Atlanta, Georgia: May 4, 2013

Atlanta, Georgia: May 4, 2013

On the purpose for our gathering:

It is no secret that tensions ran high as we gathered in the basement of Sub Rosa.   The time had finally come to sign the treaty that would put the turbulent past behind us.  The space was packed, which only showed the eagerness of the city to move forward into a brighter future.  The past cannot be forgotten but it can be forgiven, and we all gathered together to show our willingness to unite for the strength of the Camarilla and the strength of Atlanta.

I doubt that every fence found itself mended by the end of the night but an important first step has been made.

On the treaty and its ghostly implications:

With the signing of the treaty well under way, it seemed that the whole affair would come to a successful and uneventful conclusion. 

If only we should be so lucky.

Surprisingly (or not), when the Anarch approached to sign her name the document responded in a most peculiar way. 

Words appeared that had not been there before, words that threatened the city and Prince Nicola! 

It seemed a dangerous prank to pull even for an Anarch, but her name would soon be cleared.

The errant writing appeared to a handful more, and it seemed the only thing that they did have in common was a connection to the spirit world.   

Ghostly threats from beyond the grave?  This is the first time I’ve ever known a praxis to be threatened by spirits, at least in a city that boasts no Necromancers.

And it would not be our only dealing with the restless dead that night!

On the biker gang:

Of all the nights for a leather-clad group of Brujah ruffians to ride into town, this was not the most choice of evenings. 

I’m not usually one to harp on stereotypes, but they were a biker gang! 

Their arrival in the city could hardly go unnoticed, as one of their first actions was to trespass on territory overseen by the Sherriff!  Not only was this group of hooligans feeding where they didn’t belong but they were also found embracing childer!

Further investigation revealed two startling facts.

The first: They had been given permission to feed in the city by the Tremere, whose territory neighbored the aforementioned. 

Perhaps the Tremere need to learn the boundaries of their land a little better?

The second: The Vipers claimed to have permission to embrace within Atlanta as well!  By whom, you ask?  The Mad Prince!

It would appear that our city is not only being plagued by ghostly threats, but by actual ghosts.  Of course, the more likely (and true) scenario is that there was an imposter running about claiming to either be the late prince or speak for him.

I suppose if there were a silver lining to this whole ado it would be in the fact that the biker gang was very apologetic for the confusion.  They took to the news of the Mad Prince’s demise quite well and even offered to sign the treaty! 

Let’s hope their eagerness to put the whole mess to bed was in earnest, though it certainly was the night for new beginnings.

On the consequences of the Tremere:

What bit of trouble didn’t lead back to the Tremere? 

It’s true they were innocent of the Treaty Debacle, but it did seem that every other incident had their fingerprints all over them.

They let the biker gang into their territory.

They brought a potentially dangerous (and magical) painting onto Elysium.

Oh!  I haven’t yet regaled you with the story?

It seems that Oliver Mayne approached clan Nosforatu in hopes that they had one among their number with artistic gifts.  That they did not seek a member of the Rose certainly raises questions as to their intent.  It was Luna deCoeur who answered their inquiry as she is known both to dance and sing.  She was asked if she would like to see a painting.

A request, in my opinion, made all the more suspicious in its simplicity.

Upon seeing the painting the strangest effect overtook Ms. Fattoria.  One witness said she seemed captured by it, in the way a Toreador becomes absorbed at the sight of a masterful work of art. 

Another said it tried to eat her soul!

Whatever the true effect—it seemed the Tremere weren’t entirely sure what it would do—it seems hardly the sort of thing to be brought onto Elysium!

And I’m sure their little powwow with the Gangrel was nothing more than catching up between old friends.

If Mr. Mayne hadn’t already been named Cowardly for his abandonment of the city at its most desperate time of need, I might be tempted to call him imprudent for his show of poor judgment.

I will give him the benefit of the doubt and hope that this was only a temporary lapse.

Final Notes:

Mr. Hawthorn has made the wise decision to return to the Ivory Tower and Prince Nicola has granted him acknowledgement.

Anyone who was not in attendance has 30 days to sign the treaty.  Please contact Thomas for arrangements.

Finally, those who wish to speak with the Prince privately should schedule a meeting time with Seneschal Adalina Durante.

The evening had its ups and downs, but we succeeded in our purpose.  The treaty has been signed, and the future laid out before us.  Atlanta is a great city and it will only grow greater.

