have the Beast, but there was something there to answer my call, like so.

Greg smiled, true joy in his eyes as if he already knew the secret. “Eat now?” he asked, then nodded and grabbed my shoulder, “Eat now, Pal. Let’s go.”

Smiling, I told him to go. Colleen had something waiting for him, hopefully enough or he’d go AWOL again. He was walking away as I turned a questioning eye to Sara’s giggle; felt relief as she nodded her head. I knew that I didn’t have it all down yet, but it was a start. With a couple weeks of consistent practice on Colleen and the guys, I should be ready to try it on Sara. In the mean time, I need to find some all-night buffets.

17

I glanced over the missives, two delivered by rodent-post, another by ghoul. I was deeply saddened by the demise of the beautiful Prince, I was. Like my predecessor Dearbhla, she had made me welcome in this city.

I could appreciate Mr. Random’s prompt action, I thought. Although it was too bad that no one, including myself responded to his first letter. The letter said exactly what was necessary; the second letter shouldn’t have been needed. I was curious as to his true intentions regarding stepping into Chyna’s position, since I may or may not have mentioned the idea to him; it was after all how I had become Primogen. Did he want to be Prince? He appeared to be qualified, or at least he knew when action was necessary and he also had his clan’s famous information sources. But he may have just used the possibility of claiming the title to get a response.

I was also curious as to why this Ventrue, Cameron Cassidy thought he was entitled to inherit the position of Prince; I had always thought that a seneschal was a servant or retainer’s position, an administrative assistant. I failed to see how this qualified him to be Prince of New York, because let’s be honest; Manhattan is only one of the Burroughs. If the Ventrue cited his experience as his clan’s Primogen, I might be more understanding, but he is already claiming to be Prince by virtue of a position he didn’t hold long enough to demonstrate any competence. The wording of his letter is smart though; any Primogen or Elder would give him an air of legitimacy just by showing up.

Hmmm, with two contenders or candidates, this could become uncomfortable. To me it appears that Mr. Random was only doing what was, is his right as Primogen in demanding a Council meeting. Mr. Cassidy perhaps, is overstepping his bounds, as he cannot claim the title of Prince until the Primogen confirm it. I needed to think more on this, but as it appears to me, neither individual should be hosting the Council until a decision is made. Maybe its time to have a small chat with the other Primogen …

18

Well you see, I had tried to meet with Richard a few times over the last week. This was because he said all the Primogen had to present them-selves to him on account of him being the new Prince. Prince Richard, I hoped he liked his new title; I may have worked hard to get it for him, I think. I hope everyone concerned realizes how rare and valuable a Nosferatu Prince could be; Richard or one like him is more capable than any to keep his finger on the pulse of the city.

So because Prince Richard wanted all the Primogen to present them-selves, I tried to do that, because I was a Primogen. I believe that I am the senior-most Primogen on the Council now, due to the turbulence of politics. More importantly I am the Malkavian Primogen, a leader in the clan that inspired and has remained the staunchest supporter of the Camarilla, though they will never admit it.

My Prince commanded me to present myself. I tried to do so, and failed. For three nights I waited outside the entrance to his sewer, but was not admitted. That might be rude of him to invite me and then not let me in, but he might have been busy with other things. So I send a letter by Ghoul instead …

My Dear Prince Richard,
I hope this letter finds you in good spirits. As you may recall, you commanded that all Primogen present themselves to you. This I attempted to do without success.

I cast no blame, because the fault may have been my own. I did not present myself immediately following your coronation, as I thought to give you some few days to adjust to your new crown, realizing that you had much on your plate. Following a length of time I deemed appropriate, I presented myself to the gates of your palace, but was not admitted. For three days I returned, but was acknowledged by none; thus forced to resort to this letter.

I hope that all is well, and that you have not found the troubles accompanying your position to be too burdensome. Please do not hesitate to call on me for assistance, as I will place the resources of all my clan within the city, such as they may be, at your disposal.

