Lords of the dead

Lords of the Dead is our home-made version of an elder Vampire game. We employ a mix of official-choice rules and some of our own. Below we present a description of PCs, NPCs, places of interest and setting details. Everything placed here is of an optional nature. Aspects of the game might change according to the player's particular choices and preferences.

PCs

Samuz

SETTING

In this version of the World of Darkness, several ancient secrets are accessible to the player characters, given their age and experience. The world has been deeply affected by supernatural presence, and mortal life is heavily influenced by dark plots and immortal needs. This is mostly apparent when mortal existence is confronted by the ever-growing concerns of neonates and ancillae, those who control directly the mundane ways of the world. But what about the truly ancient secrets of history? What about the Methuselahs and their titanic expectations?

Surely their own agendas would change the world in unpredictable and tremendous ways… Many of the things we’re about to present are the result of centuries of hidden history, in which the most ancient and powerful creatures of darkness attempted to adapt to a reality far too frail and delicate to accommodate their conflicts and power games. Some represent the lost and hidden history of the supernatural races, others are simply the remnants of old experiments, others yet are novelties brought up by the awakening of the ancients. Most of them are fabled among younger and less experienced members of each race, spoken in hushed tones in courts around the globe. One thing they have in common, though: all of them belong to the collective unconsciousness that crowd men’s nightmares since the dawn of time.

Ruins of The Second City

The second city, long gone to the other side of the Shroud, still sits on an island, guarded by enslaved souls and visited in nightmares by ancient vampires obsessed with the race’s origins. Even though the access has become more difficult since the gates of the Abyss have been broken, the city resists and the Tal’Mahe’Ra still thrives among the silent halls once inhabited by the so-called Third Generation.

The Necropolis

Long ago, a conclave within a conclave of vampires decided to build a haven of cyclopean proportions somewhere in the Ural. Inspired by the power that ancient princes exerted upon mankind, these undead waged war against many nations, enslaving it’s citizens and taking them back.

Feeding them their own blood, the vampiric lords of the mountains ordered massive excavations and designed impossible feats of engineering and architecture. After two centuries of blood, violence and sacrifice, the Necropolis was erected, a testament to the old vampire cities of times past.

The Necropolis was kept secret throughout millennia by a system of political control and arcane rituals, much like those once met at Hunedoara Castle (It is believed that the spells employed in the Lair were semblances of more potent wards that protected the Necropolis). It is said that blood never went scarce within its’ halls and sun never shone within. Incantations guaranteed that only those blessed with vitae could see the seven gates (in mockery of sacred Thebes) that led to the city. Across the streets and galleries of the Undead City, immortals led courtesan lives and indulged in dark passions, plotting against each other and planning the fate of the world. Secessions happened as ages went by, to the point that many undead left the city, defeated, only to build newer versions of the legendary Undead City. Nowadays, all factions claim presence and power within Necropolis’ courts. Originally it was ruled by an independent Consortium of undead merchants and schemers. As time passed, they became powerful enough to be considered an autonomous faction in and off themselves. Nevertheless, alliances were made and in the end factions placed permanent representatives within the Necropolis. When the Sabbat rose to power, it was received within the halls of the Undead City, side by side with the Camarilla. Nowadays, the factions share the same space under the rules of the Consortium. They are not allowed to attack each other. Still, the political strife between the two enemies continues to this day. Tal’Mahe’Ra representatives, as well as Inconnu and Cathayans, have been known to participate in necropolitan politics, amassing great numbers within its’ walls.

Macabria

Known in myth and pop culture, Macabria received its’ place in mankind’s imagination on account of an old goth song signed by a famous 80’s rock band. The legend that spawned the ballad was far older, though, being mentioned in vampire lore and tomes for centuries, if not millennia.

Macabria is the Paradise Archetype for all vampires. It has received a visible presence among umbral realms at some point in history (no one knows exactly when), representing “the land of overflowing blood”, where “the red moon never fades, despite its’ phases” and “the Beast sides with intellect”. This dream of hunters has been described in many ways and given many identities. Some ascetic vampires, mostly spiritual thaumaturgy practitioners, say that they have achieved this plane of existence. Some describe it as a state of being (maybe under the influence of the concept of Golconda), while others consider it an entire separate world. Matching portraits present “rivers of flowing, warm blood”, “red flowers that sprout pleasure”, “temples where men, beasts and strangest creatures are available to satisfy every vampiric pleasure”. The details vary with the philosophical conceptions of each individual. It is said that the so called Temple of Love, built within the Necropolis, was conceived from dreams that the architect dreamt within Macabria. Several other aspects of necropolitan architecture revisit the myth.

