by Hastur the 7th

This is one of the "path of sins" practiced by the koldun of the tzimisce. This path deals mainly with the unnecessary over consumption of food and drink and the deterioration of the human body that goes along with it. This is the only path of sin currently practiced by tremere warlocks as well as tzimisce.

* SENSE THE VICE: this allows the koldun too second-guess any addiction or craving the target might posses.
SYSTEM: each success on the rolls increases the knowledge of the addiction of the target and who accurate the knowledge is.

** THE CRAVING: this increases the craving for a certain item or thing on the target.
SYSTEM: the more successes, the more the target crave the thing.

*** IRON STOMACH: this allows the fiend too devour virtually any thing he can fit his mouth around (this can be interesting when combined with vissitude)
SYSTEM: the more success, the more stuff could be packed away and the more lethal/disgusting the substance eaten.

**** FATTENING: this is the most dreaded power of the koldun. The ability too turns an opponent’s muscle into fat.
SYSTEM: every success decreases the targets strength, dexterity, comeliness, and stamina by one. This can be resisted the same way the blight of aging is.

***** CREATE VICE: this horrible power causes a target too crave a certain thing decided by the koldun.
SYSTEM: the more successes, the more the vice are craved.

by Anonymous

"But Onimbus, we can spend the day at the beach. Or anywhere you want. With the -warmth of the sun- washing over us." Her pleas had been incessant for the duration of the destinationless ride through the Hollywood streets. "Can’t you imagine shopping on Melrose in -broad daylight-?" She gestured outside, at all the shops they passed.

So many years it’d been since he’d even thought about seeing the sun rise. It seemed the chance of a lifetime. So many of their kind would, and have, killed for such a chance. So many had ended their unlives in hopes of a mere glimpse. But he wasn’t most. He was like no other. Yet, he couldn’t deny her this. After all, what harm could it possibly do either of them? The mere appearence of this question within his psyche should have been warning enough.

"Please, baby. For me. Induldge me on this an’ I’ll never ask for another thing. Please!"

He offered a snort, followed by his oft-present sneer. Afterall, the mere thought of her never asking for anything again was ludicrous, if not somewhat disheartening. How she loved it when he sneered. She knew he was on the verge of giving in.

"I’ll even take all the cartoon character stuff out of our bedroom an’ put it in the dogs room." Not quite a whine, but she’d restort to that if need be.

"Even Scooby? An’ the Winnie the Pooh stuff?"

A radiant smile dances onto her lips. She knew she had won. "Even Scooby. ‘Specially Pooh. Hmm… I letcha tie me to the rack for a week?"

He simply, and damned near imperceptibly nodded.

"Oooh, I love you!" Almost child-like in it’s enthusiasm, she doubted she’d ever meant anything as much as she meant those words to him. Leaning over, she cupped his face in her hands an’ gave him a big smooch on his lips, as they were stopped at a red light.

"You better," he grumbled as the engine purred, before coming to a stop outside the Beverly Center. "Now?"

She nodded, that damned smile still lingering on her lips only caused him to grumble more. Not that her gloating actually irritated him, he too had his moments.

Gently, she twisted the top from the vile an’ raised it to her nose. An action that prompted the feature to crinkle with slight digust.

"Eww," she offered. Yet the bad smell, an’ taste that promised to be even worse wasn’t enough to keep her from sharing this with him. Not even close. Her eyes raised to meet his as she drank half of the contents and passed it over.

Hesitance.

Had a clue as to what events were to transpire in the next 36 hours surely it would have been enough to change their(her) mind. But the deed was done, their fates sealed.

by Millie

The little Malkavian sneaks onto the grounds of the Toreador Primogen’s estate, disabling a sensor with a pair of pliers. She then creeps across the lawn, looking for shadows in the windows. Inside, the Primogen, Claudius Van Buren, goes over some of the books in his library, reading ancient notes by candlelight. He slams the book together after a while and proceeds to put it away and heads upstairs to a sitting room overlooking the lawn.

Outside, Millie, The little urchin Malkavian, grimaces as the sprinkler system comes on in the cool air, soaking her completely.

