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From: The Bane of Yorkshire
A brush of her fingers moved the platinum blonde hair from her face so the flicker of computer light could shock her colorless world more clearly with blindness. A mix of pleasure and revulsion stung her as she stared at the email's address: her native Yorkshire. Her self-imposed exil had apparently not protected her from enterprising young ghouls who sough out her succor...
From: narwhal@mail.narwhal.uk
To: hecate@olympus.com
Subject: A partial request
Name: Niles Mansfield
Organization: The Narwhal Project
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Dearest Dame Lillian of Yorkshire,
Enclosed is a most humble request for counsel to my son, who seeks to become one of the legions of undead. I can only beg that you dissuade him from such starry-eyed dreams and let him lead a normal life, or close to it. I have served Lord Humphrey, the current prince, as his "ghoul" since I was a lad his age, and the Prince has decided to leave the decision for his embrace to both myself and my him.
With gratitude,
Niles Mansfield, servant to the Yorkshire Prince
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Such audacity, she thought. That one of them should seek my succor after forbidding me hospitality upon my reawakening...the shelter they offered was a servants' stable, and even that had been for a scant few days. She had been most fortunate that she had found one of her stashes of wealth unhoarded, or she might have remained a vagrant. They all had forced the issue, even this ghoul, as if the city has been theirs...
Anger gripped her being for a moment at the thought of these outsiders seizing credit and sovereignty for the city SHE nurtured to maturity...but, alas, she pondered if sending this to her, who might refuse the request, could possibly be a ploy of some sort. Her fingers rapidly trickled over the keys as she transferred her thoughts onto the screen...
To: niles@narwhal.uk
Subject: Re: A partial request
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Dear Mr. Mansfield,
Please convey my regards to your fellows in the York province and inform them of my brimming welfare. The following subject matter reflects my personal views on the subject of undeath.
My becoming was gruesome, indeed. I was embraced at a younger age than most of my clan, you see, due to an error in imbibing upon my illustrious sire's part. As I lay their, in the throes of ecstasy, a peaceful numbness spread through me from bloodloss. Without warning a searing pain flashed down my throat and into my belly, springing me back into corporeal animation. Agonizing alerations crept through me from head to toe, and I looked up at the throbbing neck that fed me. My first reaction was beyond thought or instinct...I seized my sire and refused to release him as I gulped and gulped the disgusting, delicious fluid from his neck, threatening to kill him before I had even completed my transformation. He eventually wrenched me from him and departed angrily, the entire event having transpired as my husband slept.
How can I describe the feeling of being undead? I had always been a diabolical individual, arranging for the torture and death of any who crossed me under the effite guises of law and civilization, so it was no surprise that my mind had developed a Beast as an alter ego. In fact, I seemed to feed my Beast well, though I am told that most Cainites struggled with their Beasts from the very beginning. The Beast, whether you believe it or not, IS you...the things you do when you lose control are actions your darkest imaginings would contrive, and there is no denying it to conjecture. The actions you do are yours to lament for all eternity, and when it comes time for you to lament, you suddenly realize...that part of you is dying. In essence, it becomes a supreme effort to feel the softer emotions, and one must concentrate on them even more than a chess strategy. The immortality your son seems to strive for will change him into a different person, and there is no turning back once the decision is made. No wonder so many fledglings take their own unlives...
Furthermore, you feel perpetually cold, in more ways than one. No longer do you feel a part of humanity or society...not even undead society. The act of belonging, just as with emotion, is a forced one. We tend to gather in numbers these days for safety and the HOPE of friendship rather than the actual feeling. Still, I am pleased to report that I might have discovered "friends" of like caliber within this new domain...only time will tell due to the paranoia of undeath.
The Hunger deserves its own section entirely...it has ripped at my insides, greater than the urges for sex, food, drink, and amusement combined. It is an obsession given corporeal drive, and ignoring it is nigh impossible...even if you wished to, your more Beastly nature would decide otherwise. When you drink, you must make a concerted effort not to drain someone dry, as you always feel the pull to do so. The act of cutting a victim open and drinking what keeps them alive WHILE they are alive is horrifying to humans, but undead are so far immersed in their loss of emotion that they cease understanding, and after time cease wishing to.
The society can be even more terrifying for some, as it is an amorphous assimilation of everyone over time, no matter how much they might try to rebel and resist. There have been anarchs in my day that have completely twisted to traditionalistic elders that scoff at the breaking of traditions. There are generational gaps, doting sires, haughty mentors, and, as said before, the rebellious childe. Age is of no consequence in regards to the likelyhood of becoming one or the other, and rulership can become quite corrupt and biased, just as in the mortal world. Kindred attempt to hoard their meager masses of power and defend it with a bitterness that increases with time. Your reputation both in the clan and in the sect becomes everything. You could, of course, become an Autarkis, which is an outsider that refuses to socialize...but that can be, for some, a fate worse than Final Death.
The Beast within you also reacts with an irrational fear that can grip you for various reasons, usually sunlight and fire. Rotschreck, or Red Terror, is beyond mortal fear...it is an instinct, a loss of control such as that which occurs from emotion or hunger, but this time you hail to the "fight or flee" complex. Freud would be ecstatic, no doubt.
As if these experiences were not tumultuous enough, an ancient war rages in secret amongst the Undead called the Jyhad, in which the progenitors of each clan seek to quell each other for reasons unknown. Some attribute it to the first city...others blame their "favorite" clans...the Malkavians claim their progenitor began it as a practical joke. Regardless, there are disturbing parallels to all actions between each clan that can be personified as the acts of single entities. Whether real or fiction, the fact remains that this ever-present disassociation only strengthens interclan animosity. The Jyhad is said to culminate in a vicious final battle in which the progenitors (note, the same progenitors we fight for) will rise from their tombs and devour all childer. Coincidentally, the time for this intriguing little event should be any moment now, so it could be poetic irony to become immortal only to be destroyed minutes later.
Lastly...the rigors of the centuries. Over time, human genetics plays a cruel joke as you see expressions and aesthetics regurgitated over time, and history deals the same blow in regards to historical events. Nothing seems new anymore, except for technology, which is downright frightening. Adaptation becomes more and more difficult if not impossible, as the ages present prosaic magicks as potent as any Warlocks' incantations. The concept of replay becomes more prevalent, and some individuals go inexorably insane within a century. Creating childer and companions usually results in disaster, as the individual either must be destroyed or abandons you. Good deeds are viewed by others as suspicious, while evil ones are rewarded while despised simultaneously. No one will comprehend any human emotion you try to convey and it will breed mutual resentment among all involved. You find you are forever locked away from Abel's children and have been adopted into Caine's, resulting in the same exile by God that He inflicted upon Caine.
I can only reiterate, in conclusion, that it is a long and lonely road as a vampire. It is merely for the personal experience that one should embark upon this path, and not for any other person. Expect nothing, and steele yourself for the worst personal nightmare imaginable. You will emerge either stronger or not at all. The choice is yours.
Sincerely,
Dame Lillian, Bane of Yorkshire
Lucille Semingsworth, Primogen of Dallas Ventrue