Allies, Enemies and Others

The Camarilla is not a homogenous body. There are stratifications and classifications, ranks and hierarchies. And, most importantly, there are those who are on the inside, those who are on the outside, and those who straddle the boundary as best they can.

For the Camarilla does not have clearly defined boundaries. The shadowy elders who stalk the salons and Elysiums are officially of the sect, but what about the willfully rebelling anarchs (so many of whom secretly return to the fold)? How about the ghouls who serve the organization but still have not tasted death or the Embrace? And what of the silent, eternally watchful Inconnu? What relation do they have to the keepers of the Masquerade?

Good questions, all. Alas that the answers are as shadowy as those who hold them.

Unlife Among the Anarchs

Vampiric society is stifling in a way that mortals cannot even imagine - the deck is loaded a dozen different ways against change. Increasing age doesn't bring encroaching senility to the Kindred, but increasing power. Barring Amaranth, the average vampire will never surpass her sire, because the Curse of Caine diminishes in potence with every generation. From generations-removed sires come orders to perform tasks the elders cannot be bothered to dirty their hands with. Inevitably, the most arduous and repulsive tasks pass down the generations to the youngest progeny. To many neonates, the gift of immortality seems to be little more than slavery at an eternity of menial labor.

In early nights, rebellious childer generally fled their sires' clutches to some remote location where they immediately set up shop perpetuating the cycle they had so recently escaped. Thus did the Children of Caine come to cover the world to its remotest corners. In modern times, however, every corner of the globe is spoken for. As the world gets smaller, the options for runaway Kindred grow fewer and fewer.

It was after the fall of the Western Roman Empire that Kindred overpopulation first became a serious issue in Europe and Asia Minor. For the first time, vampires who didn't like where they were living were unable to drift away and find a new home (or die trying - usually at the claws of a passing Lupine). Unwilling to eschew the cities, with their easy feeding and diversions from the potentially deadly ennui of centuries, Kindred were forced to form a real society. Inevitably, that society was based on the coercive power of elders over their progeny.

Just as inevitably, this coercion bred resentment, hate and rebellion among the ancillae. After centuries of simmering discontent, the dam broke in what came to be known as the Anarch Revolt. For decades, vampiric society was awash in bloodshed and chaos, as the young set upon the old in search of freedom and potent vitae. For good or for ill, there are few records of the revolt. Most Kindred who survived the era are unwilling to talk about the chaos that culminated in the Inquisition and the formation of the sects; most of those who survived lost friends and paramours.

But those who don't know history are doomed to repeat it, and with few survivors of the Anarch Revolt willing to teach their lessons, an entire generation of Kindred is stalking the nights, ignorant of what has gone before. The anarchs of today are the distant descendants of those long-ago rebels, ignorant of their heritage even as they rush blindly down their forefathers' path.

While worried elders and uninformed neonates talk about the "the Anarch Movement," anarchs are mostly just anarchic. There are as many different kinds of anarch as there are Kindred sick of being used as pawns, catspaws and menial laborers by their elders. Even so, the modern anarch is a far cry from the revolutionary firebrands who shattered the world of the Kindred during the Revolt. Today, the anarchs are almost an institution in the Camarilla.

While it's hardly a universal occurrence, running away from one's vampire's city of Embrace is a fairly common event in the lives of young Kindred. The flight usually occurs between 10 and 30 years after the Embrace, often after an extended (two- to five-year) depression. This sort of lengthy funk is jokingly referred to as the "Terrible Twenties" by ancillae who have seen it all before, but there's nothing funny about it to a neonate who's just suffered through as many years of servitude as she lived before the Embrace.

Most sires hold a neonate sub stragulum for between five and 10 years after the Embrace. When her sire isn't using her as a menial servant or ignoring her, a neonate is taught about life among the Kindred, usually via methods old enough to include �reciting their lessons'. After a decade or two of this, the one thing that a neonate usually wants is out.

The average Kindred who "goes anarch" usually flees Kindred society for the open road, the unspoiled wilderness or some other imagined utopia between six months and two years after presentation. Some sires go to great lengths to prevent their progeny from escaping, but even the most closely supervised progeny can find a chance to escape if he works at it. After presentation, the neonate is considered responsible for his own actions and capable of upholding the Masquerade on his own, so there is no reason for anyone but a sire and his ghouls to pursue an escapee. Experience has proven that chaining one's progeny up in the basement is generally a counterproductive strategy for dealing with radical impulses. Exposure to fire, mutilation and excruciating torture, while used extensively, have also proven ineffective. All of these methods of coercion result in progeny who are not only unproductive, but who are resentful as well.

Given that the average city's politics are a hothouse of Byzantine intrigue, bloodthirsty and vengeful offspring can be a serious liability. Progeny with unpopular sires may acquire their master's enemies' assistance in escaping. Even blood bound progeny can eventually break free of their regnants. While there are a few reactionaries and control addicts who just don't get the idea, sires who see their progeny slipping away usually just let them go; a childe is not worth suffering the Final Death over, and in the end, most of them come back anyway.

Many of the neonates who take to their heels find themselves part of the anarch subculture - a nomadic society of Kindred who range far and wide across the highways and byways of America. The major strongholds of this mobile society run up and down the East and West Coasts, along the Boston-Atlanta and San Diego-Seattle metropolitan axes.

The anarch subculture is composed of vampires who have fled the influence of their sires. These rebels are often called Lost Boys, either in reference to Peter Pan's band of runaways or the movie of the same name. While some flee before their presentation (or are never educated in the ways of the Kindred at all), most anarchs usually run after having been presented to their prince and released by their sires. Those unfamiliar with Kindred society usually don't have enough contact with other Kindred to find the anarchs, however some Caitiff fall into the anarch lifestyle by coincidence, fortuitous or otherwise.

While the stereotypical member of the anarch subculture is a Camarilla Brujah sired after 1900, there is an immense variety of Kindred involved with the anarchs. Ancient vampires in mufti trying to adapt to modern culture rub elbows with young vampires from non-Camarilla bloodlines seeking to escape their own insular little hells. Joining the anarchs is attractive to any vampire seeking to break out of the restrictions of his sect without the shovel parties, fire dancing and pack life implicit to Sabbat membership.

Anarch culture also makes an excellent place for vampires interested in establishing new lives for less legitimate reasons; Inconnu Monitors and Sabbat scouts mingle with Assamite hitmen and renegade Setites on the lam. Using the anarchs as an underground railroad isn't entirely risk-free - many archons also run with the anarchs part-time, looking for just such undesirables. Also, just because the anarchs ride motorcycles and eschew Armani suits doesn't make them stupid. The sort of rough self-policing that occurs among the anarchs is just as effective as the formal sentences of a prince, and (as ways to die go) much less dignified.

The young Kindred of the anarch subculture are like the frontiersmen of old or the bikers of the modern era - ranging far and wide across the land, and occasionally gathering together for celebrations that would be legend if word of them ever reached the mortal world. Anarchs that fall in with these modern nomads usually take up their wandering lifestyle, keeping a few regular havens (usually maintained by ghouls) but otherwise following an irregular "circuit" of territory with no set schedule. The amount of ground that a young anarch pack covers in the modern era can be astonishing.

Anarchs become more territorial as they grow older. The risk-takers die off, and the territorial nature of the Kindred begins to set in by the end of the first century of unlife. Anarch ancillae usually cut back the territory they "claim" to avoid threats too large to deal with and areas difficult to traverse without serious risk. As the size of their territory decreases, the anarchs naturally begin to take its protection more and more seriously, and that means interacting with the neighborhood power structures. Even if the anarchs claim their territory by burning out the havens of the local Sabbat packs, they still need allies against the inevitable retaliation. Eventually, there is a point that the anarchs reach where they are no longer on the outside of the tent pissing in, but on the inside pissing out. In the end, many even return to the city of their Embrace, where their sires have been patiently awaiting their return; after all, what is a century, really?

