The Basics in Blood:
The Sect Defined

–August Strindberg

The Camarilla is many things, but it is not easily defined. Is it the universal organization of Kindred, sheltering them beneath the cloak of the Masquerade? Is it a tool of the Antediluvians, used to keep the vampiric masses docile in preparation for the night of their slaughter? There's no set answer, but everyone initiated into the world of the Kindred has an opinion.

Organization and Definition

The Camarilla is, at best, a loose affiliation of Kindred. There are few laws among the Kindred, only Traditions. There are no policies on immigration or borders, only customs. Indeed, for a sect that places such heavy reliance on tradition and history, the Camarilla has precious few mandated behaviors. Most of those are covered by the Six Traditions; the rest are common sense. Otherwise, the Kindred of the Camarilla act as they please, within the boundaries established by local princes.

Almost all Camarilla vampires are urban. They are social creatures, and few who are not seeking Golconda have the slightest use for solitude. Even the relatively spacious suburbs are too sparsely populated for most Kindred to feel at home, so the vast majority crowd into urban hives. The basic population ratio is one vampire for every 100,000 mortals; in some neighborhoods that can drop by 75 percent, while in others, there are no vampires to be found at all.

The rule of the Camarilla is theoretically the rule of princes. While the sect claims the entire world as its purview, there are regions (the American Northeast, for example, and Central America) wherein the Sabbat holds near-absolute sway. Furthermore, as the Camarilla has no true centralized government, only an Inner Circle that meets infrequently and a roving enforcement squad of justicars, the attitude of the sect toward its territories can best be described as laissez-faire. As long as there aren't obvious problems, each prince is free to run her domain as she sees fit. Clan ties are often stronger than sect ties, and this also makes it difficult to impose central authority on the Camarilla's membership. In truth, though, many elders say in private that the lack of central authority in the Camarilla is a good thing; any attempt to impose more regulation on a bunch of ancient and powerful Kindred would only meet with disaster. As is, the Camarilla rules with a light touch and an eye toward preventing disaster, not creating policy.

Commerce and travel between Camarilla cities is brisk, though the former is usually carried out by mortal catspaws. Travel through Lupine- or Sabbat-infested regions is difficult and unsafe, so many vampires spend centuries at a time in a single metropolis. Those who rove either learn survival skills very quickly or meet Final Death within a few short years. There are no legal restrictions on traveling, other than the Tradition of Hospitality, so those Kindred who dare to wander can do so with equanimity – so long as they are polite.

The Camarilla has no standing military, other than the cadres of justicars, archons and alastors whose work more closely resembles espionage or special ops. Each city is responsible for its own defense, drawing from its own population to guard its borders and territories. Occasionally one city will "lend" support to another, but such maneuvers are rare; too many times the city offering help has found itself under attack immediately after detaching part of its strength to assist a neighbor.

Socially, the Camarilla is an exceedingly polite society. With bloodshed outlawed and carefully watched for, it has to be. Salons, Elysiums, meetings and deal-cutting – all of these are part and parcel of nightly social life for the sect's Kindred. Even the Nosferatu occasionally indulge, climbing out of the sewers to sell secrets or shock the Toreador with their presence. Insults and damning praise, left-handed compliments and shocks to vampiric composure – the art of delivering such is one of the highest to which the Kindred of the Camarilla can aspire.

A Very Brief History

The Kindred of the Camarilla trace their sect's path from its roots in the Renaissance through the birth of the modern democracies in the 18th century to the present night. Though some elders speak longingly of the days before the Masquerade, modern Kindred are most affected by events in the last five centuries. The study of vampiric history is a most curious one; while human history relies on dusty records and shattered relics, in many cases the Kindred witnesses to important events are able and willing to describe those events directly to a modern listener.

While this fact has its benefits (as any mortal historian could tell you), it carries with it the disadvantage of perspective. Vampiric minds, like human ones, unconsciously edit their memories in light of personal wishes and agendas. Elders who misrepresent the past may not be lying about historical events; the Toreador who was on the fence during the French Revolution but who profited from a democratic France is likely to forget the reasons he ever had doubts about the uprising's success. From there it is a short step to forgetting that he had such doubts at all. Human memories can be wildly inaccurate within hours of an event; can it be any wonder that vampires' memories lose their fine edge after a century or two?

Nearly all Kindred, however, agree upon certain historical events and forces. The history of the Camarilla has been shaped by three constant conflicts: the struggle of the elders to retain their power and relevance in the face of younger Kindred fighting for power and respect; the eternal risk of rediscovery by the kine; and the war between the Camarilla and Sabbat. These core conflicts shaped the three most important eras in the history of the Kindred: the formation of the Camarilla, the expansion into the New World, and the modern day.

The Founding

The Camarilla's roots date back to a crucial event in 1381 – revolt by mortal peasants in England against the local nobility. These mortals were aided in this cause by freedom-loving Cainites (the term "Kindred" was not yet in vogue) of many clans. Though the humans' revolt was soon put down, the spark of revolution spread among disenchanted young vampires throughout western Europe. Oppressed childer began attacking one another's sires in a bid for freedom from eternal servitude; opportunistic childer took advantage of a chance to increase their own power through diablerie. Kindred historians will later point to this rebellion – more specifically, to an attack on the Ventrue Hardestadt by the Brujah anarch Tyler – as the true beginning of the Anarch Revolt.

The early 15th century saw a number of setbacks for the elders of Europe. The anarchs, emboldened by Tyler's success, staged a terrifying coup and destroyed the Lasombra Antediluvian. They attacked the Tzimisce Antediluvian as well, and claimed his destruction. The rebels even discovered a means of breaking blood bonds, and coordinated their attacks with Assamites, who were only too happy for the chance to commit diablerie on European elders.

In 1435, Hardestadt called a convocation of elders to deal with the anarch problem. He proposed that a league of vampires be formed to address problems that crossed territorial or clan lines. Though most elders were suspicious of the idea and rejected it, a small group joined Hardestadt. Over the next decade this group pushed the idea of the Camarilla more subtly, in small councils and one-on-one meetings.

By 1450, the Founders of the Camarilla had enough support from European elders that they began to assert their authority, directing cross-clan coteries in attacks on anarch strongholds. At the same time, the Founders encouraged a few coteries to search out the Assamites' hidden fortress of Alamut.

The centralized power of the Camarilla seems to have been the key to the anarchs' defeat. In 1493, leaders of the Anarch Movement acquiesced to the Camarilla's demand for a convention to discuss the terms of the anarchs' surrender. The Convention of Thorns brought most of the anarchs back into the Camarilla proper and arranged for the punishment of Clan Assamite for its role in the fighting. It also saw the Toreador Rafael de Corazon's first public speech demanding the enforcement of the Traditions with the Masquerade. Those anarchs who rejected the terms of the Convention of Thorns fled, later to form the Sabbat.