Bisou, Bisou

Desi

Portland, Oregon: April 2009

Portland, Oregon: April 2009

On where we were and why we were there:

It was in memory of the late seneschal that we found ourselves gathered in the dark halls of a mausoleum on the anniversary of his death.  There, a shrine had been built so that those who knew him might remember and those who didn’t might understand the sacrifice he made.  This proud Ventrue gave his life so that Portland might grow strong against the rebellious sect.  Perhaps it was a somber veil to gather beneath, but the night served as an important reminder.  The Camarilla is strong because there are those willing to defend it. 

On what people wore and why they shouldn’t have:

It is hard to say whether it was ignorance of the solemnity of the event or indifference that led to some of the choices for evening wear.  Neither is an acceptable excuse, and Prince Canaan was understandably upset by the lack of respect.  Indeed, some clans are known for their proclivity of dressing down, but there is still a level of effort to be made when attending such a service.  Even Mannford—the self-proclaimed isolated, demon-hunting, creature of the night—managed to come more or less appropriately attired for the occasion!

I don’t think it’s a stretch to expect you to hang up your cringeworthy pants—plaid is never acceptable—and ratty band t-shirt for one night.  It’s just tacky.  Surely there is something in that pile of clothes you keep on the floor that would have suited better.

On the Tremere and their unique fashion sense:

Mr. Malcolm Mayhew, famed Harpy of Seattle, was as far from tacky as one can get!  Little did he know, however, that Mr. Salazar would attempt to upstage his outstanding sense of style.  Except for the color of their vests and ties the two Tremere could have been twins!  Every detail, right down to their jaunty bowler hats, was in perfect synchronicity.  

Undoubtedly, Mr. Mayhew would claim it as proof that great minds think alike.

Elder Viktor Cantemir definitely stood out in the crowd.  He seems quite determined to bring ruffled shirts and jacquard coats back into fashion.  The question remains: fashion forward or fashion faux pas?

Several Tremere sported an interesting accessory, and it was one that did not go without notice.  Little crystal pins seemed to be everywhere!   All those who sport the triangular accessory claim membership to “The Glass Pyramid”.  

I won’t go into detail about what that means, but you should definitely ask your local representative. 

Hopefully, they won’t be as verbose as Mr. Mayhew in their explanation!

On the memorial and the things we learned therein:

Legiea recited the Bard’s Fear No More in honor of the late seneschal.  It was an eloquent and sad piece that captured the evening’s mood beautifully.  It seems that our dear harpy has a way of capturing us with her words no matter if she is speaking or singing them.

If only her performance could have saved us from Lady Cassandra’s presentation!

I could not have conceived that by the end of the night I would know that the deceased had a fondness for redheads or that Lady Cassandra often disrespected his age often saying he was “covered in mummy dust”.  While sharing amusing anecdotes is not an uncommon funerary practice, I think this would count as bit of an overshare!

Were that all I might not have found her display so vulgar!

I don’t know what inspired the Toreador Primogen to speak so crassly to those assembled.  Perhaps in her grief she experienced a crucial lapse in judgment.  I would like to think that.  Still, it’s hard to imagine anyone in any state thinking it appropriate to call a group of esteemed elders and respected members of the tower a bunch of boring fools!

If only that had been the last shock of the night.

On unknown party guests and the implications of their presence:

Herr Wagner brought it to our attention that there was a Setite in our midst.  When we saw her seated near the Prince (in those chairs reserved for court officers) we couldn’t help but wonder if he knew the true nature of the creature with whom he was speaking!  

Elder Preston had earlier found himself in the company of the serpent and the Prince of Seattle, from where she hailed, and was none the wiser by the end of their rather lengthy conversation.

One can only imagine what sort of liberties she must be allowed in order to so confidently and brazenly consort with civilized individuals.

It’s hard to think that something even worse lurked among us that night, but alas this was indeed the case.  A Fiend had dressed himself up and mingled among the party guests.  Thankfully he was discovered, but his apprehension would elude those who would apprehend him as he turned into a pile of blood and slithered away!

I know, dearest readers, I was as appalled and disgusted as you are.  

It is unsettling to know that you might have rubbed elbows with a creature as dark and disgusting as a Fiend.  With all those of a more martial bent in hot pursuit, we were left to continue the night’s festivities—if you could call them that—with the hope that there would be no more unwelcome visitors. 