Shovel Parties Waiting To Happen

A shovel party is slang for the Sabbat initiation, where's the initiate is buried and left to dig his way out of the grave. A lot of anarchs, whether they know it or not, are ripe for Sabbat recruiting teams. Many of the anarchs who end up in the Sabbat are actually looking to join, whether they know it or not. Most of these willing victims are on the run from unbearable blood bonds and looking for a way out, and either ignorant of Sabbat initiation rituals or beyond caring. Others are just of the mindset that makes the Sabbat seem attractive. The anarch subculture, by and large, is "responsible," at least by Camarilla standards. Its members seek to enjoy their immortality and their freedom; they reject Kindred society to enjoy their situation. A shovel party waiting to happen rejects Kindred society in order to enjoy his state. He wants to feed when he wants, use his Disciplines when he pleases, and generally assert his supernatural superiority over the humans he once stood among. If he meets a Sabbat pack that's taking recruits first, he gets to join the Sabbat. If he meets an archon or an angry prince first, he gets to be a dead anarch.

Just as not every anarch becomes a motorcycle-riding nomad, not every nomad socializes into Camarilla society - a lot of anarchs just die. The "live hard, die young" ethos of the subculture means that by definition a lot of anarchs don't make it out as anything but ash. An anarch who gets a serious rip in her body bag and doesn't realize it in time will be just another burned-out car along the roadside. No amount of attitude can help a neonate who walks into the wrong place at the wrong time and meets a Sabbat pack coming in the opposite direction, or whose encounter with a Lupine gas station attendant results in an oil change straight to oblivion. Other anarchs end up adapting to the traveling life and become as static the Kindred society they oppose - trapped on the cutting edge of night, they ride the highways, too old to rock and roll, and too young to die forever. These Flying Dutchmen in black leather and chrome are both the heart of the anarch subculture and the exceptions to its rules. Most wandering anarchs have usually either returned to Kindred society or met the Final Death by the end of their first century of unlife.

The anarchs are generally envisioned as rude, unwashed brutes, roving the countryside on motorcycles and flagrantly disregarding the Masquerade. This is far from the truth. Anarchs are very fashion-conscious. Like any Kindred, your average anarch would like to spend the rest of eternity looking good, if at all possible. Even more than that, the typical anarch owns little more than what she can carry on a bike or in the trunk of a car - her personal possessions are one of the few ways she can demonstrate her individual identity and display status. While the basics of anarch style are often rooted in motorcycle fashion, its expression differs considerably between the coasts. Also, like all nomad cultures, anarchs are very conscious of their manners and behavior. Far from possessing the stratospheric wealth of some Camarilla Kindred, most anarchs are hard-pressed to make ends meet. Often hard up and isolated with no allies other than their fellow rebels, the anarchs are remarkably careful about hospitality.

East Coast anarch styles are very elaborate. The typical Eastern anarch wears jeans, sometimes bloused into combat boots. Shirts are button-down, and while anarchs claim that silk is where it's at, most simply can't afford it. (The material doesn't take the rigors of the road well, either, and so much of "standard anarch fashion" is honored more in the breach than in the observance.) A cowboy hat (usually black) and standard short motorcycle jackets are the rule, with each jacket painstakingly worked into an original pattern of paint and studs. The jacket, boots, blue jeans, and stud-and-paint work is the real core of Eastern style - most style-conscious anarchs have the three key components custom-made for each individual outfit.

Eastern hair is often worn in elaborate beaded dreadlocks, or else shaved off entirely. In the case of beaded dreadlocks, the thinner the braid the better. If the anarch's head is shaved, it is generally decorated with elaborate patterns drawn in permanent marker (a technique which works much better on vampires than on mortals). Each night, after he wakes up, a bald anarch clips and shaves his head, then has a friend touch up any faded spots in the design. Tattoos applied post mortem have a nasty habit of spitting the ink out of the vampire's unliving flesh, but those the Kindred got while alive he's stuck with forever. (And no, laser surgery doesn't work on the unliving - somehow, the design regenerates.)

Piercing is uncommon in the East, and seen as a very "mortal" thing to do. Sunglasses, on those rare occasions when they are worn (usually to hide the effects of one too many frenzies on a Gangrel), are always mirrored.

Pistols are often chrome, at least among very young anarchs, and are usually short-barreled large-caliber revolvers. Cleavers and axes are cool, knives and clubs are not. Most anarchs carry one or more hoglegs (double-barreled sawed-off shotguns with a pistol grip) in addition to their pistols. The "pig knuckles" are intended for dealing with Lupines, and the shells are generally hand-loaded with cut-up bits of silver jewelry.

Traditional American and European bikes are favored over Japanese models - Goldwings, Nortons and Harley-Davidsons (stolen, of course) predominate. Most of the bikes are modified for touring, with outsized fuel tanks, improved suspensions, stowage and more comfortable seats. Cars (particularly sedans) are common, but uncool - they just don't have the carefree mystique of cycles. Well-heeled packs of anarchs often have a number of bikes and an RV (usually driven by a ghoul - the poor bastard driving the RV is in for a great deal of verbal abuse if he's Kindred) for more comfortable sleeping accommodations.

West Coast style is distinctly different than the East Coast. Where East Coast style is elaborate, individualistic and almost elegant, West Coast style is uniform, hard-edged and flamboyant of the wearer's unearthly endurance. West Coast Kindred use the word ausgezeichnet (German for "outstanding!" or "great!") to describe someone who is apotheotic of their fashion tastes, and being ausgezeichnet is a way of life as much as a way of dress.

A West Coast anarch starts from the ground up, and armored motorcycle boots are a must. The more chrome armor the better, and boots are traditionally decorated with chains, spurs, rowles, tap cleats and whatever else the Kindred can find that's chrome and displays ausgezeichnet attitude. Pants are either leather or leather-faced jeans, and a stern black belt and chain wallet are de rigeur - even a vampire doesn't want to lose his ready cash or all the skin on his ass if he wipes out at 80 mph. Shirts are usually thick, also for protection in case of crashes. Vests are also common, sometimes with a long-fobbed silver pocketwatch in the watch pocket.

West Coast anarchs who like to advertise their status favor winter-wear leather dusters in all seasons, usually either in brown suede or black leather; more subtle ones tend to shy away from stereotype. Anything above the mid-calf is far too short, and ankle-length is best. Matching piercings with chrome and hematite hardware is a mark of distinction. Hair, however short, is brushed back and sprayed into immobility. Those with long hair generally either let the result fall down their back in waves or else wear a single ponytail. Those with long, kinky hair wear it back in a ponytail of thin, undecorated braids. Hats are never worn, nor are motorcycle helmets.

Stylish pistols are either blued or matte finished; automatics predominate, and handguns are carried and used in pairs by those who can afford them. Because of the quality of rigs available, under-the-shoulder carries are the rule. .40 S&W, .45 ACP and .44 magnum are the preferred pistol calibers. Carbines of matching caliber are usually carried in sheaths on the anarch's bike. Blades and chains are cool, imprecise or unwieldy weapons are not - ausgezeichnet is fast and fluid, not slow or brutal.

Bikes must be two things - fast and black. Japanese bikes, particularly Kawasaki and Yamaha, are the machines of choice for Western anarchs. Racing bikes don't modify well for touring, and so there are a number of "Lupine Alleys" on the northern end of the San Diego-Seattle metropolitan axis where fuel issues make it easy for werewolves to ambush traveling anarchs. Most anarchs rely on speed, balls and plain old luck to get through these areas safely.

The Anarch Free State

On December 21, 1944, Jeremy MacNeil and his fellow members of the Revolutionary Council began their campaign to overthrow Don Sebastian, the prince of Los Angeles. Their revolution was triggered by a long series of suppressions and attacks against anarchs and other young Kindred, culminating in an episode where MacNeil was seized and beaten by Kindred loyal to the Don in front of a number of other Brujah. By the morning of December 23, the issue had been decided, and the prince and primogen of the city of Los Angeles were no more. A manifesto known as the Status Perfectus was issued by the revolutionary council, essentially proclaiming every Kindred's right to freedom and independence, and affirming the Kindred of the newborn anarch free state's devotion to the goals of Kindred liberty. The revolutionary council then disbanded.