The New World

Though some elders had heard rumors of a land across the Atlantic Ocean, none were prepared for the impact the opening of the Americas had upon the new society of the Kindred. Though the newly formed Sabbat waged war on the Camarilla in Europe through the 16th century, the New World would become the real chessboard for the war between the sects.

The elders of the Camarilla saw the Americas as a place to send troublesome childer. To the ancillae of the Camarilla, the Americas were a place to carve out a fief without having to wait for the death of one's immortal master. Thus blessed with a rare unity of vision, the Camarilla sent many of its most promising ancillae to the New World. These Kindred staked out their territories in English, Dutch or French colonies, as the Sabbat influenced Spain, Portugal and their transoceanic assets.

This arrangement settled into a sort of stalemate. While Camarilla vampires had interests on both sides of the Thirty Years' War, and may have helped to encourage the French and American Revolutions, there was little movement in the struggle between sects. Allegiances solidified, rhetoric was tossed back and forth, and skirmishes were fought to little effect, but mostly the 17th and 18th centuries were a time of retrenchment and reinforcement for the Camarilla. Burgeoning industrialization moved more and more mortals to the cities and opened new avenues of power; the clans of the Camarilla were more interested in pursuing those than in fighting off war packs.

The War of 1812 between the young United States and the British Empire concealed an all-out war for control of the Atlantic seaboard between the Sabbat and Camarilla. Pincered by Sabbat territory in Quebec and Florida, the American Camarilla lost the East Coast a city at a time over the next 50 years. The Camarilla managed to retain control of a few key cities after the onslaught, but the fighting in the nighttime streets has never truly ended. If truth be told, these nights the Camarilla is losing ground faster than ever.

The next decisive battle between the Sabbat and Camarilla would not occur until the mid 1800s, as the two sects fought for control of the newly opened frontiers. Both saw opportunity in the wide expanses of land, room to grow and entrench themselves so thoroughly as to be impossible to dislodge. The Camarilla came extremely close to losing this (and, according some scholars, America itself), but several sudden losses on the Sabbat side granted the staggered sect a reprieve, allowing them to force the Sabbat's hand back. Some claim to this night that only these losses allowed the Camarilla to maintain itself in America; such claims, however, usually bring chilly silences to the rooms where they are mentioned.

The 20th Century

When empires grow calcified, stuck straining against one another, force applied to precisely the right point can trigger a huge reaction. Mortal revolutions against the old royalty and staid governments combined with new social theory made for a volatile mix that encouraged Sabbat incursions into cities in turmoil and left the Camarilla occasionally scrambling to muster defense.

Numerous forces conspired to take control of Europe during the devastating depression left in the wake of the Great War, but none of the vampiric sects involved were able to exert enough influence to do much more than nudge European society one way or the other before the rise of Adolf Hitler in Germany. Wise Kindred without access to the halls of power in Europe got out of the way and let the kine fight their war. Foolish Kindred tried to direct the tides of battle, and were usually crushed by them.

The postwar boom was good for the United States, and by extension, it was good for the American Kindred. American anarchs had taken advantage of the war's chaos by overthrowing the princes of many West Coast cities; firm action by princes such as Lodin in Chicago quelled the tide of anarch expansion by the late 1960s. Chicago came to prominence as America's First Kindred City soon thereafter. All across the continent, however, the Kindred presence expanded. Cities boomed with waves of immigration and the decline of the rural communities, and more mortals meant more food for the Kindred.

Public fascination with vampires surged in the late ‘80s, providing an unexpected (but not entirely unwelcome) boost to the Masquerade; many mistakes could be written off as misguided mortals trying to be trendy. However, it also meant that when breaches happened, they were more unforgettable and difficult to cover up. New markets and industries became new opportunities for younger Kindred to advance when older vampires blocked the traditional routes to power. The new generations of vampires bore exceedingly thin blood, sometimes such that they could not create progeny, and these tides of youth found themselves searching for routes to the same rights and power as their elders. Still, the ranks of the Camarilla increased, and within those borders proscribed by enemies too strong to dislodge, it prospered.

Today things are changing too quickly for the jaundiced elder eye to follow. The return of Hong Kong to China means the loss of the only Camarilla toehold in East Asia, and rumors abound that the Cathayan vampires may be making a move on the American Pacific Coast. Quiet war rages along the American East Coast, as the Camarilla tries to retake long-contested territory or at least prevent the Sabbat from gaining further ground. Only in Europe do things remain relatively static for the Kindred; the elders there have long since learned how best to keep control no matter the changes to kine society.

The Traditions

The Traditions are the laws of the Kindred, but especially those of the Camarilla. The customs codified in the six Traditions have been in place in some form long before the formation of the sect; some Noddist scholars believe that Caine himself handed them down to his childer. Others dispute this claim, making all sorts of arguments about linguistic structure and the like. In the end, though, it doesn't matter. The Traditions exist, and have the weight of centuries behind them. These six laws are the universal legislation of the Camarilla. All the rest is just commentary and addenda.

All Camarilla neonates are expected to learn and understand the Traditions. Ignorance is no excuse when it comes to a violation of one of these precepts. These laws are absolute; any violation of them is met with swift and severe retribution.

Unless, of course, it isn't – and it is those lapses in enforcement that can make unlife in the Camarilla so interesting.

The First Tradition: The Masquerade

The Masquerade is at the heart of the Camarilla's very existence. The fact that vampires are real must be hidden from mortal eyes. Violations of this Tradition are usually punishable by death, if not worse. Every Camarilla vampire is supposed to be on watch for violations of the Masquerade, and to stop any breach he might come across. Failure to halt a violation of the Masquerade, or to report such to the appropriate authorities, is almost as bad as breaking the Tradition itself; the Camarilla takes the Masquerade very seriously. As a result, sheriffs and their deputies constantly scan the Rack and the barrens for even the slightest errors in upholding the Tradition. While the other laws of the Camarilla are occasionally subject to looser interpretation, the First Tradition remains inviolable.

The Second Tradition: The Domain

The meaning of this Tradition has changed in the modern era. Once Domain meant territory, pure and simple. That was all well and good in nights when the Kindred were scarce and each could claim a city as her own, but things have changed. Now cities host, in extreme cases, up to a hundred Kindred. Modern metropolises have sprawled beyond the capability of any individual vampire to control directly. And so, the meaning of domain has been forced to change to meet the challenges the modern Camarilla faces.

In theory, the prince still holds domain over his entire city. He then has the option of parceling out areas of control – from city blocks to whole neighborhoods or boroughs – to be held by the Kindred of his choice. While the prince still holds ultimate authority, these smaller areas are a combination of fiefdom and controlled hunting preserve for the vampires lucky enough to receive them. Of course, those Kindred are also responsible for enforcing the city's laws within their domains, so domain comes with responsibility as well authority.