Claudius stretches and ponders the hour. Looking out the large window, he sees a mousy girl outside on his lawn and squints his eyes. "Can it be… ?"

Silently, Millie slinks closer to the estate. Claudius walks upstairs and over to the front door. He opens it and steps outside in the cold night and walks out onto the lawn, looking for… someone… He feels the sprinklers, their cleansing cold. The waifish vampire presses herself against the mansion, only her eyes moving.

Claudius thinks: ‘A phantasm..’ He looks around a little, than looks down. He walks through the wet grass, turning around and heading back. Millie scoots along the edge of the wall, following the Toreador Primogen as he reaches the front door again, slipping slowly inside. Claudius lets the door slam slowly behind him then he walks into the large warm room to the right and starts to unbutton his wet shirt. His shadower hugs the walls, watching him with unblinking eyes as he removes the top layer of wet clothes and heads toward the main staircase. He runs a hand through his wet hair as he ascends to the top. Reaching a door, he opens it and steps into a dark room. He flicks on the light switch in the room, walls lined with clothes cupboards.

The Malkavian closes her eyes tightly for a moment against the light. She steps behind the door and slowly pushes it closed, leaning her back on it softly as it clicks.

Claudius puts the wet clothes down on the well-made bed in the middle of the room, then pauses at the click, turning slowly. His eyes light up. His smile lights up even more, though slightly embarrassed at his state of undress.

Millie looks down and speaks softly, "Hi."

"My eyes did not deceive me after all… hello" , he quietly greets in return. Millie smirks, still looking down. Droplets of water fall to the floor from her hair,.the resonance of the tiny splatters sounding like dreamlike tinkling of crystal to both supernaturally perceptive kindred. "It’s been a while." Millie nods faintly as Claudius walks up to her slowly, smiling gently. Millie ’s eyes rise to meet Claudius’ as he nears. "Are you alright?"

The street urchin/kindred whispers with an edge to her voice. "What do you think?"

The striking Toreador furrows his brow and looks at the wall. "I think not then. Is there anything I can do to help?" Millie narrows her eyes at the question, "I guess not." She reaches behind herself to open the door. Claudius swallows. "I am glad you came here. Please…" He takes a few steps forward, then stops. Millie closes her eyes, composing herself as Claudius sits down, leaning against the cabinets. "Would you like to talk?"

Millie untenses a bit at the conciliatory posture. Claudius sits quietly, waiting for her to speak, and she does. "Would you?"

Claudius smiles gently, "I would. If you do."

The Malkavian leans back on the door a bit more, "I am pretty boring. Never much up with me." She looks around the room, taking everything in.

"Maybe that’s what I like about talking to you. Is there anything you would like to talk about?" Claudius asks her, the idle chatter of the situation obvious. She wraps her arms around herself. Claudius tilts his head, looking at her damp clothes. "Maybe you would like to change?"

"Change?" She looks down remorsefully. "I should change, yes. I should not be here…" She starts to leave again.

"You are more wet than I. There is plenty of clothes in here, I’ll go outside… please. You are my guest now."

Millie stays her departure again, and looks down in embarrassment. "Oh… change… change my clothes you mean." Claudius gets up and steps towards her, smiling. "I am… fine." she hugs herself more tightly. "It’s warm in here. Warmer than… some places."

"Very well…" Claudius steps back. "Yes… I suppose it is. My home is your home." He looks down. "The… warmth is yours."

Millie grits her teeth, eyes closed. Claudius looks to the window in the corner of the room. Lines of red trace her eyelids as he looks away for a moment. Claudius takes a slow, barely audible breath. She then speaks through gritted teeth "Why would you offer me this? You have no idea how vile I am."

"Maybe I know you better than you think. Maybe I just wish to. In any case, it is my choice to make, no?" He pauses for an instant, "It is my privilege… to offer you my hospitality." Millie fidgets at his enchanting grace. Claudius lowers his head.

"You are too." she stops the sentence, "I mean… why?" Claudius turns his head, looking at her wet hair and slender hands. "You could be with… have with you… anyone you want. Why am I here alone, with you? You should be with pretty, happy people…" Her small form seems to shrink even further.

"I think you can answer that better yourself than I ever could," Claudius answers still looking down.

