The Rhythm of Immortality:
Tactics and Systems

-Lao Tzu, The Way of Life, Witter Bynner, trans.

There are many observances and customs that are indigenous to the Camarilla, most of which are shrouded in tradition and antiquity. However, the exact procedurals of these customs has gotten a bit foggy at times. Everyone knows that the Embrace is a big deal, but not everyone is as sure as to how one might go about it. There are certainly penalties attached to breaking the Traditions, but how those penalties are enforced or what they might be has been something of a mystery. Below, then, is a discussion of some of the most important traditions and customs of the Camarilla, with attention paid to their details and niceties.

The Embrace

The Embrace is the process of creating new vampires from mortals. It works only on human beings or (exceedingly rarely) creatures so close to human as to pass for them. The right to Embrace new vampires is jealously guarded by the elders of the Camarilla, who fear both overcrowding and the prospect of a sea of hungry neonates seeking elder vitae. Even the details of how the process is accomplished are sometimes hidden from the thin-blooded youth of the Camarilla, creating an ignorance which prevents some accidents but produces gruesome mistakes in other cases.

Obtaining Permission

The Camarilla operates under the Masquerade, a concerted effort to hide the existence of vampires from the mortal world. A logical derivation of that statement is the fact that the more vampires there are, the harder it is to hide them - so it's best for the Masquerade to keep the numbers low. But vampires will be vampires, and one of the basic drives the Kindred have is to Embrace others. As a result, the Camarilla has come up with an ornate procedural for obtaining permission to Embrace. Were those guidelines not followed, the vampiric population would increase exponentially, shattering the Masquerade in the process. While no one actually likes the way the process is currently arranged (the most common gripe being that the Ventrue and Toreador seem to be favored), agreement is more or less universal that it beats the alternative.

A vampire who wants to create progeny needs to go directly to the top, namely, the prince. The prince holds the right of creation and destruction in his city, meaning that he alone has the actual right to create childer. It is within his power, however, to bestow that right temporarily on one of his subjects. This is often done as a reward for exceptional service, such as fending off a Sabbat attack, uncovering an infiltrator or preventing a particularly dangerous breach of the Masquerade. At other times the right of creation is held out as a bribe to potential allies, or a way of juggling the power of the primogen. If the Brujah elder, who sits in opposition to the prince, has a few too many childer, it may behoove His Majesty to grant the right of creation to the as-yet unaligned Nosferatu primogen. Doing so bolsters the Nosferatu's forces and renders him indebted to the prince; all in all, an entirely satisfactory result.

On rare occasions, Kindred trade prestation debts for the right of creation. The right to create a new vampire is never given away cheaply. The vampire petitioning for such a boon must bring a great deal to the table, either incurring tremendous debt to the prince or offering to release the prince from immense obligations he has incurred.

Once the right of creation has been granted (often in a public ceremony at Elysium; more infrequently in private if a prince is quietly supporting an ally or increasing his own brood), it cannot be rescinded. The Kindred who receives this boon has as long as she wishes to exercise it, though most vampires already have someone in mind for the Embrace when they go seeking the boon. Sometimes there is an observation period mandated by the prince, during which approval can be given or denied for a particular candidate for the Embrace. More often than not, however, the vampire with the mandate to create is on her own as regards her choice.

Why Create Childer?

While mortals are driven by biology to perpetuate the species, vampires don't have any such excuse. On a basic level, it doesn't make sense to Embrace mortals. A new vampire is more competition for food, a hindrance during his education and, eventually, a potential rival. Furthermore, within the guidelines for creation established by the Camarilla, Embracing a mortal is expensive. The cost of the right of creation is a valuable boon or the forgiveness of a massive prestation debt; the permission to add to Caine's childer does not come cheap.

With all of these drawbacks, then, why do the vampires of the Camarilla continue to add to their ranks? There are several answers which combine to provide some justification for the act, but none is entirely satisfactory on its own.

First and foremost, the act of creating progeny gives a vampire an automatic ally (should he choose to impose the blood bond). Even in cases where the bond is not employed, odds are that the neonate will walk a long way with his sire before choosing his own path, giving the elder vampire support and someone to watch his back in the murderous intrigues of the Camarilla. Many childer do eventually grow to rival their sires, but that is a process of decades or centuries, and in the meanwhile the benefits of a reasonably loyal ally are incalculable. Some Kindred go so far as to create large broods of childer, bonding them and their childer in turn, but this practice is frowned upon by the rest of the sect; no one wants to see any one vampire build up too much of a personal power base, after all.

Second, creating a childe may be a matter of logistics. Kindred who have had their claws in a particular mortal industry for a hundred years may find that the business has expanded beyond their ability to manipulate effectively. In such cases, an assistant and protŽgŽ is required, and there are times when a ghoul just won't do (for example, if the vampire's control of that business is being actively challenged, or if the business has opened a new division involving technology beyond the Kindred's comprehension). In similar fashion, older vampires sometimes realize that they're behind the times on matters like telecommunications, computers and so on, and Embrace mortals knowledgeable with such subjects to serve as tutors or subordinates. The problem with this practice is that such tech-specific Embracees tend to have a limited shelf life; within a few years of the Embrace their knowledge often becomes outdated, and they, in turn, become expendable.

There are even Embraces out of spite, or to deny an enemy a promising childe. Often one vampire will Embrace another Kindred's favorite mortal, wreaking havoc on long-laid plans and rendering the neonate useless to his former patron. While such maneuvers don't amount to that much in the Jyhad, they still provide pleasant moments of spite for the new sire; what worse punishment is there for an enemy than to see his prized pupil and would-be childe blood bound to someone else? Such Embraces do have their business side, though - by their very nature they disrupt other vampires' best-laid plans nicely.

Some vampires do Embrace mortals for less pragmatic reasons. Toreador in particular have a habit of trying to immortalize mortal beauty through vampirism, though other vampires grumble that they wish the Toreador paid more attention to their childer's personalities and less to their looks. On rare occasions, love does blossom between living and unliving souls; one possible outcome of this sort of romance is for the mortal partner to be Embraced. Such romances usually end unhappily, but that doesn't keep optimists from trying. Occasionally, outstanding mortals (again, the Toreador have made a particular hobby of this) are "rewarded" for their accomplishments with eternal life. Composers, scientists, artists, writers and others of this ilk are thus brought into the fold, willing or no.

And sometimes, just sometimes, a vampire succumbs to the overwhelming loneliness of her condition and Embraces a mortal whom she think might be sympathetic company through the centuries. Such moments of creation are usually pooh-poohed or explained as something else by the embarrassed sire, but they happen more frequently than one might think.

What Goes Wrong

The basics of the Embrace are simple. The would-be sire drains his potential childe of mortal blood, then allows some of his own to pass her lips. If all goes well, the victim soon awakens, ravenously hungry for blood. She has become one of the Kindred.

In real life (or the World of Darkness), though, nothing's that simple. There are complications and mistakes, errors and tragedies that make the process of turning a mortal into a vampire painfully complicated. Some of those problems can be planned for, some can't, and all make the creation of a childe an adventure.

The first, and most obvious complication comes when a mortal, for whatever reason, refuses the Embrace. While not common, this problem does occur, and it leaves the frustrated sire with any number of problems. The local prince may rule that the very attempt is enough to cancel the vampire's right to creation; the vampire is left with nothing to show for having expended his boon. More immediately, there's the question of a drained corpse with vampiric blood in its lips to deal with; police forensic procedure is certainly good enough to draw all sorts of interesting conclusions from that body of evidence. Finally, there's the question of the effect the frustrated Embrace has on the sire denied his progeny. Frenzy is always a possibility, and under the circumstances of a failed Embrace that loss of control might be disastrous for the Masquerade.

On a similar note, there is a small but significant percentage of neonates who suffer permanent psychological damage from the Embrace. The experience of dying and then being reborn through the blood is not a pleasant one, and any number of new vampires have been twisted by it. The observed effects vary, ranging from mild phobias to full-blown dementia. Oddly enough, Malkavian neonates seem largely immune to the mind-warping aspects of the Embrace itself; it is the members of the other clans that need to watch their childer's transitions carefully.

Less pressing, but with longer-term consequences, is the peril of doing too much damage to a potential childe before the Embrace. In theory, the new vampire's sire drains his blood through a single bite. In reality, things can get messy. If the victim resists, or the vampire gets particularly energetic in his feeding, permanent damage can be done to the neonate's cadaver before the Embrace. Unfortunately, this injury can become permanent and be carried across into unlife, resulting in a vampire who is eternally crippled and awakens every night with his wounds freshly reopened. Such an unlucky vampire is unlikely to be well-disposed toward his sire.

Once the new vampire awakens, there is the question of food. New Kindred are inevitably ravenous. This is understandable, as the only blood they have in their systems is that donated by their sires, who are usually loath to give up too much. As such, a neonate surges into her new existence in the midst of a hunger-driven frenzy, and will attack whatever source of blood is handy. A wise sire keeps something (or someone) handy for just such an occasion, but as always there are complications. When an Embrace is a spur-of-the-moment decision, there usually isn't a convenient food supply around, and that means the neonate is frenzying on the streets. On the other hand, particularly malevolent sires may indeed take care with the food they stockpile for their childer - friends, lovers and family members offered up for slaughter make an excellent means for alienating the new vampire from his former existence.

Accidents

It would seem nearly impossible to Embrace someone by accident. After all, the process is a lengthy and involved one; few Kindred are so clumsy as to cut themselves accidentally and then somehow manage to spill that vitae in just the right place. Still, Caitiff come from somewhere, and there are more and more every night.

Most "accidental" Embraces are the products of pity or remorse. The scenario is a common one: Vampire feeds (often while in frenzy), kills his vessel, and, stricken by guilt or sorrow, attempts to make amends by bestowing immortality on his victim. Of course, the sire in these cases usually comes to his senses just as his childe is shuddering her way back to consciousness, and more often than not abandons his charge before she can fully awaken. The error is thus compounded; a ravenous neonate, unaware of the Masquerade, now wanders the streets while her sire cannot educate or protect her. To do so is to admit his violation of the Traditions, which brings with it the risk of destruction. The very laws of the Camarilla prevent it from protecting its wayward children, ironically placing the Masquerade at risk as well.

The vast majority of accidental Embraces are created by young vampires - 12th- or 13th-generation Kindred - or more powerful vampires who have only been under the Blood for a short while. Such inexperienced Kindred are rarely educated properly in the ways of creating progeny, and few take the threatened penalties seriously. As a result, they have an unfortunate habit of screwing up, then abandoning their mistakes to the streets. Such "mistakes" usually find a way to remove themselves from the vampiric community (through the offices of the scourge, if nothing else), but woe betide the sire of the Caitiff whose lineage gets traced. The punishments for unauthorized creation are real and do get levied with stern regularity.

Older and more powerful vampires occasionally create childer by accident as well. Unfair though it may be, such Kindred usually have enough favors tucked away, or are valuable enough allies for a prince to have that they can usually work some sort of deal to avoid the ultimate penalty.

Presentation

One of the most important customs of the modern Camarilla is that of presentation. When a vampire enters a city, she is obligated to present herself to the local prince and request his permission to reside in his domain, even temporarily. While the "permission" is almost always a formality (refusal on the part of a prince is a major event, and can even bring an archon calling to investigate the disruption of usual routine), the procedure itself is one of the backbones of the sect.

The primary purpose that presentation serves is that it allows a prince to see just who is in his city. Information has power, and this way the prince at least has the knowledge of who all of his subjects putatively are. Furthermore, the formal presentation, with its request for permission to remain, clearly reinforces the power dynamic between prince and subject; the process is designed to reinforce the prince's stature.