The concept of domain, however, is one of the most misunderstood in the Camarilla. Old and powerful vampires often stake out their own claims of domain, and unless the prince is willing to risk war to dislodge them, such claims are often allowed to stand in exchange for token favors. Neonates and anarchs claim their havens and the areas around them as domain, when really they just have squatter's rights. Usually a prince is content to let these petty claims pass and ignore the matter. It's not worth her time and energy, after all, to persecute every piss-ant anarch for misusing the term. So the prince still holds domain over the city, grants lesser domain to trusted servants or potential allies, and accepts claims by those strong enough to hold them or too weak to worry about.

Recently, the concept of domain has undergone something of an alteration. The term used to refer strictly to real estate, but within the past hundred years the word "domain" has been applied to industries as well. Hundreds of Kindred claim local software, steel, heavy manufacturing, export and other businesses as domain, setting themselves up to rule both the physical plants appropriate companies possess and their business dealings as well. A similar concept saw experimentation during the nights of the Italian merchant states, but ultimately failed. Since the beginnings of the ‘90s, the idea has been resurrected and seems to be gaining momentum. Now, an ambitious young Ventrue lobbies the prince for domain over the local software or telecomm industries, not a dozen-block holding on the north side of town. Most elders are content to let the childer chase such ephemera, but a few worry as to what sort of power the younger Kindred are actually accruing for themselves.

The Third Tradition: The Progeny

One of the most difficult problems facing the Camarilla is that of numbers. Vampires beget more vampires, and population control is a far more serious matter than among mortals. Having too many vampires in a city threatens the Masquerade and makes hunting difficult. On the other hand, having too few Kindred leaves the city open to attack. As a result, princes naturally want to know how many Kindred are in their cities, and to whom they putatively owe allegiance. Hence, the rise of the Third Tradition.

In the Camarilla, the right to create progeny is one of the most fiercely sought-after boons a prince can offer. So long as he controls the right to bring mortals into the blood, the prince has a never-ending stream of Kindred currying for his favor. The dispensation to create is one of the most powerful tools a prince has in his arsenal for buying the loyalty of his subjects.

Wise princes enforce the Third Tradition ruthlessly. Strict adherence to the custom means that the prince knows how many Kindred are in his city, who sired them and what clan they belong to. Not only does this give the prince an accurate assessment of the resources available to him, but also gives him a picture of city demographics (and if things are becoming too unbalanced in someone's favor).

In recent years, the Third Tradition has been advanced by some princes to cover the creation of ghouls as well, primarily in America (European princes still see ghouls as not worth worrying about in this fashion). While unofficial tabs have always been kept on precisely how many retainers a given Kindred might have, the Camarilla's increasing reliance on its mortal servants has sparked a more serious interest in ghoul demographics as well. The debate still rages as to whether ghouls can and should be included under the Third Tradition, but in cities where princes choose to do so, the penalties for unauthorized ghoul creation are as great as those for unauthorized Embraces.

The Fourth Tradition: The Accounting

Bringing a mortal into the world of the Camarilla is a tremendous risk. Any neonate has the potential to blunder spectacularly, and thus to bring down the Masquerade. As a result, a new vampire's sire is held responsible for that childe's actions – all of them. Any penalty the childe's behavior earns, the sire faces in full. Older princes in particular take this Tradition seriously, feeling that the Accounting forces young Kindred to take the Embrace seriously and choose their progeny carefully.

A sire is responsible for her childe's actions until such time as the neonate is presented, that is to say, officially introduced to the prince as a fully fledged member of the Kindred community. After that presentation (and assuming the prince accepts the neonate as being worthy of dwelling in his city), the new vampire is treated as an adult in Camarilla society. He is responsible for his own actions, and his sire no longer has to worry about being staked because of his errors.

Because of the risk attendant in siring a childe, some Kindred try to rush the presentation process as much as possible. To counter that ploy, many princes have resorted to giving a sort of oral examination of the neonate, making certain he is well-versed enough to take his place properly in Camarilla society. If the neonate fails, the consequences for both him and his sire are severe; exile is the most common punishment.

In rare cases, a neonate who has been presented to the prince and turned loose proves to be a work in progress. If the neonate's incompetence can be laid at the feet of a sire who didn't train him properly, princely wrath is apt to fall on all the concerned parties.

The Fifth Tradition: Hospitality

Predators are always very polite with one another. Social graces keep them from tearing into one another on sight, and allow them to establish relationships other than kill-or-be-killed. The Fifth Tradition is a perfect example of this sort of social buffering, as it allows Kindred to move in one another's territory without immediately coming into conflict.

At its simplest level, the Fifth Tradition is simply a mandate for all strangers entering a city to present themselves to the prince. The presentation can take many forms, from a simple greeting to a recitation of one's lineage (British and Dutch princes often insist on the latter, much to the annoyance of their visitors, who frequently attempt to insert spurious ancestors into their lineages to see if someone's napping) to a demand for service while in the city. Princes who demand the latter generally don't last long, though it is technically within their rights to do so.

By accepting a vampire who presents himself, a prince grants that Kindred permission to stay, dwell and hunt within his city. By presenting himself, the vampire acknowledges the prince's authority and ensures that he is isn't immediately brought down by a scourge who doesn't know him on sight.

More and more vampires are circumventing or ignoring the Fifth Tradition these nights. Some feel that any sort of mandatory appearance at the prince's behest might be a trap or a sell-out. Others simply don't wish to recognize princely authority in any way, shape or form (elder Kindred – particularly if the prince in question is younger than they – many anarchs and some independents see things thusly). However, by refusing to present herself, a vampire becomes an outlaw, and she moves from the prince's jurisdiction to the sheriff's – or the scourge's.

The Sixth Tradition: Destruction

According to the oldest known readings of this Tradition, the Sixth grants a sire the right to destroy any and all of his progeny. Under the Camarilla's auspices, that right has been usurped by the prince, who now holds the right of life and death over all of his subjects. He cannot exercise that right too cavalierly, lest he risk a coup to deprive him of this power, but through the office of the blood hunt, a prince can sentence any Kindred in his domain to death.

Part and parcel with this princely power is the restriction of that power to the prince, and only the prince. Sires are still allowed to destroy their childer before presentation, but otherwise kin-slaying is strictly outlawed in Camarilla domains. Any Kindred who seek to usurp the prince's privilege and end another vampire's unlife more often than not find themselves on the receiving end of a blood hunt. Even sires attempting to reclaim what was once their birthright find their ancient right denied them; once a neonate has been presented, he is the city's and not the sire's. Creation and destruction are the two most potent weapons in a prince's arsenal, and he guards them jealously.

The Masquerade

The Masquerade is the sine qua non of the Camarilla, the single binding thread that holds the sect's fabric together. In so many words, the Masquerade is the policy of hiding vampiric existence from mortals. Such a drastic policy demands draconian enforcement, meaning that the Camarilla takes no chances with potential breaches of the Masquerade. All it takes is one heartfelt confession from a lovelorn neonate or one interview granted by a vampire desperate for the spotlight to blow the entire matter wide open, so the Camarilla refuses to allow risks. Neonates are instructed in the preservation of the Masquerade from the moment of their Embrace, all vampires are charged with preserving it, and sheriffs and scourges are granted the power to kill in order to preserve it.