"Then I think I should go." Millie gets another glimmer of resolution.

"Please don’t." Claudius sighs. She stops at his words, standing perfectly still. "You… I…"

Millie expression becomes pained. "Oh god… I… I did not come here to hurt you…"

"If there is anyone I would help in the world, it would be you. It is my fondest wish." Millie melts, sliding down the door, curling up into a tiny ball. "I am glad you came. Very." His small visitor wraps her arms around her knees, grabbing her arms, digging her small nails in slightly.

Claudius steps forward, lowering his knees until he sits kneeling in front of her. She breathes out, looking down, "I could hurt you so much…."

Claudius continues despite her words, "Please stay. Let my assets be of use for once. I will be here when you wake in the evening. I would never leave you. I would do all in my power to keep you safe." The Malkavian digs her thin nails deeper into her arms, blood filling in between the cuticle and nail, trickling. Claudius reaches out a hand, almost touching her reddening fingers. Still through gritted teeth, Millie implores, "But how can you trust me? *I* don’t trust me."

Claudius lets an unspoken wave of sympathy be the silent answer, not knowing what else to say, but tenderly trying. "Let me… let me ease your hurt if, if there is any way I can." He exhales, pure emotion rather than need. "Will you let me try? Please?" Millie nods in answer almost invisibly, looking down at the floor through her legs. "I am at your service. Please let me accommodate you for the day. It would be my honor and pleasure." Millie stands and nods again, looking down at him. Claudius looks up at her, an unchanged look of pain and joy on his face and stands up in front of her slowly, regally, causing her to reel a bit from his overpowering presence so close. He slides his arm around her to reach the doorknob behind her. "Would you like to remain in this room? I can arrange it."

Claudius opens the door with a quiet click, and smiles in subtle surprise, a ghostlike answer heard in his mind: "Yes…" He tries faintly to step behind her and out through the door, while whispering the words "Don’t go away" reassuringly through his lips, but something keeps his feet from moving away from her, this wet girl beside him. Claudius cannot help but look at her, trying to catch her eyes. She glances at him sideways, drawn in by his attentions. His mind finds hers this time. ”Would you like me to stay?" Her nod is like a shudder in slow motion, but there nonetheless. Hecloses the door as quietly as he opened it. Millie grows almost fearful at the closing of the door, and then looks down, not able to deny or dismiss the offers of the charming Toreador Primogen tonight.

by Justin

The Man stands just in the hallway looking past the partially closed door in to the playroom. Children ages 4 through 8 are happily playing all types of games with each other and an older girl. The teenager stops to stare at a picture drawn by one of the children. She becomes intent on it for a long period of time, and then finally looks down with pity at the child who made the drawing. She whispers to him softly, "You should let someone know."

Gently rubbing his cross, the man concentrates on not being seen, a difficult task because it was so different from his nature, but he persevered. He ponders the scene. ‘How pleasant they look. No screaming, no fear. Yet If I walked into this room there would be instant panic.’ He shakes his head slightly and almost regrets many things. ‘At least I can give them their childhood.’ Though he knows that his very presence helps destroy this fragile gift.

The older girl starts to stalk around like a cat, her motions and silence utterly feline, making some of the children laugh.

The man snaps from his reverie and goes back to studying the victims inside, watching the performance, as always, observing, weighing. ‘I think she is trying to look like an animal.’ Though why the children found this funny he did not understand.

The kitty-sitter pounces on a little child, tickling them, threatening to lick them like a mommy kitty. She laughs as the small one giggles with glee.

The man watches the performance with interest but continues to caress the old wooden cross on his sash. ‘I am not here, I am not here.’ The teen-mommycat releases her child-kitten and stalks around a bit more. He continues to watch the display. ‘It seems to be working. No one is looking at me.’

Little by little, the children crawl into their beds and fall to play-exhausted, happy sleep. The teen starts to soundlessly creep towards the door. The man slowly moves back so that she may slip out. She maintains her silent kitty walk even once outside the room.

The man waits patiently for the teenager to slip out the door so as not to disturb the children. His finger softly touches his lips for silence though she moves like a very shadow herself. Once the teen is out of the play-sleep area completely he gracefully closes the door and induces the thin teen to another room.