Conversely, a vampire who refuses to present himself to the prince sets himself up for the attentions of the scourge or sheriff as an interloper. Kindred who avoid the ritual greeting clearly don't want to be identified as being in the city (or are just too damn lazy to present themselves), and as such, probably deserve a visit from the city's law enforcement in any case to keep them in line.

Procedurals

There is every chance that a vampire who is new to a city doesn't know who the prince is or where Elysium might be. (The fact that this ignorance might be remedied by a little research on the part of the character - it's always wise to check out the lay of the land before you travel - isn't worth worrying about.) Vampires who do know where to go and what to do before arriving in a new city generally take care of their obligations right away, presenting themselves to the local prince and, if they're wise, to the elders of their clans as well.

Those vampires who don't know where to go, however, have a slightly trickier process. They must hunt down other Kindred in the city and get the information on where to go and what to do - and do so before the local sheriff zeroes in on them. If the law finds an unpresented vampire, even one who's making a serious effort to learn where Elysium might be, then it can become open season on strangers. The sheriff might take pity on the newcomer and take him to the prince himself, or he might just take the opportunity to beat the hell out of the "criminal" instead.

If the newcomer is lucky and good, she finds out where she needs to go and lays low until the prince's next court at Elysium. At such a time, she makes a beeline for the court, in hopes of getting there without incident or interference from other Kindred (who may be waiting en route, looking for their last chance to pick off "fair game"). Should things go well, she is presented, granted permission to stay in the city, and leaves the prince's presence a resident of that locale. If it goes poorly, she may not get an audience or might be refused permission to stay. In that case, the vampire had best duck for cover or get out of town immediately. She can try again at the next Elysium, but surviving until then may be difficult.

The actual process of presentation is short. The postulant gives her name to the seneschal, who announces her to the prince when the latter's agenda permits. The newcomer is then ushered into the prince's presence and formally presents herself, stating her name and clan and requesting permission to stay (or just visit) in the city. Often the prince asks about her business and lineage, with her answers assiduously taken down by the seneschal for later referencing. After that, if all goes according to plan, the prince recognizes the suitor and turns her loose on his city. From that point on, it's up to the individual vampire to make her way.

Destruction

Deep down, on some atavistic and predatory level, every vampire secretly wants to be the only one in existence. However, acting on this nagging little impulse tends to cause all sorts of problems with the Camarilla social order. As a result, the destruction of other vampires (at least those belonging to the sect) is strictly forbidden, save in the most exceptional and unusual of circumstances.

Within the Sect

Murder of other Camarilla vampires is one of the most severe crimes one of the Kindred can perform. A murderer of fellow vampires can expect to face Final Death in an extraordinarily painful manner if she is caught, both to punish her and to warn others against repeating her mistake. The stated reason for such draconian penalties is that killing a sectmate weakens the Camarilla's defenses against its enemies, which makes perfect sense. Kill a Camarilla vampire and you save the Sabbat the trouble of doing the same. Then again, there are other, unspoken reasons for the prohibition, most of which stem from the elders' fear of being overwhelmed by a tide of younger Kindred. By legislating so heavily against murder and by inculcating a loathing of the act in their childer, the elders work to keep themselves from becoming targets.

Kindred who murder other Camarilla vampires can expect little help from anyone besides their closest friends and allies. Enemies of the victim may offer some token assistance or protection, but most will be content to reap the benefits of the murder while allowing the actual murderer to take the fall. In the meantime, the prince and all his officers swoop down on the offender like avenging angels, making punishment swift, deadly and public. Doing so is a necessity, otherwise the supporters of the victim may decide to take matters into their own hands and trigger a bloodbath. Such a feud can tear a city apart in a matter of nights, making the metropolis easy prey for the Camarilla's enemies.

Outside the Sect

The rules about murder change when the putative victim isn't a member of the Camarilla. Sabbat vampires are fair game almost all of the time; the more dead Sabbat there are, the happier the Camarilla authorities are likely to be. Dealing with the independent clans is a bit trickier. While the Camarilla doesn't necessarily like the Setites, Ravnos, et alia, it does need to avoid alienating them to the extent that they become die-hard enemies. That means treading carefully around the independents, especially as regarding touchy subjects like murder and the like. A Camarilla vampire who decides to rid himself of a pesky Giovanni permanently had best be sure to hide all of the evidence - including the ghost of the deceased - or risk being turned over to those he has wronged as punishment should he be caught. On the other hand, if he's not caught, those in the know about his deed may well offer subtle congratulations, and even raise their estimation of the successful assassin.

Walking the Beat

There are those Kindred whose titles put them in positions where they may well have to kill, and kill repeatedly. Scourges and sheriffs in particular face this situation. Scourges are often licensed to kill (as it were), armed with a mandate to remove a city's surplus population. Abuse of that privilege ("That was your childe, Your Majesty? I'll be hanged if he didn't look just like a Caitiff to me.") can get the scourge on the hit list himself, but most scourges are at least careful about when they overstep their bounds.

Sheriffs face a slightly different problem, as they're more likely to be confronted with kill-or-be-killed situations when observing breaches of the Masquerade or apprehending criminals. In those cases, if the sheriff can at least offer a solid explanation for why he felt it was necessary to bring the hammer down, he usually gets off scot-free. Many princes see paying attention to neonate claims of brutality by a sheriff as giving the rabble too much credence, and are more inclined to trust their appointees than they are to listen to the vampiric masses. So long as a sheriff (or scourge) picks his targets well and doesn't destroy someone with a powerful patron or protector, the odds are that he won't even be interfered with. A wise prince has someone watching both his scourge and his sheriff to keep an eye out for abuses, but both positions come with wide latitude when it comes to eliminating other Kindred.

Blood and Diablerie

The main reason that most vampires get the urge to murder others is blood. Kindred vitae is more potent than that of mortals; it tastes better, is more satisfying and under certain circumstances can temporarily increase the powers of the vampire who drinks it. That's why the practice of murdering for blood is even more severely frowned upon than the practice of murder itself; Kindred who get a taste for the hard stuff run the risk of becoming addicts and turning into serial cannibals.

Worst of all is the practice of diablerie. A diablerist (instantly identifiable by the black threads in his aura) can expect nothing less than Final Death if caught. A policy of benign neglect sometimes applies to the notion of diablerie on outsiders (if nothing else, it's tremendous motivation to get the youngsters hunting Sabbat vampires), but diablerie within the sect is forbidden. That doesn't mean that some Kindred don't try the act or even succeed at it, but they brand themselves with the evidence of the crime and run the risk of prosecution thereafter. A prince who catches a diablerist often makes a tremendous spectacle of the offender's death, which again serves as an object lesson for other Kindred who might have been getting ideas about supplementing their diets.

Night Court

The laws at the heart of Camarilla society are the Traditions. Everything else is variation or elaboration. However, some 4000 years of history and tradition carry their own weight, and when order is called in the courts of the Camarilla, 40 centuries are looking down on the sect's adherents.

Princes are traditionally charged with keeping the law in their cities, and until well into the Renaissance, many princes and warlords did just that. Absolute in their authority, the princes of the Kindred dispensed justice and punishment like King Solomon, or more often Hammurabi and Draco. Over the years, as cities grew larger and princes found themselves with more responsibilities, many princes farmed out some of the tasks of law enforcement to other officers, most often the sheriffs and keepers of Elysium. In these modern nights, sheriffs, keepers and some primogen (usually Ventrue) carry the burden of enforcing the laws that the prince decrees. In the higher echelons, the justicars are responsible for enforcing the laws of the Camarilla over the entire sect, assisted by any archons they choose.

Most Kindred laws specific to a particular city deal with circumstances and situations specific to that city. Such modifications to the Camarilla's basic legal code are meant primarily to keep the Masquerade and the peace (although sometimes there's very little difference between the two). Such laws are usually just variations on the Traditions, as they relate to conditions unique to the city. For example, the First Tradition is considered essentially inviolate, but a prince may further rule on contact between mortals and vampires, such as decreeing that a Kindred may walk among mortals so long as she does nothing that would mark her as unnatural, or that even casual contact between mortals and Kindred (beyond feeding) is out of bounds. In a sprawling city like Houston, the Second Tradition may be interpreted with regard to one's haven and the haven's environs to a one-block radius, while in crowded San Francisco, only the haven applies. In truth, princes have nearly carte blanche when it comes to creating legislation. Most justicars are unlikely to make an issue of examining the minutiae of every city's laws, so long as the Masquerade is enforced and things are otherwise running smoothly. Sheriffs and keepers are expected to be aware of changes in the local legal code and to pick them up without a change or disruption. Primogen are told to inform their clans regarding each law as it is made, and sires are expected to teach their childer.

If the Inner Circle decides to rule on a Tradition's interpretation, it expects that the decree will be obeyed, and it does not need to send around the justicars to make certain. In truth, most princes are too busy running their cities to worry about following the newest proclamation to the letter. Princes commonly do their best to implement the new rulings, but in these days, it's not uncommon to find a city that has chosen to ignore the proclamation due to extenuating circumstances.

Busted!

How exactly does a Kindred get caught in flagrante? Patrolling the streets is not included in a sheriff's job description, and even with a cadre of deputies, there's no way he and his posse can be everywhere. Law enforcement, therefore, often runs largely on tips from other Kindred in various stations. A keeper of Elysium may watch for violations of Elysium or the Masquerade in her purview, while the scourge tracks those violating Tradition and city law in the barrens, and the sheriff's deputies are informed to watch around them at all times. A few times, mortal television cameras or observant ghouls reading the newspaper have caught wind of Kindred law-breakers. A neonate who happens to look up at the right moment and see the crime may go to his primogen or elder with the information (which often results in the elder's taking credit for the tip-off.) The majority of arrests and seizures are based on tips to the sheriff or prince, often complete with set-ups to ensure the proper authorities catch the offender red-handed. When the Kindred in question is considered to be "troublesome" by the prince for whatever reason, the authorities can be inclined to utilize normally untrustworthy sources or even entrapment - anything to get the offender. There is no habeas corpus among the Kindred; the prince's law is absolute and how he chooses to enforce it is his business.

This is not to say that Kindred don't get away with crime - they often do. Those who do know exactly where the prince's purview stops, where they are likely to be unobserved, and what can be done under cover of shadows. They also often know what the sheriff's price is, or failing that, his weaknesses.

What happens to a Kindred caught breaking the law? That can vary greatly according to both the circumstances of the crime and when the errant one gets before the bench.

If the delinquent is lucky, his elder or sire catches him first and deals with him. Publicly, the sire does as much as possible to sweep the incident under the rug or at least soften the blow. A slap on the wrist and the proper hang-dog attitude can go a long way in Elysium. As the sire can be held responsible for his childe's actions, the less people are thinking about a wayward childe's actions, the less people are likely to turn on the sire. The prince will want to make certain that no breach of the Masquerade has been incurred, but is unlikely to make too great an issue of it. Behind closed doors, however, is a completely different scenario. The sire makes very certain that the childe understands what he did wrong, how much the sire did to clean up the mess, and how much the childe will have to do to repair the damage. A plethora of apologies and some groveling contrition is only the first step in the offender's rehabilitation. The sire may also demand that the childe perform certain acts of retribution or "ground" her, allowing her out only to hunt and then only if she is in the sire's company. More severe discipline, often involving physical punishments (such as breaking every bone in the offender's hand every night for a week) or private humiliation, is also common, particularly if the sire in question is well-distanced from his fading Humanity. If the childe treats the matter like a lark and shows no contrition (indeed, if she acts like her only mistake was to be caught), the sire is perfectly within his rights to punish her even more severely.