On the brilliance of Clé deMontes and the test of Mr. Mayhew’s virtue:

Before the night’s end we would come to learn of the history between Clé deMontes and Malcolm Mayhew.  With no more detail than he “was acting under instructions”, Mr. Mayhew explained that he had twice put the dear mademoiselle’s life in danger…or at least allowed her to believe such!  

I think it goes without saying that this left some fences to be mended between the two of them! 

After a failed attempt to talk the matter out—failed, perhaps, because Mr. Mayhew did not stay for the whole conversation—Clé graciously offered a final opportunity to make things right between them.

In order to win back into the side of her good graces Mr. Mayhew would have to write a poem expressing his regret over his actions however necessary he claims them to have been.  This poem would be judged by a group of individuals chosen my Mademoiselle deMontes, and it would be up to them to decide if he deserved clemency.  

If they applauded then she would wipe the slate clean.  If they did not then he would be at the mercy of his own failure.

And so, we all awaited the second evening with great anticipation.

On the words of Mr. Mayhew and how they were received:

In his tardiness it was easy to think that Malcolm Mayhew had perhaps decided to circumvent his task by simply not showing.  But certainly he is a harpy, and what is a harpy without his words?  Our patience would not go unrewarded.

We gathered around the table eagerly awaiting the words he had composed.  So that you might make your own assessment, I have decided to record the poem here.  Judge wisely.

Je suis désolé, Clé

Calm reflection grants

Still minds a sense

Of perspective lost

Sorrow makes full

Moons a tale writ

Of regret across the stars

This is an echo of

Pain once felt in

Beating heart

A gift without

Measure, a reminder

Of things thought long gone

Thank you, I am sorry

The silence that followed was filled with anticipation over who would be the first to clap, if any.  It was Herr Wagner who broke the quiet and everyone soon followed his lead. 

Mr. Mayhew had won his pardon.

Of course, the task of remaining in Clé deMontes’ favor is still ahead of him.

On the matter of flags and the trouble they caused:

To counterbalance the morbidity of the previous night we were treated to a Toreador salon the next.  The space itself was grand, which should have been no surprise considering it was held in the Keeper of Elysium’s personal domain.   

What was surprising were some of the choices in décor.  On one side of the room were a string of flags all boasting strange and unknown symbols.  Even the Tremere could make neither heads nor tails of them.  

But it was the flags on the other side of the room that would lead to a bit of an uproar.  At first glance they were innocuous.  A display of clan symbols and nothing more.

Behind the Prince, appropriately, hung the rose of clan Toreador.  On either side flew flags of pillar clans.  Directly above them and centered on the wall was the symbol for the clan of snakes, and it was bookended by two other independent clans.  

We hope that this was a grievous oversight made by the interior decorators and not a choice made in good conscious.  Or perhaps, there had been an intended game of darts only someone forgot to bring the actual darts.  

After extensive inquiries—for when have you known me to be anything but thorough—we were left with no greater answer than that the ghoul responsible for hanging the flags had been “dealt with”. 

No one was willing to take responsibility for the outrageous error, though everyone seemed happy to point fingers.  

I only remind you that we were in the Keeper’s personal domain.

On the rest of the salon and the evening’s conclusion:

Despite the offending decorations and the garish dress and behavior of a certain Setite, the night was an overall success.

Ligeia secured the performance of a young and talented violinist by the name of Michael Harris.  He played well into the night fulfilling what requests he could.  We were delighted but a display of swordsmanship in which we learned never to underestimate a woman and her fan.  And the matter of the fiend came to a conclusion—whether it was satisfying or not depends on who you speak to.

I look forward to visiting Portland again, but only if it promises to be as exciting.

Bisou, Bisou

Desi

Vienna, Austria: 1821

Vienna, Austria: 1821

On why you should have been there and why you won’t be next time:

Grandiose.  Opulent.  It hardly needs to be said that the debut of the Ligeia Almalthea was the event of the century.  Kindred traveled from all corners of the globe to be part of the night’s festivities.  Esteemed Prince Alexander Konrad even made the trek from the New World just for the occasion!  This was not an evening to miss. 

Anyone who is anyone was in attendance. 

Those who decided it wasn’t worth their time or the distance will find that they won’t be anyone much longer!  Considering our hostess was the illustrious Elder Viveka von Daun, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that we were treated to such splendor.  Honestly, those who don’t know the Elder von Daun well enough to be surprised probably weren’t invited to begin with.