She heeds his subtle direction without daring to look directly at him, slipping into the indicated chamber. Stepping into this room the man closes the door after them and quietly approaches the quivering young woman until he is looming over her, very much like a hawk might with a mouse. His robes gently rustle as he raises an arm and exposes a length of pale forearm.

With a suddenly tormented mien, she grabs handfuls of hair with shivering hands, forcibly pulling herself down to her knees as if an opposing force tries to keep her standing. Slowly bending at the knees the man flows with the girl staying near enough to brush her with his robe. She releases her hold on her hair, scooping up and cradling his wrist with both hands. Now taking her hair and wrapping his fingers through its tresses he gets a firm hold. The teen slowly looks up, meeting the man’s predatory gaze with a plea in her eyes. "Please make me stop…"

"It is that time." The words flow out like warm wine. Gently the man pushes her head toward his exposed flesh.

The teen shrinks with defeat and allows her lips to press against his wrist. She then rubs her face from forehead, to cheek, to chin slowly across his wrist and hand, then back up again, resting her forehead on the thin skin below the palm. Looking down still, she whispers almost coyly, "What are you afraid of?"

Entwining his fingers yet further through her hair he steps closer and carefully presses his wrist closer to her lips, whispering back like a breath from a tomb, "The grave." The youth trembles at his nearness, "I fear death and what is beyond." His words seep into her hearing. "I fear what no one can know."

She murmurs back softly, lips brushing across his wrist, "I fear never knowing what is beyond." Her canines glide across the surface of his dead skin. Then, brushing her cheek along his wrist again, she catches his eye, "But you will show me that someday, I think." The teen smiles at him with eerie, childlike solace.

He bends closer still, until his lips are not quit touching her ear. "Yes I will grant you that boon someday," the words flow like silk. "By my lips shall you someday meet the great beyond."

The young woman quakes at the promise. She breathes out, her lips caressing his flesh, "Reality paints itself obscene," and bites until the thin covering of skin gives way, shocking at the draught. The man stiffens as her teeth penetrate the cool flesh. His hand tightening in her hair he pushes her harder into his arm, betraying a subtle gasp. She shudders at his reaction then closes her eyes allowing the liquid sin to flow through her with morose euphoria. The teen swallows harder, deeper, with the pressure on the back of her head, then closes her eyes hard and tries to pull away.

His body quivering from his essence pouring into her, the man bends down, keeping her pressed against his flesh. The man slides his lips down her neck until he finds the joint between neck and shoulder. The girl recoils slightly at the cold lips sliding down her skin. He bites cleanly and deeply into the muscle and flesh, his teeth sinking in far to find and free her vitae. ‘No,’ his mind rebels the act, but the word is lost among the waves of heat and joy that race through his body.

The young woman stiffens as her world explodes in a kaleidoscope of euphoria and terror, barely maintaining her hold on his arm, drinking as she is fed from. Now pulling her hair back he frees his wrist and exposes more of her throat. With sensual pain Joseph slides his razor sharp fangs through her flesh until he reaches the traditional spot on her neck, leaving a deep gash behind him. She gasps at the gouging then succumbs to the abyss of dark pleasure.

Bringing his arm around he pulls her into him and drinks on as the waves wash over him, threatening to drown out all reason. The teen convulses with attempts at action. She reaches a clenched hand up to his shoulder, then another on his other side, focusing her will on a meager attempt to push him away.

Again his non-beast mind implores, "No." The word works its way slowly through his mind. The teen starts to shake, quivering under the kiss. Liquid life surging through his body the man barely notices. His mind commands again, ‘NO!’ as every rapturous convulsion of the one beneath him screams, ‘Yes…’

With an act of will the man jerks his fangs out of the teens throat, splattering his orange robe with bits of her scarlet vitae. The teen ’s hands fall down as a marionette’s with strings cut would, then with sudden anguish reaches up grabs her hair and scalp again, clawing of flesh softly heard in the still silence. The man rises and drags her up with him. She looks up into his eyes with awe. "No," he states quietly. "Once more in control." Slowly untangling her fingers from her hair, she nods without removing her gaze from his, her eyes bright with obsession.