Trials depend entirely on the whim of the prince and precedent; there is nothing in the Traditions or laws that gives an \accused any sort of rights. A prince may decide to let the accused languish in an oubliette, and none could gainsay his choice. Traditionally, the prince, with the primogen counseling, acts as judge. The clan of the accused may levy for an elder outside the city or even an archon to preside, if the clan carries sufficient clout, the crime is sufficiently serious (anything which might end in Final Death as punishment is deemed sufficiently serious), and enough doubt is engendered regarding the prince's capacity for judgment. The last is a tricky gamble; accusations of incompetence can spiral off into completely separate quarrels, while prejudice is very difficult to prove. Some modern Kindred attempt to call in the "pre-trial publicity" gambit, but these are usually laughed out of Elysium. All offenders are deemed guilty until proven innocent, with the burden of proof on the accused. The guilty one is usually expected to defend herself, unless she or someone in her clan can procure a Kindred willing to act as her advocate. If the prince is not sitting the bench, then she and her keeper of Elysium may be acting as prosecution.

When vampires have the ability to mold the minds of others or create illusions of events, digging out the truth can be difficult. A person on the stand or her defender may request that her aura be examined during questioning, or that her memories be searched for evidence of a block or tampering. If it becomes evident that the accused is telling the truth (as she believes it, regardless of whether or not it is actually true), circumstances demand that she be allowed to have the block examined. Unfortunately, the most skilled at such activities tend to be Tremere and Malkavians, and even the threat of death may not be enough to persuade the accused to allow either clan into her thoughts. Those who search the minds of witnesses are ordered to swear that they will not interfere or tamper with anything else, but there have been incidents where other information was extracted during the investigation or the block being examined was merely tamped down even further and more seamlessly.

A prince may attempt to place an offending elder on trial, but many elders sneer at a prince's authority, refusing to appear in court and sending the sheriff back in several boxes for the temerity of such a demand. In such cases, a prince may appeal to a justicar for assistance, whereupon the justicar determines if the charges merit a conclave. If they do, the justicar calls for a small conclave for the purposes of a trial, usually holding it in the city concerned. Such a meeting is not as widely announced and advertised as a regular conclave, being reserved specifically for trial purposes and not intended for any other business. The elder may choose to have an assistant help her with defense; otherwise, she's on her own. When a prince breaks the law, the matter is considered one for the conclave, no questions asked. Princes are expected to be the bulwarks of the Camarilla in the cities, and one who shows disregard for the law needs to be made a very public example. Those who have broken the Traditions in some widespread, spectacular fashion that affects a region or nation are also placed on trial at conclave. Trials meant for conclaves may be held in reserve to wait for one of the annual ones, or may be called within the city strictly for trial purposes with little other business.

As per the Fourth Tradition, a childe's sire is punished if the childe breaks the law. Most punishments of this sort are usually very public and visible, a firsthand look for the childe at what will happen to her and a visceral reminder of the change in her circumstances. The impetus is on the sire to raise and guide his childe appropriately so this sort of thing doesn't happen. Chances are, if the sire survives his punishment, the childe will learn her lesson if she hasn't already. The sheriff and prince usually handle these breaches within the city.

When on trial, an accused can usually expect to sit quietly (sometimes gagged or Dominated into silence), listen to the accusations thrown at her as fact, and then respond to them as best she may. If she has legal assistance, the lawyer may call witnesses or request that her client's memories be examined for tampering. Some primogen have been known to needle at certain issues on their clanmate's behalf, long enough to plant seeds of doubt in the other primogen's (and sometimes the prince's) minds. A prince may, however, by right of her station, deny the offender any chance to speak and pass sentence at once. Those on trial at a conclave are of sufficiently high station to garner themselves some chance to speak, and they do not waste it. A moving oration has been known to save many a prince from a midnight pyre or the next sunrise, although how she will face her city later is another matter.

Trials can be nightmarish affairs on many levels. For the accused, it means enduring slander, the scorn of peers, having one's memories rifled through, and the real threat of Final Death in as painful a method as possible. Is it any wonder, then, that all the stops are pulled out as things grow more desperate? During this time, the Kindred on the stand learns exactly who her worst enemies and greatest friends are. Clanmates and friends may dig themselves into extraordinary debt through bribing and favor-currying with the prince or primogen body to be allowed to speak on the defendant's behalf, while trying to outbid the enemies who wish to ensure that they do not have the chance to do so. The Kindred's primogen may call upon years of prestation debt to ensure a more reasonable outcome of events. Officers who are clanmates or friends are often torn in several different directions, instructed not to "abuse" their authority by the prince, wanting to help a friend in trouble with information granted by their position, and often having their persistence threatened by higher powers. Not a few Kindred can recall crucial pieces of evidence suddenly going missing due to a prestation debt called in or a witness who "took a trip" down into the sewers at the wrong time.

Paying the Price

Punishments in Kindred society are very public, and meant to drive home a message about the wheels of justice and the Camarilla's willingness to use any means to keep order. Most punishments given by princes and archons can be divided into the social, the physical and the creative; what the sires and clan leaders choose to do privately with their offenders is up to them entirely.

Social punishments are the sort most often inflicted on sires whose unreleased childer have offended, and on those whose crimes are not serious enough to warrant physical punishment. Such crimes include a bad judgment call in dealing with a mortal or another Kindred who was likewise in the wrong, or failing to follow proper etiquette in dealings with other Kindred. The criminal can expect to be called on the carpet in Elysium and embarrassed before all and sundry. The harpies usually strip him of part or all of his reputation, and may even go to work spreading word of his foolishness as punishment. Any city positions he held he must relinquish immediately to his second. He can expect to be left off guests lists for a long while and generally ignored and snubbed, all the while being watched like a hawk for his next such slip. Socially oriented clans, such as Toreador and Ventrue, fear such punishments dreadfully.

Physical punishments call to mind the old methods of marking criminals - cutting off hands, branding, scarring, flogging and the like. These tend to be reserved for anarchs (if those offenders aren't killed outright) and clans like the Brujah, although a prince may choose to levy this sort of penalty against any she chooses. To ensure the visibility of the punishment, the offender may not grow back the missing body part for a specified amount of time, or must return every night to have the brand reapplied, or some such. Those who attempt to dodge their punishments or who ignore them are often subject to the blood hunt, as they've proven themselves to be incorrigibly recalcitrant, and thus not worth saving.

The creative punishments are the ones that make any Kindred with half a brain cringe. This could be anything from giving the offender over the clan he wronged (fatal in the case of Brujah and Tremere, terrifying in the case of Malkavians) to sending him on a Diogenes-like quest. Creative punishments can produce someÉ interesting results. One unruly Brujah, ordered to clean his elder's library and work through a reading list in response to some bad behavior in another's domain, discovered he actually liked reading many of the classics he'd been given, and was last seen attempting to track down Kindred who were mortal contemporaries of Jonathan Swift. Usually, however, "creative punishment" is semantically equivalent to "creative torment;" few princes are as interested in rehabilitation as they are in emphasizing their authority and extracting vengeance.

Those tried at conclave face far more serious punishment in accordance with their crimes. The accused, however, is not without options. She may challenge the ruling by requesting an ordeal, created for her by the justicar. An ordeal may be quite literally any exacting task imagined, mandated with a specific time limit for completion. If the accused does not complete her assigned task to the justicar's satisfaction, she must accept his sentence. Should the crime be considered too heinous to allow the offender an ordeal, she may challenge one of her accusers to ritual combat. Like the ordeals, a trial by combat can include practically any bizarre detail, from blindfolds to forbiddance of weapons or Disciplines. Many times, though, these combats are stacked from the beginning, and the accused sees the option as a way to die on his feet rather than on his knees. (If he gets lucky, he might even get to take out one of the Kindred who screwed him over in the process.)

On the rare occasion that a defendant has bested his accuser, his sentence is usually reduced. The reduction itself is not always great, and most times clemency simply means death instead of exile. Even victory in a trial by combat is not a sure route to escape, however; there are plenty of stories of victorious combatants who were killed anyway because the spectacle of the bloody combat whipped the crowd into frenzy.

The Conclave

The conclave is the greatest event in vampire politics to which every vampire can be privy. It serves as the highest court of Camarilla Kindred, as the legislative body which chooses the Camarilla's direction and considers the sect's place in both mortal and vampire societies, and as a stage on which to reaffirm the principles of the Camarilla. For the elders, it is a salon without peer, an opportunity to meet others of their station, socialize and deal with them without constant interruptions from the "children." For the ancillae and neonates, it is a social scene to meet clanmates and friends, a place to swap gossip and (if one has the courage) to venture into the world of vampire politics on a grand scale. Conclave is also one of the few perks that continues to keep many young vampires from defecting to the anarchs and Sabbat, or simply abandoning the Camarilla altogether, as it is a time when the young may speak directly to the elders and have a chance of being heard, as well as being an opportunity to vote on the direction that the Camarilla takes

Normally, only Camarilla Kindred who hear the call to conclave are welcome to attend; however, some friendly independents are welcomed as well, since the conclave's business can relate to the Kindred as a whole. The announcement of an impending conclave is typically made in Elysium, with the news carried back to absentees via childer and coterie mates. Only a justicar may call for a conclave; with a few notable exceptions (such as the former Gangrel justicar's septennial New Orleans party), they are rare and erratic events. The logistics involved with running one of these gatherings do not make it a thing to be announced on a whim; by the same token, canceling a conclave is only done under the greatest duress. Because so many of the attendees are frequently elders and other potent-blooded luminaries, the location of the gathering is often kept secret for as long as possible, even as the conclave's organizers try to keep in mind the travel times and needs of those who may be coming from a great distance.

Justicars only call conclaves to deal with dire circumstances - individuals or situations that threaten or regard the Camarilla as a whole. The logistics of travel, accommodations and the Masquerade make this a requirement. In addition, a conclave frequently makes rulings regarding the Traditions, taking the opportunity that having such an assembly to discuss issues presents. At the annual conclave of Ô94, the matter of the Internet was discussed with regard to the Masquerade, along with the Second Tradition as it related to Web sites. A number of elders saw an advantage in including the great many attending neonates and ancillae who were more versed in the technology in the discussion; certain of the younger Ventrue acquired tremendous prestige as a result of their performances.

Some conclaves are called as trials of powerful Kindred, to contain destructive quarrels between elder Kindred or to depose corrupt princes, such as the Minneapolis Conclave of 1887 when the despotic Prince Cyril Ximenes was brought to trial for his unrealistic demands regarding the Masquerade and even more outrageous means of enforcing such.

Not all who attend conclave are strictly regarding business, though - many vampires attend conclave in order to meet others of their clan and sect, both for business and pleasure. The hustle and bustle of a conclave with so many vampires in attendance makes it an ideal place to meet contacts for back-room deals, or for groups of elders to gather for meetings that do not look any more suspicious than their usual social soirees.

For young vampires, the conclave is one of the few benefits that Camarilla membership can offer. The opportunities to socialize and network at a conclave can boggle the mind, and for a number of neonates, this becomes their first look at the much greater world to which they belong. Not a few sires bring their childer here to introduce them to more of the clan, perhaps grandsires and great-grandsires, or to give them a firsthand lesson in the political structure of the Camarilla. Young vampires may speak in assembly and voice their opinions, and a well-spoken neonate with a sharp mind can impress potential mentors while buttressing her own sire's reputation. The young ones may vote, and by this believe that they have some small amount of control over their destiny in a society that limits their benefits according to their vampiric age. Most ancillae and elders agree that by these small things (and they are small indeed by comparison to the larger scope of vampiric society) the young ones are kept a little more content, are made less likely to start another Anarch Revolt, and may be carefully guided into becoming the next generations to carry on tradition (and Tradition).

Making Arrangements

For as quickly as they can be called, conclaves can be logistical nightmares for even the most experienced hosts. Few vampires attending rarely have any idea of the scrambling that went on behind the scenes to reach the point wherein the conclave is actually a working event.