You have asked for an accounting of my clan, and I must admit that at this time we Malkavians are few. The previous Primogen, Dearbhla fled some imagined threat shortly after asking me to become Whip; rumor has it that she now resides in the Midwest. Alisade also disappeared around that time when Chyna’s power was yet waxing. My grandsire, Sara was last seen the night prior to your ascending the throne; I assume she has left the city, but will likely return. That accounts for the Elders of Clan Malkavian in this city. Of those remaining there is of course myself, and two others. Joseph is the delightful young fellow who was introduced to all present on the night you were crowned; he is the Malkavian Clan Whip, and has authority to speak for me in my absence. Alice Quibodeuax like that Alice before, her has stepped through Malkav’s looking glass brimming with curiosity and wisdom. This is the sum-total of known Malkavians residing in the Burroughs of New York City.

Please call on us as you will, and we will serve. I beg of you to be patient with me and mine, remembering that I was first to kneel and call you Prince.

Your Loyal Servant,
Nicholas Alexander

19

My visits to the Hyatt Regency are a holdover from when my predecessor had rooms here. This is the first place I came to on a regular basis when I first moved to New York, so out of habit I continue to come here. Stopping by the Hyatt is a routine that gives me comfort, keeps me in touch with reality even when I have no one to visit. This time, I actually had someone to visit.

Alice had stepped through the looking glass, and came to the big city. I knew she was here, we knew each other and kept in contact, or not, as family members do. She was, is mine now; mine to protect and cherish and nurture as a daughter or much younger sibling. She is new enough in the city, new enough to our society that she has not yet established herself in safety, on Staten Island, Malkavian Domain; My Domain. I had come to bring her home.

Agitation began to creep upon me as I exited the ferry, and it quickly grew to anxiety as I moved toward my destination with increasing urgency. What was it? Didn’t I want to see her? Or was it something worse, something sinister? Arriving at the Hyatt, I threw my money at the cabbie as I catapulted from the vehicle and ran to the door and entered. I paused there, the push for speed gone. What had happened? I slowly turned, searching. Mortals moved around me, an odd Oriental practically dancing his way past. A really odd dancing Oriental, feeling wrong somehow. Kindred? Yes, Kindred, but different, not family, but still broken somehow. Him I would remember.

Still searching, I found her laying on a couch and being administered to by a mortal. Alice was lifeless, unmoving and on the brink of Torpor. The mortal appeared on the brink of panic, or worse, understanding. I moved in quickly, mumbling an apology as I pushed past the mortal. Scooping up Alice’s body, I think I said something inane about needing to eat before drinking, and moved toward an exit. There, we were rescued as an arm hooked mine and pulled me through the door.

Juliane, the Gangrel Primogen ushered up and down stairs and hallways and into a room, quite possibly her own. She then launched into a tirade concerning Traditions, Blood Hunts and of all things, rudeness. Somewhere amongst all this, she allowed me to feed my malnourished clan-mate, enough so that Alice slowly began the process of healing. We also established our bonifides, since Primogen are supposed to observe some form of decorum. I wondered at a fate that cast Gangrel and Malkavian as allies, but was uncertain if laughter was warranted.

As we had determined that Alice was virtually drained of Vitae in the middle of the hotel’s lobby, it was apparent that the Traditions of both Masquerade and Destruction were violated, or at least close enough to bring it to Richard’s attention. Juliane decided that I should send a letter to the Prince regarding the matter, since Alice was mine, but then immediately called him herself. Was this the perversity of being Gangrel, or the Need to Control that comes from being Primogen?

Surprisingly, Richard arrived in a relatively short amount of time. He was understandably angry, but determined what happened and went on to addressing damage control almost before he finished entering the room. Fortunately, the Masquerade is now in little danger since the security tapes have been recovered; they were very enlightening, as they showed the entire incident. It was also decided that only one mortal needs to be addressed, and that was the poor individual who had the decency to attempt to aid a woman who had apparently feinted in the lobby.