Looking down into her gleaming eyes, a smile briefly touches his hard features. Raising his hand he gently once more tilts her head and this time closes the wound he had given her with a cool brush of his lips. Then raising his arm to her he waits. She gently lifts his wrist, ensuring that no harm remains, kissing it subtly before lowering it.

Shakily turning the man helps guide the teen out the door and back to the children.

Casual Interview with Justin Achilli by the DViE Staff

How did you start roleplaying, and about what age did you get interested?
I started in the archetypal cousin’s basement at age nine. From that very first session, I was hooked. I borrowed the game rules and became a full-tilt goober immediately. I mean it — I bought almost everything that I could convince the hobby shop to stock. Of course, I didn’t have much money, so I had to be choosy with what I convinced them to order, but, man, I look back on it all and think of how many thousands of dollars I must have spent on this stuff. It’d buy a lot of vodka, even with 1999 dollars.

What was your first Role-playing game?
Dungeons & Dragons. My cousin’s elf died and we threw his corpse into a room where the walls had been trapped to compress. It didn’t work.

How long have you written for White Wolf, and were you first hired as a writer?
I’ve written for White Wolf for about five years now. My first project, done gratis (grumble grumble) was With Fang and Claw, a revision of the Rage player’s companion. After that, I picked up part of Warriors of the Apocalypse, which was a collection of characters for Werewolf. Soon after working on that book, I shifted over into full-time development on Dark Ages, and now I have some bit of writing in every Vampire book that hits the shelves. Some more than others, of course.

Why did you start writing for white wolf, and how did you come to write for White Wolf?
I basically did the Rage book for free, because it was handled "on the clock," and we needed it for the game line. As to how, I did that book because I was developing Rage at the time and having worked with that game nonstop for over a year, I had a pretty good handle on it. As far as working on other books, I think Ethan hired me on Warriors of the Apocalypse because I was a freak. And that helps in a game like Werewolf, and certainly with Vampire as well.

Do you have any future plans for Vampire?
Tons of ‘em. Once we move past 2000 (Year of Revelations), we’ll be stepping back a bit from the metaplot, but that certainly doesn’t mean we’ll be stopping support for the games. On the contrary, I’ve got my 2001 theme book finalized on the schedule and Vampire’s Victorian setting is going to be on there, too. We’ve just finished the Transylvania Chronicles (TCIV is at the printer), but we won’t be starting another story arc immediately. For the next year and a half, I’m focusing again on books that are useful to the Storyteller _and_ the players.

What plans did you have for Vampire, that never made it through the publishing process?
That’s a funny question, because much of what actually goes on in the books has repercussions that never see print. For example, I know what shakes out of the Assamite "rebirth," I know how the Giovanni-Cappadocian-Harbingers thing works out, I have a full detail of Traits for people like Adonai, etc. It’s not so much a question of things that don’t _make it through_ the publishing process as it is things that we choose to _deliberately exclude_ from the process. That said, though, I have had a few ideas that weren’t realistic for the company to undertake. I’m kicking these around with Arthaus so they may still see print (namely Havana by Night, which may become WoD: Havana), but there are plenty of "Ooh, this would be cool!" ideas that every developer has that just can’t be accommodated sometimes.

Are there any parts of Vampire you would change?
Well, if we’re talking about massive, sweeping changes that I would have built in from the beginning, then yes. Of course, I have the benefit of nine years of observing the game, so that’s not really fair to say, but here are a few. I would have only five clans. I wouldn’t have hit the goth angle so hard in the early work. I would have kept it more traditionally gothic. I wouldn’t have the Black Hand — the Camarilla, Sabbat and Inconnu work very well as is. I’d cull most of the proprietary Disciplines (with the exception of Thaumaturgy, which would belong to the Tremere, the blasphemous "sixth clan"). I’d rework Golconda as a more mythical (and less achievable) Biblical redemption. You know… just… things here and there. I think the people before me certainly did an excellent job, but everyone has little marks they’d like to make. In fact, that’s the most rewarding aspect of working on the game to me: seeing people take what they like and work with the rest to get _exactly_ what they want.