Security

When a justicar calls for conclave, he usually publicly announces the location a month before the event proper. Princes and harpies in cities around the nation often have news of the event before it is officially named, but announcing things before the justicar does so rouses righteous ire, both for the breach in protocol and because of the potential for alerting enemies. This is primarily due to concerns regarding Sabbat and anarch attacks - the less time the enemy has to prepare, the less likely they are to mount anything organized enough to succeed. The news of a conclave is typically given first in Elysium and spread along the lines of gossip (of which there are many in any city). Those who might not attend Elysium can still receive the news from friends, clanmates and childer, and only the most isolated Kindred (or demented Malkavians) are unlikely to hear the call. In years when the Sabbat have been excessively active, double bluffs regarding location are not uncommon, but this can be tricky and dangerous for those attendees who miss the latest news (along with the Sabbat packs) and end up walking into a large-scale trap as a result. One such disaster occurred in 1957 when a conclave was called for Rotterdam, then revealed to be taking place in Brussels a little too late and a little too secretly for a collection of visiting American elders. These unfortunate tourists learned too late that the Sabbat in Europe are just as vicious as their American counterparts, and that they don't take well to being tricked.

Some have debated (under the guise of security concerns) changing tradition so that only those invited may attend conclave. This notion has been vetoed as often as it has come up, primarily because tradition demands that any who hear the call may attend (and changing tradition is considered to be slightly easier than stopping Niagara Falls), and secondly because of the concerns over putting out enough invitations. Someone would be forgotten, insults would be perceived, and things would inevitably and rapidly deteriorate from there. Those who support the younger vampires also fear that the conclaves would lose some of their liveliness without the young ones' debating and partying. If nothing else, the parties and clan meetings assure the elders that the "children" are kept constructively busy.

In the modern nights, security at conclaves has become steadily tighter in every way possible. With the Sabbat's attacks becoming more frenzied, and more outside threats to worry about, the Camarilla is naturally concerned about the potential for catastrophe so inherent in having so many potent-blooded elders sitting in one place. Not a few like-minded Kindred have made jokes about this, ranging from "Ground Zero" to "the meat market" to "accident waiting to happen." Such jokes are not spoken too loudly when a city is in conclave. A sheriff in a city neighboring one hosting conclave heard a group of neonates making similar remarks, and decided to take no chances; the group was staked and put in storage until conclave had passed without incident.

The head of security detail is often hand-picked by the justicar who calls for the conclave. The individual thus chosen may be an archon, an elder or the sheriff of the hosting city. She is responsible for making certain that the wrong people don't get in, that those people who are in don't cause trouble and that everything runs safely and without incident from Sabbat, anarchs, Lupines or anyone else. Running security can be one of the most important tasks of conclave, and the justicar chooses carefully, well-aware that the deaths of dozens of high-ranking elders will look bad on even her record. Those who have served previously as security tell stories that border on grim comedies of errors about trying to contain a threat without breaking the Masquerade or alerting those within as to the bubbling crisis.

A chief of security may choose deputies to assist him, usually selecting to have a broad range of skills at his disposal. Multi-talented individuals are more likely to be picked than "one-hit wonders"; a Brujah who can fight decently and who has a good grasp of Kindred society while being an excellent investigator is considered a much better choice than one whose greatest and only talent is hitting things and making them fall down. A wise chief also chooses from several different clans to avoid too much conflict over "persecution." People are more disposed to obey a request from those like them, and a Malkavian can make a clanmate understand that his ravings are attracting too much attention in a way that a Tremere or Gangrel never could. Security chiefs recruit from both their own towns and across their networks of contacts in various cities, dependent on the circumstances of the conclave. If the conclave is strictly for trial purposes in the city, the chief chooses only locals, but a national or international conclave requires a more diverse palette. Many times, security procures the services of a harpy to assist with certain matters of etiquette to ensure that things go quietly.

Security has considerable clout due to the immense danger that surrounds a conclave. They have the right to detain nearly anyone who is causing a disturbance or who is threatening the proceedings. Many justicars grant security license to use deadly force against any enemies of the conclave, which can include anarchs, Sabbat, Lupines, any other supernatural threats and even overly rambunctious young Camarilla Kindred. Security's powers are occasionally stymied by the elders, but if the chief has a legitimate concern and voices it to the hosting justicar, he can expect that the grievance will be addressed and dealt with. Often, the prince loans security the use of certain of his powers, such as contacts in the police force and city administration, to assist during the conclave.

During these nights, younger vampires have brought security up to date from the days when a couple of burly Brujah with swords stood guard at the door with the Tremere reading auras. Discreetly placed metal detectors, heat sensors, infrared cameras and closed-circuit cameras are stock in trade now for any security director worth his salt. While the elders are disturbed by such technological toys, they find it difficult to argue their effectiveness in keeping out weapons and hunters. Some have grumbled that these devices place the elders at the mercy of their younger counterparts, but a few princes have actually told the more paranoid ones to stay home if they don't like the electronics. Such measures have the harpies scrambling to figure out the new ramifications and matters of etiquette, such as the propriety of asking an elder to submit to a wand search after he's set off one of the threshold detectors or where to place certain cameras.

Travel

Vampires traveling to conclave come by literally every means available to them. Those still able to mingle with mortal society may fly in coach class, take trains, book passage on ocean liners (a frequent means of travel for European elders who have never quite adjusted to planes), drive or even hitchhike on occasion. Packs of Brujah and Gangrel arriving on motorcycles can make the highways look like biker conventions, while well-preserved vintage autos and limousines ferry Ventrue and Toreador. Malkavians may carjack their transportation, Dominate unfortunate mortals into hauling them, or simply take Greyhound buses (which offer the added bonus of allowing them to frighten their fellow passengers).

Those with special travel needs (such as largely inhuman Kindred, monstrous Gangrel, some Nosferatu) need to plan a little more thoroughly. Many Gangrel choose to travel in mist or animal form to spare themselves the worry about commingling with mortals. Nosferatu and other Kindred who cannot travel by conventional means arrange to have themselves shipped to their destination and having retainers meet their boxes at the docks to prevent any accidental openings. A keeper of Elysium in a conclave city can find herself signing for a great many large packages during the nights just prior to the first meetings.

Retainers can be invaluable during travel, always a difficult proposition at best and often more so during a conclave. A ghoul can see to securing ground transportation after a flight, or lead her morning-groggy companion out of the sun while ushering her to a limo or taxi. Other ghouls pack their masters into boxes to be shipped and meet them on the loading docks. Competent ghouled limo drivers are worth their weight in gold, while a single mortal or ghouled companion who can take daylight shifts of driving can be invaluable for those who need to use less luxurious means of travel.

Accomodations

The amount of time a city has to prepare for conclave varies according to the kind of event planned. A small conclave called for a trial or regarding a single city is usually announced only a month or so in advance. Since the event is concerned with a smaller audience, it needs less preparation. On the other hand, a regional, national or international conclave that is intended as one of the annual events is usually announced to the public approximately three to four months before the conclave's opening date. A select few in the city, however, have most likely learned the date at least six months before. Some even claim that annual conclave sites are chosen a full three years in advance to allow the prince time to have new hotels built and ensure that there are no conflicting mortal events on the calendar. The hosts of annual conclaves usually inform the prince themselves via formal letter, which requires an equally formal reply. Smaller events receive notice via an archon's visit, which heralds the justicar's arrival. It is an honor for a prince's city to be chosen for conclave, as it reflects the prince's work in keeping the peace and defending against enemies like the Sabbat. Cities under siege or at war are too busy with other concerns to host a conclave, besides being terribly unsafe.

It might seem ideal to host conclave in a city already bustling with other mortal events. After all, the feeding supply is ample, there are enough strangers in town that suspicions cannot be roused by a few more, and another event in an busy town won't attract the attention of hunters or other enemies. However, in a town cramped for living space, such quarters can rapidly become too close. A city's resources become strained to the limit, and the prince of the hosting city is the one who feels the pinch later. Should a mortal visitor or two go missing, the hosting city's tourism and commerce suffers. If one is looking for protective camouflage, a careful balance must be struck between too many mortals and not enough.

A prince who's just been informed that his city is about play host to the world promptly goes into a flurry of activity. Hotels are evaluated for such things as defensibility, staff and room quality with regard to lightproofing (as well as pliability of staff). On occasion, those with influence in the chamber of commerce and tourism industries are requested to have new hotels built. The problem of feeding so many vampires is scrutinized, particularly with consideration of the number of Kindred entering the city and straining resources. Current safety and security are put under the microscope, with troublemakers either put on ice or bribed to stay out of the way. Much in the same way that a city's chamber of commerce puts together a sheet for mortal conventioneers, so does the prince's staff (the keeper of Elysium and sheriff) inform the prince of the city's resources so that he may inform the justicar.

It is rare, but some cities do refuse the honor of hosting conclave. The concern most often cited is sheer numbers. If the city cannot safely support so many visiting vampires' feeding habits without risking the Masquerade, the justicars - who are the bastions of the Traditions - often accept the explanation. Lupine and Sabbat incursions or otherwise compromised security is another troubling matter. If a justicar believes that the prince is refusing on the grounds that there is some potentially dangerous (and illegal) business afoot, however, he may choose to investigate the refusal personally. If the excuses of Lupines and feeding problems show themselves to be without substance, the justicar may then rephrase his request as a command. After all, nothing is out of order for hosting a conclave - why should the prince continue to balk? The prince now has the unpleasant choice of either refusing the command (and thus putting himself and his city hard under suspicion) or allowing the conclave to take place, swallowing whatever happens and finding new living arrangements afterward.

Robert's Rules of Order

Conclave follows a very specific order, based on ancient judicial and monarchical court systems, with Greek democracy, modern developments and vampiric tradition grafted onto the existing frame. The result is a somewhat staid and slow, but effective, administration in action. Those who were members of legislative bodies in life often claim that they feel quite at home in the midst of conclave. As a general rule, vampires are reminded that conclave is to be treated like Elysium, with all the privileges and responsibilities therein.

Seating is traditionally based on age, with the gathered harpies assigned to monitor the proceedings. Clans, especially the Nosferatu and Gangrel, find strength in numbers and arrange themselves as a clan, grabbing a block of seats and filling as members arrive. The youngest vampires are seated in the "cheap seats," which usually have a terrible view of proceedings and make it difficult for the neonates to be seen and heard (which is how many elders claim they like it). Coteries do their best to stay together, but one that has mixed ages may find itself being broken up due to the age-related seating. The only time a younger vampire may be seated with an older one is if she is being escorted by an elder or is herself a particularly noteworthy ancillae, and then she had better be on her best behavior. Neonates and ancillae fill in the "second tier" seating, and a younger vampire is expected to give way to an older one if a seat is in contention. Fighting over a chair is not viewed with humor, and the disagreeing parties are likely to be barred from the session for such bad behavior. Guests - such as ancillae and neonates making presentations - are usually seated near the elders, but not too closely, lest someone take offense. Elders and archons typically sit in front with the best view of the proceedings. The hosting justicar and any others of his standing usually face the assembly, seated and perhaps behind a long table. Ghouls are almost never permitted in during assembly, and never during a trial except for reasons of security or testimony.

For a young vampire, entering conclave session without an experienced guide can be a nerve-wracking experience. Sitting in the section reserved for the elders can be potentially fatal if a touchy elder takes great offense at the mistake, while the harpies watch and make catty comments without offering much help. Most often, a lone vampire who wishes to ensure she makes no howling gaffes watches others seat themselves first and follows their example, taking note of any sidelong looks or facial expressions to gauge her progress. Certainly, any blunders made come back to haunt the young one later in the form of harpy barbs, or perhaps in unwelcome attention from elders in and out of clan.