So the Masquerade has been saved, leaving only the Tradition of Destruction to be addressed. Understandably, Richard wants the perpetrator found and brought to him since he never gave permission for Alice’s destruction, although technically this Tradition wasn’t violated since Alice survived. I guess it’s a bad thing to challenge the authority of a Prince. Because Alice will recover, I think it likely that unless the odd Oriental, Juliane says he is Japanese, is a complete idiot and manages to insult our Prince to his face, he will probably survive Richard’s judgment.

I too would like to have a discussion with this individual, and enlighten him with regards to the cost of threatening one of my charges. I have to wonder though, if perhaps his taking a Malkavian’s blood has already exacted a price; after-all there are those who say our blood is tainted. He did need to be shown an important Truth, and the reason the other clans feared our, my presence. I was pretty sure that I would let him survive since I didn’t want to draw Richard’s anger toward me.

But if he really wants to taste more Malkavian blood, he is one step along the way to being blood-bonded to Alice.

Interlude

He wandered through the streets of Staten Island rather aimlessly, curious as to what he had missed. Uncertain as to how much time he'd lost, he stared at the university's student center and wondered if it was there before his break.

It seemed like he'd been Kindred, been Primogen a very long time. Still he never stopped learning. He would be more careful regarding from which Kine he fed. He had never before considered that their medications, the psychotropics that controlled their illnesses would effect his own.

He knew he'd had a long journey back. Now it was time to gather in his own.

Depakote, Neurontin, it had never occurred to him that seizure medications could be used for behavior, although he knew that psychiatrists did just that on a regular basis. He would make note of that for future reference, but for now he hoped that continued feeding would erase the drowsiness he assumed was a medication side effect.

As he contemplated the medications, he became aware of her. He could sense her somewhere in the back of his mind. He had thought her gone again on one of her strange journeys, or perhaps blanketed in the fog surrounding his psychotic break, and the new medications. She was there now, out there. Was she still his though? Did she serve another master? Whose face looked over her shoulder in that shattered looking glass?

Yes, Alice. It is time to talk.
20

The young are often under-estimated, and until recently it was my fortunate reward to be counted among the youth of the city. I became a kindred only ten short years ago, and spent the majority of those years in Denver. Only recently did I come to New York, in time to witness the glory of Victor in all his splendor, soon followed by the Queen-like Chyna in her’s.

Not having the tolerance for breaks in routine that others sometimes have. I find the presence of a Prince to be a comfortable feeling, a necessity for my peace of mind. Thus when Powers went absent, I found it my duty to take on the role myself. When a Power again went absent, I manipulated another into considering such a role. When a vacuum is present, and others see a need to fill it, it is often a simple matter to persuade the best of them to do so. Thus, when our late Prince Richard saw a need to bring a Council together to choose a Prince before he himself took that crown, it was a simple matter to direct his ambitions in the proper direction; after all he was the best suited.

Again after Richard abandoned his duties, it became a simple matter to find he who was best suited for the role. This time however, as the role was contested, it became necessary to introduce a puppet. Someone else was needed to nominate the heir-apparent, because my influence was suspect. What’s more, the puppet needed to promote the heir without prompting, because our House is always suspected. The young are often subject to the manipulations of their elders.

Thus it was Samuel who was forced to accept a Crown, and those who thought themselves his betters revolted for a second time against a Nosferatu Prince. I have found none better, so Samuel remains my Prince.

