“Power, like a desolating pestilence, pollutes whate’er it touches.”

An Evening at Boodle’s

Officially, Boodle’s did not admit women, and for living women, that was certainly true. Even among unliving women, Boodle’s was discriminating, but the stature of the ladies of Clan Ventrue was such in London that not even policies that dated back to the Regency could bar them entrance. Therefore, it was that Euphemia Langton (“Fee” to her friends) — whose son had been the first Baron Darcy de Darcy before he got his head chopped off over some bit of religious nonsense — reclined on a fainting couch in one of Boodle’s private meeting rooms. Few of the mortal club members knew it, but there were actually several private entrances and secret passages in the venerable gentleman’s club, entrances installed just to facilitate the admittance of Ventrue ladies of good standing who needed discreet places to meet with their peers, their ghoul servants, or simply people of importance who needed “adjustment.” The Baroness (for the Ventrue of London had granted her in death the peerage her son had squandered in life) knew all the secret ways in and out of Boodle’s. She did own the place, after all.

Across from the Baroness sat the object of her current attentions: Colonel Arthur Basingstoke, a Ventrue of some importance who was 300 years and two Generations her junior. These deficiencies were outweighed by the ancilla’s utility, for he was a student of history and politics and was generally someone who knew things. Information was his stock in trade, and it was so valuable to Clan Ventrue that they overlooked his more... unsavory associations. After all, someone had to work with Nosferatu on a regular basis, or who knew what mischief they’d get into.

To Fee’s right was the young Lick she’d introduced to Arthur as Ethan Marshall, her youngest childe. He looked to be in his late-twenties, as he sat quietly trying not to show his insecurity. Basingstoke knew the fledgling had not been introduced to the court, and indeed, had not been introduced to any of the city’s Ventrue. Accordingly, he assumed that Fee had picked him to test the whelp and see if he could sit in front of his peers without picking his nose or anything. It was daring if the boy had been anything less than a quarter-century dead, but he supposed that the Baroness wanted to accelerate her newest childe’s training. Thus far, Ethan had been tolerable. He’d made small talk competently, and hadn’t looked overtly bored at any point. He’d even made an insightful comment about Brujah involvement in several recent political protests.

“Arthur, darling,” she said languidly. “I would love to continue our conversation shortly, but I have some minor business to address with one of the club members before it grows too late.” She hesitated and then smiled in a reasonable simulation of warmth. “While I’m gone, might I impose upon you to share the benefits of your wisdom with young Ethan here? I have instructed him mainly on practical concerns, but I confess I have neglected his education on Clan history and politics. Perhaps you might fill in some of the gaps in his education.”

Arthur favored her with Smile #17 (“Mildly Condescending Yet Still Chivalrous”). He was aware that most of Boodle’s regulars were part of her herd. Her vitae of necessity could come from any peer of the realm, but she preferred men and women who’d actually done something to deserve the honor instead of the latest minor celebrity to receive an O.B.E.

“I would be delighted, dear lady. Shall I begin with the founding of Londinium?” His joviality masked his curiosity. He assumed she was laying a trap, though likely not a deadly one. But for him? Or for her childe, the naïf next to her who still hadn’t figured out how to blink properly?

“Oh, no, Arthur,” she exclaimed mischievously. “Much farther back than that! He wants to learn mythology!” “Ah,” Arthur replied. “The First City it is, then.”

• • • “Did it go well?” Fee asked, as she and her “childe” sped through the London night in the back of her limousine. Ethan’s face instantly settled into one of determination and intelligence, discarding his naïve persona. “A bit too well, I’m afraid. I pushed too hard towards the end, and he deduced that I wasn’t really a neonate but an older Kindred pumping him for information. Then, he started ranting about the Secret Masters before storming out. It was my mistake, and does not reflect on the intelligence you provided about the good Colonel. If we decide to recruit him, I can hopefully repair the damage later. On behalf of the Justicar, I thank you once again for providing cover for my interview.”

“Is he dangerous, Archon?” There was no fear in her voice, just curiosity. “Only to himself, Strategos Langton. As you said, he collects secrets, apparently without regard to the risks they carry. He knows about the Baali. He knows about the Red Question. His theories about the origins of the Clans are insightful. I suspect he even knows the truth about Hardestadt, and he does believe in the Daeva.”

She snorted. “Then he is a wise man. The kine have a saying, Archon. ‘Just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean that no one is out to get you.’”

They said nothing on the rest of the ride. There was nothing else to say.

A Brief History of Kings

Let me begin by making it perfectly clear that the history I now relate is largely a load of rubbish — the short version of a history that is commonly accepted as true, by Kindred both in our Clan and outside it, but for which there is absolutely no evidence or veracity. There are no reliable records of the First or Second Cities, and damn little in the way of records of any kind pertaining to the Ventrue that date to before the Roman Empire. The Book of Nod and its companion works are most commonly encountered in the form of fourth century Latin texts, which were translations of Greek scrolls, which were translations of Egyptian hieroglyphics, etcetera, etcetera, until you get back to dead language translations of other dead languages.

With those caveats in mind, what is accepted about our origins is as follows. In the beginning, there was Caine, the chap from the Bible who killed his brother and was then “punished” by a capricious God with immortality, indestructibility, and an array of supernatural powers. Caine then traveled to the mythical land of Nod, eventually finding his way to an early human settlement that our histories call “Enoch.” He seized control and expanded Enoch into the first settlement that could plausibly be called a city. Along the way, he Embraced the members of the Second Generation, who numbered three, five, or six, depending on who you ask.

Sic Transit Ventrue

That, according to the tale, is where we come in. Caine encountered a human of exceptional intellect, charisma, and competence — a man called Ventrue. So impressed was Caine by Ventrue’s qualities that the First Vampire compelled one of his childer to Embrace Ventrue as the first member of the Third Generation, and then appointed the neonate to serve as his seneschal and to rule in his stead on those occasions when Caine left the First City for whatever reasons possessed him.

Since you are someone I selected for the Embrace and therefore are not stupid, I assume you see the gap in logic in the previous paragraph. If Caine had really been that impressed with Ventrue, he’d have Embraced the Founder himself rather than delegating the task to one of the Second Generation. After all, if Ventrue was truly the first Kindred of the Third Generation, then that means Caine couldn’t have known for sure that his own childer would have the power to Embrace childer of their own. Ventrue might well have died from a failed Embrace.