On what you missed and why you should be sorely cross that you did:

The performance was beyond words--or at least that is what a Harpy less gifted than myself might say.

Ligeia stepped onto the stage with all the timbre and delicate beauty of a butterfly.  Her nervousness was written on her face but when she sang she transformed. And so, in turn, were we.  Before our eyes, the young artist filled with the confidence of her art.  Her voice was soft but it floated across the ballroom with exquisite clarity.  As her notes rose and fell, the audience rose and fell with them--swept away with the emotion of the music.  We were captives to her song… until she released us in one final crescendo. 

Elder von Daun’s faith was well placed and we were all witness to the reward.  It was difficult not to feel honored.  There is no doubt that Ligeia Almalthea is a star in the making. She certainly shone brighter than any other that night.

Nearly every attending party wished to personally congratulate and praise the young ingénue. 

Michael Cayhill of House Constantinian presented Ligeia with a gift-- surpassing all of us in his thoughtfulness. 

Despite the overwhelming number of new faces, Ligeia patiently received each and every one with a polite grace well beyond her years.

On restless neonates and the consequences of their actions:

Yet even her gentle nature could not please everyone. 

Ezra Thompson, not blessed with the same manners as our delightful debutante, was seen sulking away to the gardens when he tired of waiting in line with all the upstanding Elders and Ancillae of the Ivory Tower.  It was an exceptionally Childish display if one has ever occurred.  One can only hope that he outgrows the impatient haste of youth.

On the gardens and what transpired there:

As though the night could get anymore splendid—for really, what could follow Legia’s inspired performance—we were shown to the gardens.  And how absolutely stunning they were!

I can’t imagine what Elder von Daun had to undertake to get all of those flowers to bloom out of season… but it was an absolutely astonishing sight to behold;  the perfect backdrop for all of those elegant kindred.  After all of the necessary meeting and greeting, even Ligeia managed to steal some time among the lovely scenery. 

I imagine she saw a lot more of them than most people as she stormed deep into the garden after some unpleasantness passed between she and Elder Viktor Cantemir.  It is hard to imagine anything that could have upset our darling siren so deeply… but imagine we must since whatever words were exchanged stayed between the two of them! 

Unfortunately for Elder Cantemir (but fortunately for you, my dear readers) I have a terribly vivid imagination.

On discussions of the future and America’s place in it:

The Americas seemed to be quite the hot topic.  Some wanted to know more about them and there were certainly enough individuals in attendance who have made the leap to fulfill their desires.  With the number of respected Kindred venturing across the sea to establish themselves it is sure to become quite the seat of power in the near future.  Some might even argue that we are already in that future. 

All I have to say on the matter is that we all traveled to Vienna for this grand event.  There is no denying the growing influence of the United States of America but perhaps it isn’t quite at its height yet.  With the guidance of those Princes who have begun to invest in its wellbeing we can only expect great things. 

Elder von Daun, I look forward to witnessing the debut of your next protégé, though they will have an exceptional amount of work to do if they expect to come close to the example set by Miss Almalthea.

Bisou, Bisou

Desi

               

Snow Falling

                There is only me and the sound of snow falling.  The world has been swallowed by the empty silence that only comes after the denizens of the night have gone to bed and those of the day have yet to awaken.  I close my eyes and breathe in the sharp cold air.  I breathe in the emptiness and the snow.  These are the moments I treasure the most.  In them I can let myself drift apart filling the open space of the night sky.  I can feel every flake as though it were a piece of me.  There is comfort in falling, softly, again and again.  Sometimes I wonder why I ever left.

                The sound of my phone ringing brings me back to the window.  I don’t feel whole.  Instead I feel like a hundred thousand pieces all slammed together in a single being.  Every broken part of me is like a jagged edge trying to escape my body as though I’m too much shoved into something too small.

This is who you are now, I tell myself.  This is what you wanted.  This is nothing like what I wanted, but then they always say to be careful what you wish for.

“Hello?”  My voice cracks like it hasn’t been used in years…sounds like someone else, someone far away.

“No, that’s fine.  I’ll be there in a few minutes,” I hear myself saying.

The sky has begun to change into a soft bruised purple that comes with the morning and I can hear the birds beginning their chorus.  The snow has stopped.  For a moment I think about taking a coat but in truth the cold doesn’t bother me.  Carefully I tuck the memory of this morning away so that it will be there when I need it.  Because I will need it.  And I can hope that it won’t be too long before there is only me again, and the sound of snow falling.