Mistakes in seating and sundry other etiquette sound like trivial offenses, and not a few ancillae and neonates find the matter utterly ridiculous in relation to the business of conclave itself. Others point out that the conclave and Elysium are events in Kindred society that have true pedigrees, and that these procedures carry the weight of tradition with them. As Elysium has so mutated over the years until it is only somewhat recognizable as a descendant of its original form, there is a sense that at least the conclave must be preserved as closely as possible to its old form. Not a few elders impress on their childer and grandchilder that a conclave is truly like living history. When one considers that a vampire might meet his ancestral line up to the clan's founders, debate in session or clan meetings with brethren Embraced before his mortal great-grandparents were born, or encounter luminaries from history, the notion gains credibility.

The hosting justicar opens proceedings and addresses the assembly, informing them of the business at hand and what must be accomplished at conclave. Any vampires who wish to speak may do so, provided that at least two other members of the assembly support them. This is perhaps the strongest reason for clans and coteries to sit together, as it provides any would-be speaker with supporters at hand; on the other hand, it can easily become a monumental embarrassment if no one chooses to recognize the speaker (and harpies do note those elders and ancillae who have been so snubbed by their peers; neonates so embarrassed are usually let off lightly with just the experience itself as their punishment). That even young vampires may address the conclave (if they have the courage and support to do so) is something that many Camarilla advocates have fought fang and talon to keep; the perks for the young ones are few enough, and those elders who think to take such away from the "children" may risk those children turning their backs on the Camarilla and siding with the anarchs or Sabbat.

Speakers are expected to talk in a reasonable tone and not interrupt one another. An elder may occasionally override a young one, though, and few argue the matter. Arguments may become passionate, but violence is not tolerated. When fisticuffs (or worse) break out, the head of security himself usually arrives to escort the combatants outside or to the brig and waiting stakes. If someone takes passionate offense to a speaker's remarks and the argument is not a productive rebuttal, the two are requested to table any arguments for later or remove themselves from proceedings. Occasionally duels have been fought between Kindred whose disagreements started in conclave session.

Disruptions are not looked on kindly. When the doors to the chambers are closed and business gets underway, the security chief usually finds a good seat that allows him to monitor the entirety of the proceedings. At the first signs of a scuffle, argument or other potential interruption, the chief immediately inserts himself into the matter to ensure that things are either cooled down without incident or the combatants are shown the way to the door. Hecklers are another matter. A heckler who is annoying everyone in general is bounced without mercy, while a heckler who is playing Devil's Advocate is usually requested (with icy politeness) to make his opinions on the floor. Such people either shut up immediately or accept the challenge and are promptly set up to fall on their faces. Those with merit to their arguments who impress the right people and survive their abrupt call to debate get off lightly for disrupting things and a guarantee that they will be watched in the future by a number of factions; a particularly quick-witted heckler can even gain status through his grandstanding.

Voting on issues is a simple matter - each member of the assembly gets one vote. Voting may be accomplished either by raising one's hand at the right time or marking one's vote on a sheet of paper and placing it in a ballot box. This is another of the perks frequently proffered to the young, one which wise leaders do not try to take away. For all the powerlessness that may plague them otherwise, the youth receive (or believe they receive) some measure of control in shaping their futures, which is one of the surest ways to entice anyone. Most of the elders, however, are well-aware that for every neonate or ancilla who votes as she chooses, there are a dozen who are voting to further an agenda, curry favor or save their skins; in fact, most of the elders present are probably watching certain pawns to ensure they follow previously laid plans and vote as they have been instructed.

A conclave called for purposes of trial or a single matter is usually accomplished relatively swiftly and dispersed without too much fanfare. What the attendees do out of chambers is largely up to their own devices. Those conclaves called as annual events or to discuss multiple matters take time to work through a docket of business, then may open the floor for any matters that Kindred may wish to address. Not a few Kindred take this time to bring up problems in their cities and regions that have stymied them, such as abusive elders, growing interference from Setites or Giovanni, or mortals who are proving too powerful and visible for just one city to deal with. Speaking may then be limited by the hosting justicars based on the matter. A call to force a destructive or powerful prince's abdication may result in a request that those who dwell in the prince's city first discuss the matter in chambers, while a prince who is requesting assistance in dealing with particularly troublesome enemies may receive a bevy of interested responses from old and young alike.

Conclaves as Trials

A conclave called for the purposes of a trial is focused sharply on the business at hand, and the justicar presiding allows nothing to interrupt that business. Such is far less about granting the accused a speedy trial and more about getting things done and over with, as such trials can gobble up a great deal of a justicar's valuable time. Because of the problems with security and the time involved, a justicar who finds out his time has been wasted by a frivolous charge can be extremely harsh in his dealings with the accusers; most times they are punished severely, occasionally with Final Death if the justicar is angry enough.

There is nothing in the Traditions body of law that grants a Kindred the right to a trial. Likewise, when trials are permitted, there is nothing particularly modern about the forms. The defendant is automatically assumed to be guilty, and the burden of proof rests with her and any legal defense she is permitted. Only after the charges have all been presented may she begin the arduous task of proving her innocence. In truth, many conclave trials end up being show trials for the Camarilla's mighty fist of justice. Those on trial at conclaves are most often abusive, despotic princes and elders, or Camarilla traitors whose guilt has been conclusively proven in the field. A trial where there is actually doubt in the minds of attendees regarding guilt of the accused is a rare and exciting event.

During a trial, any who have something to contribute to the matter at hand, who have support from at least one other person, and who have sufficient courage may speak up either for or against the defendant. Of course, supporting an unpopular defendant is a risky business, and those who do are usually well-aware of the need to seek out other living arrangements in the event that the defendant is found guilty. It has been known to happen that someone with particularly damning evidence in a case may step up to speak, but certain powers-that-be (such as a prince, powerful elders or a concerted clan's efforts) threaten any who would support her. The justicars frown on witness intimidation, and if they believe that a witness is being threatened, they will stand for her support to speak and may even offer her protection. Such protection, however, is usually only good for as long as the justicars and their agents are in a city, and tends to be conveniently forgotten once the justicars have left.

Trials involving ritual combat or ordeals are frequently very ritualistic, very flashy in a somber manner and very much focused on finding a suitable fate for the accused. Those accused who have chosen to challenge a court's ruling are either desperate or too angry to care, and they will drag as much as they can out of the spectacle. Sometimes, the best they can hope for is a spectacular death that leaves many questions in the minds of its viewers.

The Lextalionis

Kindred existence is marked with blood, and so is the punishment for breaking the laws of that existence. Most Kindred scholars can date the Lextalonis to the time of Caine, as it follows the Old Testament precept of "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth." It may well be that this is the only certain pronouncement of Caine's that continues to survive into the modern age without becoming corrupted by time. Among the youth and less tradition-minded of the Kindred, the practice is called the blood hunt.

The Lextalonis is tied directly into the Sixth Tradition, and probably has been since its inception. The Sixth Tradition orders that only the eldest shall call the blood hunt, with "eldest" being taken to refer to the prince. While there may be other elders in the city who might attempt to call a hunt, they have neither the right nor the authority to do so. The calling of the hunt remains a prince's purview, and a prince is perfectly within her rights to punish one who would usurp her Tradition-given right. Any Kindred foolish enough to follow an overly presumptuous elder's call are often subjected to the same punishment they would have inflicted on another, although rare exceptions have been made for neonates and childer who have never been taught otherwise.

The blood hunt may be called for numerous crimes, including:

• Kin-slaying;
• Diablerie;
• Wide-scale breach of the Masquerade or continuous offenses regarding such;
• Invasion of domain that has resulted in kin-slaying or breaches of the Masquerade;
• Any behavior deemed a sufficient threat to the safety of the Masquerade and the Kindred of the city.

The hunt is formally declared in Elysium, with primogen and those present expected to carry news of the declaration back to their clanmates, or at least to pass it along the so-called barking chain. All who hear the call must participate at least nominally in the hunt, even if they find the activity distasteful or wrong. Fortunately for those who might object to a hunt, in these fallen times "participating" can mean simply staying out of the pursuers' way and not interfering with their business. Some Kindred find the hunt exhilarating in the same way as they might once have enjoyed a fox-hunt, reveling in the thrill of the chase and bringing the quarry to ground. There are few greater excitements than predators hunting predators, according to these eager hunters, and every city seems to have one or two Kindred who place themselves at the forefront of the hunting pack. Such excessive enthusiasm is looked on with some trepidation by a few elders. After all, over-excitement during the chaos of a blood hunt seems to some to be an open invitation to a figurative tiger pit. You never know who might "accidentally" be killed along with, or instead of, the actual quarry.

Aiding and abetting the quarry of a blood hunt is dangerous, and often a sure means of becoming the next to be hunted. As a result, calling a hunt is an excellent way of separating the quarry from her allies and supporters; they can but watch or risk becoming hunted themselves. This can be a dangerous card for a prince to play, however. Too blatant a use of the hunt as a tool for excising political rivals or isolating dangerous opponents tends to get the local citizenry thinking about replacing the one calling the hunts.

For the most serious of crimes (such as aiding the Sabbat or deliberately and repeatedly violating the Masquerade), the prince has the option of declaring that every Kindred in the city must take active part in the hunt or risk being declared accomplices of the quarry. Particularly paranoid princes make mandatory active participation a condition of all of their hunts, but again, abuse of this perogative is taken as proof of unsatisfactory leadership by many Kindred.

The blood hunt is not called lightly, although the last decade has seen a significant upturn in its use. Any prince calling the hunt does so with full knowledge that the Camarilla may examine her judgment of the situation in conclave. Such a threat has been enough to keep a prince from calling a hunt if her motives are even the slightest bit questionable. If the conclave determines that the prince has called a hunt without cause, she usually suffers a profound loss of status among her peers, and may well be saddled with an archon "observer" to keep her on the straight and narrow. If too many hunts are being called in a city, a justicar may choose to call for a conclave and have the offending prince deposed, assuming the angry residents don't remove her themselves first.

It has happened that new evidence comes to light during the conclave, evidence which clears the hunted one of wrongdoing. Too often, though, the acquittal comes after the fact, and tradition demands that once the hunt has been called, it cannot be stopped. In such circumstances, the prince or conclave may suggest that certain measures be taken in reparation; while no one may make an outright attempt to call the hunt off, the pursuit of the quarry may become rather less vigorous as a result of a conclave's findings. The hunted may also find himself receiving surreptitious aid from clanmates and friends; a guard may "casually" look the other way at just the right moment, or a convenient window may be left serendipitously open to facilitate escape.

On occasion, the blood hunt is used as a means of enforcing exile, of literally hounding someone out of the city. Such an option is extended by some princes who must exile a Kindred in response to an outraged populace or when the accused's crime does not warrant a death penalty but still demands punishment. The hunted may then flee and seek a new haven in another city, but she does so knowing that she may never return home. No matter who rules after this prince, the blood hunt remains in effect until her Final Death. The names of those exiled are often kept by sheriffs and keepers of Elysium, and are marked in the annals of city histories by those who style themselves lore-keepers.

The Misbegotten Hunt

It has happened that a prince has called a blood hunt that either outrages the populace so thoroughly that they refuse to attend, regardless of any threat levied, or that the elders unite against the prince and inform the populace that any who stand with him are the next targets. In either case, the situation means blood in the streets. If the populace as a whole refuses to support the prince on a blood hunt, his reign is ended then and there. Chances are very good that the justicars have had their eyes on him already, and even if he is found not guilty at conclave, the Kindred of the city have already demonstrated they have no respect for him. They will not follow him if he returns; his reign as an effective leader is over. The prince may try to maintain his hold through force, but such efforts are doomed to failure. In such situations it is more than likely that he instead falls prey to a hunt declared by his successor - who may already be styling himself prince.