The Camarilla braced itself, waiting for the outbreak of a Terror in the fashion of the French Revolution, or another episode of the Anarch Revolt. Anarchs around the world cheered, hoping that at least there would be a land of freedom and equality for them as well. Both groups were disappointed.

Today, Los Angeles is an overpopulated hive of anarch gangs vying for turf. Until recently, the entire city was plagued by the depredations of the late Justicar Petrodon's archons. Even now, the only truly safe area of the town is the so-called Barony of Angels (mortal downtown Los Angeles), which Jeremy MacNeil protects as his own personal demesne. Those unable to survive in the gangland communities congregate in the Barony, where MacNeil allows any Kindred to feed, so long as they keep the Masquerade.

Even these areas are no longer safe. Recently, a number of Cathayans have become active in the city. A group of Chinese kuei-jin who call themselves the Flatbush and Stockton Posse have begun to tussle with the Crypt's Sons over the Los Angeles wholesale heroin market. So far, MacNeil has recognized the sovereignty of the Chinese tong, but the peace is fragile. Sooner or later, the location of Chinatown will force MacNeil to take a stand on the warfare between the Posse and the Crypt's Sons. In the meantime, MacNeil has recommended that all Kindred in the Barony of Angels strictly avoid Little Tokyo. It seems, however, as if more Chinese kuei-jin and their Triad soldiers arrive each night, and the anarchs of the Free State are beginning to wonder if perhaps these new arrivals are not the outriders of a foreign invasion.

While anarch fashion changes from location to location, there is a certain code of behavior an anarch anywhere is expected to follow. Just as every fledgling is taught the Traditions, each anarch is taught the rules of the road. Anarchs are a lot less forgiving about breaches of the rules than princes are - the line between undeath and Final Death is too thin for much in the way of politics when you're living on the open road. The rules of the road carry from place to place, but can be summarized as follows.

Anarchs International

Anarchs are by no means restricted to the North American continent; it's just that the current focus and strength of the quote-unquote movement is there. There are still anarchs who remember the 15th century skulking around Europe - not to mention their more modern spiritual heirs - while in Australia, one can hardly tell the anarchs from the elders without a scorecard. It's just that in North America, as nowhere else on the globe, the anarchs have established a distinct place and identity for themselves. When the Camarilla thinks of anarchs, it thinks first of North America's lost souls.

For more information on what anarchs from around the globe are likely to be like, see A World of Darkness: Second Edition.

Autarkis

The other major group of anarchs are the Autarkis. Somewhere between anarch, Caitiff and Inconnu, Autarks are vampires who become disgusted with the politics of Kindred society and simply drop out.

The world is a big place, and a vampire who conscientiously avoids contact with other Kindred can spend a very long time alone. Precisely when a vampire has become an Autarkis is hard to say - most vampires drop out of society from time to time, either to contemplate their condition in solitude or (as they grow older) to enter torpor and drown their unlife in the dreams of the dead. Sometimes these episodes end in suicide or Wassail, but they are usually just periods of self-exploration. As a result, it's easy for even a relatively young member of the Camarilla to vanish; by the time anyone thinks to look for her, she's long gone.

The motivations behind a vampire dropping out of Camarilla society depend entirely on the vampire in question. Some leave the maddening crowd to seek Golconda. The line between these Autarkis and the Inconnu is a thin one, and many of the Monitors are recruited from Autarkis ranks. Other Kindred simply sicken of the incestuous politics and turn away to seek their own existence free of the Machiavellian danse macabre of Kindred society - this motivation is particularly common among the Gangrel.

Some defectors have less admirable reasons for leaving. The Masquerade may seem repressive, but it prevents the sorts of outrages that would without a doubt otherwise occur. For example, many Autarkis slip away from the bright light of social scrutiny to pursue careers as infernalists. Others fall in love with the Beast and flee to the seclusion of the wilderness, where they can give themselves to their inner monsters fully. And then there are those who hie off to play dark prince, embracing whole towns to raise legions of vampiric minions and take over the world. Most of these refugees from vampiric social mores don't last very long, but they're more than enough to keep the both the justicars of the Camarilla and the Sabbat paladins busy.

The existence of the Autarkis has some significant disadvantages over the life of the average anarch. The Auktarks have none of the community that the anarch subculture provides. The only support that an Autarkis can count on are his ghouls and any fellow Kindred who went with into exile with him. Neonate and ancillae Autarkis often have difficulty evading hunters and maintaining the Masquerade on their own.

Even more than from mortal hunters, Autarks are at risk from supernatural foes. Marauding Lupine packs put a lone Autarkis at risk. Even more serious is the threat presented by other members of Caine's brood. Diablerists who find out about an Autarkis are likely to consider him easy pickings, as are Sabbat vampires looking for Kindred to act as scouts in Camarilla cities.

Even the Camarilla is a threat. Undeclared Kindred are fair game for the depredations of the scourge, and declaring oneself before the local prince generally defeats the idea of escaping Kindred society. Even if a lone vampire is declared, justicars and their archons tend to assume that a vampire who has retreated from Camarilla society has something to hide. Given that infernalists, diablerists and newly inducted Sabbat members coming to grips with their path are all solitary creatures, they have good reason for thinking that way. If the justicar or archon in question is liberal, the Autarkis may only be forced to submit to an incredibly intrusive examination of her life. Less generous or less liberally minded enforcers of the social order may just eliminate the Autarkis out of hand and decide which crime she was committing from inspection the effects of the deceased.

Brujah: The youngest members of this clan debatably form the largest single subgroup of anarchs. The anarch subculture has certainly adopted all the trappings of modern Iconoclast Brujah culture - the motorcycles, the urban warrior ethic and the idealization of a nomadic existence that brings the vampire into contact with the freshest and youngest of both mortal and Kindred society. Even if most of the membership isn't actually descended from the blood of Troile, they act as if they were. Many Iconoclast Brujah Rants are better attended by pretenders to the clan than by actual Brujah - such are the benefits of image. While most anarchs grow out of the Iconoclast mindset as they socialize into Kindred society, the angry youth of the Camarilla are at the command of Brujah's blood, and most princes do not forget it easily.

How many of the anarchs are actually of Brujah's bloodline is open to debate. Some members of the clan claim that they makes up over 75 percent of the full-time anarchs; this is probably a serious exaggeration. Kindred on the run from strictly organized clans tend to claim descent from Brujah's line, rather than their actual clan. Even if directly confronted with evidence of a false progeny, most Brujah either say it is entirely possible they are the sire, or else lie and claim the childe simply to tweak the nose of another clan.

Toreador, Tremere and Ventrue: These three clans are the most conservative and taken together are probably the second-largest single source of anarchs. The pressure to perform, be it in art, magic or finance, gives the neonates of these clans excellent reason to rebel against their situation. Anarchs from these clans tend to fit one of two molds. The first stereotype are the rebels on the run from a brutal, controlling sire and grabbing their new freedom with both hands. They are the anarchs most likely to claim descent from Clan Brujah. They are also the anarchs most likely to have a reason to conceal their identity, be it a murdered sire, a burned-out haven or simply a lot of empty bank accounts.

The other, much more common stereotype is that of the weekend anarch. These are the dabblers who toe the line and work diligently for their clan and sire, and then "rebel" during their holidays, only to return meekly to the winepress when the allotted period of freedom has ended. Some weekend anarchs do it for the sake of rebellion, and some do it in an attempt to manipulate the real anarchs into their political games. How well the posers do depends on how tolerant the real anarchs present are and how good the act is. Skilled and personable weekend anarchs in tolerant company can be accepted as almost (but never quite) equals. Inept ones look like a Slayer fan at a Coolio show, and are treated accordingly. Tying the poser up securely, dropping him headfirst down a manhole, then putting the lid back on is something like the standard punishment for failing to make the grade as a weekend anarch. If the ghoul rats, alligators and sewer critters don't get him, the victim has a fair chance of survival.