Why the Masquerade?

One might think that the Kindred, with manifold supernatural powers at their disposal, would have no need to hide from humanity. Instead, by dint of sheer power, the Kindred should rule, and do so openly. Why should vampires, the ultimate predators, hide from the human kine?

The answer to that question is simple: Because there are an awful lot of human kine out there. The best estimates currently available to the Camarilla peg the human-to-vampire ratio at 100,000 humans for every Kindred. That's a lot of humans, and not many Kindred are up to taking out a hundred thousand mortals if push comes to shove.

As a result, concealment really is the best policy for the Kindred. Initiated in the days when the Inquisition demonstrated a marked talent for flushing out and exterminating vampires, the Masquerade serves to keep humanity ignorant. The resources of the kine are vast, and should they be turned to destroying the Kindred, few vampires would survive the purge. It is infinitely safer for the Kindred to rule from the shadows, to direct subtly rather than rule openly. Otherwise they run the risk of a war with the herds on whom they depend, a war they cannot possibly win.

Methods

There is a basic etiquette that each and every Kindred should follow in order to preserve the Masquerade. In a nutshell, the policy is "No witnesses." Don't flash your fangs or your claws in front of mortals, don't let anyone see you feeding or disposing of a corpse, don't take a clip full of bullets to the gut and then let the gunman get away to sell his story to the tabloids, don't let your vessel live without doing something to conceal his memories of your feeding – in other words, don't be stupid. Remembering these admonitions, however, is harder than one might think, especially for younger Kindred. They tend to get excited or flustered, or to lose control during feeding, and thus make messes. Ancillae and older vampires almost never make accidental breaches of the Masquerade, and when they do so, they take care of their own affairs.

However, slips and accidents do occur. Witnesses do spot feedings and uses of Disciplines, sometimes even reputable witnesses. Fortunately for the Camarilla, the other half of the sect's policy for preservation of the Masquerade has been in place for a very long time.

The sect, in addition to trying to prevent active breaches, also maintains a massive disinformation campaign designed to make mortals think that vampires couldn't possibly be real. Assisted by Polidori, le Fanu and Stoker, the Camarilla has used narratives and images to cement the notion of the vampire in the popular consciousness as a fiction. Every straight-to-video fangfest, every trashy novel with a vampire plunging his fangs into a nubile woman on the cover, every patently absurd "documentary" with investigative fallacies apparent to a child – all of these reinforce the notion that vampirism is just a convenient cultural trope, good for an infinite number of fictional variations but nothing more.

So when the formerly reputable citizen comes screeching to his local news station with videotape he has shot of a vampire feeding at a nightclub, the video is dismissed as a home movie. The puncture wounds left in a young woman by a sloppy feeder are from a "copycat" killer with a "vampiric modus operandi." Blood-drained corpses are the work of Satanic cults – as seen on tabloid television. Western civilization no longer wants to believe. Any mortals who do are mocked as naive or deluded, even in the face of hard evidence left behind by careless Kindred.

And thus is the Masquerade maintained.

Breaches

Regardless of the Camarilla's best efforts, breaches in the Masquerade do occur. When catastrophe strikes, the sect's cleanup efforts are intense and immediate. Kindred with influence in the media lean on their allies and ghouls to kill or bury any incriminating stories. Witnesses have their memories wiped – or simply disappear. Physical evidence is tampered with or stolen; undeveloped film is particularly easy to corrupt. The credibility of anyone coming forward to testify about vampires comes under immediate attack; wise princes have a finger on "expert witnesses" and psychiatrists who can be used to demolish a witness' credibility in minutes. Alternate explanations for incontrovertible evidence – drained corpses being one example – are put forward and pushed by media outlets. In short, everything possible is done to confuse the issue. The efforts of the city's Kindred are bent toward this goal, momentarily unifying them in a desperate defense of the Masquerade. After all, squabbles about who gets to be Ventrue whip won't mean much if a city of 12 million people suddenly transforms itself into a torch-wielding mob.

And the instigators of all of this effort? The poor souls who breached the Masquerade and triggered the entire cover-up? If they are lucky, they'll be staked. If not, things can get ugly. Princes have been known to expose particularly egregious offenders to sunlight, an inch at a time, over a period of months or years. The torments of the Kindred can last a very long time indeed, for those who warrant them.

Who's Who in the Camarilla

The Inner Circle

The Inner Circle is the ideal cabal; it is the unobserved model for the "Secret Masters" so many conspiracy theorists speak of. The Kindred of the Inner Circle are those who pull the strings of the entire sect, creating justicars and casting them down with equal equanimity. No one knows who the vampires of the Inner Circle are, but none can deny that the Inner Circle is the true hub around which the Camarilla revolves.

Once every 13 years, the very eldest elders of the Camarilla's clans meet to discuss the sect's future direction and current business. Other vampires may be brought in to speak, but only the elders may cast their clans' votes. The lesser clans and bloodlines have no represenation here, and the presence of others is at the Circle members' sufferance.

During this time, the members of the cabal appoint justicars (replete with wrangling, threats, bargaining and other such talk), consider and determine the Camarilla's direction for the next 13 years, and rule upon Camarilla-wide issues. Many believe that the members of the Inner Circle continue to correspond through the years, directing the justicars as necessary and meeting if circumstances demand it. None are certain how the members of the Inner Circle achieve their position, except simply by surviving to be a ripe old age and ascending to monstrous power.

Who comprises the Inner Circle manages to remain one of the Camarilla's best-kept secrets. It is known that they are supposedly "the eldest" of their clans, but that definition is open to debate. Some believe that the Inner Circle's composition has changed over the centuries as one clan representative or another met Final Death, went into torpor or simply went missing. Others believe that the members of the Inner Circle serve other factions in their clans' unlives; the Tremere, for example, suspect that a member of their Council of Seven sits with the Inner Circle, but as none have ever tested the theory, it remains speculation. Such secrecy is largely a matter of tradition, but in these nights it has become a matter of grave security. With the assassination of Justicar Petrodon, the vampires of the Inner Circle realize anew that they are the ultimate prize, and take no chances with their unlives.

Few Kindred, even the justicars, quite know what the Inner Circle does with most of its time. Many believe that they remain in touch with the elders of their clans, keeping their fingers on the changes within the rank and file and gathering news from their justicars so that they may consider what needs addressing at the next meeting. Optimistic vampires even believe that the Inner Circle Kindred occasionally teach their younger brethren, choosing one particular vampire as a designated successor against that inevitable night when a chair sits empty at the council table.