If the elders alone stand in the way of a hunt, things become considerably more tricky. In the best of all situations, a conclave may be ordered to sort out the chaos, with the hunt on hold until the matter is resolved. However, rarely does common sense thus prevail because rarely is the blood hunt itself the real issue in these instances. Perhaps a particularly powerful elder has chosen to square off with the prince, and she is using the contested blood hunt as a touch-point. Then again, it could be that the primogen council is forcing the populace to stand down in an effort to further their agenda against the prince. Such political machinations muddy the waters of the Camarilla's justice system considerably, and often the actual merits of the case are lost in the confusion. At such times, the accused generally takes advantage of the chaos to absent herself from the city and watch the sorting-out process from a safe distance.

Miscarriages of Justice

The Camarilla's justice is a rough and simple thing, but that doesn't prevent it from being subverted left, right and center. The process of the blood hunt, from inception to execution, provides innumerable opportunities for misconduct, and cunning Kindred have taken advantage of all of them.

The first place things can go wrong, of course, is the actual declaration of the hunt. It is sufficiently easy to frame a vampire for a breach of the Masquerade or some other heinous crime, particularly when powers like Dominate come into play. More than one prince has been tricked into issuing a blood hunt on a perfectly innocent Kindred on the basis of spurious or forged evidence. Real masters of the art of inciting blood hunts can turn a prince's edict on his allies and childer, tricking him into removing his own supporters one by one. A prince tricked repeatedly in this fashion rapidly beomes an ex-prince, or more often, a pile of ashes.

Two can play at that game, however, and for every prince tricked into calling a hunt on an innocent, there's another who set out to call a spurious hunt deliberately. Such hunts are called to eliminate rivals, demonstrate princely power or just exercise a prince's sadistic tendencies. They also tend to keep the population jumpy, for while such behavior tends to destabilize a prince's reign, no one wants to be martyred while waiting for the prince to be deposed.

Both hunters and hunted can take advantage of the hunt in unscrupulous ways as well. One of the hardest parts of any blood hunt is the preservation of the Masquerade during the chase. Quarries, particularly those being hunted for breaches of that Tradition, often rip the Masquerade wide open during their flight. Such behavior distances them from their pursuers, who are mandated (even in the grip of the hunt) to preserve the Masquerade first and foremost. Other targets of a hunt deliberately lead the chase across their enemies' domains, merrily causing their pursuers to trample everything underfoot. Particularly vengeful targets of a blood hunt attempt to turn the tables on the hunters, ambushing and destroying as many pursuers as possible. A vampire who is successful at taking out two or three of those theoretically hunting him can cause an entire hunt to bog down in paranoia and chaos. A hunt that's collectively jumping at shadows isn't likely to provide effective pursuit.

On the other hand, participants in a blood hunt can play dirty pool as well. Accidents happen, and hunts wherein more than just the quarry goes down beneath the hunters' fangs are common. Many of the most eager hunters love to use the hunt as an opportunity to settle scores, take out rivals or even indulge in unauthorized diablerie. The pursuit of a hunted vampire also provides plenty of chances to plant evidence, frame rivals or "accidentally" sneak peeks at rivals' domains under the guise of searching for the guilty party.

Diablerie on the Hunt

On occasions of the blood hunt, diablerization of the quarry is most often treated with a sort of benign neglect. As the target of the hunt is a heinous traitor (else he would not be the subject of a hunt now, would he?), he deserves the utmost penalty, and having one's essence subsumed by one's killer fits that description pretty neatly. On the other hand, if the hunt is really just a disguised exile, diablerizing the quarry can draw down the prince's ire, and it is a given that a prince frustrated in this manner will seek to extract revenge.

The tradition of the blood hunt does state that the successful hunter does get to take the blood of the quarry, though nowhere is it stated that diablerie is either mandated or permissible. If the target of the hunt has particularly potent vitae, the prince may declare diablerie off-limits in order to prevent strengthing a hunter unduly; in other cases, the prince may insinuate in the very declaration of the hunt that the quarry may be thus destroyed. Such a declaration is music to the ears of bloodthirsty neonates, who commonly flock to such hunts as a means of advancing in generation and power.

In the end, diablerie on the hunt is handled on a case-by-case basis, with permission often assumed to be implicit in the hunt. In many cases, a prince may fail to block the diablerization of the target, then use evidence of the "offense" as leverage on the successful hunter.

Techniques

The term "blood hunt" conjures up images of a horde of vampires storming the streets of the city, pitchforks, torches and Uzis in hand as they look for their victim. In truth, the actuality of the event is far from the stereotype. While a great many Kindred may get involved in a single hunt, usually it is only the neonates who flock together, and they do so for protection against the more potent vampires they are hunting. Hunts are more often conducted by individuals and coteries, combing the city for evidence of the target's presence and using ghouls, mortals and even animal servants to flush the prey out into the open.

Once the hunt is declared, there is often a rush for the accused's usual haunts or haven, in hopes of catching him before he hears about (and prepares for) the hunt. If that tactic fails, the wise blood hunter takes the measure of the victim's ghouls, allies and coterie. Often useful leads can be garnered from a successful interrogation of this sort, while a thorough search of the target's haven or havens can also be helpful. Other experienced hunters prefer to head straight for major transit points (highways, train stations, airports) in order to catch the accused on his way out of town. With the advent of the automobile and the helicopter, such tactics are less useful than they used to be, but the number of hunted Kindred who still manage to stumble straight into such traps is astonishing.

If the target isn't caught within the first few hours of the hunt, then the chase becomes a giant game of many cats and one mouse. The fact that the mouse in question is as deadly as any of the cats adds a certain spice to the affair, and a vampire on a blood hunt who is disabled or knocked into torpor by his target is apt to lose a great deal of status while he recovers. However, an extended hunt often boils down to the fact that no hunter wants to share the spoils of victory (i.e., the chance to diablerize or otherwise make use of the quarry) with anyone else. Greed tends to keep hunting expeditions small.

The Red List

The Red List has been called, with some accuracy, "The Kindred's Most Wanted." It is the list of the most grievous, powerful and troublesome offenders against the Camarilla and its Traditions, those vampires whom the Camarilla most wants to see reduced to ash and brightening sunsets over half a hemisphere. Vampires on the list, called Anathema, have been formally accused of crimes ranging from traffic with demons to diablerie, breaches of the Masquerade to mass murder. They are, in short, monsters, and the Red List is a method by which these creatures may be brought to heel.

In order to be placed on the Red List, a vampire must commit crimes of a legendary nature. Merely belonging to the Sabbat and leading an attack is nothing; leaving a thousand-mile trail of dismembered ghouls and destroyed vampires is more on the scale of the villainy required. Membership on the List is not limited to Sabbat vampires, either; infamous Kindred of all clans and sects have made their way onto the charts.

Alastors

If the archons and justicars are the law enforcement agencies of the Camarilla, the alastors are the secret police. Moving unseen and unnoticed through the Camarilla, they serve a variety of purposes at the Inner Circle's command. Mostly, however, the alastors hunt the Anathema relentlessly. While the anonymous existence of the alastors can be a difficult one, it does have its rewards, specifically a more-or-less universal immunity to prosecution from local princes. This immunity is occasionally honored in the breach instead of the observance, and there have been any number of trials of princes who uncovered and executed alastors for crimes committed while on the job. The balance is gradually shifting toward giving these roving investigators more leeway, however, as the importance of tracking down the sect's foes increases in urgency.

Alastors are usually archons of exceptional talent, who are secretly recruited by the Inner Circle for promotion into the secret service. As most archons are blood bound to their justicars, the mechanisms of such elevation would be grounds for all sorts of speculation - if anyone besides the Inner Circle and a few others actually knew the alastors existed.

Even among the elite alastors, there are degrees of eliteness. The best of the best (those who have taken down an Anathema from one of the top five positions on the Red List) are known as the Red Alastors, and they apparently exercise greater authority and powers than their fellows.

The Trophy

Every alastor who destroys an Anathema (and any vampire who nails a member of the Red List gets recruited to be an alastor, willy-nilly) receives the Trophy (sometimes called the Mark of the Beast by the cynical), a tattoo of ink and blood on the right palm. Alastors with the Trophy always wear gloves to hide this fact, as unlike normal tattoos, the Trophy never leaves a vampire's flesh. The mark made by the Trophy is recognizable to high-ranking archons and other sufficiently trained Kindred (even through gloves); apparently this flaw was built into the Trophy so that someone could watch the Camarilla's watchmen. If an alastor is easily identifiable to an archon, an alastor who defects can easily be found and destroyed.

There are benefits to the Trophy, however, not the least of which being the automatic aid it compels from princes and other Kindred in a position to know what the mark means. There are also other rewards, including:

• Immunity to blood hunts
• The severance of any existing blood bonds
• Permission to create progeny
• A Life boon
• Financial or territorial rewards
• Sanctioned diablerie under certain circumstances
• Instruction in Disciplines
• Amnesty for past transgressions
• Sanctioned slaying of enemies within and without the Camarilla (within limits)
• Clan friendship
• Safe passage, hospitality, feeding rights and haven
• Retainers and permission to create ghouls

Not all of these rewards are necessarily given to every alastor, nor are all of the rewards announced. However, receiving the Trophy can be a very lucrative proposition.

Note that the hunting of the Red List is not a duty restricted to the alastors. It is theoretically every Camarilla vampire's duty to hunt these monsters, as they are all considered to be under permanent and universal blood hunt. It is simply that the alastors are provided with the resources and support to make a full-time go of it.

The Kill

A hunter who brings down a member of the Red List gets the Trophy, and is also granted all of her prey's possessions. As the Red List vampires are usually quite old and very powerful, the deceased's effects can turn out to be quite valuable. What a successful hunter is not allowed to do, however, is diablerize the Anathema. The Inner Circle takes great care to spread rumors about taints and diseases in these creatures' blood, warning younger vampires away from drinking or even touching it. (It is even rumored that the bizarre stories about "Souleaters" came out of a misguided attempt of this sort when it looked like a Tzimisce Anathema might be brought to ground.) In truth, the rumors are probably just that, and the Inner Circle is just taking steps to keep potent vitae out of the hands of relative youngsters.

Getting on the List

It's not easy to get on the Red List. There are all sorts of monsters among the Kindred, and to achieve the sort of sick fame that demands the title "Anathema" takes time, effort and a truly warped set of actions. It is only the worst of the worst that make it onto the list, the vampires whose whispered names freeze even elders' blood.

In order to put a name on the List, the justicars of two clans must agree to prosecute this action, one bringing the name of the potential Anathema forward and the other witnessing the fact. The vampire's crimes are then read to the assembled justicars and other witnesses, and unless anyone can mount a sufficient objection (an unlikely event), the document of Anathema is signed and a new name is added to the list. Once a vampire is put on the Red List, the only way off is death.

The Camarilla At War

According to official Camarilla doctrine, the Sabbat does not exist. After all, the Camarilla claims hegemony over all vampires, including those who don't want any part of the sect. Technically, then, the vampires of the self-proclaimed Sabbat are really just members of the Camarilla in massive denial of their true affiliation.

Needless to say, expounding on this question of logistics while a Sabbat pack is pouring into your haven, guns blazing, is about as effective a defensive tactic as putting a bag over your head and shouting, "Nanny nanny boo boo." Either is a good way to get turned into a small pile of ash posthaste.

Regardless of the technicalities, the Sabbat is out there - as are the Lupines, Cathayans, the Risen Dead and any number of other enemies, all hell-bent on the destruction of the Camarilla. As a result, the Camarilla has been forced to create tactics and strategies for every contingency from a full-scale Sabbat invasion of a city to the extraction of a prisoner already buried up to her eyeballs for Creation Rites. Declared or not, the Camarilla is in a war - a constant war for its very survival - and if its methods of defending itself aren't up to snuff, then the sect is doomed.

Make no mistake, the Camarilla's approach on the battlefield is effective. The sect has lasted half a millennium, after all, even in the face of constant assaults. The recent reverses the Camarilla has suffered notwithstanding, the sect's generals and tacticians know what they're doing, and are very, very good at what they do.