Gangrel: A great many Gangrel fall in with the anarchs at some point, and the clan's departure from the Camarilla hasn't changed this situation. Gangrel and the anarchs share a similar existence, and anarch revels and escapades make damn good stories. Some Gangrels even end up as full-time members of the subculture, but most eventually wave their good-byes and depart for their beloved solitude. The Gangrel who do become fully involved in the anarch lifestyle almost inevitably end up there because of a paramour, friendship or some other personal reason, not because of any ideological commitment.

Malkavian: Not every Malkavian adapts to the support network for the insane that is the blood of Malkav. Some never become attuned to the divine madness of the Curse, and end up as people with derangements that don't really belong to them. A lot of these unfortunates end up in the anarch subculture, if they can cope well enough to function at all. Other Malkavians seeking to learn about the anarchs for pranking purposes make the same claims. Both types are prone to disappearance whenever it becomes time for the white-hot worms to eat their brains again, so it's hard to tell which Malkavians are the real rejects and which are just faking. Of course, since they're crazy, sometimes they're both sincere and faking at the same time. Malkavian anarchs are generally treated as whatever they act like, and not trusted with anything that would cause a major pain in the ass if it walked away or got screwed up.

Nosferatu: Like the Gangrel, the Nosferatu have a culture very much separate from "mainstream" Camarilla society. Unlike the Gangrel, the insular, sewer-dwelling families of the Nosferatu have little in common with the anarch lifestyle. Also, the Nosferatu are bottom-of-the-boot ugly, which creates a multitude of problems in the style-heavy anarch subculture. Life on the open highway presents certain problems to a vampire with a head like a rotting rat. Young Licks are often just as disgusted as mortals are by the Sewer Rats, and as a result, Nosferatu make up a very small number of the anarchs, possibly an even smaller percentage than the Malkavians.

Those Nosferatu who do become involved with the anarch subculture have invariably mastered Mask of a Thousand Faces, if only for ease of relations with the rest of the world. As a rule, Nosferatu anarchs have personalities that make them unsuited to life in the sewers. This may mean they're too deranged to fit in even with the Leatherfaces, or that they're Cleopatras who remain outgoing and vivacious despite their changed state. Some make it, and some go back to the sewers head-first.

Sabbat Antitribu: The Lasombra and Tzimisce both make only tiny contributions to the anarchs, though there are possibly more of both in the flotsam of the anarchs than in the recognized ranks of the Camarilla. Prejudices within the Camarilla and the Sabbat, the Viniculum and the determination of both the clans and the Black Hand to prevent defection makes antitribu even more infrequent than defectors from the Assamites, Setites and Giovanni family.

Miscellaneous Others: The seemingly endless minor clans, bloodlines and other miscellaneous offshoots of the curse of Caine also find homes among the anarchs. Cathayan agents often use the anarchs as an underground railroad, since most anarchs are unlikely to have ever heard of them. The children of Baron Samedi likewise find the anarchs willing companions, though the ones with Mask of a Thousand Faces are definitely better off than the less gifted members of their bloodline. The anarchs have for centuries served as the last home for survivors of other bloodlines thought long extinct. Many of the oldest anarchs actually have no ideological connection to the subculture, but instead simply use it as a cover, exchanging blood-feuds and ancient enmities for social prejudice and a traveling life.

As for the non-affiliated clans, they either do not spawn anarchs at all (a Giovanni who went rogue would last a matter of hours after incurring the wrath of his family) or fit in so neatly with the anarch subculture that there's no need for a differentiation.

Anarchs are best known for their variety, and there are at least as many attitudes toward conventional Camarilla society as there are anarchs. While obviously none of them love the Camarilla and its associated trappings, attitudes range from careful respect to dismissive and hateful. The attitudes below are the opinions of individuals, not as those of anarchs as a whole.

Camarilla Attitudes Toward Anarchs

It might seem strange that with all of the other, terrifying threats to its existence, the Camarilla devotes so much time to stamping out the anarchs. The reader must understand that the majority of those adopting a hardline stance in the modern Camarilla remember the terror and chaos of the Anarch Revolt so many centuries ago, and the Inquisition that followed it. Everyone who survived that time knew someone who wasn't so lucky. The conditions that led to the revolt- overpopulation, discontented youth, internecine strife - are being repeated on the modern stage. Many elders see the destruction of the anarchs as a prophylactic measure, like cauterizing an infected wound. Other elders are generally willing to make concessions to those with anti-anarch agendas in exchange for advancing their own plans. After all, it's not as if the destruction of a few neonates on motorcycles is an impediment to their plans.

Some elders, however, fear the anarchs for reasons other than anxiety over past experience. Some elders believe that when Gehenna arrives, the risen Antediluvians will move among the anarchs for a time, sating their hunger and marking the locations of their chosen victims. By destroying the anarchs, these elders hope to destroy the sea the Antediluvians will swim in, thus forcing them to reveal their hands when they are still hungry and disoriented from their long sleeps. Many close to the justicars believe that watching for signs of the Antediluvians is a major part of the job of those archons who run with the anarchs, though the archons themselves may not know it.

By and large, anarchs as a group have the same prejudices toward vampires outside the Camarilla and other Awakened creatures that their sires taught them as childer. Anarchs come into contact with sorcerers, changelings and the Creature from the Black Lagoon about as often as any other Kindred, and so they're no more likely to change their preconceptions that a vampire from any other sect. Certain attitudes are common among the anarchs, however, because they interact with the object in question in different way or more frequently than the average member of the Camarilla. If the following list doesn't cover a topic, assume that an anarch is fairly likely to have the same preconceptions as a more conformist member of her clan when it comes to that particular specimen of supernatural fauna.

Anarch games have an immense potential, but they are also some of the most neglected. Often ignored as being too simplistic or uninteresting, anarchs contain some of Vampire: the Masquerade's most potent symbology. They are rebellious youth personified, neglected talent and determination boiling up from the streets to challenge established power structures. The Anarch Movement is not be as direct in its appeal as the struggle between the Kindred and the Lupines or the Camarilla and the Sabbat, but it offers a degree of emotional tension between the protagonists and antagonists that can easily vanish from a game built around a simple "us versus them" conflict. Below are some ideas to help a novice player or Storyteller "get their head around" an anarch character for a campaign. These suggestions are by no means the entire range of possibilities for an anarch game, but an assortment of possibilities. Storytellers should embroider upon them or add their own material, as they see fit. It is your game, after all.

On the surface, anarchs are the angry youth of Kindred society. They are like mortal youths, but more so. From their point of view, their ideas and opinions are ignored by their elders, they're expected to do menial tasks below their dignity, and they're treated like the children they most certainly are not. Given that most Kindred are Embraced because of their expertise and life experiences, the fact that anyone fails to rebel is a tribute to the human propensities for honoring hierarchical systems and social controls.

Most anarchs fall into one of two categories. The first are those who have had all they're willing to take, ever, from their sires and other elders, and who are not going back under any circumstances. All have been psychologically abused and manipulated, and most have also been physically abused. Many have been treated badly enough for blood bonds to weaken or even break entirely. Whether they live as virtual hermits or take part in the nomadic lifestyles of the anarch subculture, these angry young Kindred make up the die-hard core of the anarchs. Though they range in age from a few years to a few centuries under the Embrace, most of these anarchs choose to die on their feet rather than live on their knees again. They give the subculture its reputation, its sense of tradition and its legends, living and otherwise.

The vast majority of anarchs are temporary exiles from the Camarilla, as noted above. Such Kindred are essentially blowing off steam and frustration with the norms of vampiric society, though from a mortal perspective, the period of rebellion can last lifetimes. Whether these vampires are anarchs on weekends only or spend a few decades learning to appreciate existence, they are still different than the die-hard ideologues. Hatred of the elders' authority hasn't ossified them and become the defining characteristic of their sense of identity. Most anarch characters are probably this latter sort of vampire - hardened firebrands are as one-sided and difficult to play as low-Humanity elders.

Below are a number of questions that a player creating an anarch should answer during the process of character creation. Answering these helps to flesh out and define the character in her role as an anarch. Obviously, the regular questions of the Concept stage of character creation still apply - these questions are to help define the character as an anarch, not as a vampire or a person.