Ever consider writing for any other Genre?
Actually, I’ve done a bit of writing for a few other genres. I came up with the Duke Rollo character for Aberrant (who’s obviously based a bit on Bret Harte and a great deal on Hunter S. Thompson) and he’s got an entire book to himself coming out next year. I also do the obligatory writer journal thing, which I’ve been considering publishing online, but I don’t know how much of it is appropriate to outside reading — it’s mostly drug humor, drunken tirades and personal purple angst. I used to do a style column for an online magazine, but my editor left so I don’t work for them any longer. Horror is my first love, though, so that’s where most of my efforts lie.

Is there anything that you would change about todays Role-play? (What annoys you the most?)
When I was younger, we played games and enjoyed the experience. If we wanted to tweak the rules, we did. Nowadays (you whippersnappers!), gaming has become a true "fandom" and often carries with it all of the endemic detritus of fandom. Now, instead of reworking and homebrewing, it’s hip to bitch publicly and spout off about how such-and-such system sucks and how the people working on it are fucking retards and blah blah blah. You see it in fandom everywhere — Star Trek, comics, anime, etc. The people who just quietly enjoy the stuff are overwhelmed by the armchair geniuses who know how it "could have been better" — if everyone just realized that their way was obviously the best. I’ve never been a big supporter of "game celebrity" and I generally try to take it down a notch or two when I go to shows. That’s why I work our parties for free, why I buy drinks for fans, etc. I think it’s fairly ridiculous that anyone who makes a fucking game be afforded some kind of rock-star status, so I don’t subscribe to any of that bullshit. If we’re at a convention (and I’m not drunk), I _enjoy_ talking to people about games. I don’t lord anything over anyone; I genuinely enjoy discussing our common interests. Anyone who tries to make himself a celebrity in this business has a self-esteem problem. Just do your fucking job.

What kind of questions are you asked about Vampire most often?
Mostly plot stuff, with a healthy side order of "What are the Traits for…". I try not to reveal the plot outside of the books themselves, so that stuff doesn’t work on me. Also, unless you see it in a book, I’m not going to tell you the Traits ;)

Is there anything about the game that you would like to stress?
Hell, yes. Make it your own. The published material is only a guideline. If you use it word for word, great. If you scrap it all except for one idea, that’s great, too. The most important thing that can come from this game is the enjoyment and creativity it allows the end user. I guess maybe that’s why I’m so anti-celeb. I’m just another guy; I’m a gamer like everyone else who plays.

Where do you see yourself in the role-play world in 5 years?
I dunno — probably still playing but not necessarily in the business. If I still have a day job in five years, I’ll be upset.

How do you feel about all the negative skepticism that Vampire "feeds" in (Such as, Crap on Jenny Jones, Columbine Crisis. etc.)
I don’t pay it any attention. We have a media-saturated society, and as long as the media sees a big deal, they’ll continue covering it. If we just weather the storm, it’ll all blow over and they’ll lose interest because the real causes of tragedies are less interesting to them than the Next Big Thing. I also think that our society wants to blame someone other than the people responsible, and that just nauseates me, so I tend to ignore the hysterical stories.

Do you have a favorite clan?; If so, what, and why?
Me, I love the Ventrue. They’re in charge, they’re crooked as all hell, and they don’t give a fuck who knows it. Honesty in politics and Prada suits. God bless ‘em.

by Millie

Cast:
(w) played by wHo?, the Malkavian Primogen
(m) played by millie, the Malkavian Primogen’s biggest fan

Singular singularity Pitiful plurality.

(m) Um, wHo?
(w) Who what?
(m) Who you.
(w) Who me what?
(m) You are what now?
(w) I am me, silly. Now what?
(m) ::sigh:: Ok, ok, wHo? What is more than one Brujah called?
(w) A Malkavian patè party?
(m) ::shudder:: No, like plural. It is like, well, one Brujah, or a whole bunch of Brujah, the same singular or plural.
(w) Yeah. ::s::
(m) And what about Toreador? You can have a Toreador, or a bunch of Toreador at a party. Also there is one Nosferatu or all of the Nosferatu together in a beautiful family portrait.
(w) ::nods solemnly::
(m) Then there’s the Ventrue Prince, or a meeting of all the Ventrue Board. ::tilts head:: It goes the same with a Gangrel, or many Gangrel, and a spooky Tremere, or a whole nightmare full of hordes of Tremere. But, what about. ::throat knots up, trying to speak::
(w) Like me, a Malkavian?
(m) ::nods:: And like us, two. Malkavians, with an ’s’ at the end. Different than the singular, unlike the other clans. Why?
(w) Because, when you’ve seen one Brujah, you’ve seen them all, and so on, and so on. ::giggle::
(m) ::giggle:: Ooooo. you can be so..
(w) Malkavian?
(m) ::nods, giggles:: Petting zoo time? It’s your turn to rock them to sleep.