Those who have aroused the Inner Circle's great collective anger have usually done so in spectacular fashion, resulting in spectacular punishment. The most impressive punishment that can be leveled against an offender is a place on the Red List, essentially guaranteeing the criminal an eternity-long, Camarilla-wide blood hunt. The Inner Circle may call upon the justicars to add their strength to the hunt, who in turn call upon their many resources to hound an offender to the ends of the earth.

The Justicars

These six mighty vampires are appointed by the Inner Circle to be their eyes, ears, hands and occasionally fists. Appointment is a long, drawn-out (and occasionally drown-out) process as each clan fights to place a strong member in perhaps the most powerful position any Kindred can hold. Too often compromise candidates win out, but occasionally the process achieves its stated goal and a truly deserving, powerful and dedicated vampire ascends to the position of justicar.

Sometimes, compromise candidates are ignored, or the Inner Circle attempts to manipulate them. Either action can backfire; those appointed to the position, even those who weren't expecting it, usually take up the mantle with full seriousness. Those who are ignored may quietly amass resources and allies behind the scenes, while those the Inner Circle attempts to misuse may bite the hands that feed them and proceed to demonstrate their grasp of the power that has been given unto them.

Justicars enjoy immense power over Kindred society and the Camarilla across the board, excepting of course the Inner Circle. They alone have the ultimate power to adjudicate matters involving the Traditions, and do so on a grand level. A justicar may call a conclave at any time, either to make a ruling or with a peer to make joint decisions of sect policy. When one of these powerful vampires makes even a polite request, very few Kindred dare refuse.

Justicars do not only serve as grim judges and agents of the Inner Circle. They encourage the social aspects of conclaves, going so far as to host conclaves so that Camarilla Kindred may meet others of their kind, meetings that might otherwise never occur without the opportunities of conclave. With their power, the justicars can ensure that a insane or despotic prince is removed before he does too much damage to the populace, or turn the tide of battle against the enemies of the Camarilla. A right or wrong word at the proper moment from a justicar can be better coin than gold or status for desperate Kindred.

In the end, though, justicars are regarded with awe and fear. Their wrath is terrible, and their power is immense. No Kindred dares to refuse them, even if it aids in that vampire's own destruction. They stride the Camarilla like colossi, and the shadow they cast is long indeed.

The Archons

Archons are the minions of the justicars, set to act in their names for whatever suits their purposes and needs. As no justicar can be everywhere he might want or need to be, an archon can make certain his presence is felt (if not seen). Archons have been part of the Kindred hierarchy for almost as long there have been justicars, although they were not officially named until sometime in the late 1600s, most likely by the Brujah owing to the Greek origin of the word. Archons are typically chosen from the ranks of ancillae and "young" elders, who show some promise by their maneuvers in the halls of power. The tenures of Kindred appointed to the post last for as long as their employers wish to retain them, and the employer can become the office, not the person occupying the chair. On the other hand, some justicars select entirely new staff upon their appointments. Recently, the new Nosferatu justicar, in a veritable tantrum of paranoia, threw out all of Petrodon's archons, including Horatius Muir, who had served Petrodon since the latter's first appointment. Horatius has not taken the loss very well, and his fellow archons, both in and out of clan, fear that the former archon will seek gruesome revenge for the insult.

Not every archon strides into Elysium with her mission statement in hand and announces herself to be here on justicar business. Justicars often need watchers or other quiet workers in troubled cities, and the best ones simply appear, do their job and leave with as little fanfare as possible. Archons are not as far removed from typical Kindred unlife as their superiors. Most are able to insert themselves into city business without attracting much attention and gain the trust of others, who rarely suspect that their newfound compatriots are so powerful. Occasionally, justicars choose archons more for their particular insights into a subject, their skills or their political savvy, which does not always walk hand in glove with high profile. Princes have been known to object to such moles, but too much protest brings the notice of a justicar who wants to know what a noisy prince might be hiding.

The Prince

Ostenibly, the prince is the Camarilla's voice in the city she rules. In theory more of a magistrate or overseer than an absolute ruler, it the prince who keeps the peace and makes the laws, whatever is necessary to keep the city orderly and safe from incursion. The prince wears many hats, including diplomat, commander in chief, lawmaker, patron of the arts, judge and Tradition-keeper. The position originally began with the strongest vampire in a given region claiming domain over it. Over time, certain privileges and responsibilities became attached to the position, either at the whim of the ruler or the demands of the ruled. The position reached its familiar modern form during the Renaissance. What exactly the princedom will evolve to in the future is the subject of much hushed speculation, but never when the local prince is within earshot.

There are several ways one can become prince of a city. One is to depose the old prince. This insurrection may take the form of anything from a bloodless, elder-supported coup to a full-scale war with the gutters running with blood. If a prince shows himself incapable of maintaining the safety of the city against incursion, he may be forced to abdicate by the rest of the Kindred. Another way is to become seneschal and hope the prince either dies or is forced from office. Of course there are ways to help that sort of thing along, provided one doesn't mind a few risks that could spell Final Death if one is caught. If one is in a small town or a largely rural area with a scattered population, even a young Kindred may name himself prince. Many times, the elders prefer the relative safety of the cities, and find rural areas both dangerous and boring. Those young vampires who choose to brave the small towns occasionally set themselves up in a semi-structured organization, with the "prince" being the one who has the biggest gun or has earned the most respect. Such titles (Prince Garrett of the Finger Lakes Region, or Madame Charlotte, prince of the Seven Sisters Hills) sound more grand than they truly are, and rarely carry weight with the elders of nearby cities.

A prince is owed nothing by her "subjects." Indeed, once they follow the protocol of Tradition, most have plenty of other things to keep busy with. A prince rules only so long as she can enforce order, her subjects are sufficiently frightened of her might and the elders support her. If any of those factors disappears, her reign is at an end. On the other hand, if all's in place, then the Kindred of the city can count on being stuck with their prince for a good long while. The elders ensure that a prince's reign is maintained in the name of stability; turmoil in the streets endangers the Masquerade and risks Final Death.

A prince enjoys a great deal of power, one of the major reasons anyone would ever seek the job in the first place. She often gathers great temporal influence in the mortal world to insure that threats to her can be dealt with effectively; few become inclined to do too much to someone who could have their phone lines "accidentally" cut when a gas line is being dug. She may freely create progeny, while other vampires must seek her permission before siring. She may extend her power over those who enter her domain, and may punish her enemies by calling the blood hunt. Whether the perks outweigh the burden of the job is a nightly debate in the halls of Elysium, but enough Kindred seem to think so that there is a never-ending struggle in every city for ascent to the throne.

The Primogen

The primogen is the assembly of elders in a given city. Each clan usually has at least one representative primogen (the title is used to indicate both singular and plural), in addition to any other elders of the clans who wish to sit in on the meeting. No one seems quite certain when the primogen body came into being, but most Kindred scholars interested in such things point to the councils of elders that have been part of mortal communities for milennia. Wherever the organization came from, the primogen councils continue into the present nights as clan leaders, filling seats of remarkable power. As a result, the primogen are either a prince's greatest allies or his worst enemies.