The simple truth (to the extent that we Kindred traffic in truths) is that the commonly recited story is a fiction intended to artificially elevate the Founder and, by extension, our Clan to a position of authority over our rivals. There isn’t even any reliable proof that Ventrue was the Founder’s real name, let alone that he was favored above the rest of the Third Generation. There’s a persistent urban legend among the Anarchs suggesting that “Ventrue” is actually Norman French for “fat pig.” It’s not, in either Norman French or any other known language. It is what we’ve called ourselves for 6,000 years or so. Writings left behind by Arak of Ur suggest that he and his peers self-identified as “Ventrue” as early as 3800 B.C.E.

I’m told the late Prince Mithras, who was supposedly of the Fourth Generation, named his sire as Veddhartha, but that is unconfirmed and, in any case, Mithras, his sire, or both may have committed diablerie to reduce their own Generations. It’s not as if Mithras would have admitted it if he had. The origin story passed down from Ventrue elder to Ventrue childe over the last few millennia is a transparent fiction designed to afford our Clan a stature from which we may assert dominance over the others.

I’m sure I don’t have to explain why that’s not an opinion you should share too freely. The story is obviously untrue to sensible Kindred. Less sensible Kindred will accept all kinds of nonsense about Caine and the Antediluvians if their elders or superiors insist upon such belief, if such beliefs are important to their self-esteem, or if they’re simply stupid. You may find the Founder’s origin improbable. I certainly do. The fact remains that, except for the Tremere and the Giovanni, every Clan subscribes to a monomyth in which their founder was Caine’s favorite, and it was all the other Clans that ruined everything. And as silly as it is to us here in the twenty-first century to contemplate such fantasies, never forget that there are Brujah, Assamites, Setites, Tzimisce and many, many others who will kill you for no other reason than institutional hatred of our Clan arising from imagined slights that took place 10,000 years ago in a likely fictitious city.

Fall, Rise, and Fall Again

However it happened, the First City fell and the Second City built its foundation on the First City’s ashes. It was briefly a utopia — for some inscrutable definition of “utopia” — because Ventrue and his childer were in charge, which is exactly what most of the other Clans say about their own founders. Truth be told, do you think anyone other than a Ventrue could have run a city in which all 13 Clans were represented?

Anyway, there are scores of legends about who truly ruled the Second City and who betrayed it to its doom. The players swap roles depending on who the author is. I’d considered editing all the Noddist folk tales I’ve encountered into a book, but I suppose it’s too much a threat to the Masquerade. Plus, who knows what deranged assassins such heresy would draw out of the woodwork? Leave that to hardy fools like that Gangrel Beckett to contemplate. Regardless, the only real point of similarity in all these stories was that the city fell and Caine supposedly came back just long enough to curse the Third Generation in a variety of arbitrary ways.

More nonsense, of course. What is a “curse,” after all? We Ventrue become fixated on a particular strain of vitae. Pretty things easily distract the Toreador. How are those “curses” compared to the Nosferatu becoming so hideous that they can’t be seen in public and the Malkavians all being as mad as hatters?

Personally, I think many of the so-called Clan curses were most likely imposed on the Clans later. There is a gap of between 4,000 and 7,000 years between the fall of the Second City and the accepted beginnings of human history. All sorts of things could have happened, leading the Antediluvians to impose conditions on their own offspring or those offspring cursing one another. For example, there’s a rather novel theory that the Toreador founder can see through the eyes of all of her descendants and she compels them to stare vapidly at anything they found aesthetically pleasing so that she can while away eternity being entertained by the spectacle.

As for our own “curse,” one fable suggests that Ventrue believed that his childer should not feed indiscriminately, but instead should exclusively feed from some class of mortals that speak to our individual characters. In that way, each Ventrue holds himself out as a connoisseur rather than a common predator. It’s as plausible as any other explanation.

I suppose I should also note at this point that as Ventrue himself was leaving the city, the Brujah founder ambushed and committed diablerie on him. That, incidentally, would be the first of three pseudo-historical incidents in which the Ventrue founder was said to have been murdered and diablerized by someone. The most recent was supposed to have happened in the fifteenth century, though that is probably a garbled story about the attempted assassination of Hardestadt, who was so powerful and influential that some especially ignorant Brujah think he was Ventrue under a false identity. As for the Enochian tales, they’re so vague that it’s not even clear whether Ventrue’s alleged killer was the original Brujah founder or Troile, Brujah’s traitorous childe, who supposedly diablerized him. Or her. The Brujah are even less clear about their myths than we are.

But what is truly important about Enoch, the bit I think it’s vitally important for you to remember, is this: whether he truly ruled Enoch or not, I believe that Ventrue was important to it. I believe that whatever else the Second City was, it was a place where Ventrue and his allies and childer tried to dig into the mud of a Bronze Age culture and build something enduring. And others came along and burned it down out of pure spite. Whatever other lessons you take from our storied history, young man, remember that whatever you try to build, you will encounter others who will try their damnedest to tear it down, just because they can.

Gloria Romani

Which takes us conveniently to Rome, which was also torn down by our enemies. Between the fall of the Second City and the rise of Rome, the ancients of our Clan experimented with different approaches to conquest, domination, and empire building. Arak-Ur, Mithras, Cret, Medon, Tanit, Artemis, and other members of the Fourth and Fifth Generations forged great city-states in Sumer, Phoenicia, Babylon, and Greece. Those worthies ruled their cities either from behind the scenes or as god-kings, particularly in Sparta, which Artemis shaped in the guise of the city’s patron goddess. That approach violated the Masquerade, of course, but mortals were more credulous in those days, and the Masquerade was still embryonic. The god-king approach employed by Artemis and others were failed experiments, but noble ones. It would ironically take the excesses of the Carthaginian Brujah to fully teach us the dangers of ruling too openly.

The most important of those ancient builders, however, were Collat and his childe, Camilla. It was Collat who transfigured the Etruscan Kingdom into the Roman Republic, and it was Camilla who forged that republic into an empire. By all accounts, Collat met his end at the hands of the Order of Mercury, a cabal of priest-mages who were the duo’s chief rivals in the governance of Rome. Naturally, there were the usual accusations of patricide and diablerie from Camilla’s enemies. Honestly, it’s yet another thing that no one really knows. It has been 2,500 years after all, and no one reliable took notes.

Anyway, Camilla became the Prince of Rome, and would remain so until he entered torpor sometime around the fifth century C.E. His innovation, pioneered by his sire, was to decline to seek direct power, whether through being worshiped as divine or through bullying mortals with supernatural powers. Instead, Camilla was subtle. He traded favors for favors, both with Kindred and with mortals who had no idea of his nature. He gave boons to those who aided him and spent decades plotting against those who had balked him and failed to make it up in some way. The rules of dignitas were still developing, but in a real sense, Camilla invented what we refer to tonight as prestation.