The Elders of the Camarilla

A vampire, unlike a fine wine or an exquisite cheese, does not become better with age. More cunning, certainly. More influential, more deadly, more feared and hated and resented, and more and more powerful - all of these things. But never better. Even in his own labyrinthine thoughts, the elder realizes this. He realizes that as his blood congeals and his skin slowly turns to parchment, what began as a fate worse than death becomes only more appalling with time. This knowledge, of the bitter rot at the heart of his own identity, drives the elder to further luxurious escapes of cruelty and deception. If he must live for millennia with his own excesses, so must everyone else.

As wind and water erode once-distinct boulders down to a common smoothness, time and trial reduce the elder vampires to similarity. Although they are by no means identical, the elders increasingly have more in common with each other than they do with their childer. Together they shrink from a hateful age of machines and equality, together they scrabble to buttress the crumbling Camarilla and keep the fraying veil of the Masquerade intact. Elders remember the bonfires of the Inquisition and see the flames of the Sabbat in the distance, and grow cold together. Their ways become familiar to each other, and though familiarity breeds contempt, it remains a thing to be prized as change howls through the world of the Kindred.

The elders are fear incarnate. No lesser Kindred can contemplate the elders' vile machinations, casual brutalities and wealth of hidden powers without feeling an icy chill as thin, young vitae turns to water. But just as the elders' psychic corruption taints their physical actions, so too does the fear they create in others reflect the fear that grips them all. One might imagine that lordly immortal monsters, possessed of unbelievable abilities and commanding Disciplines of awesome might, would fear nothing. Unfortunately, the long unlives of the elders have taught them well that the World of Darkness contains fears that defy imagination. Rather than facing challenges and risking the loss of everything, those who survive for centuries in the upper ranks of the Camarilla have learned to make discretion indeed the soul of wisdom. Unchecked, conservatism breeds cowardice; immortality breeds enemies; betrayal breeds paranoia. This trap can be only too seductive for an elder with the all-too real enemies of Inquisition and Sabbat howling at her haven door. The deadly logic of the elders' unlives demonstrates time and again that only the fearful survive. Vampire elders have sacrificed much for immortality; the sacrifice of courage is trivial by comparison.

Already inclined by their role and by their very natures to a conservative distrust of the new, elders seem insensate with fury at the speed with which the modern world destroys and casts aside the treasured ways of the past. Virtually all of the elders came of age in a world that changed only minutely; a new rigging for a sailing ship or a new sword design might come once in a century. The logic of tradition kept humanity close to the soil; when the old ways were forgotten, starvation was the inevitable result. The oldest elders remember the glories of Rome, Carthage and even Ur, and for millennia they rested secure in the knowledge that humanity could only rise so far before destroying itself in a wave of barbarism. The elders held the whip hand; loosely or tightly as suited their whim, but held it they did.

This smug certainty shivered with the end of the Dark Ages and shattered with the coming of the Machine Age. Suddenly the kine had the powers of speed, steel and wealth that the vampiric nobility had so jealously guarded. Worse than that, these new things freed the mortals from the soil; the old cycles were broken as humanity flowed into the greedy cities and left the Lupines in command of the desolate countryside. Kings lost their heads, humanity lost its respect for tradition, and the elders lost their last tenuous connection to the human world.

The Computer Age now grinds the fragments of the elders' world to powder before their horrified eyes. Every new decade seems to pile enormity and obscenity onto the ones before. The kine slaughter each other endlessly, constructing weapons that could scour the Earth clean of life - and of unlife. Information, once jealously guarded by secretive clerks, is flung about the globe faster than the speed of thought, leaving the sluggish elders gaping at its passage. Telegraph, telephone, television, satellites, Internet connections - somehow these empty shibboleths have become words of power that the elders find it difficult to even speak.

The elders might think the whirlwind of changes survivable, or even desirable, if it caused the other Kindred to look to the Camarilla for guidance. Unfortunately for the elders, this madhouse is the world where the odious ancillae (and mayfly neonates) grew up. Somehow these impudent whelps have convinced themselves that they have mastered the unmasterable; they share the human delusion that technology and change make useful servants rather than dangerous enemies.

This weakness of mind and character shows in the increasing tendency of the younger Kindred to adopt anarch ways even when giving surface homage to their betters. The rot that has destroyed human churches and kingdoms now infests the Camarilla. The worms of equality, liberty and fraternity gnaw at vampiric society, although the elders respond with force undreamed of by mortal monarchs. The younger vampires gleefully accept this human prattle into their veins along with the contemptible narcotics, discordant music and proletarian fashions of the Canaille from whence they spring and upon whom they feed.

Seldom better than the rabble of humanity, the younger vampires resent the just and time-tested guidance of their elders. The elders compound this situation, of course, by setting childer against childer in endless games of manipulation, deception and intrigue. To the elders, this only amounts to sensible self-defense. After all, the only sure route to power for an ambitious childe lies over the diablerized husk of an elder. Normally, the young and thin of blood would be no danger - but the world changes too fast these days. The kine have trampled upon the virgin moon and discovered the seeds of human conception; it is hardly impossible that they may stumble upon some grave threat to the Kindred with their computers, DNA scanners and atomic metallurgies. If such a thing occurs, it is the elders' nightmare that only the weak and contemptible neonates will understand its potential - and that their ludicrous demands for independence and equality will tempt them to use it.

As opposed to the half-formed nightmare of a changing world and rebellious youth, the elders' fear of the Methuselahs (and those who came before them) is real and rational. The Methuselahs certainly exist, and they purposefully hide themselves from the elders' best attempts at scrutiny. From these indubitable premises comes one conclusion only: The Methuselahs play deep games indeed, using the elders as their pawns in some covert struggle.

Elder vampires know that were they in the Methuselahs' position, they would show no mercy and give no hint to their unfortunate minions. The elders' fear of the Methuselahs is a fear of their own reflection. Whispers that the Methuselahs have increasingly gone Inconnu or even achieved Golconda give scant comfort. Both these fates are unknown, and the unknown is an undiscovered country to be walled out. The Inconnu, especially, unnerve the elders. Simultaneously a rebuke for elder cowardice and avarice and a threat to elder power, they can only be placated - or avoided.

Even more hateful to the elders' precarious sense of self is the memory of the Antediluvians, the powerful fathers of each clan who can unmake nations and roil the surface of the world even from deep in concealed torpor. With prophecy after prophecy from the Book of Nod manifesting in these end times, the elders see the Antediluvians slowly rising to the surface of Kindred affairs like great and aged sharks drawn to the blood spilled on the face of the deep. When the last red night falls, the elders fear they will fall too, indistinguishable from the most contemptible neonates in their sires' final blood frenzy.

The elders find themselves trapped in a cleft stick, desperately wishing that the rumors of the Antediluvians' demise (or ascension to Golconda) were true, while unable to give such rumors open support for fear of undermining the traditions of lineage and clan that hold the Camarilla together under the elders' tutelage. The attempt to square the circle of their forbidden wishes and the foundation of their power leaves the elders ever more dissociated from truth, and from the clarity of decision that truth brings.

Even greater than the potential threat of the young and the shadowy threat of the old is the actual and ongoing threat of an elder's fellows. Other elders jockey for power within cities and Camarilla; a cutting remark before the Inner Council, a brood of ghouls, or a trivial cash payment to a human arsonist can serve as daggers held by allies and enemies alike.

Every elder who falters inspires the others to new bouts of greed and envy, scrambling for the spoils. These struggles create new rivalries and inflame old ones. No allegiance is as permanent as any division seems to be. Each elder understands in the core of her polluted being that she must triumph or die under the talons of her fellows. That triumph may come millennia from now or tomorrow night, but come it must or unlife has no meaning and the blasphemies committed to stave off Final Death will prove empty ones. Every elder plots against every other and justifiably fears the others' plots against him. The 500 years of the Camarilla are an eyeblink in the elders' potential lifespans; the oldest of them remember a time when the Lextalionis was the law of all against all. Cooperation comes hard, and always with caveats and fine print.

