VTR: Aftermath

Prologue: Embrace

Journal Entry - Unknown Author

Friday 1st January 2016

Field Note:

My source was correct. While the city was distracted by the celebration and revelry of the end of another dismal year these monsters met, lit by a back drop of fireworks flooding through stained glass. Yesterday, I booked myself on to a viewing of the Ceremony of the Keys and was able to slip away while all the British pomp and ceremony was being carried out. As he had mentioned I was able to find the hidden passage near the base of Wakefield Tower. The passage was narrow and long disused. I was barely able to squeeze my way down the cobweb filled opening in to what seemed a natural warren running beneath the rock. I crawled my way along, my night vision goggles illuminating the gloom, before reaching a sheer rock face. As my source had advised, hand and footholds had been chiselled out of this subterranean cliff face and I began to climb. Eventually rock gave way to stone and the make shift ladder continued on. Finally I reached my goal, the top of this climbing wall opened out in to a small cavity with the tiniest of openings in the stone work. And from here I could look out and down upon the majestic stone pillars of the Chapel Of St John.

Below me in the sparsely lit gloom of the chapel figures moved and talked. They were dressed in all manner of paraphernalia, one individual wearing some kind of old religious vestments in red and gold, another a full suit of armour complete with long sword which appeared to be Norman in design. His coat of arms, displayed a stylised “I” with a skull in its centre on a field of yellow and blue check. I must make a note to research this heraldry later. The pews from what I could see had been moved to one side and in the place where the altar would usually be a large wooden throne sat, currently vacant. Switching my goggles to infra red my suspicions were confirmed, the majority of those moving and conversing did not register a heat signature. Most worrying was the group in the centre of the nave who did. I counted 25 of them, they were bound, their heads covered and from the sounds of their whimpering, they were afraid; and there was nothing I could do but watch.

One of the monsters stepped forward. He began to talk in a loud, authoritative voice.

“My fellow Kindred of quality, assembled guests, privileged Kine. I beg your pardon for interrupting your discourse and prey for your silence. I announce the arrival of The Right Honourable Alder Thane Abraham, Most Merciful Marquis Of London, Prince Of The City, Childer of the Alder Lady Easter Alishire, Prince Of The City, Childer of the Alder Baroness Bernadine Fisher, Prince Of the City, Childer of the Alder Lord Ford Stephensen, Prince Of The City, Childer of his grace Pompeius of Ostia, Duke Of Londinium, Prince Of The City.”

There was deafly silence as another man entered the chapel. He was of average height though some how appeared to tower over everyone else in the room. He moved with an air of unquestioned authority and power. The sense of fear even among these ancient monsters was palpable, needless to say I felt it to. He stood in front of the throne for a moment before slowly taking his seat, the man who announced his arrival standing in position at his right hand. He surveyed the room before beginning to speak in a slow deliberate baritone.

“My fellow kindred. I welcome you to my court happy in the knowledge that we have once again weathered the storm and found peace after such troubled nights. I have called this Elysium for one purpose and one alone, to rebuild. The struggle may have been an Invictus affair but as always our affairs engulf all and many of you lost sires and childe in the strife. Our numbers must be replenished, that task begins tonight. Seneschal,” he turned his head to the man at his shoulder “bring forth tonight’s stock.”

And then it began. The “seneschal” as he had been called would order one of the captives to be brought forward by one of the other monsters who would hold the poor soul and remove the hood. The prince from his throne would look them over, his features implacable as he considered whether to allow the person the power to decide their own fate. In silence, with a slight rising of his left hand the captive would be found wanting, the hood replaced, and the individual moved off to one side. With a slight rising of his right hand, equally silent the spectacle would continue. The Seneschal would step forward and address the individual.

“Privileged Kine, do you know what we are?”

The individual would reply in the affirmative though obviously terrified. My guess is though they knew these things existed they had never been confronted with these kinds of numbers before or the true horror of what they were.

“You are to be embraced in to the ranks of the Invictus human.” The seneschal continued. “Do you swear to keep our secrets, further our honour and uphold the holy traditions of Longinus?”

Again a reply in the affirmative. At this point the monster in the vestments steped forward and took over the proceedings.

“And Longinus did say, ‘I return to my teacher, now my friend, and I reveal to him the holy knowledge that I keep within my heart. I tell him of the centurion, of the crucified Christ and of the blood, of the angel and the purpose God has for my kind and me. I reveal to him the nature of the beast.’ Ipse Longinus Id Dixit, The Torments Of Longinus 14:3-7. As the dark prophet did many centuries ago for his teacher I now do for you. In joining the ranks of the Invictus, human you will join the wider community of the damned and serve almighty god in penance through your damnation. Never again will you see the sun or feel its warmth on your skin, never again will you know the satisfaction of pleasures of the flesh and food will turn to ash on your tongue. Your nights will become a never ending battle to master your own beast which will be awakened by your damnation. Only the taste of blood will sate your appetite. As the Lion of the lord did with his childe so I offer you this final choice, become damned, or die a clean death by my hand.”

