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The Historical Truth

Truthfully, I don't really recall my mortal life. I mean, I know I got this scar from a coil coming out of one of the early Ford cars, because I worked on them for extra money with my father, but I couldn't tell you exactly what my mother and father looked like. I assume I look similar to my father, so I know him through knowing myself - at least I did.

Anyway, all of that is irrelevant anymore. It's been a long time since I bothered to eat mortal food or drink mortal drink. I've been beaten by simple mortals with parlor tricks and I have no love for the unenlightened masses. But let me start over before I get too far ahead of myself. We'll start by dates, since it's easier for us who don't have any kind of daytime to break up our nights to go by the dates of nightly headlines. Vampires always know the headlines, we're a fearful lot as a whole.

Sometime Around 1910

I was not embraced in Carcosa directly. Instead I was embraced outside of it's loving embrace in Virginia Beach. It wasn't always called that, but nevermind it. Truthfully, I was embraced by a sinning Sanctified, I never agreed with the church in life, and it certainly never became acceptable for me in death. Unlike those sniveling cowards who shift their allegiances long after they've been part of a covenant for some time, I ditched to join the Unaligned movement in the city.

That's right, not the Carthian Movement, the Unaligned one. There's no reason to join them with anything. They gawk and squawk like low rate chickens, scratch and paw at the dirt trying to claim land like they did before they were dead. Anyway. My sire, who I've simply called "the Confused" (his name, for the record, is Timothy Westbrook), was irrationally angry and tried to force convert me through a number of ways. The first two years of my unlife after my embrace -- after my release anyway -- was spent staked in a closet. After I was freed and given a week to "think" on my decision, I sought out others who'd endured the harshest treatments of the Sanctified vice grip -- the other Unaligned.

That's when I met my first Crone. I was enthralled with her physical beauty at first, because I was still too close to my human side to know any better. But on top of that I was being purposely contrary. I knew it'd be a great insult to my sire to wind up turning out to be consorting with Crones, so I did it. As it turns out, there was a small cult flying under the radar there in Virginia Beach. They were, initially, worried about my sire coming down on them, but my mentor, the beautiful matriarch, the visionary goddess Morana in the flesh, soothed their worries, and they accepted me into their cult.

Circa 1916

I remember the headline like it was yesterday, probably because my face was ground into it "HUGHES WINS ELECTION". If you're not aware, Woodrow Wilson won that election, way to go associated press. Anyway, while my face was being ground into the asphalt by the wonderful Sanctified and the "heathens" being quite literally murdered in the street (suffer not a heathen to live!) I was encountering force conversion, version two. Sometimes I feel pangs of guilt for that, as though my presence was simply the straw that rooted out their entire cult so it could be slaughtered. New Christian religion preaches tolerance and Love, shame the Monachal order of the Sanctified haven't progressed there yet.

A second time I was taken to be torpored, and this time, they elected to instead feed me vitae. I'd like to point out at this interval that it is a fucking sin in the books of Longinus to feed blood to other vampires, because it puts the domitor above God. Like every other establishment that's ever been made, the rules only apply to them when they need them to.

But enough of that bitterness, while I was being watched, they forgot that I'd been with a Nosferatu for some time and I'd picked up a little trick of the trade. Did my jailer run away? Oh yes, yes he did. And when he ran, so did I. I ran for so long that any mortal's legs would have broken under the stress and duress and shortly before dawn, I took the remaining bits of my money and paid for a single drink for a girl. Luckily, she was easy and I had my first victim for my ends. The next night, I had a new ghoul and a ticket the hell out of there.

I'm pretty sure it was 1917

Carcosa. Oh glorious Carcosa -- oh wait, no, it's another Sanctified bastion! Luckily, there were enough Kindred there that there wasn't a problem more than social ridicule when I joined in with the city. But I was more savvy than others, I could see a set-up for religious arguments and I steered far clear of them. I relied heavily on my ability to be a Daeva moreso than a Crone publicly for quite a long time.

Sometime in the early 1920's

The Crone were very wary of my presence, because I was only a semi-recent recruit, but I made no overtures of violent intention (after all, it'd be fucking retarded with the Sanctified in charge, and my wanting to draw absolutely no outside attention to my presence in Carcosa from "the Confused" and his loyal dogs) and finally they accepted that I was true to a faith, even if it wasn't their faith. Don't let me confuse you here, it wasn't like some kind of flowers and fairies arrangement, they weren't pleased that I had no intentions of joining their cult, and moreover I was threatened more than once by the group. You know which group, I wouldn't even have to point it out.

The Great (Terrible) Depression, so we're talking around 1934

The money I'd arranged for by this time in the city, which wasn't much, it was mostly arranged from a similar-to-collection plate economics, so it was different from week to week. Not a steady income of any large number by any measure, but it worked... until people started getting poor. Not only did the money dry up, but the blood which was rich and plentiful before grew weaker and slightly more sour. Annoying, but I wasn't going to die at least and I wound up moving into the shanty house district, where I could find shelter.

Some few years afterward, putting us around 1940

For a time, it was a depressing state of affairs, because I was under the impression that Daeva should never have to live like rats, you know, let the Gangrel and Nosferatu do that shit. So I was kind of like the junker Daeva, picking off and poaching around the city's shit-towns. I was sick of it after a few years, which is when I started attempting to be a fraction more verbal in the Elysium sparring matches. Initially, it went over like one would expect. I won't ever forget that verbal thrashing I got from the socialites of the city, all sides. Even some Crone jumped in on the fun.

That's when I decided enough was enough, I was going to return the favor. I was the Social Predator here, not them. I could sway mortals and make them swoon with a glance, fuck those vampires, I'd just come back stronger and more ready to verbally spar. So, I did.