The elders' individual unease with each others' machinations still remains secondary to their terror of the Black Hand and the vile heresy that is the Sabbat. And for good reason; the plots and intrigues of their colleagues spring from roots all members of the Camarilla share, but the Sabbat blossoms in different soil. It cries openly for the destruction of the elders of the Camarilla, the drowning of Kindred society in a tide of fire and blood and an end to tradition and respect. The Sabbat blasphemes against the laws of the Camarilla, and tools and strategies honed in weary years of struggle within those laws seem blunt and worthless in the firelight of the new anarchy. Even and especially for the elder vampires, fear of the unknown other transcends hatred and fear of self.

Of course, the fear of the Sabbat is also a fear of the Beast within the elder vampire herself. Every secret whim repressed as too risky, every forbidden fantasy rejected as unsafe, every remembered privilege of malign power from the Dark Ages returns in the night on the whispers of the Sabbat's seductive call: Reject the Masquerade and hunt freely. Reject the Traditions and flood the globe with Kindred. Turn your back on the strictures of clan and edicts of justicars. These are the siren songs the Sabbat uses to destroy the will and sap the resolve of the Camarilla. If even the elders know doubt and feel temptation deep within their leathery hearts, the lure of the Sabbat must call even more seductively to the feckless ancillae and empty-headed neonates.

The Sabbat knows this, and dares to urge the childer on to blasphemous diablerie. Exposure to the contagion runs the risk of epidemic, but quarantine fails with every night that falls. Hordes of neonates shrieking for a taste of vintage vitae, overwhelming the elders' havens in the embodiment of the mob - this would be the price of failure.

Even if the Sabbat is somehow parried, should the Camarilla riposte break through the fading scrim of the Masquerade, the elders risk destruction. Five centuries ago, human fears leagued with human knowledge carved a cauterizing path through the ranks of the Kindred. Only desperation and the luck of Caine saved the unliving race then. Should the cry of Inquisition be raised again in this hateful modern age, when the kine have bred their numbers into the billions and increased their infernally clear-eyed science and horrific technology even more so, even the Antediluvians might fall.

To be forced to hide from cattle is shameful, but medieval pride has proven suicidal. Those who once were and by rights still should be lords of the world must skulk in the shadows, pulling the strings of ignorant humanity like a Venetian puppetmaster rather than ruling with naked fang and mailed fist. More galling still, it is the elders' hateful lot to preserve the plodding kine from vampiric rapacity, knowing that only by keeping the sword at their throat intact can they keep it from plunging home.

This fear, like the other fears of the elders, is born of contradiction and the nature of modern unlife. The path of circumspection, of hidden power and conspiracy, is the only path open to the Kindred. Their corrupt bargain forces them to accept it, to impose it upon their ungrateful progeny, to defend it against insanity and suicidal rage and to transform it into a virtue of necessity.

Twisted as they are by these rational fears, the elders of the Camarilla are incapable of treating their peers with the respect that each feels is his rightful due. To show consideration, to repay trust with trust, to act in honest concert or from genuine feeling is to show weakness and to bare one's throat for the fang of a rival. Rather than a band of brothers, then, the society of the Camarilla is a den of vipers. It is a poisoned garden bearing corrupt fruit.

Elders hate everything that they fear. Fear exposes raw and dripping wounds in the elders' psyches. Short of the possibly mythical Golconda, elders cannot heal these wounds or reconcile the conflicting pressures that force them open. The only recourse left is to submerge their pain in the blinding heat of hatred.

Millennia of practice have made the elders very good indeed at hatred. Elders know just how to keep grudges boiling, how to recall slights and how to show a bold front or a respectful countenance to enemies while cringing and raging within. Newcomers observing Elysium see only the gilt and glory and the calm exercise of power and control, but the fires of hatred create the lambent glow of vampiric civilization. Hatred serves as a balm for the injuries of fellows or of fears, and as an excuse for anything gone wrong or left undone. A new hate becomes something to savor, to encourage, to nurture and develop. Hate gives an elder something precious - something to give unlife meaning. After all, to creatures who saw full moons rise over Justinian's Constantinople, governing Cleveland presents little challenge. Carrying on a successful rivalry with a predator as canny and cunning as themselves - this is the ultimate challenge. Hate, ironically, strengthens the Camarilla. Competition weeds out the weak, and hate fires the competition. Friendship and loyalty, on the other hand, become liabilities, weak points for the assaults of rivals. Thus, even natural allies keep some distance behind a hedge of curt formalities or flowery insults.

Among the curses of the elders, their long memories rank among the worst. Not only are they unable to forget a slight, they know that no other elder will forget one either. Thus saving face becomes nearly impossible - even the tiniest loss of position is remembered for all time, marking the loser as a weakling to be further preyed upon. Elders never forget, and they never forgive. To forget is to surrender both surcease and leverage, while to forgive is simply to surrender.

Vampiric society functions as a classic zero-sum game: For every winner, there is at least one loser. The only way for elders to advance in the ranks of the Camarilla is by removing rivals - politically if possible, physically if necessary. With new Kindred engendered all the time and ambitious ancillae shoving from beneath in a desperate Darwinian guerre � mort, elders cannot even stand still without making enemies.

This makes elders preternaturally aware of the status of every other elder, eternally jealous for every erg of leverage or ounce of influence shown by another. If an elder rises, it is over the backs of his fellows. Even elders safe on the sidelines may resent his success as a prize rightfully theirs. Few parties, factions or sects can long hold under the corrosive force of elder jealousy. Only the tightly knit Tremere function as a true party, and the other clans' fear and resentment of their arriviste success conspire to keep the balance. Clan jealousy, therefore, is virtually the only higher loyalty that any vampire feels. Some elders find the presence of like-minded blood kin their only respite from the ordeal of Camarilla intrigue, but others resent even their clanmates for hogging the few rewards or horning in on delicate intrigues.

The constant demand for information on other elders' status within the Camarilla leads to gossip and innuendo, spread by enemies, allies of convenience or any other elder who finds a willing ear and an offer of a juicy tidbit in return. With the supply of real insider information at a premium, counterfeits - artfully constructed lies, spur-of-the-moment guesses, desperate hoaxes - spread through elder society. Those Kindred without true knowledge offer up false coin in desperate hope of bringing in a pennyworth of fact or reliable interpretation.

The channels of gossip run in at least two directions. Falsehoods inevitably find their way back to the target and spawn yet more jealous lies. True knowledge, like honest self-knowledge, is yet another pleasure forbidden to the elders by the walls of thorns they have built around themselves. Thus any news or action is immediately interpreted in the worst possible light; no news is good news, but there is always news. The cycle of jealousy spins ever forward, then, as elders passed over attempt to undermine their fellows with scurrilous rumor and intrigues. Meanwhile, the elders on top resort to blackening the image and poisoning the reputation of any below them, hoping that their real enormities can remain undiscovered in the cloud of falsehood.

With the coin of information unalterably debased, the elders must turn to other methods to keep score. With no reliable reason to injure another, pretexts must be created. With personal survival at stake, but without the courage or capacity to strike openly, elders allow subterfuge and slight to take the place of combat and exile. The atmosphere of the Camarilla becomes a hothouse of tiny offenses and subtle undercuttings.

As if immortality did not possess enough dangers, it also brings with it a debilitating ennui. The sameness of the old fears and the old hatreds, the banality of the forcible gentility of Elysium, and the steep price of decisive action against any actual threat blend in a deadly cocktail. The resulting heady decoction leads to elders feuding for the sake of feuding itself. Stirring up yet another tempest in the Camarilla's stuffy chambers may be dangerous, but it is nearly the only true danger that elders engage in. Elysium's code keeps the stakes small, so spiteful revenges and petty one-upmanship broil for decades without any result save momentary diversion from important (but terrifying) problems.

If the elders are frozen in terror, stiff with hatred, isolated by jealousy and distracted by intrigue, how is it that they maintain their grip on the reins? First, of course, a weak elder rapidly falls to his fellows - ambitious ancillae and grasping contemporaries remove any elder from the equation who proves unable to keep an eye on his own interests. Only the strong survive, and survival increases their might as the spoils of the fallen are shared.