Ostenibly, the primogen council is meant to be a legislative body, a representation of the opinions of the various clans with regard to the governance of their city. Such an assessment is correct in very few cities. Some primogen councils are missing one or more clans, their elders forbidden by princely edict to take their seats, or because the clans are composed entirely of younger vampires and the elders will not deign to acknowledge the clan's right to representation. Those primogen who are seated in many cities are less like an assembled body and more like an "old vampires' club," a nest of nepotism, favor-trading, threats and treachery. In some cities, particularly those with small Kindred populations, the prince is often the primogen for his clan. In larger cities, this is not so – those involved claim that the prince should be concerned with balanced governance of the city, and that serving as primogen divides his loyalties. Other Kindred point out that having a second clan member serving as primogen would seem to weigh matters in favor of that clan. Not so, reply those asked. Some of the most vicious disagreements between prince and primogen can be between two members of the same clan who happen to disagree on a particular policy.

The primogen can hold a great deal of power, whether or not it is granted them. Made up of elders who love their unlives with nigh-obsessive fervor, primogen councils can squash pretenders to the throne, weak princes and outspoken youth in the name of stability. It is their support that confirms a vampire as prince or sentences him to be food for the worms. If they wish, the primogen may drive a prince from office with their recalcitrance or votes of no confidence, or ensure a prince's long reign with their powerful support. Some primogen councils can become the governing body of a city, with the prince continually engaged in fighting with, cajoling, arguing or threatening them back into line. On the other hand, in cities where the princes are more powerful than most, insane or despotic, the council meets solely at the prince's whim and is often merely a figurehead assembly.

The Whip

Sometimes, even the most organized primogen can be overworked and stretched too thin with demands for his time. Add to this a slow-moving discussion at clan meeting, recalcitrant clan members and general voter lassitude, and the task of primogen can become unmanageable for any lone Kindred. It was for these times that the position of whip was created.

The whip is not an official position within the hierarchy of the Camarilla, but rather a recent phenomenon that seems based almost solely in countries with a democratic legislature. Whips are used in the mortal governments to keep members of a political party informed as to each other's doings, to keep discussions productive and to round up the appropriate members when it is time for voting. In Camarilla cities, a number of clans employ whips for similar purposes. Princedoms within the United Kingdom and United States make the most use of the post.

A primogen may choose not to employ a whip if the situation does not merit it. After all, when the local branch of a clan numbers four, and one is serving as primogen, keeping the rest informed is usually a simple matter. On the other hand, in a large city with eight clan members, a whip can be very useful. Some clans have occasionally pressed their primogen to appoint whips when it became obvious that the primogen was overwhelmed with business. Whip appointments are usually conditional; often the whip is a Kindred who is of some influence within the clan so she will be listened to, but not so much that she potentially overshadows the primogen himself. A whip who begins to outshine his employer is likely to be replaced. Sometimes, a whip position may not be a reward but a warning. Since the whip is required to stay close to the primogen and mind his ways, appointing a troublemaker can be an effective way to put him on the hot seat and channelling his energies into something more constructive (or put him under the spotlight until he inevitably makes a mistake).

Whips in clan meetings serve to goad discussions along by whatever means necessary. This can include filling in details the primogen has inadvertently forgotten, shouting down more vocal clan members to allow the quiet ones a chance to speak up, insulting someone into blurting out his true opinion or throwing out the occasional inflammatory gambit just to get the ball rolling. Whips may also attend to those reclusive clan members who cannot or will not attend clan meetings for reasons of their own.

In some cities, the whip is viewed as the primogen's second, given authority to sit in primogen meetings if his master is absent, or standing at his right hand during the meetings, ostenibly to serve as "stenographer" for the clan. More often, the whip is taking notes on everything else occurring during the meeting that the primogen may not notice while speaking or dealing with the prince, such as clothing worn by the other primogen, gestures and mannerisms, tone of voice and reactions by those not primarily addressed. Such an observant whip can be worth his weight in gold when it comes time to interpret the meaning behind another primogen's uncharacteristic objection.

The Seneschal

In the mortal world, the seneschal was the keeper of the keys in a noble house, the minder of the affairs, the one who always knew what was happening and who was closest to the master's ear. It was the seneschal who was in charge when the master was away, and who took care of the estate in time of disaster. In the vampiric world, the position hasn't changed much from its original inception. The seneschal is chosen to be the prince's personal assistant, the one who knows what's going on at any given moment, and (according to some wags) the one you really have to deal with to get things done. At any time, he may be asked to step into the prince's place if she leaves town on business, abdicates or is slain.

While a prince may wish to have final authority on the choice, a number of primogen councils have fought to ensure a seneschal candidate to their liking is installed. If the prince is seen as weak or is not well-liked, the fight becomes even fiercer. After all, accidents do happen, the primogen insist, and it were best that the next in line is someone worth having to avoid entanglements at such times. Princes insist that the choice is theirs to make, particularly when the seneschal is in such a sensitive position. They point to certain disasters in Kindred history regarding the seneschal, most often the Nuremberg Incident of 1836, when a Sabbat spy managed to achieve the post and the city narrowly avoided being completely overrun after he handed over the secrets he had learned to his cohorts.

For most seneschals, the job can be a completely thankless one. It may be seen as a stepping-stone up the ladder to greater things, but the rewards aren't always commensurate with the tedium and danger. A seneschal can be called on to be a secretary, clearinghouse of information, prince pro tem, advisor, sounding-board, recepient of vitriol, ambassador or point of contact for any new Kindred entering the city. Some princes may have other uses for their seneschals, such as sitting in on certain meetings as the prince's voice when the prince must be absent, or even to deal with certain matters which princes deem not worthy of their attention. For a prince busy with other concerns (such as hunters, Setites or Sabbat), a capable seneschal who can take care of all the nitpicky details of running a city can be a godsend. If the seneschal is incompetent, however, he can be a nightmare. A seneschal unaware of the movements of new Kindred in the city may be in fact inadvertently holding the door for Sabbat troops, or one who has closed down a church on suspicion of harboring hunters may have just alienated the Nosferatu who made use of the place as well.

A number of seneschals have taken advantage of their positions, using them to become often the most well-informed Kindred in the city, even outstripping the harpies. Some, as clearinghouses of information, may selectively edit what their prince does and does not know (on a strictly need- to-know basis, with the seneschal of course deciding who needs to know what). Others may block items on the night's agenda if it suits their purpose, most often when the Kindred bringing the business has offended the seneschal in some way. As the seneschal is frequently closest to the prince's ear, he may inform the prince as he wishes regarding matters of business or policy – lies of omission are a seneschal's stock in trade. If someone is offended with the way the seneschal handles business, the humble vampire may claim that he is merely the prince's voice, and shift the blame upward to an undeserving prince. A wily seneschal with ambition on his mind and a prince burdened with the cares of a large domain can be a lethal combination.