Through those subtle techniques, Camilla fashioned Rome into a sword and sharpened its blade to a razor’s edge. Moreover, he used that fine weapon for the noblest of purposes — to utterly destroy the evil of his time: Carthage.

Delenda Est

Does that surprise you? That I should use a word as provocative as “evil” to describe an entire culture? Then you know nothing of the vampires of Carthage. Look up the city on the Internet. You are aware of the phenomenon called Wikipedia, aren’t you? Research the history of Carthage, a city where mortals willingly threw their babes into furnaces to propitiate the pagan god Moloch. Now contemplate what must have actually been happening, given the existence of a Masquerade that has spent centuries whitewashing the truth. The Brujah fools of today claim that Carthage was a city where Kindred and kine lived in harmony. I suppose that’s so, if you define “harmony” to mean that the mortals didn’t even try to fight back when vampires snatched their loved ones up and drained them dry with nary a thought.

The “harmony” of Carthage was that of an obedient death cult. Carthage was an abattoir, made worse because it represented the last time that an Antediluvian openly walked the Earth. Brujah, or Troile, or whatever its name was... That One ruled Carthage and was the author of its horrors. And the forces brought to bear by Camilla and the Roman Ventrue brought That One down, buried that ancient horror beneath the sands of Tunisia, and salted the earth so that it would never rise again. Whatever sins you are ever accused of as a result of your Ventrue heritage, never forget that the blood of those who burned Carthage runs in your veins.

Needless to say, the Brujah of today cannot even understand why they should be ashamed of their history, let alone recognize what they owe us for not exterminating them to the last for their tainted heritage. And they are tainted. I said before that I thought the curses levied against the Clans came after the fall of the Second City. For the Brujah, I am certain that is true. The mindless rage the Brujah feel? We did that to them. It is the fury of their founder, the blood-god of Carthage who lies trapped forever beneath the sands, screaming through the blood of its offspring.

The Age of Princes

But enough about such lurid affairs. Rome fell, as all things must. Camilla fought torpor as long as he could, but after a millennium, sleep claimed him, and he had left no mechanisms to ensure continuity of control in his absence. His allies fell to infighting — understandably so, for he had been forced to allow Kindred of the other Clans into Rome in payment for their aid against Carthage. It was a testament of Camilla’s genius that the city endured his passing as long as it did. Rome was a truly cosmopolitan city with representatives of nearly every Clan, all kept from running amok by the social customs and strictures laid down by Camilla. Caine may or may not have handed down the Traditions, but Camilla was the first to write them down and make other Kindred memorize them as a condition of admittance into a domain. Because of him that Latin and Greek words like agoge, lictor, tribune, and strategoi are liberally sprinkled through our vocabulary. Even those formerly associated with the Ventrue of Ancient Greece were only given Clan-specific meanings during the reign of Camilla.

Yes, Rome fell, but its ideals were carried forth by its Ventrue citizens, the eldest of whom went forth to forge new domains among the very barbarians who destroyed Rome. Even Ventrue Princes who predate Rome’s fall soon adopted the socio-political structures of Camilla’s era, while Princes of other Clans were slowly won over to at least some of our ideas. Mithras of London, Eric the Ogre of Prussia, his duplicitous childe Elsa of Berlin, and the Iberian warrior-queen Ursula. All of these and more followed Camilla’s basic approach. A Prince supported by a Seneschal and a Sheriff and backed by a Primogen from the other Clans, controlling a territory and ensuring that the Traditions are maintained within it. A platform that has been replicated a thousand times in a thousand cities ever since.

It was not until the Middle Ages that it occurred to anyone to extend the principles of Camilla beyond the level of a single domain, and that failure led to predictable results. Lone vampires in isolated regions acted foolishly. The Masquerade wasn’t a word yet, but sensible Kindred understood the concept. Foolish or shortsighted Kindred did not, and when they ran amok in areas not policed by more sensible peers, the mortals became frightened, then angry, then belligerent. The intelligent belligerents figured out how to kill us. Hence, the Inquisition. Quod erat demonstrandum.

The bloodshed of the Inquisition started in France with some damned-fool Toreador who were connected to the Cathars — wretched frogs! — but soon spread to endanger every Kindred on the continent. Our British forebears were relatively safe, because Prince Mithras was strong enough and had enough influence over Edward II to keep the Inquisition out completely and to minimize the intrusion of French Templars. Thanks to his actions, not only were the British people spared the horrors of the Inquisition, so were the Kindred of the British Isles.

The Anarch Revolt and the Rise of the Sabbat

Unfortunately, his power did not extend to Europe, where elders, terrified by the flames of the inquisitors, recklessly sent their own childer into battle while they hid or fled. Some, in a precursor to the barbarous tactics of the Sabbat, Embraced childer for the express purpose of using them as distractions against the inquisitors. Eventually, inevitably, the rebellious abused childer of the other Clans turned on their sires and began the Anarch Revolt.

I will not insult your intelligence by suggesting that there were no Ventrue Anarchs. Of course there were. Some were improvidently Embraced childer incapable of living up to the Clan’s high expectations. Others were capable Ventrue who had been cruelly misused by cowardly sires or who had been forced to fend for themselves after their sires had been exterminated. There is a reason, after all, why a Toreador rules Madrid, one of the great capitols of Europe, and barely 500 years dead. It’s because the Methuselah Ursula, who had ruled the region since before the birth of Christ, was put to the torch, along with her childer and her childer’s childer and their childer as well, until the last surviving Ventrue of her line joined the Anarchs just to survive.

For the most part, the Ventrue Anarchs did what they had to do, and once the hostilities ceased, most of them returned to the fold. Those who did not were the ones who had committed such crimes that they could not be forgiven, or who had been Embraced and raised so completely outside the Clan that they saw no value in our traditions. Their numbers were small then, and remain so today. If it were otherwise, Ventrue antitribu rather than Lasombra swine would rule the Sabbat. Instead, the relative handful of Ventrue that swear allegiance to that Sect content themselves with dreams of chivalry and paranoid delusions about the End of Days rather than playing any effective role in the organization.

For a time, the Inquisition and the Anarch Revolt represented a two-pronged attack on Clan Ventrue and on organized Kindred society. Something had to be done or our race would have met its end, whether from fire or fangs. Naturally, the Ventrue led the way. There had been previous efforts to coordinate the Clans into an organization for mutual protection and advancement. Lord Hardestadt, who ruled the Fiefs of the Iron Cross and who, at the time, was probably the most prominent Ventrue in the world, led the first major effort. Despite multiple assassination attempts by the Anarchs (accompanied by seditious propaganda suggesting that he had actually fallen to the fangs of some Brujah wench), he was ultimately successful in his efforts, and the Camarilla formally organized in 1435 C.E. He presided over the first Conclave in 1486, at which time his eldest childe was appointed as the first Ventrue Justicar. In 1493, he represented our Clan at the Treaty of Thorns, when the Anarchs and the Assamites were finally broken. I’m told he still sits among the Camarilla Inner Circle tonight.