… And so the Malkavians continue, as they always have.
21

How the mighty have fallen. The Ventrues and Tremeres warred against me, and threatened to torpor all the ‘Kavians. The Nosferatu that was my pawn, the Prince Samuel has fallen, but he didn’t really fall on account that he was already underground; he did leave his sewer though, and he’s not Prince anymore. Chyna, who was dead is Prince again, and she’s not dead anymore, but I think that she’s controlled by the Necromancers, because she was dead and now she’s saying it’s okay that the Giovanni can use my Domain. I think that’s wrong because all the Princes said that my family could keep Staten Island, and have it for our own, and the Prince Chyna told me that back when she was still a live Kindreds instead of a dead one.

I got upset about that, and one of the other Kavians tried to keep the other Kindreds out of Staten Island, but it didn’t work, because the Toreadors who belonged to the new Prince Chyna, really belonged to those Giovanni’s because of Prince Chyna used to being dead, and those Toreadors came to Staten Island, and the Sheriff came to Staten Island too, when my family wouldn’t let the Toreadors leave. So all the other Kindreds got mad at me because I wanted to keep my Domain, and I had to go to jail, and the Giovanni’s made their used-to-be-dead Prince Chyna make me apologize, and then she made me promise to give a boon to the Giovanni’s even though I don’t have any boons, so I have to go find one.

After all the other Kindreds got mad at me and I had to go to jail, I decided that I couldn’t be the Malkavian Primogen anymore because the other Primogens wouldn’t listen to me if they’re mad, and they might try to hurt the other Malkavians. After I decided that I couldn’t be Primogen, I decided that Heather-the-Bartender should be the new Malkavian Primogen because the other Kindreds liked her, because they all like to go to bars even though they don’t drink alcohol anymore. I think they go to the bars any way, because they don’t have to behave there.

Then Heather-the-Bartender became Primogen, and I wasn’t Primogen anymore because I had to be called an Elder even though I’m not that old. I am older than Primogen Heather-the-Bartender and the other Malkavians, but I’m not as old as Dearbhla was when she was Primogen, and she never got to be an Elder. So I watched Heather-the-Bartender be Primogen, but after I while I got tired of watching because she tried to act like one of the Toreadors that belonged to the Giovanni’s, so I said good-bye to my Domain that wasn’t mine anymore, and was depressed for awhile.

Cavymage

Way back when, in the 1990s before there was such things as blogs or MySpace I had my own web page titled the Cavymage Pages (Cavymage was my first screen name).

Why Cavymage ...

More than a couple people have asked some variation of "what's a Cavymage?" Well, for starters, its mage as in magi or magician, and cavy is the proper name for a guinea pig; No this does not mean I try to do fun magic tricks with large rodents. (Actually I recently heard that the jury went back out on whether or not a guinea pig is a rodent, apparently their chemistry is wrong.) What this does mean, is that someone claimed that a guinea pig was my totem and I thought, "Hey cool." Since Guinea Pig Totem didn't have quite the right sound to it, I went with Cavymage.

Now, for the pseudo-esoteric version of, "why a guinea pig is a cool totem." For some reason the people in my family have weird, I mean really odd dreams. My mother once dreamt that my sister gave birth to a hippopotamus. Does this say more about my mom, or my sister? She also had a dream about our Welsh Corgi winning the Olympics. Anyway back to guinea pigs. Sometime back around 1987 or so, I had a very profound dream in which a short, dark and handsome guinea pig gave me some advice. He was pretty much just standing or sitting, its sometimes hard to tell with guinea pigs, keep in mind that they're essentially natural footballs with legs, and he just started talking, saying, "you know ..." Just like in Dr. Doolittle, except not so annoying.

Two years later I opened a birthday present to see an extremely self-assured, but short, all black straight-haired guinea pig. I promptly named him Peeve since he was my pet. He promptly peed on me. Well, Peeve reluctantly took on the role of my totem; following me around, making me look foolish and complaining when I did things that "lacked style". I'm sure he would've offered all sorts of advice, if he could only make me understand. Unfortunately, like all totems, Peeve only hung around a short while before going where ever totems go when they are done with their work. I still consider myself lucky to have been chosen by such an auspicious animal.