The selection of a seneschal has any number of criteria, varying from prince to prince, and from primogen to primogen. Some prefer tractability over trust, while others see some independence and common sense as ideal qualities. Few primogen have ever permitted a seneschal to be of the same clan as the prince, seeing it as invitation to disaster in the form of clan favoritism.

The Harpy

The harpies are the gossip-mongers, the rumor mills, the status-givers. They are the word in the wrong ear, the ones who can make a vampire's unlife miserable for the sin of wearing an ugly tie or returning an insult. Many of the best (the most observant, the sharpest tongued, the wittiest) harpies are elder age, although not a few talented ancillae hold their own in these halls of hidden power. Neonates are rarely anything more than assistants and apprentices to established harpies, simply because they are too new to the nuances of unlife's etiquette to understand what's happening. A neonate who attempts to ascend to full harpy status too soon finds her betters turning on her mercilessly; most have the ambition verbally flayed right out of them by this treatment. If she's lucky, they'll simply let her embarrass herself.

Harpies are rarely appointed outright. Those with the necessary skills were often part of the elite social scene in life, spending their lives as famous gossips, dilettantes and socialites. As in life, these social butterflies hover where the beautiful people can be found, and simply fall in doing what they did before. They are unimpressed with preening, demonstrate remarkable insight into both vampiric and human nature, and can boast an unerring ability to see through pretense and pose.

A leading harpy may choose to name an assistant or two, particularly in a city with a sizable Kindred population. After all, even the best harpy can hardly hope to keep up with things when there are Elysiums occuring at both the Academy of Fine Arts and at the local Hard Rock Cafe. A major metropolitan city, such as Vienna or London, may contain at least six Kindredwho are considered to be the main harpies, in addition to the 20-plus others who serve as additional eyes, ears and sources of material. In a smaller city, as few as two may hold the position, although the question of who is actually in charge is another matter (which no doubt is fought over incessantly). In smaller towns and rural areas, harpies are often completely dispensed with, but here and there one may find a vampire who presides over the diminished social scene like an undead Hedda Hopper. Most harpies tend to be of "social" clans, such as the Toreador and Ventrue, but not a few elder Brujah or slightly more lucid Malkavians have been known to occupy the seat as well.

Not only concerned with who said what to whom, harpies are also interested in the intricacies of Kindred etiquette. There is a right way to do things and a wrong way to do things, and the harpies make sure things are done right. Someone on the harpies' hit list often finds himself banned from all the premiere social gatherings, and it is not all that difficult to incur this sort of ostracism. Rudeness, crudeness, speaking out of turn, showing disrespect or blatant stupidity – all of these can place a vampire squarely in the harpies' crosshairs.

While some might sneer that the disapproval of a few "old biddies" doesn't mean much in the grand scheme of things, the harpies (and their victims) beg to differ. In an era where the most recent news can be passed nigh instantaneously between harpies along a web of gossip that staggers the imagination, the harpies in one city can assure an offender that he receives a less-than-cordial welcome in any city he visits. It is the harpies who assist with the brokering of and recording of prestation deals. Harpies are often called on to assist their princes when dignitaries visit. In these modern nights, the harpies are busy indeed, dealing with the ramifications of email as a proper method of correspondence, the propriety of requesting an elder to step through a metal detector or the polite way to suggest that a potential disease-carrier hie himself to the lab for testing.

The Keeper of Elysium

The job title is self-descriptive – this Kindred is responsible for everything that occurs in Elysium and usually its environs as well. A Toreador wishing to schedule a recital, a Tremere giving a lecture on medieval alchemy or two Brujah who are hosting a debate regarding current Kindred involvement with the police – all must speak first with the keeper. The keeper may cancel an event at any time, even minutes before it is to begin, on the grounds that it threatens security and the Masquerade. (Whether or not the claim is accurate is irrelevant; the keeper has that authority to use as she sees fit.) Such power, while not as impressive as the scourge's right of destruction, can be used to great effect; the vampire who has spent months puffing himself up over a recital at Elysium only to have it blithely cancelled stands to lose a great deal of status.

Keepers may be of any clan; most are at least of ancillae status, which gives them the pull they need to hire or create sufficient security for Elysium. Contrary to popular thought, the majority of keepers are not Toreador. Such Kindred tend to get distracted from their duties too easily in Elysium's environs.

The job comes with heavy responsibility and very few perks. A keeper is responsible for everything that occurs within Elysium's walls on his watch (and occasionally off it too). While the position is a prestigious appointment, and it can garner a Kindred a great deal of status and recognition, it puts that Kindred under a microscope almost as intense as the prince's. Because the position requires the keeper to interact with mortals on a fairly regular basis, monstrous Kindred (whether in mien or demeanor) are never considered for the job, unless they have some way to disguise themselves. The appointment is also usually a conditional one – the keeper can expect to be scrutinized for the several gatherings regarding his policies on the Masquerade, mortals, security and Elysium in general. The harpies are not kind to a failed keeper, if he's still around to accept their scorn.

On a nightly basis, the keeper must be certain Elysium abides by the major rules regarding the established Traditions and the Masquerade. He may be responsible for stopping weapons at the door, a job he often requests the sheriff perform. On occasion, he may need to play host, circulating among his visitors and making sure things are going smoothly. If the prince requests that refreshments be provided, it's the keeper's job to procure them. When several Kindred want to make use of Elysium to stage some event (such as dancing lessons, a debate or even a music recital), the keeper needs to juggle the social calendar to ensure that everyone gets a turn and that the Brujah's often-noisy debates will not be trampling the Malkavian performance artist's exhibit of silence. If curious mortals peek in the windows, or a hapless mortal security guard wanders into a Kindred gathering by accident, the keeper must see about removing the intruders neatly. If an incident occurs that attracts the wrong kind of mortal attention, the keeper needs to clean it up, and he may call on any necessary resources to do so. Relying on this sort of fiat too often, however, is a good way to draw a prince's ire, and the best keepers are often those who are noticed least.

"As is the keeper, so goes Elysium," is a familiar saying around the halls of power, and it is quite true. A keeper who is continually paranoid about infiltrators runs Elysium with a grip that can approach a stranglehold, and presents gatherings that are reminiscent of a prison yard's rec time. A keeper who has a great interest in the arts may favor salon-style gatherings that welcome any with something to contribute, while one more interested with social interaction would encourage elder-supported meetings suggestive of the Algonquin Round Table.

Of all the positions in a city, this one is the most likely to change hands frequently. The position is very much a political football, kicked back and forth between prince and primogen. Furthermore, the role offers a Kindred tremendous opportunities to fail; sooner or later every keeper manages to offend somebody. A wise keeper knows when to resign; foolish ones hang in until the bitter end. If a vampire plays her cards right, she may hold the position of keeper three or four times within a few decades; talented keepers are often elevated into the role again and again.