The influence of Hardestadt cannot be overstated. After Camilla and the Founder himself, Hardestadt had the greatest impact upon us. The dignitas afforded by the founding of the Camarilla would be enough, but he did more. He ensured that the Camarilla’s socio-political structure would mirror that of the typical Ventrue domain. Thanks to him, our system of control became the default approach for running a Camarilla city. And since we are the ones most familiar with our own systems, Hardestadt’s influence over the Camarilla has allowed us to become so dominant among the Camarilla that Ventrue Princes outnumber the Princes of all other Clans combined.

Having seized the reins of Kindred society, the following centuries have seen us hold on for dear unlife. The Enlightenment. Reformation and Counter-Reformation. Revolution. Colonialism. Queen Victoria. War, war, and more war. Despite our best efforts to stabilize mortal society and harness its potential for the benefit of the Kindred, we have often been our own worst enemies, as disagreements on how best to rule have led to intra-Clan conflicts. As much as we try to act as the puppet masters guiding and shaping the course of mortal history, I have to admit that we spend more time untangling the strings of our puppets than actually manipulating them. At our best during last six centuries, we have led the Camarilla and used it to preserve Kindred civilization against the forces of chaos and corruption. At our worst, we unwittingly served the forces of chaos and corruption.

It was the Ventrue who thought it wise to send our most dangerous enemies and our most truculent Clan members to America, which is why our hold over those lands is as porous as sand compared to Europe. It was the Ventrue of the northern American states who prosecuted the U.S. Civil War against the Confederacy and the blood-drenched abattoirs of the Southern plantations, abattoirs frequently ruled over by Confederate Ventrue as degenerate as the lords of Carthage. It was the Ventrue of Britain who stood firm against German expansionism and the horrors of Nazism, horrors unleashed by the mad Ventrue Gustav Breidenstein whose own lust for power caused him to disastrously underestimate the Third Reich’s potential for monstrosity.

But that is the way of things for our Clan. There is always an evil lurking, waiting for the chance to destroy what we have built. For centuries, we have held the Camarilla together, but in doing so, we made ourselves targets for our true enemies. Enemies we cannot even name except through placeholders such as “the Daeva” or “the Secret Masters.” That is the greatest secret of the Ventrue, the mystery that lies at the heart of our essential nature. We do not rule because we are proud. We do not rule because we are greedy. We rule because if we do not, then the true monsters, those who sit in shadow, will step into the vacuum of our withdrawal and rule in our stead. And their rule would doom us all. We claim the throne that is a cross because the only alternative to be a ruler is to be a slave.

Today’s Ventrue

Hey, kids! Since the Ventrue run the Camarilla and are the dicks most likely to fuck with us Anarchs, some people on the Digital Draculas Forum asked us to put together a document explaining what they’re all about. We actually know a cool Ventrue who was a Blue Blood in good standing before he got wise and joined the Movement, and he graciously volunteered to do an AMA. Although he ended up only answering a few of the most common questions — he was oddly silent when we asked him “at what point in the Ventrue Embrace do they insert the stick?”

1. What’s with the feeding restriction thingy?

All Ventrue have a physical and psychological response that identifies a specific type of blood as “the right stuff.” It’s not immediate, and no Ventrue consciously chooses the blood type. Instead, sometime after the Embrace, while the fledgling is out hunting (supervised by her sire, of course), she will encounter a source of vitae that, well, is just awesome. It is the finest champagne when every liquid you’ve tasted before is Natty Light. Once the neonate has tasted the good stuff, it becomes impossible for her to willingly drink from any other vessel. She can feed from another vampire (if she doesn’t mind getting blood bonded), but she will puke up vitae from any other source. She will also do so out of reflex if fed the wrong kind of blood while in torpor. She can even instinctively tell if blood from a blood bag will work or not, which is why it is possible for a Ventrue to intuitively identify characteristics such as “Italian woman” or “adulterous male” or “undercover cop.” We just know.

A lot of Licks mock the Ventrue for this, and it is annoying at times, but personally, I think it’s better than being hideously ugly or a barking loon or prone to berserker rages. YMMV. One of the more common digs is when a Ventrue gets a feeding restriction that is wildly impractical. For example, a WWI-era Blue Blood might only be able to feed on veterans of the Great War, which would suck because there aren’t any left. That’s not the end of the world for such a Ventrue, however. It is possible to change the feeding restriction or modify it, though doing so is damned hard. Usually, such changes require an incredible act of will and can only be done after undergoing a hunger frenzy or torpor. However, a Ventrue can usually modify her feeding restriction after time spent in torpor due to lack of vitae.

2. Is it true that the Ventrue are a global conspiracy?

Dude, we’re vampires. We’re all part of a global conspiracy. If you mean do the Ventrue have a global hierarchy, though, then yes. At the top of the food chain is the Directorate (also known as the Ephorate among Ventrue so old they remember the original Greek nomenclature). It consists of somewhere between ten and fifteen self-selected Ventrue from around the world. I say self-selected because no one knows exactly who all of them are except each other, and you only become a Director (or Ephor) when the others agree to send you a bid for their Secret Fraternity of the Undead.

Whether you get that call depends on several factors: status, geography, and conflicts of interest. “Status” means “are you respected enough?” Just being a Prince does not carry enough status to interest the Directorate, unless it’s a major metropolis. “Geography” refers to where you live and hold domain. The Directorate is a global conspiracy, and they need people who can provide valuable insights into trouble spots. That said, half the Directors are believed to be European Ventrue, and as of 1998, there wasn’t a single member from Africa. “Conflicts of interest” means “any other responsibilities that might distract you from running a global conspiracy?” That’s why Princes rarely get invited unless they abandon their domains. I’m told that Justicars and Archons don’t sit on the Directorate either, though no one knows about the Ventrue Inner Circle rep.

The Directorate sets both the agenda and the tone for the Clan as a whole. Ever wondered why Ventrue (well, Camarilla Ventrue, anyway) act a certain way, why they’re not just wealthy but conspicuously wealthy, why they’re generally assholes to outsiders? It’s because the ultimate questions within the Clan about what’s an acceptable way to act, what’s an acceptable way to acquire power, what’s an acceptable way to dress, are all decided by a dozen or so reclusive elders who pass their views down to their subordinates. Then they disseminate them to every Ventrue Prince and Primogen in the Western World. It’s like Mean Girls reimagined as a global occult conspiracy.