And they did.

Singular singularity
Pitiful plurality
More thoughts means more reality
Priced a mere insanity.

by Millie

Are you a victim of society?

Gorge away, punish the punishers. Take so much that it does not matter how much you loose. All your needs can be met with food, and clothes, and cars, and houses, and adoration of your fellow man, and sex, and drugs, and trinkets in stores. Society says they can. When you have enough, you will be happy.

Be judged.

You sell yourself; you are your own pimp and whore. I’m buying.

Victims, aren’t we all?

‘Let me go!’ Your mind screams, for your will cannot.

‘More, more…’ my mind whispers, referring not to your vitae but to the images that flood your psyche. People tend to think so quickly when they are dying, I have found. I imagine God is able to find the sinners as easily as I.

I remember dying. I remember being so close to knowing all… so close… so close…

Your mind wanders to a lovely creature. Oh, she was sweet. Innocence should fade, not be slaughtered. One never forgets that pain. More than one? More than two? The memories of abuse and violation run through your mind. You believe me to be your punishment.

And I am.

Such terrible things you have done to others, but all from some… self hate? Seen, oh yes, I understand, trying to know the moment just before your own innocence was taken from you, by watching it over, and over, and over.

Life slips away, as slowly as I can manage, drinking in every last drop of your final thoughts. Remorselessly, you blame the world for every bit of pain you have ever caused. You do indeed deserve to die.

I judge me.

by Anonymous

/\nother tiresome night in the hills. Big raindrops, only slightly odd for Southern California this time of year, beat down upon the windows in a rhythmic tune. Lounging about the couch, legs flung over the back, head lulling towards the ground, Jessica Tear continues to read a torn an’ tattered copy of Burning Chrome, William Gibson’s book of short stories, until the faint sound of footsteps divert her attention. Luminous orbs of a chocolate hue shift towards the hallway.

*Thud-thump*. As they near, the sound became louder, the steps heavier. Until they deposit a spurred boot in the woman’s view, dangerously close to stepping on the chestnut tresses that swept the floor. The corners of her mouth curve slightly upward and expressing the utter amusement which overcomes her as she takes in her lover’s appearence.

; "You know, Einstein… The Ren Faire isn’t for awhile yet," her voice but a soft chuckle.

"Hmph." His grunt being the only response she gets, save his hand swatting her feet with such force it causes her legs to hit the floor, sending her body into an upright position.

"I’m bored, baby. Lets do somethin’." How could he deny that exquisite pout? That’s right. He couldn’t. No matter how hard he tried in the last few years, when the woman wanted something, she got it. However, it was rarely without some form of pointless arguing and witty banter.

After slowly raising herself, cat-like purrs befell the lucious tiers gracing her tanned countenance as she stretched her limbs. Her gaze never averted from the captivating man who was, without a doubt, the other half that made up the whole. So very different, so much the same. Never, in her two centuries plus, has she been as sure of anything as she was of him. Of who they were, and what they were.

A well-kept brow was raised at the sound. How precious she was. Nothing short of adorable did he find her adamance about keeping her humanity, especially the little things, such as her previous actions and their accompanying sounds. Although he must admit, it thoroughly annoyed him when they had first met.

Two precise steps carried his much larger frame beside Jess. A faint bow of the head allowed his distended canines access to her jaw, just below which he offered just enough pressure to allow two puncture wounds to be made.