The Sheriff

While the sheriff's job description may vary from city to city, his primary function is to be the prince's "enforcer." He generally assists with the "muscle" aspects of ruling, doing everything from hauling offenders into court to keeping order on the streets and occasionally bouncing fools from Elysium. During wartime, the sheriff is often called on to be the war-chief, leading charges and coordinating the martial side of the fight. A sheriff may select deputies to assist him, who often act fully in his authority, but such appointments usually require the prince's approval.

Far and away, the Brujah and the remaining Gangrel provide the most sheriffs, although anyone with something of a martial bent may be selected. Since part of the sheriff's duties include watching for breaches of the Masquerade, a sheriff is also required to show a little brains in addition to brawn. Straight-ahead brawlers are becoming less common; operators who are precise in their applications of force have become the norm.

Keepers of Elysium and sheriffs can be each other's best friends or worst enemies. A keeper who insists on dealing with security herself at Elysium risks stepping on the toes of the sheriff, who believes that such an action indicates to the harpies he's incompetent. A sheriff who muscles into Elysium and conclave security without asking about existing plans may alienate the keeper, depriving him of much-needed support when it comes time to press for tighter security measures (such as heat sensors). On the other hand, when the two offices work hand in hand, particularly during conclaves, they can weave a web that could hold back the sea. Keepers and sheriffs often have a great deal to say regarding the selection of the other, and it is not unknown for a particularly tightly knit pair of Kindred to hold both offices jointly.

The Scourge

Some claim the position of scource is a relic of medieval times, an older form of the sheriff, while others believe that the post was created only within the last decade (with an equally new-minted pedigree). However the scourge came to be, the office is now part of the landscape of many Camarilla cities. From Bern to Portland, scourges take their mandate to scour the borderlands and barrens of the major metropolises. Their targets are fledgling vampires created without permission, anarchs and those thin-blooded mules of the 14th and 15th Generations.

Proceedings regarding the scourge vary from city to city. Some princes grant their scourges the right of destruction to speed the process of purging along, while other princes demand that the scourge bring the night's "catch" to Elysium for judgment. This last comes in light of some recent tales of over-enthusiastic scourges attacking and killing vampires who had followed protocol and were known in the city, but happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The story currently circulating through Elysium describes a feral Gangrel scourge who encountered three Kindred in a derelict building in the barrens of Milwaukee. As he had been given full authority to destroy any Kindred he did not recognize, the scourge made quick work of the trio, who were unable to give much resistance. He brought back trophies of his work, to the consternation of the Tremere primogen, who recognized the personal effects of three recently acknowledged neonates; apparently they had gone looking for a private place to perform a ritual. The prince initially refused to disbar the scourge, but the outrage of the primogen council and the wrath of the united Tremere clan forced him to reconsider.

Not every prince makes use of the scourge – indeed, a number of princes (usually of smaller or less "prestigious" cities) see it as a dangerous and unnecessary office. The legality of the scourge is still under debate in a number of circles, particularly with regard to granting these gendarmes the right of destruction. Many sheriffs see the scourge as chipping away at their power, and as a result they can be the greatest obstacles to a prince or primogen who wishes to introduce the scourge to a city. On the other hand, some sheriffs see the scourge as taking care of a problem that occupies too much of their time when they could be dealing with an infinite number of other matters, such as Sabbat incursions or persistent hunters. A number of vampires, largely those who occupy the barrens on a regular basis and a surprising number of "salon" vampires, also see the scourge as a potential threat; a scourge gone bad or working for the enemy could be deadly, especially if the prince gives the scourge a lot of leeway in her dealings with the thin-blooded.

Scourges in general are not the most popular vampires around. Most are loners, and if they are not initially, the demands of the position soon ensure that they are. Few Kindred are comfortable around the local scourge, and even princes hold their hired exterminators at arm's length. Embittered and isolated, most scourges soon grow disdainful of Kindred company, shunning Elysiums in favor of "work." A few far-sighted Kindred (usually those who have some psychological work in their backgrounds) continually attempt to draw their local scourges into Kindred social life, fearing that without social contact scourges will become automatons, killing machines unable to tell the difference between friend or foe. Such efforts have met with mostly poor results. Some scourges scorn such "do-gooder" attempts as muddling with their thinking, while others find the forced jollity only emphasizes the gulf between them and their fellow Kindred.

The Huddled Masses

Not every Camarilla vampire holds title; far from it, in fact. The vast majority of the sect's members attend to their own business. Some do have ambitions to achieve power within the sect. These vampires pay careful attention to matters political and may spend decades or even centuries plotting their ascents to power. Others avoid the matter entirely, presenting themselves to each prince in turn, then vanishing back down into the sewers or thaumaturgical labs.

The fact of the matter is that each vampire has eternity stretching before him, and he had best find himself something to do before the crushing ennui of the ages drives him mad. Active participation in politics is an option for only some of the Kindred; there are only so many titles to go around, after all, and promotion is a slow and bloody process. That means that the Kindred need to find other interests and outlets, all the while adhering to the Traditions and preserving the Masquerade.

The most common diversion for the Kindred involves dabbling with mortals. This interaction can take many forms, from indulging in the arts (all-vampire bands are surprisingly common) to meddling with corporations. Other Kindred try to resume or assume mortal lives, living among mortals in an attempt to further their agendas or stave off boredom. Most often, though, a vampire who decides to spend his nights interfering with mortals picks a particular field or institution – one often mandated by the prince, who has no interest in seeing her subjects squabble over a particularly juicy industry – and then sets about working with his plaything. Kindred grow protective of their mortal connections, tending them with the same care and passion that a gardener expends on a prized bonsai. It is often not a matter of the vampire actually caring for the specific area he has domain over (though there are exceptions) as it is a question of possession. Such vampires often take a great deal of interest in the night-to-night concerns of their connections, diving into the details as a means of distraction. Sometimes Kindred carry on mortal crusades beyond the grave, but sooner or later those concerns fade. The form of the vendetta remains, but the motivation shifts; sooner or later, the chase is what matters more than the goal. It is not uncommon for vampires who achieve goals they've been pursuing centuries to slip into torpor shortly thereafter; there's nothing left to interest them anymore.

On the other hand, there are those Camarilla vampires who have no interest in dealing with humans. The Masquerade is a convenient excuse to avoid interacting with humanity save at feeding time. These recluses are more interested in matters vampirical: thaumaturgical research, vampiric philosophy or artistic expression, or other endeavors only possible for those with unending lifespans. Like those Kindred who throw themselves into the Masquerade, though, vampires who stick to immortal concerns have an overriding passion for what they do. In the end, what matters is not so much what each Kindred does, but rather that they do so emphatically, to keep them from drifting aimlessly into madness and eternity.