Beyond that, though, the Directorate plays an important role in maintaining the Clan’s famous unity — occasionally by eliminating Clan members who threaten that unity. If there’s a conflict between two powerful Ventrue that threatens Clan assets, the Directorate steps in to arbitrate the proceedings. But the most important role of the Directorate is “Clan Sugar Daddy.” As a large coterie of ultra-wealthy Ventrue ostensibly dedicated to advancing the Clan as an institution, the Directorate often serves as “lender of last resort” to major projects. If you have a scheme that might benefit the Clan but it’s beyond your financial or political means, you can theoretically submit a proposal to the Directorate. If it impresses enough Ephors, they might throw enough money your way to buy a country or two. Of course, I doubt any Anarch Ventrue would be willing to grovel before a bunch of stinky elders no matter how much money is on the plate, but I bet it would make the most awesome episode of Dragon’s Den ever.

Below the Directors are the strategoi (singular: strategos), the hands of the Directorate, powerful Ventrue who are the conspiracy’s eyes and ears on the ground. A good number of Ventrue Primogen around the world are also strategoi. Princes, not so much. As a matter of policy, the Directorate generally thinks a Prince needs to focus her attentions on her city rather than serving foreign elders. If the Directorate decides something should be done or not done, the strategoi spread the news among the Ventrue of the areas over which they’ve been given jurisdiction.

Below the strategoi are the lictors, the field agents and troubleshooters. Elders don’t like to get their hands dirty. That’s beneath them. But powerful people have always kept staff on retainer who have no such compunctions. And to be fair, it’s a good stepping-stone to better things if the lictor plays it right. There have been many occasions where a strategos has sent a lictor into a city that’s going to pot in order to whip the local Ventrue into shape, and once all the bodies have hit the floor, the lictor somehow ends up as the new Prince. In short, lictor is a dangerous but potentially profitable niche for ancillae Ventrue who want to increase their profiles and who don’t mind courting death or dismemberment to do so.

Below them are the tribunes — the spies, errand boys, and toadies for the Directorate. In other words, every Ventrue who will reliably ask how high when told to jump by a lictor or a strategos. Only slightly below the tribunes are the peers (collectively the peerage), which is basically a list of every reasonably competent Ventrue who has any standing or influence of any kind. Curiously, being a part of the peerage doesn’t really give you any benefits. Rather, it simply means you don’t carry the stigma of not being a peer, which typically means that you’ve proven yourself to be a fuck-up and the other Ventrue won’t let you join in any reindeer games.

Unsurprisingly, Free-State Anarchs are excluded from the peerage automatically. I suppose an Anarch within a Camarilla domain can become a peer if he sells out enough. Who wants to find out for us? Yeah, thought so.

3. What’s it like for a Ventrue in a Camarilla city?

For the younger ones, it’s like being a pledge in the “bad-guy frat” from Animal House. You’re constantly bent over saying, “thank you, sir, may I have another” while presenting your backside to some snotty guy in a cravat. In any city with enough Ventrue to justify some level of Clan organization, the most powerful and influential Ventrue will form an intra-Clan governing body called the Board, or the Gerousia (Greek for “counsel of elders”) in more traditional territories. The head of the Board is the called the praetor (or sometimes simply “manager,” but praetor is much more common, I think because it sounds cool). The praetor is the highest-ranking Ventrue in the city, unless a Ventrue who is also the Prince or the Primogen plays that role and she delegates the praetor responsibility to a subordinate. The praetor chairs all Board meetings and is responsible for finding a place big enough and secure enough to host those meetings.

There are two kinds of Board meetings. The entire peerage usually meets on the first Tuesday of each month. I have no fucking idea what is so important about the first Tuesday of the month, but that seems to be the universal rule, even for Ventrue in Islamic countries that don’t use our calendar. Whatever. The Board can also hold private informal leadership meetings whenever it wants, meetings at which the “lesser” Ventrue aren’t invited. Oh, and the monthly meetings are not as boring as you might think. First of all, it is a room full of vampires, and while Ventrue are notorious control freaks, you never know who might flip out and frenzy over some slight, so that’s exciting.

As for the meetings themselves, some traditional Boards use strict Roberts’ Rules of Order (and a few reactionary Boards use even more archaic and hidebound rules, because Robert was a mortal and no way are Ventrue elders using mortal parliamentary procedure). Most Boards are not quite so rigid. There’s still an element of formality — encoded written agendas, reading the minutes from prior meetings, committee reports, and old and new business — but no more so than you might find in the board meeting of your local Rotary Club. If the Board members all get along reasonably well, sometimes one might even crack a joke every few years.

The praetor is assisted in her duties by Ventrue informally called “supervisors” and formally called aediles among pretentious old fuckers. Typically, aediles are competent and well-regarded ancillae who are happy to suck up, well, because they’re Camarilla Ventrue ancillae and that’s just how they are. All the ones with initiative have already joined us. In some domains, the praetor presides over Board meetings but an aedile actually runs things, usually because the praetor wants to nap through the meeting or otherwise can’t be buggered to pay attention to what’s going on.

The remaining Clan members fit into one of two groups. The questors or foremen are young Ventrue who have obtained some degree of status from the Board in exchange for loyalty and obedience. The eiren or associate members, sadly for them, are so young and inexperienced that they have no real status at all beyond that which all Ventrue accord to one another as peers. To compare it to the Mafia, think of questors as “made men” and eiren as rank-and-file gang members. Or, to compare it to a fraternity, the eiren are the freshman plebes and the questors are all arrogant sophomores who have been appointed to the membership committee and think that entitles them to haze the newbies.

Officially, the Board and the praetor don’t have any power beyond what the Prince and Primogen allow. As a practical matter, if an associate steps out of line, the questors, the aediles, and the praetor can all take it upon themselves to engineer some kind of punishment. Depending on the nature of the fuck-up and how hard-core and/or crazy the Ventrue involved are, that can range from public humiliation to loss of status and interference with business activities to bloody, painful death.

4. I’ve heard that when you get Embraced as a Ventrue, they lock you in an attic for twenty years and make you read and take tests about being a Ventrue. Izzat true?

No. Well, not the attic part. Usually. Clan Ventrue does have a custom called the agoge. The name comes from the training period for Spartan children (again with the Spartan thing — I wonder what Ventrue elders think of the movie 300). When applied to childer, it refers to the period of time in which the sire is so hyper-responsible for her childe that any misstep by the childe reflects poorly on the sire. Granted, the Fourth Tradition makes sires responsible for their childers’ crimes, but this goes way beyond that. Nearly any public screw-up by a Ventrue childe results in social embarrassment to the sire. Hard-core Ventrue treat this rule so seriously that it is not uncommon for the sire to literally keep the childe sealed away from the rest of Kindred society for years or even decades until she’s absolutely confident in the childe’s ability to interact with other Ventrue. I’m pretty sure that most American Ventrue aren’t that extreme, but I haven’t looked in every Ventrue’s attic to see how many childer they keep locked up.