Some upon hearing this blasphemous sermon, realising the grave reality of what it was that was about to happen did indeed choose a clean death. The reaction of this dark priest to this was not of anger as I would have expected but of marked and noticeable respect. He despatched them of their lives with a terrible strength but in such an expert way that they would have known no pain. I suspected his was a practised hand.

I suspect those who chose to become damned regretted it in an instant. As the decision was made their captor would violently rip the clothes from their very body as no less than 12 of the monsters descended on the poor soul in a feeding frenzy of blood and teeth. At the point where the individual was all but exsanguinated the last of the monsters would open their wrists and drizzle their own blood on the individuals lips before they were wrapped in a black cloak and laid off to one side to recover, various trappings laid around them. Upon their rising one of the unfortunate individuals whom the prince had found wanting was brought before them and they fell on them like the animals they now were. Finally the cloak was reversed to reveal a purple or gold lining depending on which group of monsters the initiates had now joined and the individual presented with new fine clothes by the monster who had shared their blood with them.

All but one of the captives had been put through this macabre ritual, by the look of him a tall and well built man. Though his strength was impressive he was still held motionless with ease by one of the monsters. 5 of his fellow captives had since become monsters themselves, 3 joining the ranks of a group called the Invictus and 2 another group called the Lancea Sanctum. One poor soul remained off to the side, hooded, unsure of his fate. The rest one way or another were dead. I felt sick. There was a long delay and I realised something must be a mis. The monsters were getting restless.

The Seneschal turned to address the prince

“Most Merciful Marquis we cannot wait any longer, this delay is an affront to your authority. By rights the circle representative should have been here before your honour and still they are absent. Let us put an end to these proceedings and on your word I will see that this insult does not pass without an appropriate response.”

The Prince said nothing but simply looked upwards, it seemed directly at me. Then a voice rang out.

“Absent my dear, why I certainly haven’t felt absent. It’s been a great privilege for one as ’umble as my good self to witness the merry dance of you city elites.”

A dark figure dropped from the arches what must have been only two metres to my right. The monsters scattered where he landed, his long overcoat spreading out on the floor as he rose to reveal a tall lanky frame crowned by a victorian top hat. The man was the most hideous thing I have yet seen. Grotesquely pale and covered in boils he had a large pointed nose and scraggy long side burns that extended right to his chin and looked like they were composed of wire. All the monsters in the room bristled, all but the prince who remained unmoved. The knight moved in to the nave sword drawn and barked at the new comer.

“Mr Fagin, this sir is an outrage. This is Elysium even the circle know the laws regarding the use of disciplines of the blood. I should send your ashes back to the heirophant in an urn for such disgraceful behaviour.”

“Begin’ your pardon Ser De Warrene,” came the grotesque’s reply. “But I ain’t used no disciplines of the blood my dear. Why I can hardly be blamed if your all so caught up in the momentousness of said occasion that none of you thinks to look up now can I. Most careless, you never know who might be watching.”

My blood froze, did he know I was here. The Seneschal spoke next.

“So they sent you? I would have expected the heirophant to see to this personally. You wouldn’t be here alone so tell us, where is the rat that accompanies you like a shadow?”

Fagin smiled a crooked smile showing several rotting and yellowed teeth, “The heirophant is somewhat busy making preparations to receive the boy. My associate is waitin for me close by until I finish my business here. After all, we aint really got no reason to trust you. Sufficed to say my dear I may well be sent back to the heirophant in an urn yet.” He laughed with a strange phlegmy cakcle at his own joke. “No, No sense in risking two of our number when ol Fagin alone is more than sufficient. So put that oversized kebab skewer away good sir knight before you get hurt. I’ll be takin the boy now if you’d be so kind.”

There was up roaor, a cacophony of angry voices. “Unacceptable!!”, “An Outrage, I say an outrage.” “He must be embraced here according to the ancient rites.”

Mr Fagin seemed unconcerned by the seething mass of indignation in front of him, in fact he seemed to be relishing it. That was until the Prince slowly began to rise from his throne and walk slowly down towards the man. Only then did a look of concern and fear start to cross his face as the man made his way slowly, step by step, towards the monster, each step silencing another voice until he stood toe to toe with him. For what seemed like an eternity there was silence, before the Prince spoke.

“We in the Invictus understand tradition, we respect tradition and treat it with honour. Your actions today Mr Soloman show a distinct lack of respect.”

Fagin winced at the use of the name and a genuine look of concern crossed his ugly visage.

“I should make an example of you. I am sure my good friend the bishop would agree. I should, however, I will not diminish this illustrious event by carrying out your execution. I will show respect to this occasion. I will honour the boy and indeed the other neonates among us tonight. I will hope my example will serve to educate you young one.”

Fagin relaxed, his tone more deferent now.

“Oh you are most wise your magnificantness prince my dear, most wise, so I’ll just be takin the boy and be off then now, leave my betters to get back to things beyond ol Fagin’s comprehension.”

“There is a price,” the Prince said. “In order that he may be embraced according to your traditions, your ways, I demand that he be presented before the court at Elysium six weeks from now. One of my heralds will bring you word as to where the event shall be held. There he shall be inducted in to a coterie with Invictus neonates, schooled in our ways alongside your own, act as a bridge between our respective covenants. This is how it shall be.”