They have to be. The price of failure is extermination.

Strategies

Offense

On a grand scale, the Camarilla's strategy is much the same as the Roman Empire's was - the idea is to make the world Camarilla, to assimilate rather than conquer. Ergo, the Camarilla doesn't mount offensives, and doesn't seek to take Sabbat cities by storm. That's not the Camarilla way - for one thing, open combat in the streets is akin to taking the Masquerade out back and shooting it. For another, it is a truism that while the average Camarilla vampire is older, stronger and more powerful than the average Sabbat vampire, on any given battlefield there are going to be a lot more Sabbat vampires than there are Camarilla ones. Numbers will tell, and in stand-up fights, too often Camarilla vampires get swamped by the sheer weight of the opposition.

So, instead, on those rare occasions when it's on the offensive, the Camarilla resorts to subtler techniques. Often, Camarilla offensives work through mortal and ghoul pawns. A favorite tactic is to locate a neighborhood in a Sabbat city that is home to a particularly annoying pack, buy up the real estate and pour money into a high-profile "urban renewal" project there. A few ghouls get tucked into the construction crew to clear out any "obstacles" to the project, and voila, the Camarilla takes the pack's haven and stomping grounds out from under them and buries them - along with a member of the pack or three - under tons of nice, shiny new concrete and steel. The idea behind this, and other, similar tactics is to crowd the Sabbat back, neighborhood by neighborhood, taking out handfuls of combat effectives each time. The process is efficient, quiet and deadly, and when done properly serves to eliminate the Sabbat advantage in numbers. By the time the constriction finishes, the Sabbat leadership is boxed in without reinforcements and can be picked off from a position of strength.

In a nutshell, the Camarilla's ultimate offensive strategy is nothing more than a process of slow subsumption, rather than fast assault. Pitched battles tend to make the mortals paranoid (or dead), often spark riots and other catastrophes among the kine that make it difficult to keep a city functioning, and lead to massive conflagrations that can make vampiric existence extremely unpleasant. It's far better from every perspective to strangle the Sabbat out of a city and have a city left behind afterward.

Defense

Unfortunately, there are few occasions these days when the Camarilla can afford to go on the offensive. While Europe's perpetual stalemate plods on toward the millennium, fierce battles are raging in North America, and the Camarilla is losing them. On the East Coast, the Sabbat is taking city after city, going on the offensive after years of tentative aggression. On the West Coast, the so-called Anarch Free States (ultimately friendly to the Camarilla, for all their bluster) are being overrun by Cathayan invaders, and to the south squats the Sabbat stronghold of Mexico City. North lie the endless forests and acres of tundra that the remaining Lupines call home. In North America, the Camarilla is in a box, one that's getting smaller all the time.

With the situation as dire as it is, the Camarilla is determined to hold on to every last inch of ground that it can. The sect's strategy is primarily a defensive one these days, and one that is in some senses hamstrung by the necessity of maintaining the Masquerade and otherwise upholding the Traditions, even in the midst of war. A defense of a city that blows the lid off the vampiric presence is worse than losing the city to the Sabbat; no single city is worth the price of irrevocably breaking the Camarilla's oldest and most sacred Tradition. Such a move would, in the end, cost the Camarilla the city in any case, and the rest of the world not long after.

So the cordon must be drawn and the perimeter established early. If the Sabbat never sets foot in a city, there's no chance that the Masquerade will be broken by those defending the city from the Sabbat. Rather than focusing on driving the Sabbat out of occupied territories, the Camarilla prefers to do its utmost to keep its enemies from infesting any more of its territory. An ounce of prevention is worth several pounds of cure, especially under these circumstances.

Moreover, the Camarilla's strategy is predicated on big pictures, not little ones. Individuals, apart from rare exceptions, are ultimately expendable; cities and real estate are more important. Vampires are, in the end, replaceable. A Camarilla vampire who is captured should not expect rescue; the Camarilla's strategists learned the hard way that it's not worth losing three vampires and a half-dozen highly trained ghouls just to get a single prisoner out. These days the Sabbat doesn't even bother kidnapping Kindred for bait, except when the head of the local Camarilla forces is extremely inexperienced or gullible. The place and the sect are what matter in Camarilla strategies, not the individual. In the end, the Sabbat must be kept out of the cities and the sect must be maintained; all else must in the end be sacrificed to that goal.

Chain of Command

The Camarilla is not now, nor has it ever been, a military organization. There is no standing army of vampires waiting for the call to battle. Vampire generals don't call their soldiers onto some darkling plain, there to stand in military formation until ordered to march forward at their highest rate of Celerity. If nothing else, pitched battles with phalanxes and whatnot present definite violations of the Masquerade, and as such are worthless to the Camarilla cause. A Ventrue primogen may have known Tacitus or Trajan in the flesh, but isn't in a position to use any of their suggestions.

In most cities, military or pseudo-military affairs are left to a city's sheriff and his childer, though as a matter of course the sheriff is granted leave to "deputize" other Kindred to help him in whatever matters are pressing. In reality, situations like that often emulate the recruitment practices of the golden age of the British Imperial Navy, with neonates plucked from the street and pressed into service.

It is only in extraordinary circumstances that the prince himself takes a hand in issuing orders; that's what he has a sheriff for, after all. When the prince himself has to start fighting in the streets, everything's already gone to hell. More commonly, the prince comes up with a general strategic overview of how he wants the city protected, what (and who) he considers most important and what's expendable, and then leaves the tactics to the sheriff.

Things don't always run smoothly in the heat of battle, and complicating factors like lingering conditionings from uses of Dominate and the power of the blood bond can make giving orders an exercise in frustration for even the most exceptional tactician. While defense of the city does take precedence over most personal rivalries, it's not always easy to get the impedimentia of peacetime out of the way so that war can be waged most efficiently.

Fronts

Camarilla tacticians know that they are beset on all sides. They also know that the Camarilla does not have the resources for a multiple-front war, even if that is the specter currently confronting them. With that in mind, the Camarilla makes a conscious effort to turn its enemies on one another, or at least to keep them off-balance to the point where the attacks come one at a time, rather than all at once.

To that end, the Camarilla's scions make more than occasional deals with the Devil. In a hundred cities, the dance goes on every night. Bargains are struck with incautious Lupines for swatches of territory that house Setite temples or Sabbat advance bases, or with a Sabbat pack far from home to "ally" against a marauding couple of kuei-jin (all the while attempting to maneuver the pack to the front lines to take the brunt of the enemy offensive, of course). Such short-term alliances are never carved in stone - treachery and the appearance of new threats means that these alliances are always short-term; the old ally is expendable to help deal with the new danger. The idea, in the end, is to preserve the Camarilla. Everything else is secondary - destruction of enemies is a method of safeguarding the Camarilla's security. There are even a fair number of important Camarilla figures (more than one might immediately suspect) who honestly would not care what the Sabbat did so long as it left the Camarilla alone. Alas, then, that vampiric population pressure, age-old rivalries and the manipulations of the masters of the Jyhad ensure that such a state can never come to pass.

Tactics

On the Attack

It is rare for the Camarilla to go on an all-out offensive, as there just isn't the manpower (or reasonable facsimile thereof) to do it properly. Furthermore, the average Camarilla vampire is firmly attached to her unlife - she's been a vampire long enough to know exactly what she's risking by charging the tenement that the local Sabbat has had time to turn into a deathtrap. On the other hand, the Sabbat troops that invading Cammies are likely to run into are fresh out of the grave and haven't yet had it sink in that they've got all of eternity in front of them; ergo, they're more than willing to mount suicidal defenses. What it boils down to is that Camarilla vampires are naturally cautious, none more so than those who know that they're in enemy territory. Any offensives that these overly cautious vampires launch, then, are likely to be more than overly cautious. No one wants to risk his immortal skin unless it's absolutely unavoidable, and even younger Camarilla vampires aren't overjoyed about being ordered into dangerous spots, unless compelled by supernatural or other means.

As a result, Camarilla offensives are slow ones, marked by long periods of subversion beforehand and spearheaded by mortals and ghouls. If the sect's vampires are lucky, they never have to fire a shot or raise a talon in order to accomplish their aims. When the problem is just a single Sabbat pack, roving the countryside in a souped-up van, there's no need for actual vampires to dirty their hands. A phone call to a ghouled state police supervisor here, a small bribe administered there, and suddenly there are state troopers crawling all over the offending vehicle an hour after sunrise. The matter is taken care of, a little bit more of highway is safe for Camarilla vampires to travel once again, and no one important was threatened - at least to the Camarilla way of thinking.

Even when more direct measures are called for, Camarilla tacticians prefer to go for Sabbat support mechanisms - havens, feeding grounds and the like. Clean up a neighborhood, and all of a sudden a pack's depredations stand out to the city's gendarmes. Put up a building on an empty lot, and suddenly the antitribu don't have any place for their rites any more. Nudge the local diocese to send a few priests who really believe into a Sabbat-infested neighborhood, and there's going to be a True Faith-flavored surprise for any Lasombra who gets too cocky. And while each of these steps may not seem like much, they add up - and with minimal risk to the vampires pulling the strings. The Camarilla has far greater mortal resources than its opponent does, and is not afraid to use them. Better a half-dozen police officers get killed in flushing out a basement haven than a single loyal Kindred.

There are times, however, when vampire-on-vampire conflict is unavoidable. Even in these cases, Camarilla agents try to protect and surround themselves with heavily armed and armored ghouls, blood bound and eminently willing to die to protect their "patrons." Camarilla strategists do prefer surgical fights as opposed to protracted sieges. They'd rather pick a target, isolate it, then hit it hard with everything they have and overwhelm the opposition through a precise application of force. Ideally, there is only one target to hit at a time, as Camarilla forces can't afford to be stretched too thin or they'll be swamped under the seemingly endless numbers that the Sabbat can bring to bear. So, once a building is targeted, it's taken floor by floor, starting from the ground up, with a ring of support "troops" on surrounding buildings and covering escape routes. Camarilla assaults are thorough, efficient and bloody; the attackers make certain of their kills before moving on to new targets. Once a building is reduced, the strike team moves onto the next one, and then the next - speed is of the essence. The Camarilla cannot win a war of attrition, so its offensives need to be fast and deadly.

Camarilla pushes are also bound by the necessity of keeping up the Masquerade, and armed assaults on Sabbat strongholds are by necessity not terribly subtle. As such, Camarilla attack teams need to have some sort of cover in place, as they can't burn down the building they've just emptied every time. At moments like this, the Camarilla's decided advantage in mortal resources comes into play. A noisy but ineffective shootout between the forces of two Camarilla-controlled drug lords makes for perfect camoflauge for a vampiric operation, as any witnesses are more than likely to see the entire action - humans and vampires both - in terms they understand. Getting construction crews, transit authority workers, gas company employees and other mortals in positions that give them access to lots of yellow tape that reads "Do Not Cross" to cordon off zones of conflict also serves Camarilla purposes - any banging, shouting, shooting or other loud noises can be explained as part of the "problem" necessitating the clearance of the area.

Defending the Cities

Defense of Camarilla territory is ruthless. It is the cities, more than any individual vampire, that the Camarilla must defend in order to remain a viable entity. One can always Embrace new Kindred, but there are just so many cities available to be occupied, and not enough places to put new ones. Many younger Camarilla vampires don't understand the sanctity of territory, thinking it's better to retreat to another city and fight another night. The elders, the wise ones who have seen the game played out for a half a millennium, know better. Every city is at once an armory and a source of supplies, not to mention a nigh-limitless source of new recruits. Moreover, vampires are creatures of place and habit. In addition, Caine's childer, particularly those who have seen a few decades on the other side of the grave, prefer security and comfortable surroundings. To such vampires, the loss of a home is more than just a matter of moving a line on a map a few miles. It is the loss of identity, the violent uprooting of tendrils that have been carefully laid down over decades. For all these reasons, and more, the Camarilla defends its own with the fury of a lioness defending her cubs.