The agoge begins with a crash-course in the basics of Kindred existence, followed by “the Choice.” Yes, they do capitalize it when writing about it. Once the sire is confident the childe won’t do anything crazy, he takes her out into the world and escorts her around to hunt. Eventually, she’ll encounter her preferred feeding vessel, hopefully in a way that does not involve disposing of any bodies. Then, sire and childe return home where the sire spends the next week or so educating the childe more thoroughly in Kindred lore and customs, until the childe is competent enough to appear in front of an entire crowd of Ventrue without embarrassing herself. Sometimes, some type of small party or a gift from sire to childe accompanies the Choice. You see, the act of identifying a feeding preference is the official marker that the childe is really a Ventrue and not a Caitiff. Accordingly, you can imagine how unpleasant things can get if the childe fails to identify her feeding preference quickly. Among some Ventrue, there’s even a level of discontent if the childe picks a feeding preference that the sire considers unacceptably broad like “women only” or “no one under 10.”

Anyway, after the Choice is made, the sire arranges for what is traditionally called “the Presentation” (again with the caps). Anarch Ventrue who’ve been through it call it “the meat market.” The sire arranges for the childe’s introduction to the Prince, with all of the city’s Ventrue in attendance. If the Prince is not a Ventrue, then the sire may arrange a less formal introduction for the Prince, followed by a Presentation to the praetor and the peerage instead. After the introductions are made, the childe is sent home, while the sire remains behind to listen to all the other Ventrue tell him everything the childe did wrong. If the childe had any egregious screw-ups, she can expect a spankin’ when Daddy gets home.

After the Presentation, training continues, usually for months or even years. During that time, the childe resides with the sire, who remains responsible for everything the childe does. The childe isn’t released until “the Test,” which involves the sire sending the childe out into the world with instructions to seize a domain of her own. This can mean almost anything to the childe and sire: start or seize control of a successful business; develop a power base without infringing on any existing Ventrue territories; acquire a boon from a powerful Kindred. Usually, it’s a difficult but achievable challenge, and the sire will normally be careful to make sure the childe won’t step on any important toes.

If the sire is satisfied with the results, he recommends her to the praetor and the Board. The childe tells the assembled Ventrue what she has done to be worthy of acceptance as a Ventrue, and the praetor asks her some questions about Ventrue history and culture. Although it is usually a done deal, occasionally a dumb sire will send in a childe before she’s ready, or maybe the childe will just choke. I’m told that such events are considered comedy gold by Ventrue observers. Less so for the childe, who can expect at best severe punishment by her sire. At worst, in conservative Ventrue domains, the sire can reclaim the blood. That means killing the childe for any of you who haven’t figured it out.

5. Is it true that the Ventrue antitribu have evolved into a separate bloodline?

How the hell do you expect me to know what’s going on with the antitribu?!? I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. Some people have told me that the antitribu have developed a propensity for insight over emotional manipulation for some unfathomable reason. Of course, that was the same guy who told me that Ventrue antitribu like to pretend that they’re more rebellious than the Brujah or they’re like medieval knights that run around waving swords and swearing oaths at one another, both of which sound ridiculous. But I’ve also heard that there’s no physical difference between Ventrue antitribu and regular Ventrue, but that some antitribu are just really good at Auspex for some reason.

I did come across the following bit of text supposedly stolen from the diary of an antitribu back in the 1960s. Draw your own conclusions, but I think it’s creepy as fuck.

We enter the shrine in single file. Our chain mail rattles softly as we move, decorative armor only worn for special ritae. Our swords are not decorative, for True Ventrue, like the knights of old, are trained as masters of the blade as well as the gun, the garrote, and the grenade. There were many ways to kill, and we who swear the oath to St. Gustav, the patron saint of the Sabbat Inquisition, know them all.

One by one, knights first and then the squires, we kneel before our priest, unsheathe our swords, and then grasp the blade until the blood runs down into the sacred chalice. As each of us adds our blood to the Vaulderie, the priest chants in Latin, calling down the blessings of Caine and St. Gustav upon the True Ventrue. For we are not the fat pigs of the Camarilla who call themselves Ventrue, as if they know anything of honor. We permit our fellow Sabbat to call us Ventrue antitribu just as we tolerate their common brutality and vile inhumanity, but only until we purge this world of our bloated Mammon-worshiping cousins. Then, we will simply be “Ventrue,” the scions of a lineage of honor, of chivalry, of noblesse oblige, and we will take our rightful place as the rulers of the Sabbat and purify it of its deficiencies and its decadent and puerile leadership. The Brujah antitribu pretend at rebellion. They are children playing in a schoolyard. True rebellion means nothing less than to seek the annihilation of those who would claim to rule you.

When the Vaulderie is ready, we form a line and strike up a Latin hymn to show our solidarity and faith. One by one, in order of dignitas (and we know that word well, and more purely than the indolent rutting of the Ventrue pigs), we step forward to drink from the chalice as the priest concludes the ritus. United in blood and in song, we are strong in our faith. Perhaps tonight the Blessing of St. Gustav might even descend upon one us. The blessing of the gift of sight that penetrates all deception. The blessing of sight that shall pierce every darkness and lead the Crusaders into the holy light of vengeance, the flame of righteousness that the Ventrue antitribu shall use to scourge this whole world. That is our rebellion, a world burned clean of the Camarilla and the false Ventrue who rule it.

Like I said. Creeeeepy.

6. How do the Ventrue elders keep the younger ones in line without provoking them to revolt? If the Ventrue are as hidebound and repressive as you say, you’d think there would be more Ventrue Anarchs.

The short answer is Stockholm Syndrome. The longer answer involves a somewhat complicated social concept that the Ventrue refer to as dignitas. Yeah, I know, more Latin. If it helps, younger Ventrue (Embraced in the last century) often call it the Game — a term which elders hate, so don’t use that around them.