The wonderful year where the Sanctified first fucked up: 1944

My big break came when the Carthians started playing America's Pastime Hero, Casey Jones, with a ship anchor. Now I could go into Elysium and talk about things without getting made out be the joker instantly. My worship suffered during this time, but you know, there's only so much a vampire can do in the night. Jump on the bandwagon of hate or sit around playing with my food. I chose the former way, which may or may not have irritated some of the other Crones, but it wasn't as if they were exactly the cream of the crop for diplomacy and all.

Hell, I wasn't either, but I could smile really pretty and crack the right jokes about the Testament when it was appropriate. And there it was. My in.

Two steps forward, four steps back -- when Riordan shat on the Acolytes in 1948

I guess I was kind of mad about that at the time, when he asked permission from the Bishop, but I didn't really know about Vincent's treatment of him either. I mean, that's not to say I actually know now, but if it was anything like the Confused's treatment of me, I can understand the desire to be contrary. Contrary kittens, you know.

Nevertheless, it became a little public joke at the Crone's expense for a short time (until everyone got bored) and naturally being the most visible in Elysium nightly, I had to parry and deflect. But guess what? I'd put my mind to my work, and I'd made sure to practice and learn while I had my chance, so I was able to parry and riposte with words like the others. It wasn't like I was a professional socialite, mind you, but it was then that I realized I could hold my own -- and it made me feel good like my sire felt good when humiliating me. Oops.

Finally, some fresh meat came in around 1952

Thank you World War Two! Not only were people bursting with happiness, they were bursting with babies and blood and all sorts of general awesome. I try not to look at them like cows, you know, but damn if they didn't make a lot of babies for soon to be meals. I was, like every other vampire, happy, happy, happy.

My cult started to pick up again, though admittedly it was less than it was before, but there were some serious members, and even those who were flighty at best provided some meals and pleasure before heading back to their husbands. Mmm, infidelity. Tastes so sweet.

Years of the glass towers, which puts us somewhere around 1965 or so

You know, I never really liked skyscrapers. They seem out of place, like they might just dismantle the earth below them. It was probably this "idea" that took me back to the more serious practices outside of just running a basic blood cult for my own enjoyment. I mean, it was just the look of them. So progressive. Reminded me of the word "movement" which in turn reminded me of my past. I don't know why, really, but I started to branch out to the other Crones again.

Admittedly, I wasn't the most popular Acolyte around, some of them thought I was just lipsynching what I'd been taught before, but they weren't really Daeva. I mean, Carroll and Costello were, but they had their own ways - not my ways. I wanted to bathe in blood for the old ways, but not for their old ways. Trying to get them to teach me Cruac was... an adventure.

Seraphina taught, and I was reminded of that Nosferatu who first taught me about the real meaning of fear. She was horribly ugly, and horribly beautiful all of the same. If there was someone then I could respect, it was her. After all, she didn't hide what she was, she flaunted it, she wore it on her sleeve, matted it with the blood of ... everything. Beautiful. Crazy, but beautiful.

Stealing babies from the crib in the early 70's? Thanks guys.

I never really understood the point to embracing to get at someone. I mean, you're going to weaken yourself at the same time as basically tearing off the gloves and slapping a guy upside the face. It makes no damn sense to me and I told Ryall as much. He thought, incorrectly, that I was standing up for my covenant-mate in Costello. I had to set him straight, and that damn near got me pulled into the blood feud of the Daeva lineages, and it's also the same time I noticed the curious thing that happened to him too.

Good and gracious Morana, I knew you'd never desert me. That's when I decided to become more agreeable to the Invictus. Just like that.

The beginning of my end, '77 to '81

You know, I remember the beginnings of the disease spread, I think it was sort of a mutation of tuberculosis, to be honest. It was pretty gross. I had to, after a little while, cut out my whole cult nearly.

Of course the Sanctified said it was the judgment on those mortals for their fornication outside of the laws given to them, blah blah blah. You know the rhetoric, they use it every time.

I was concerned when the Kindred all started pressing into the same areas as everyone else. I mean, there were so damn many of us, and beasts just don't get along well in small quarters. I personally had to beat off Lester Vines from my own damn herd. My own herd! It was ridiculous, and more ridiculous was trying to find safe sources of feeding when even your own herds were starting to get suspect.

It wasn't too much longer that the diseases started actually directly affecting me. I mean, my haven wasn't even mine. When the owner, Leslie, kinda sorta died well, I started having problems of my own. I had to suck up my pride when I literally had nowhere else to stay and spoke with the Invictus on a personal-favor note. I asked Ryall-baby if she could do me a favor. Worked out well... shame about not actually getting to enjoy the lavish Invictus comforts for too long.

You know, I never was a part of that meeting, but damn if it wasn't heartless. Landon Merrick was awesome sometimes. That was one of them. It was beautiful when those vitriolic assholes started disappearing. It was beautiful when they all went into a full blown panic. I worked out a little couple of deals with the Invictus then, because well... it was that or the Carthians and Seraphina was right about the Carthians -- fuck them.

It was probably a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but all I remember is that I found myself at the wrong end of a blade. It was all over so fast. "Heretic", in that tone that I remember hearing when Morana and the others were slaughtered. I knew I was dead then. I tried to fight back, but there was no use, everything went red, then... everything was twisted and black, violent and bloody.

Look at what the cat dragged in

It's a very uncomfortable thing to wake up and realize that you've been underground so long, in dirt, that the stake shoved into your heart has rotted out and that you just murdered a late-night bulldozer worker after you've been dug out of a shallow grave in... where the hell was I? Oceanfront, they're calling it Oceanfront still. The headline reads October 22nd.

Who the hell is Obama?