Second, immortal beings fearful for their lives work continuously to increase their personal power. True, paranoia and conservative age hold many elders back from sudden, risky moves and large windfall profits. But a hundred slow accretions build immense resources over enough time - and time is one thing that every elder has in abundance. Never forget that elders have had many, many mortal lives to learn the lessons of power and to harvest fortunes and favors many times over.

One innovation of the modern era has met with the elders' unqualified approval - the interest-bearing account. Even the most conservative Tremere, the most secretive Nosferatu and the most claustrophobic Gangrel find security in the knowledge that wizened, gray humans in offices from the Cayman Islands to Zurich to Hong Kong are adding coin after coin to many lifetimes' hoards. The smooth Ventrue know this best. They move easily among the boardrooms of Wall Street, the front offices of Panama City and the ancestral hoards of European nobility. With wealth comes anything the mortal world can offer: security, political power, luxury, position, life or death. If coin has replaced church and crown in modern hearts, with its power comes a crucial weakness. Everything - relics, souls, nations - can now be bought with enough money, and elders always have enough money.

Money has its downsides, of course, and modern money even more so. Today, computer-assisted arbitrageurs commit legal frauds and thefts on one continent, invest the proceeds on another, and withdraw the profits on a third - all in the time it takes a Ventrue elder to select a banker. Computers, globalization, capital flight and derivatives create increasing problems for elders barely used to letters of credit and still reeling from the introduction of fiat currency. Clever human assistants take up the slack for now, but eventually even the dimmest kine realizes his opportunity. Some clans' neonates, used to ATMs and the NASDAQ, are trusted to watch the humans, while other elders trust to the age-old powers of the blood bond. Swiss accountant ghouls make even better financial assistants than they do status symbols in some circles.

Unlike money, status only counts within the Kindred community. Status is the marker that the endless intrigues of the Camarilla must be paid in; all transactions are denominated in the perception of power and the favorable nod of the harpies. Using any other measure of power within the confines of Elysium is forbidden by the Traditions, so those who have status have the ultimate medium of exchange. With status among the invisible lords of the world comes access to the prince, and to more concrete forms of power. Great fortunes and the fates of armies in the mortal word can hang on the reception of a chance remark or a flattering couplet within the rarefied heights of a prince's court.

Unlike hoards of treasure secure in Cayman Island vaults, status rises and falls for every elder whether he spends it or not. By failing to side with a rising star, an elder risks a loss as serious as actively backing a loser. Chains of association, of favor and intrigue, bind every elder in the Camarilla together. But status can be a mirage; success can grant status or status can grant success. If an elder's initiative deals a well-aimed blow to the local Sabbat, he might lose status in many eyes despite his victory. He has shown up the prince, after all, a dreadful act of lese majesty. Conversely, an elder enjoying high status in the city might find that her blows against that same enemy land harder as the other Kindred hasten to assist and bask in her reflected glory. A suitably dramatic triumph (even a brilliantly staged party) may radically change the rankings, but the winners and losers are not always the obvious ones.

Bred to judge the intangibles of art and to value image over everything, the Toreador elders discern and award status most keenly of all the clans. Unfortunately, as generation after generation demands its share of status while adding layer upon layer of falsehood and venom to the memories of every elder, every elder's status decays. Thus, the Toreador find that they must expend ever-greater amounts of political capital to retain their status as fear and jealousy erode the gentilities upon which their power rests.

As status is exclusive to Elysium, the secrets of Disciplines are exclusive to the Kindred. Hence, their use becomes the commodity of final resort; when all other contests are ruled out, the powers of Caine underpin showdowns political and physical. With the elder reverence for the power of blood, great gifts with the Disciplines mark their possessor as a superior being indeed. Younger vampires often feel that their Disciplines make them demigods: How much more godlike do the elders, who can crush any upstart ancillae with barely a thought, feel? Some Disciplines explicitly render power relationships clear, Presence and Dominate in particular.

The latest masters of the Disciplines, Clan Tremere, may well feel that they are masters of the Camarilla. By way of confirmation, their unique facility with Thaumaturgy allows them to counter many other clans' strengths. The Tremere build discipline within their clan's rigid hierarchy, and argue that disciplined power breeds powerful Disciplines. Elders of other clans smile politely at the presumption of this new-fledged line. Centuries of practice spent honing the arts of murder and darkness makes any Discipline a weapon to fear in the hands of an elder. Even passive Fortitude becomes deadly if its user selects the ground of a contest well and wisely: a greenhouse on a summer's morning, for example.

The Camarilla exists to keep human society at a talon's length from the unlives of the Kindred. It stands to reason, therefore, that its elders spare little effort to bend human society to their corrupt will. Of course, with every elder's claw raised against the gathering strength of every other, such influence is hard to gather unnoticed and even more difficult to maintain. Proxy conflicts within human communities make excellent release valves for vampiric rivalries denied a proper outlet by the strictures of Masquerade and Elysium. Thus, indirect attacks on rivals are best mounted through human intermediaries, often manipulated through shells and false flags that keep the elder unsullied by the grime of streetfighting or low politics.

By a twisted but somehow comprehensible logic, such indirection has become the province of the Malkavian elders above all else. The thousand tiny interactions not even a vampire can watch somehow seem to turn out in the Malkavians' favor. Is it simply Obfuscate and Demenation working below the radar of the more exalted clans, as the Tremere and Ventrue claim? Is it the power of lunacy itself made manifest in the Malkavian Madness Network, as some Toreador claim to perceive and the few lucid Malkavians seem to hint at? Or is it simply that discerning the Malkavians' true motives is always an exercise in indirection, and so any action they take must necessarily travel a twisted path through the human world? This does not mean that the other clans lie helpless. The Brujah call jackbooted thugs or firebombers into the streets, the Ventrue freeze cargoes and bank accounts in place, the Tremere work indirectly from the fringes of humanity. True, influence does not necessarily replace the force of a sudden killing blow. However, elder influence can expertly orchestrate such attacks from any convenient warehouse or passing crowd, an invisible hand wielding a visible blade.

The true currency underlying status, influence and even wealth is information. Knowledge is power, and knowing who knows what is the first step in a successful campaign against any enemy. Every elder tries to maintain a network of childer, retainers and even common mortals to gather, correlate, and pass on vital information for her. This network, of course, becomes a target of subversion or disruption by her rivals. Worse yet, she must either devote vast amounts of her time to sorting through this information and finding the wheat amongst the chaff. Delegating this task leaves juniors with access to information - access, therefore, to power. Worse yet, it means trusting subordinates with her own secrets. To know what facts seem important to an elder is to know what that elder wants, wishes for and fears. This information is powerful leverage, which few elders willingly give up.

Nosferatu elders certainly do not, but they have the advantage of time. While other elders dance in attendance above ground in courts and elaborate charades, the Nosferatu scour the sewers and the subterranean channels for information. While other elders can never trust their subordinates, the subordinates of the Nosferatu can never trust each other - the Nosferatu's favorite Discipline of Obfuscate allows elders to hear anything as anyone. Thus, the Nosferatu can afford to keep their information pristine. Not for them is the ruck of rumor and lies that the Toreador and other court popinjays must parrot to remain au courant. The Nosferatu can sift streams of sewage for treasures of fact and sell them to the highest bidder. Of course, those streams have gotten thicker, and fouler, as the Camarilla subliminates into pettiness and paranoia. The Nosferatu elders must now decide whether to restrict the supply of good information and risk being attacked for their power, or to debase the coin of fact with alloys of plausible lies. Even the question must remain a secret, of course, but Nosferatu are not the only clan with ears in low places.

As the careful balance of the Camarilla tilts alarmingly, the clans and elders scramble for allies both within and without the court. Allies must be treated as equals, a galling task for the proud and fearful elders. If offended or betrayed, a shrewd ally knows that his allegiance can always be taken elsewhere - such as to the betrayer's rival. Unfortunately, a lifetime as lords of creation and an unlifetime as paranoid manipulators renders most elders less than perfectly fit for the kind of diplomacy needed to make allies in an increasingly dangerous world.