The rules of The Game are difficult to explain to people who haven’t been playing from the moment of the Embrace, if not earlier. To oversimplify it, dignitas is the intersection of a Ventrue’s public reputation among his peers and his personal sense of identity, honor, and self-worth. The closest mortal parallels would probably be some combination of Romantic chivalry and the Sino-Japanese concept of “face.” Young Ventrue are taught from the Embrace that it is vitally important to act in a way that other Ventrue would respect, and equally important to show respect to other Ventrue who act in the socially approved manner. “Socially approved manner,” in this context, is represented by an impossibly long list of Do’s and Don’ts that covers everything from how to properly address an elder to what’s an acceptable business venture that will bring respectability as well as financial gain. Do something right and you get a point. Do something wrong and you lose a point. Fall too far into negative points, and you’re a loser.

Not that there’s a formal point system with a lifetime (deathtime?) score or anything. It’s just that from the moment you meet a particular Ventrue, you should assume that she is keeping a running tab of how much respect you’ve earned and lost. Again oversimplifying things, you gain dignitas by working for the benefit of the Clan. By demonstrating competence in difficult circumstances, by always looking poised and in control (and to a degree, fashionable and stylish, though Toreador-levels of fashion consciousness can actually cost you dignitas), and by showing respect to your elders and superiors while avoiding the appearance of toadying before them. You lose dignitas by embarrassing yourself in public, by failing at something important in a conspicuous manner, by disrespecting those with higher levels of dignitas, and by failing to look the part of a Ventrue in good standing, which can literally mean something as petty as wearing white shoes after Labor Day. Or possibly ever.

Now, you may ask why any young Ventrue would put up with that. Simple. The Ventrue generally recruit people who naturally fit in with such a socially incestuous “high school forever” type of culture. Fraternal organizations. Authoritarian religious groups. Law enforcement agencies with a strong “Blue Wall” ethos. Organized crime. Elite military units. Academia. Hell, even hacker community websites. Basically, any social group where new members get hazed and/or mistreated until they prove themselves as loyal and valuable members of the group is a breeding ground for people who will fall into the Game without ever questioning it. Not every Ventrue gets recruited out such environments, but then, not every Ventrue can play the Game.

7. Is it true that Ventrue are supernaturally compelled to help one another when asked?

No, they actually do that of their own free will. It’s called the Ethic of Succor (sometimes grudgingly referred to as “the Ethic of Suckers” by Ventrue who have been burned by it), and it is the oldest Ventrue tradition. Basically, if you’re a Ventrue in a Camarilla domain and another Ventrue comes for you and asks for help — asks rather than demands, mind you, with actual humility — you are obligated to help him in any way that does not directly risk Final Death. In fact, sometimes you are expected to risk Final Death when, for example, a fellow Ventrue bangs on your door claiming that a pack of Lupines is after him for some reason. The only limits on this are that you are not required to become an accessory after the fact if the supplicant has committed a crime, and especially not if he’s under a Blood Hunt. But if it hasn’t gotten that far, he can reasonably expect you to help him diffuse a situation that might lead to a Blood Hunt if it hasn’t been called yet.

This includes rival and even enemy Ventrue, although most Ventrue are so proud that Final Death would be preferable to asking for Succor from an enemy. On the other hand, sometimes a Ventrue will ask for succor from her worst enemy within the Clan, a blue blood who might have actively tried to kill her in the past. And not only does he grant Succor, but the two resolve their differences in the process and become allies.

Every Camarilla Ventrue has the Ethic of Succor beaten into her brain before her Presentation. In fact, it’s common for the Presentation to include hypothetical questions from the praetor about what the neonate should do if a fellow Ventrue asks for help under different scenarios. Turn down a reasonable (or even unreasonable) request for aid, and the Ventrue you burned can let the Board and the peers know, and if the general consensus is that you were wrong to have denied her your assistance, you can lose a lot of dignitas. If you refuse to aid a sufficiently important Ventrue, the penalties can be higher. You’re a complete moron if you refuse to help a Ventrue Prince who asks for your aid — blood hunts are not out of the question in such a case. On the other hand, if you ask for Succor from someone much older and more powerful than you, then you owe him or her. Most Ventrue forced to seek Succor try to do so from peers rather than indebt themselves to elders. Lord knows what kind of markers those guys will call in.

That said, you’re not entitled to help from anyone or required to help anyone for frivolous reasons. The supplicant must make a formal request for aid (very formal when an elder is involved), and must explain why he has desperate need of assistance that only you can provide. If the Ventrue whose help is sought finds the need a frivolous one, she can deny it on that basis and let the Board and the peers know that somebody has been crying wolf.

8. What are the other major Ventrue traditions?

Almost as important as the Ethic of Succor is the Ethic of Politesse. Manners are more valuable than gold among Ventrue (especially Ventrue more than a hundred years dead). If you find yourself forced to deal with Camarilla Ventrue on their terms, I highly recommend you buy some books on etiquette and commit them to memory, preferably books on etiquette from the nineteenth century.

Refer to others by title if they have one, by “Mr.,” “Miss,” (or occasionally by “Madam”) if they don’t. Only use “Ms.” if you know that she has modern feminist leanings. You risk embarrassing female Ventrue if you use “Ms.” in front of the wrong elder.

Dress well but conservatively — Edith Head rather than Vivienne Westwood. Ask a Toreador if you don’t know who those people are.

Do not interrupt older Ventrue when they are talking no matter how idiotic their words are. Likewise, do not take offense when an older Ventrue rudely interrupts you. In either case, your peers are perfectly capable of figuring out when someone is a jackass and remembering it for later.

Don’t insult someone over a faux pas she made. Instead, say something genuinely polite that lets her know she screwed up and you know she screwed up and you’re better than she is for not making a thing of it.

Meaningless small talk is more important than you think. Kindred are easily excitable, and small talk puts people at ease.

Always maintain eye contact with the people you’re talking to — elders often take offense when you insinuate that they might Dominate you in a public gathering. Speaking of which, never use Dominate or Presence on another Ventrue is a social situation unless your unlife is in danger.

The Ethic of Control says that you should never display strong emotions in front of others if you can avoid it. Never raise your voice unless the building is actually on fire or under attack. Ironically, a frenzy is more easily forgiven than a normal loss of temper. Every Ventrue knows and understands what the Beast is, but flipping out on a waiter because he spilled wine on you is just gauche. In such situations, be magnanimous. You can always kill him later when no one’s around. Wry chuckles are acceptable; belly laughs are not. And for God’s sake, no matter how much the Toreador’s mean comments hurt your feelings, there’s no crying in front of other Ventrue, unless you’re ready to hear about that moment over and over for decades.