The Solace of Reason

The Solace of Reason is an ancient monastery, dating back to the days of the first meditative hermits of Egypt. When the apprentices of Mark Apostle decided to take to the desert and reach illumination by contemplative exile, they were followed by a group of Capadocian ascetics with similar intent. These undead searched the dry vastness for years before settling down in a secluded chasm, under the deep shadows of ominous mounts. There they remained, hidden in silence for centuries, until one of them emerged from exile. She spoke of wonders and miracles amidst the distant sands, insisting she had found, along with her brethren, the most sacred of places, where temperance was the rule of a man’s heart and the beast was under sway. Allegedly, the chasm they had found was alive with the howl of the winds, and the groans they produced were able to convey distinct emotions according to the place one occupied within the perilous stretches of land between the rocks. One such spot allowed them to pacify the Beast, leading to an easier way of meditation and therefore to a shortcut to Golconda. So calming were the fresh waves that reached the chasm that all her companions had given into a sweet and long slumber. Only her had awakened, deciding to spread the word and bring others to such holy place of peace and enlightenment.

Soon many decided to follow her back. Centuries would pass once more before anything was heard from them once more. Again, she returned alone, claiming their newfound companions joined the others in rest and promising they would wake up once again In due time. As soon as she decided to put together a new party to return to the chasm, a group of vampires sworn under the local Justicar decided to take action and investigate the place. Together, they convinced her they were seekers of Golconda. Twelve attempted to earn her trust.

Only five succeeded. As they followed her into the desert, apprehension fell upon all of the sworn.

Ages passed by as those who stayed behind tried to discover their destination. Unsuccessful, they never resigned, keeping their hopes up and patrolling the desert throughout hundreds of years.

Now, their faith and loyalty is to be finally rewarded. If the rumors are true, three elders appeared in the horizon and entered Cairo, speaking once more of salvation through the path to Golconda…

Timeweavers

Cephalos entered the yard in silence. At least a decade had passed since last he stepped onto it to perform his rituals, a habit he kept, if only to remember how far he had gone since his embrace, ages before. Overtaken by tall grass and silence, it was in ruins. Once, long ago, this had been the place of his ancestors and his sons. Time would take everything from him, though, the price of blood paid in full. Cephalos reached for the almost unseen altar in the center, the pyre unlit and the stone unclean. He was to begin his prayer when he saw the tall figure coming from the shadows.

“Cato” – the old corpse said to the other. “Finished arguing with your son-in-law, I presume?”

The other one, stiff severe face of a roman, bowed his head as to recognize the jest.

No smile came out of him, though.

“Here we are, old friend.”

“Here we are.”

“Would you allow me to help? We share the same blood, after all.”

“Indeed. Brother and offspring, you are, good Cato.” – between the two of them, no sentiment rose. Only a subtle form of trust enticed the elders as they silently rose prayers at the ruined altar.”

After moments of silence, they gazed each other.

“How deed it strike you, Cephalos? Knowing for the first time you had the power to twist your fate…. Knowing you would be forever fated to contemplate their inevitable ends while you yourself struggled against our own determinist reality?”

“I believe it was the very last moment of my life that allowed me an overwhelming sense of fear… As if engulfed by fire, I rested my expectations entirely in the possibility of unveiling time itself, as the Fates would have, I’m sure, even before the oldest of gods. Nonetheless….”

“Nonetheless it is still uncertain, your fatal resolution, is it not, old friend?”

“In a way, yes. You do know what they say about our gift, do you not, Cato?”

“They say many things, Cephalos.”

“Many, for sure. One calls my attention, though. Perhaps the closest one to our experiences. Suppose we had the chance to muster all the strength of the blood in one epiphany, a single moment of universal realization, to bring all other moments to their ruinous truths. Suppose that…”

“That someone could contemplate the end of all things…”

“The end of all things…”

“Therefore, your absence, your silence, for all these years.”

“Precisely.”