The smile faded from Fagins face,

“Erm, begin your pardon your princeliness but I don’t know whether the heirophant will agree to that.”

“That is my price. Should it not be paid then I swear to you as I am Invictus that the boy will die before the next night is out, as will his sire, as will you. You know how seriously an Invictus takes their oaths, and the heirophant knows how seriously I take mine. This Elysium is over. Take the boy.”

The prince walked slowly past Fagin’s shoulder before pausing and saying without looking back,

“I will not forget this Mr Soloman.”

And then he was gone, seemingly melting in to the shadows. Fagin lead the boy away removing his hood as he went. The poor remaining captive’s neck was broken and carried out along with the other bodies.

I stayed in my hiding place motionless until morning. Unable sleep, unable to move.


From The Chronicles of Gregor Lutzavic warrior priest.

The keeping of this record began in my mortal life I’d record a lot of my research and magick in that journal. It’s been suggested it might help my transition to keep this up. Not all I learn will make these pages but it is said this is a hard time.

I was out for a long time I know that now. But when I opened my eyes the blackness was still absolute. I was cowled like some initiate around me I could hear others moaning and in pain. I could also sense them. They were predators walking amongst their food. We were cattle at market we were being assessed and measured. I listened the phrases they used were unknown to me “Kindred, kine, embrace, Elysium”.

We were marshalled to a cold place and I could feel the dread rise. I guess it’s like what people feel when they go swimming with sharks. The predators though even tensed as an alpha entered. I’ve caused that response before. When a creature who is as dangerous as they are unpredictable comes in. this I reason was their “Prince” and their herald confirmed it.

What follows was grizzly enough without the pictures. I’ve heard bones break and bodies tear enough to know what was happening to those answering no. but the noises following a yes were alien to me. That scared me more.
It was the one referred to as Fagin talking of “the boy” that the penny dropped. The Crone a recurring figure in myth. He was here for me and I didn’t know why but my blood ran cold. I felt a cold hand on my arm as a feted smell reached me. “Don’t show weakness my boy. Don’t flinch.” And then he took off my hood and I met the face of my “Saviour” and my stomach turned. While ugly certainly there was something of Fagin Solomon that was just wrong. He led me from the chasm half leading half dragging. “We have a lot to discuss my boy. But not here we have plans for you we hope you will like.”

He took me then through the darkness never earing or pausing as I stumbled blind. I know we walked miles but I was brought then to a chamber and three women clad in white robes. For the rest of that long night we talked The Three and me of theology, of power and of blood. And as the dawn was coming I was offered a choice and until dusk to make a decision.

They offered not a curse not damnation but power. Not a power all would take to I grant you. But power a step closer to the gods. Not the redeemer of Christianity and its mockery in the Sanctified. But the true dark gods of old. The gods of dark and blood. I’ve learnt the strongest survive. And I had nothing to live for. My adopted family were lost in the fall out of the civil war it seems victims of the Invictus shadow war. Seems the undead were running the gangs and we never knew.

I spent the day in meditation and consulted the Runes. When they came to me I was purified and dressed in the white robes of both initiate and sacrifice. It was my Lady that came to me. She told me that she had watched me from the shadows. The last of the Warrior Priests of the circle. She had seen something of the old ways in me. The berserker of legend, and in this time strength may help the cause. “Are you ready?” she asked in her beautiful voice. I locked gazes with the monster and nodded, she turned and I followed.

I would learn later that the site of my embrace was not the Circles true “Temple” but just one of the sites they used for ritual and in this case possibly the most symbolically appropriate. The Norse men did not make it this far south and so the Asier are not of this place. But above me was the work on Crossrail and the site on which they had found the temple to Mithras. This was not even a full Moot though I am told a great many of us were there.

The chamber was dim lit by a half dozen brands in the walls high up. Knowing what fire does to our kind I know what a matter such ceremony is. The gathered chorus were chanting something low and primitive, I have yet to learn it, on a low scaffold a bull was tethered, How they had gotten it there I do not know and don’t want to think of. The three stood beside the beast. I was led to the space beneath the scaffold. There he stood tall and clad in furs, the horned man, keeper of humanity, a god to the kine.

Silence came abruptly and the Maiden spoke “Supplicant you come to us and chose this path freely?”
“I do”
The Mother “You reject the light and accept the ministry of the dark?
“I do”
The Crone “Then let it be done”

The Horned God and my lady fell on me, one on each side of my neck. I blacked out but I doubt it was for long I would bleed out quickly. I heard the Mother’s voice “Lady Hela claim your childe” and then I tasted it. Ambrosia, divine fire, Blood. And as it flooded my once week shell I knew this I would never have enough.

“Let the warrior be bathed in the blood of the bull” came the Crones voice. It was at the edge of the roar I felt as it raced to the surface. The beast clawing hungry searching for blood. It would be satisfied. Fagin sliced the bull from gullet to gizzard and it washed over my open mouth. And I drank.

Prologue: Embrace

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