9. Is it true that some elders are actually afraid of devils that run the world?

No, that would be the Malks, I think. Seriously, a small number of very old, very paranoid Ventrue believe in something called the Daevas (also referred to as the Secret Masters). It’s all very sinister and conspiratorial, like if Dan Brown wrote The Book of Nod. The idea is that there is this secret cabal of supernatural beings that have hidden themselves away from the world and everything that has gone wrong ever is their fault! Presumably including fluoridation and the 1960 World Series. The Secret Masters include (depending on who you ask) Caine; Lilith; one, several, or all of the Antediluvians; various and sundry pre-Christian or even prehistoric Methuselahs; the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn; Opus Dei;

Lucifer and all his imps; renegade angels and their Grigori offspring; lizard aliens from Planet Nibiru. Anyway, the old fuckers who believe such idiocies are the least effective members of the Clan, because they’re so afraid of manipulation by Secret Masters that they hide themselves away and never do anything.

And the funny thing is, there really is a secret global conspiracy that rules the entire world. It’s called Clan Ventrue.

Character and Traits

Concepts

Blackmail Victim

You have always prided yourself on your rigid self-control and your impeccable sense of decorum. Your reputation for grace under pressure has made you respected among the peerage. Two months ago, you dropped by one of the newer grad students to join your herd for a quick bite. You had no idea that he’d taken a hit of LSD about twenty minutes before you arrived. You woke up the next evening with no memories of what had happened, some mysterious vandalism to your car, and minor injuries among members of your herd.

A week later, the first photo showed up. None of the Ventrue have hinted as to any knowledge of what happened, and the few Kindred you actually trust to ask about it don’t know anything either. You’re terrified at the thought of more pictures coming. You’re even more terrified about what will happen when the pictures stop coming, and the demands start.

Coward

He came to you in the night, begging for help. A Sabbat pack was after him. He had no clue as to why, but he’d been attacked three times in a week and had barely gotten away. He said the right words to invoke the Ethic of Succor… and you slammed the door in his face and locked it. The thought that he might have actually led the Sabbat right to your door filed you with as much rage as it did terror.

He died two nights later, but not before telling others that you denied him. At the next Board meeting, you were the very first item on the agenda, and you weren’t allowed to stay long enough to find out what was second. You were cast out. Your business ventures systematically ruined. Your haven condemned by the City. Your herd meets mysterious “accidents.” As everything you’ve ever built gets stripped away, you regret not helping him. A quick death would be better than this.

Pledge Master

You were always a bit of a sadist. That’s why your old frat put you in charge of coming up with some entertaining games for the pledges to play for the brothers’ amusement. It was all in good fun. It certainly wasn’t your fault that time one of the frosh choked to death on a live goldfish.

Luckily, your future sire fixed things for you. As it happened, she preferred to feed on members of Greek fraternities and needed someone to look after her herd. Eventually, your loyalty and efficiency earned the Embrace, and you were strangely delighted to learn that you could only feed on victims of hazing. Your sire insists (properly, you agree) that there should be no fatalities, no serious injuries, and no scandals with the administration. Beyond that, it’s anything goes, and you’re having so much damned fun. You don’t even need to use Disciplines most of the time. It is astounding just how far insecure freshmen will go to utterly debase themselves just to get into the right frat.

Rapunzel

You have no idea why your sire picked you. You were a college student, not that good looking, not that smart, not that rich. But for some reason, he picked you and then stuck you in a room on the top floor of a skyscraper. And you don’t get to leave until you get a perfect score on his weekly exams. After three years, your highest score is 65%. He doesn’t get mad though. He just pats you on your head and reassures you. After all, he didn’t get out of his room for almost twenty years before his sire was satisfied. He’s sure you’ll get out in half that time.

Re-Made Man

You spent years climbing the greased poll that was the Mafia. You worked for a local bookie at the age of 11. You started running drugs at 15. You whacked your first guy (a loser who wouldn’t pay his debts) at 19. You were finally “made” at 23. Then, at 25, the Ventrue who really ran the syndicate decided that you had enough potential to join La Familia Morte and take over the operation of his criminal activities. It shouldn’t take you more than twenty years to win your sire’s acceptance and be freed to run the Family your way. Yeah, like you’re seriously planning on waiting that long.

Rebellious Wannabe

You have spent your whole unlife as a Ventrue Anarch. You’ve picked up a few details about the main Clan — enough to make you want to heave. Arrogant, snotty rich frat boy douchebags. You regret the hell out of the fact that your sire picked you to join his Clan instead of introducing you to some Brujah. That’s where it’s at. The freedom to do what you want when you want. Not of that “dignitas” crap, whatever the hell that is. You may not be a real Brujah, but you’ll win their respect somehow. Even if you have to kick all of their asses to do it.

Reluctant Daeva Theorist

You never believed that the Secret Masters were anything more mysterious and sinister than any other vampires.

Then, a respected Ventrue peer showed up at your haven last week babbling like a maniac about the Daeva, and about the Black Shepherd who comes to cull the flock.

Then he laughed and thrust a satchel full of papers into your hands before he… died. No, that’s not quite right. He melted, right in front of you, into a puddle of goo that left a green stain in your carpet that you still can’t get rid of.

The papers were nonsense scribblings in languages you don’t read. But every night since your visitor turned into guacamole, you have been followed every time you leave your haven by mysterious figures who slip away in the shadows when you try to confront them. It’s probably your imagination, but you could swear that they all have three eyes.

Sabbat Crusader

When you were a child, you read stories about the Knights of the Round Table, about honor and chivalry and sacrifice, about noble men and the courage they showed when fighting for what they believed in. When you became a childe, you were honored to have joined a band of modern-day knights who, like you, understand the majesty of an earlier, more dignified era. You are disgusted that the Ventrue once had such a pedigree and they threw it all away for stock options. You understand that your fellow Sabbat cannot truly trust you because of the taint of the Clan from which your line originated. That’s okay. You’ll earn their trust — one dead Camarilla Ventrue at a time.

Secret Tribune

You are an agent for the Ephorate, which would be impressive if you weren’t the only Ventrue in a smaller Midwestern city dominated by Brujah, Gangrel, and Malkavians. You don’t get much in the way of respect — in fact, you’re frequently the butt of jokes and pranks. If only they knew that you made nightly reports to a lictor in the next city over, the one who’s making plans to fix what ails your hometown. After the hammer falls, you’ll be poised to become a major player... provided the Anarch wannabes around here don’t find out what you’re planning and strike first.

Sommelier

Normally, Ventrue are reticent about revealing their feeding restrictions. With you, they make an exception. You are connected, resourceful, and for the right price, you can provide any type of vessel your clients need. You even offer special services — for a little bit extra, you can not only provide an important Ventrue with some “underage Latinas” to feed from, you can even ensure that they’re pumped full of his drug or liquor of choice. Sometimes you feel kind of dirty that you’ve added “pusher” to “pimp” on your resume. When that happens, you console yourself by rolling around in a bed of cash provided by your clients.