Defensive tactics put into play against the Sabbat are simple: Figure out what and who in a city is expendable. Defend the rest to the Final Death. Use mortal and ghoul forces to keep relentless daytime pressure on Sabbat encampments. Burn down as many buildings as you have to in order to get the invaders, and blame it on an arson wave - have your ghouls smile for the news crews while lighting the flames, if necessary. The area can always be rebuilt later, providing opportunities and rewards for whatever neonates and ancillae distinguish themselves in the city's defense.

Speed of response time is also key to Camarilla defenses. If the Sabbat gains a foothold in a city, then the sect can start mass-creating shock troops within the contested zone. Not only does this produce more opposition at a nigh-exponential rate, but it also threatens the Masquerade. If the Sabbat is allowed to get "energetic" in its recruiting, the defenders' resources need to be split between actual defense of the city and protecting the Camarilla's veil of secrecy. The pressure only increases as time goes by. If the infection is not burned out quickly, it may never be burned out at all.

If truth be told, the Camarilla almost welcomes frontal assaults from the Sabbat. Yes, Kindred may be destroyed, property smashed and resources used up, but in such cases the enemy is visible, recognizable and ultimately driven off. Infiltration by deep-cover Sabbat operatives, on the other hand, is every prince's nightmare. The slow cancer of subversion rots out many a city that might be strong enough to withstand any frontal assault. As a result, any prince worth her salt is constantly in a state of nigh-certafiable paranoia. Which ancilla is dissatisfied enough to deal with the enemy? What neonates haven't received enough guidance from their sires, and have been seduced by the promises of an infiltrator? What primogen member, believing the Sabbat's hollow promises that the invaders will withdraw "once this current prince is toppled," is planning a coup? It's hard to tell, and oftentimes the paranoia that the threat of an infiltrator engenders does as much for the Sabbat cause as an actual mole would have.

Therefore, most princes have in place elaborate counter-intelligence measures. Options range from bribing anarchs to hang with the Sabbat to bring back information, to kidnapping neonates and ancillae for Dominate-enhanced interrogations (with all memories wiped afterward, of course) to giving sheriffs broad powers of enforcement to deal with suspected traitors. The latter, to no one's surprise, rarely works, but stubborn princes keep on trying it anyway.

Dealing With the Menagerie

The Sabbat isn't the Camarilla's only enemy, just its most prominent and dangerous one. However, conflicts with the independent clans, Lupines and whatnot rarely require all-out war. Instead, brushfire conflicts are the norm. The Camarilla and Lupines, while far from any official accord, both know the rules of the game they play: The cities belong to the vampires, the country to the Garou, and anyone who trespasses is fair game. More geopolitically aware Kindred refer to the arrangement as a "Good Fence," and try not to rock the boat.

Dealing with the independent clans is a bit trickier. While either the Camarilla or the Sabbat could, presumably, crush the independents one at a time, the victor would be weakened and easy prey for the opposite sect as a result. Conversely, the support of one of the independents as an ally is a valuable weight on the scales of conflict, and as such the Camarilla finds itself often wooing the independents to the point of overlooking trespasses that would not be tolerated in, say, a Toreador. Eventually, though, the Setites, Giovanni or what have you cross the line of acceptable behavior and need to be taught a lesson. Often, the fatal debate is over a lucrative Camarilla-run business that an independent is encroaching upon (drugs, porn and numbers are the prime grounds for conflict with the Setites, for example). Less frequently, members of independent clans flout their non-Camarilla status by violating the Traditions, leaving the aggrieved prince of the city no choice but to act - regardless if there's any real evidence or not. In such cases, the general principle behind Camarilla action is to resolve the matter quickly: Send in overwhelming force to deal with the problem vampires, annihilate them, and make apologies and token concessions to appease the offenders' clan leadership. Unlike hostile dealings with the Sabbat, when it comes to the independents the Camarilla does have the advantage of numbers, and it likes to use it.

Open and armed conflict, however, is rare. The local prince is much more likely to impose "feeding sanctions," mount a harassment campaign through mortal catspaws, or even extract concessions from clan leadership to make recompense for the "offenses" of the interlopers. Aggressive warfare on anyone's part, though, is infrquent. It's just too expensive for all concerned.

Prestation

While power may be the true currency of the Kindred, boons and favors also enjoy a healthy trade. The process of trading, repaying and incurring favors (called prestation), is the lifeblood of the vampiric economy. A wise vampire grants favors; a foolish one incurs them and becomes beholden to his benefactors. A vampire who requests assistance often enough soon finds his entire existence dictated by the obligations he has incurred; in exchange for whatever tokens of help he requested, he becomes a puppet of his benefactors.

Accruing Debt

The process of racking up a prestation debt is a simple one. Either a vampire asks another of her kind for assistance in a matter, in return for a favor of some sort at a later date, or a vampire renders another assistance in a crisis, with it being understood that the help will be repaid later. Sensible Kindred keep very close tabs on whom they owe favors to, and take great care not to rack up more debts than they can afford to pay back at any given time. Prestation debts can be called in at literally any time, so it pays to make sure that you have the resources to pay, regardless of circumstance. Some Kindred do make a habit of racking up as many debts as possible as a form of protection, operating on the theory that their manifold creditors will want to keep them in one piece in order to collect.

Not all debts are accrued voluntarily, however. Elders are past masters at maneuvering younger Kindred into positions where they have no choice but to ask for help, thus placing themselves in an elder's thrall. For example, a corporation controlled by an elder might purchase the building a promising neonate lives in and immediately start harassing her with maintenance checks, surprise inspections, fumigations and the like. Eventually the neonate has no choice but to seek relief, which leads her to the elder's doorstep. The favor is extended, and the neonate has placed her first foot on the elder's spiderweb.

Expert players at the game of prestation also like placing potential debtors into perilous situations and then rescuing them dramatically, thus placing the "hapless victims" in their debt. A favorite tactic involves letting knowledge of a vampire's haven slip to a hunter, then swooping in as the hunter makes his move. From the rescue it's only a short step to helping the neonate find a new haven ("This one is clearly unsafe,"), and, inch by inch, the victim is thus ensnared.

Interest

It is not in a vampire's best interest to cash in the favors she has acquired immediately. After all, a vampire who is known to owe you a favor is likely to come under suspicion if you disappear (see page 149), with potentially fatal consequences. As a result, any Kindred is as safe as can be expected from any of her debtors.

Surety of safety isn't the only reason to hang onto a favor. As long as one of the Kindred has a debt hanging over him, he must always be aware of the possibility of having his marker called in. He can't act as freely as he might otherwise, for fear of being called on to repay his debt. Holding a debt over a vampire and insinuating that repayment might be due at any moment is a superb method of paralyzing a Kindred, stripping him of his maneuverability and forcing him to reserve some of his resources against the possibility.

Furthermore, a vampire who owes another a debt is perceived as being inferior to the vampire whom she owes. This perception only applies to those who know about a debt - but any Kindred who gets a line on a powerful peer lets the whole world know about it as quickly as possible. As a result, the creditor gains prestige, the debtor loses it. Even better, the longer the debt can be sustained, the more prestige accrues to the creditor. It is in the interest of the vampire holding the favor to hang onto it as long as possible, then, though most creditors take care to avoid yanking their debtors' leashes too hard or too often. Once the debt is discharged, it's socially permissible for an abused debtor to take vengeance on an overly harsh creditor.

Paying Off

Few Kindred like the idea of having lingering debts. It's embarrassing socially, painful financially and potentially hazardous. As a result, most vampires attempt to pay off their prestation debts as soon as they can safely do so. As creditors have a vested interest in stringing those debts out, the result can be a game of cat and mouse, with the debtors frantically attempting to do their creditors favors and the creditors dodging anything that might conceivably be construed as a kindness from their debtors.

Debts among the Kindred rarely take specific shape, as it were. It is uncommon for a vampire to request a detailed service. Rather, debts are kept nebulous - "I'll simply ask for your help with something down the road." This ambiguity works both for and against the creditor. The indistinct nature of the debt helps keeps those on the short end of prestation on their toes, as they never know what they might be asked for. On the other hand, since the nature of the debt is fuzzy, it is common for Kindred to perform some sort of favor for their creditors in hopes of canceling the prestation debt. Particularly energetic or devious vampires maneuver their creditors into situations wherein they can appear on the scene and render assistance, thus wiping out the imbalance. Such attempts should be made very carefully, though - if they backfire or are found out, the instigator just sinks deeper into debt and becomes a target of derision as well.

What form payback takes depends on the size and type of debt incurred. It is considered bad form to ask for excessive repayment of minor debts; in such cases, the debtor is usually free to laugh off the request, and the debt itself is canceled, more often than not. On the other hand, no vampire wants to let a debt go frivolously by asking for too little. Doing so is a sure path to being made a target by the harpies, more than canceling any status gain made by acquiring the debt in the first place.

In truth, the actual repayment of the debt is almost incidental to the process of prestation. It is the debt that matters, the artistry of the creation or dispersal of the obligation and the webs of allegiance strung by favors owed. Actually paying off whatever is demanded is somehow anticlimactic in all but the most dire circumstances.

When a debt is finally repaid, however, more often than not it is done so publicly. Sample forms of payments include boons (especially that of creation, if the prince is the debtor), favorite ghouls or mortal pawns, assistance in financial or martial arenas, tutoring in Disciplines or even just the performance of publicly humiliating acts. Often favors involve one Kindred lobbying another on a third vampire's behalf, usually as regards matters of creation or interference in the mortal world. Asking for a service that is overly hazardous, or demanding that one's debtor break the Traditions is forbidden by long custom; if nothing else getting one's debtor killed ensures that you can't use him again. On the other hand, a sufficiently subtle vampire can get around these restrictions, and prestation has been used to eliminate any number of incautious Kindred. The harpies usually end up being the ultimate arbiter of whether the repayment is suitable, though they hold no official capacity in this matter.

Formality

At first glance, it seems that the weight that the Kindred place on incurred favors and the like is completely ludicrous. Don't like owing a Nosferatu a favor? Blow him off! He's only a Nosferatu! He can't do anything if you don't pay up, right?

Wrong.

The sanctity of the prestation system is very important to the Camarilla, especially to the elders who have spent centuries carefully accruing favors from others. If it suddenly becomes acceptable to welch on one's prestation debt, then suddenly those elders' stockpiles of favors become worthless. Needless to say, the elders in question don't intend to allow that to happen. Those investments in favors are valuable, major resources in the mini-Jyhads the elders play. As such, they have a vested interest in keeping the formality of the prestation system intact.

Any attempt by a Kindred to wriggle out of a prestation debt is met with immediate and overwhelming response. As soon as the harpies hear of the affair, the offender's reputation is effectively trashed. He loses status and finds himself followed by derisive gossip. Alliances, particularly those based on favors given in the past, wither. Enemies spread slander about what other agreements the offender is unlikely to honor, paying homage to the time-honored Camarilla tradition of kicking a man when he's down. Other Kindred to whom the vampire owes favors call those favors due, daring him to break his word again and dig himself in even deeper. The offender has a choice of paying back all the favors he owes at once or cementing his reputation as untrustworthy. The former can place the vampire in a dangerous or exposed position, and certainly has the potential to drain his resources to a critical point. The latter offers the chance to make a whole new round of enemies, as Kindred denied their due are rarely forgiving.

Furthermore, the reputation one gets for welching on favors is not easily shaken, and the stench of it will follow the offender for decades. In the meanwhile, he finds obtaining help from anyone to be nigh-impossible, unless he's willing to pay usurious rates for assistance. Vampires are by nature a cautious race, and a Kindred who breaks faith is the sort of risk no Camarilla investor wants to assume.