“In other words, you do believe there was a first one to fight against fate itself, attempting to control all circumstances throughout our history. Nevertheless, what good would come of it, should it’s reasons be solely it’s own?”

“He who faces fate and rescinds to the heart of his own secrets might as well become fate. Foreseeing everything by his own power, free at last to live forever, to remain as others fall.”

“Or enslaved by his own sense of responsibility, doomed to try and trick Fortune in order to leave his legacy.”

“Yes….”

Surprise took Cato, suddenly. Not a common vista.

“You….”

“A glimpse, my friend. Of another, worry not. And the resolution…. How painful.”

“Are you to sacrifice yourself, then?”

“No. I adopted a riskier, yet more pragmatic, way out of my predicament.”

“Which is…?”

“Bringing fate itself into tomes of knowledge for the victim to find. In a very straightforward manner. No mysteries. Until the day we meet. Until the day it is safe to meet.”

“Is he one of us?”

“Yes. And of old blood, as well.”

“Why is he so relevant?”

“He might be a means to an end. Maybe more. As far as my sight leads me… He might well be the resolution for our deepest fears and doubts.”

“To uncover the end?”

“To uncover the end. The end of all things.”

A THOUSAND NIGHTS

Night, high moon. The penthouse studio saw the silver light filling every inch of it’s manor-like interior, bathed in gradual pale touches as the steel blinds opened with a hum.

“You overslept, love….” – she said, as he pressed on the controls.

“I’ve earned it, dear Dejah.” – the blonde, pale man contemplated the white towers of this new-century Dubai, raging lights against a clear nocturnal sky.

“Do you remember the days of youth, lost so long ago, love?” – Dejah embraced the other one from behind, watching stars as they vanished behind the skyscrapers. A smile crossed the other one’s face.

“Yes, I do, geliebte. How we wandered, how we came to know intimately the myriads of light that measured our steps!”

“Do you miss it, love?”

He turned towards her, contemplative and soft in his manners. He was in love once more, as he had been a thousand nights before, for a thousand years.

“You know me very well…. I do. You know I do.”

Silence fell upon the couple.

“The Sheik enjoyed your observations. Jon is downstairs…. Feeding.” – another moment of silence.

“We should leave, Markus. Leave this place behind…. There is nothing for us here. Nothing. The sheik…”

“The sheik can’t protect us forever, I know. Nevertheless, he has something we still need.”

“There are other blood diviners around the world, Markus…”

“But only one to be called prince of Dubai, geliebte! I promise you, in due time…”

A shadow of resentment fell upon her face.

“In due time… What happened to the bold knight that defeated his assassin so many years ago?”

“He fell in love for his assassin… And he wishes for her to come to no harm…”

As he approached her, Dejah held a heavy disposition. Still accepting his caresses, her thoughts returned to the last contract she ever took under the banners of her bloodline, as well as her failure... Slowly, her body tensed, thinking about the future and what it had in store for them.

“What is it, Dejah?” – she could not escape his gaze. They never escaped each other.

For seconds, she hesitated, as if trying to find a way out of that conversation. They were tied together, he embraced her. By now, he could feel her subtle, distant trembling and apprehension. They never escaped each other… She rose her eyes towards him and saw only anticipation. He knew it already. No words were needed.

He smiled slowly, relief and satisfaction resting upon his visage.

“I knew it. Solomon’s treasures would buy Sheik Vathek’s cooperation! Now, where is it, my darling?”

“Somewhere in Vienna, my dear…” – her voice was heavy. Markus’ smile vanished slowly, but resolve did not leave him, she could see it.

“Vienna, of all places… I could not bring myself to call it home, but the harsh memories it holds make it appropriate… Soon, my love, soon...”

“We don’t have to do this….”

“The Champion of Blood guarantees your survival, my dear…. None of your fellow clansmen will dare approach you with ill intent once you hold it in your hands. We’ll be free, geliebte! We’ll roam the world once more, side by side… As you wished for so many years!”

“Only if you….. we…. Survive.”

His eyes shone moonlight as he rested them upon her visage. They were so impassionate about each other, a love beyond explanation or measure! A thousand nights, in a thousand years, and never an ounce of doubt!

“No peril is too great… As long as it gives you eternity.”

Ah, Fortune... Such misery as love can only be true as it unfolds its own tragedy…