As his lips molded around the droplets arising from the tiny holes, a soft gasp caught in her throat and quickly replaced by moans derived from the ecstasy of the pain, if that was indeed what it was. With those two, pain was always a relative thing. So very different, so very much alike. The book slipped from her grasp, and bounced from the couch to the floor, at their feet. The slender arms that had been previously raised high above her head find themselves draped on his shoulders, nimble digits embedding themselves in his short, dark hair.

Too quickly had he pulled away, the tip of his tongue gliding over the tiny breaks in her immaculate flesh. With but a smirk, his body retreated and was ascending the stairs, leaving Jessica to compose herself. Several minutes later, he returned. Clad in everyday street clothes, looking for his jacket.

"Jess, have you seen…"
"Last time I saw that thing we were in Pittsburgh." He loved when she did that. "Check the closet behind the stairs.&quot An’ sure enough, that’s where it was.

Returning to the double sized doorway leading into the living room, he watched her as sat bent over, tying her newly acquired 8-eyed Docs. And when she was finished, she stood up an’ watched him for a moment. Watched him watch her.

"Hmm..?" Soft footsteps carried her to his side.

His eyebrows raise as his head shook. A familiar look of bemusement danced across his angular features.

"Do you have something specific in mind, or are we wingin’ it?" This question asked as he slung the trench onto his arms and across his body, sending a tiny, forgotten vile, which had been nestled deep within one of the pockets, skittering across the floor.

The quick movement coupled with the small racket the glass container makes was enough to capture both parties attention. And while it causes one a look of curiousity, it provides the other a delighted smirk.

"Oooh, I suddenly have something in mind." Knowing what his response would be, she again turns her head to him. How could he deny that pout?

by Millie

To gain attention of divinity
The wretched sycophant will earn its hate
Preferring agony to apathy
Humiliating carnal wrath will sate

In gorging needs with crimson sacrament
Despising each exalted draught of lies
The wasted bloody tears dare not repent
Devotion to a god one must despise.

Obsession is a poor facsimile
For cravings that beg grief and ridicule
Corrupted needs transgress obscenity
And make the lusts of madness miniscule

Drink thrice for immortality undone
The source of want and woe forever one

by MillieCat

The Prince of a neighboring city had suffered the Final Death, and I missed him muchly. Since I missed him so much, I thought the Primogen and Prince in my city must surely miss him as much as I, so, well, the dead Prince kinda made an appearance. ‘Course, I did not get do see him, cause I was the one *appearing* him. ::grin:: Darn Torrie Primogen with that high Auspex. Sometimes, I have found, it pays to be wimpy and just too much of a bother to kill at the moment…

You know that oh-so-cool rumble that a Harley makes? Well, there finally came a time when I HAD to figure out what made that sound. So, I crept out of the club I was in, found one parked near the back, and began taking it apart. All Harelys look mostly alike to me, but as I was disassembling it I kept having the feeling that this one looked particularly familiar. Then, the dim yellow streetlight that I was working by became blocked out. I looked up and saw the silhouette of Ryk, the Brujah Primogen, looming over me, his eyes bright and his teeth flashing, pieces of the Harley all around. Oh ya, this is HIS Harley. After a moment of terror, I realized that he was laughing is ass off, rather than removing mine. He wandered off, shaking his head and cackling something about having to go steal another one.

After I had begged and begged, Joseph Tudor, the Tremere Primogen, PROMISED to give me a magic show at his mansion. He smiled at me, and said that it would be like a party. So, being kinda nice and stuff, I went up to the DJ at the Goth-club/Elysium where we were and told him to hand me the mic. (Told in that very special kinda *told* way :). He did, and I announced the Free Party at Joseph Tudor’s waaay kewl and HUGE mansion. Ah, the crowd loved it as much as I did. Well, for some reason, ol’ Joe turned even paler than usual, almost clear, it seemed. I of course, not wanting to leave such a gracious host in this odd turmoil, went over to see what was the matter. He told me that there would absolutely NOT be a party at his mansion. Doh. All sad, I went back and announced same. Hmmm… come to think of it, I have not seen Mr. Magicy at the club since. And I did sooo want to see the rabbit-hat thingy. :(

Primogen,
Primogen, everywhere,
And me a little neonate.
It seems that I put quite the scare,
For they always take the bait ::smile::