When all else fails, sheer naked force is sure to solve any problem, at least in the short run. The founders of Carthage discovered that timeless truth, and this lesson is one that the world never tires of delivering to any elder who trusts to a quick tongue or a bribed lackey alone. The elders of the Camarilla hold their positions, after all, because in the final analysis nobody is strong enough to dislodge them - yet. But for now the elders fight their wars with human sword fodder, and a force of humans willing to kill or die for a vampire's political goals is a hard thing to find and a harder one to keep.

The Brujah elders are well-aware of the use of violence from their younger days; humans will kill or die gleefully for the ideals that the Brujah can articulate convincingly. Radicals of all stripes, fanatics with grudges or crusades, and thugs looking for a reason to smash heads follow Brujah leaders (whether Iconoclast ancillae taking direction from their elders or the Idealist elders themselves), swayed by impassioned appeals to emotions that elders of other clans cannot even feign. Other Kindred must fall back on fear, money and the lust for power to raise their armies - although Brujah belief makes dedicated warriors, Ventrue gold raises very big battalions. Nosferatu use blackmail (or failing that, a pipe bomb in a gas main), Tremere use sorcerous might; each clan holds its own arsenal with which to fight its secret wars. The Camarilla tries to direct these energies outward to the Sabbat, much as the elders' royal pawns tried to divert their own vassals into Crusade when vampire lords held power openly. Such policies of distraction worked only indifferently then, but the Camarilla's survival depends on it working far better now.

Survival is the great goal of the elders singly and of the Camarilla collectively. A vampiric elder gladly sacrifices anything or anyone to prolong his existence. An elder meets threats to his survival with crushing, panicked counterblows, like the flailings of a man deathly afraid of spiders when confronted with a fiddleback on the windowsill. Slow, charitable, merciful or reluctant elders do not survive. Every elder knows this and has seen it proved time and again in mountain villages, urban tenements and everywhere in between. The only thing that will frighten an elder out of his fear is mortal danger. A cornered rat seems placid compared with an elder in terror for her unlife. No strategy is too risky, no threat too lurid, no punishment too obscene, no retribution too final for a vampiric elder faced with Final Death.

Although this desperate devotion to unlife drives the paranoia, malice, jealousy and contempt that threaten to destroy the elders' society and the courts of the Camarilla, it is also the only force that could impel them to maintain it. As long as the threats from outside the Camarilla seem greater than the threats within it, the elders will cling to its framework with iron tenacity. Whether they pull it apart in their frantic adherence to its structure, or let it fall by huddling within its inadequate shelter rather than sallying forth to defend it, is known to no man.

Although all elders share the traits of fear, Camarilla-spawned hate, and desperate drive to prolong their own cancerous existence, their blood has not grown too turgid to recall their heritage. Clan differences show up in elders as well as brash neonates, sometimes even more eccentrically as age and strain take their slow but certain toll. The Curse of Caine and the strictures of Camarilla drive all elders to disintegration. Only the blood of the founders links them together with themselves and each other.

The Brujah elders know the tension between their position of traditional power and their youth's posture of rebellious contempt. To outsiders, they seem to exorcise it in street fighting and rabble-rousing, leading to Ventrue barbs about "marketing rebellion." Truly, there is nothing new under the sun, or under the moon either. After a few centuries of power, revolution for its own sake loses its charms. However, the elders remember the old glories of Carthage by night and the flickering fires of Moloch and Tanith. To these Kindred, whose very existence speaks of the persistence of dead things, Carthage might still rise again. The elder Idealists believe it must rise on the ruins of the world; most Brujah elders feel that it can be founded behind the Camarilla's sheltering walls. Younger Iconoclasts have little hope of seeing behind a Brujah elder's mask, but the rare neonate who touches a chord of memory within an elder may be caught up in reverie - and in millennia-old revolution. Very little has the power of an old dream, except perhaps a very ancient dreamer.

Elder Malkavians, born close to Malkav's blood and traveled far from Malkav's time, see the two extremes fracturing into one, along with all the other extremes, of course. Somewhere in that interlacing filigree lies the pattern, the truth that lies open only to those brave enough to look unflinchingly. These elders gaze into the world with a sight honed by a hundred visions called hallucinations by the willfully blind. Portents overlay themselves on every activity; a car alarm sounds the symphony of creation while the road to Nod lies down a human intestine. Everything is provisional, nothing is temporary. When Malkavian elders turn their gaze upon others, anything can happen, but it usually doesn't. This is quite a disappointment to the elders, who more and more pay attention to the important things that only they have the eyes to see properly.

Elder Nosferatu see the roiling and reformation of the upper world as a reflection of their own physical evolution. Pessimistic or unkind elders of other clans often agree. This seeming remaking of the world in their image leads some Nosferatu elders to argue for holding back from the final confrontation. Just as Nosferatu neonates are often redeemed by their physical deformities, perhaps the Camarilla or the entire race of Caine will be redeemed by this time of trial. Other Nosferatu point out the unpleasant similarity between this view and the heresies of the Sabbat. Meanwhile, the scuttlings of the Nictuku grow louder as certain prophecies, arcane even to the vampiric lords of information, manifest themselves. Will the ancient brothers of the Nosferatu emerge to remold the clan into a dark redemption? Danger from above, danger from below. Used to getting along without others and to keeping counsel as a clan, the Nosferatu elders remain unsure of the true and proper course of action. With just a little more information, perhaps the tunnel to safety will reveal itself....

Changes in the outside world have not left the arts alone; if anything, the opposite is true. Keats thought beauty lasted forever; now even Keats may not endure. Assaults on the canon of literature, the standards of poetry, the laws of perspective and the principles of musical harmony leave many Toreador elders unable to comprehend any art at all, much as other elders are baffled by fax machines or white phosphorus grenades. Ancient beauties remain fine, but Shakespeare to the contrary, age doth wither and custom stale anything given too much time. Where will new beauty come from, when art is sewage and the young mutilate themselves for fashion? Those few Toreador elders who throw themselves into modern art often find themselves sliding down the road of postmodernism to true anarchy and loss of meaning. Once all the idols are smashed, all the conventions are dead, what role can art-as-rebellion play? Both flight into conservative reaction and frantic embrace of the new lead to the same dead end for these elders. Do not pity the Toreador who finds that after centuries her beloved art has desiccated into nothing but empty imitation and banal posturing. Pity, rather, those in her power.

The Tremere elders have less to fear from their own childer thanks to their strict rules of initiation and discipline. Of course, they still must fear the jealousy and hatred of other elders, who still consider the Tremere jumped-up interlopers in the legacy of Caine. These elders often turn a blind eye to their childer's actions against Tremere interests; this leads the Tremere elders to tighten their hold on power and to withhold help from other clans. Until recently, Clan Tremere was uniquely confident among Camarilla sects that their mastery of the mystic arts meant that their survival was assured. Security, as older clans could have warned but preferred not to, is fleeting for any Kindred. With rich irony that Tremere's rivals appreciate, the wizard clan faces diablerie, the hour of their danger predicted by their birth. The cannibal Assamites return, free at last of Tremere's enchantments, and no Warlock wonders which clan will feel the Assassins' wrath first and most frequently.

The Ventrue elders claim they must bear all the problems of the Camarilla on their shoulders. Where other clans' elders can afford the luxury of tending their own gardens and carrying on private vendettas, Ventrue must look outward to the Sabbat and Inquisition. Meanwhile, other clans hold back or actually obstruct needed defensive measures. The Ventrue elders find their resources and attention stretched ever thinner; of late a certain irritation with the other clans has entered their private councils. Ventrue lords have always cultivated a certain noblesse oblige; after five centuries of bearing the entire burden of keeping the Masquerade intact and shepherding the Children of Caine through crisis after crisis, that veneer of nobility wears thin. Even immortal patience has its limits, it seems. Pride slowly curdles into arrogance, and protectiveness becomes condescension and even resentment. Some Ventrue elders wish privately that some horrible disaster would befall the other clans so that the Blue Bloods could be appreciated properly again.

Some elder Gangrel pass their blood on to progeny and then voluntarily enter torpor or Final Death, either out of concern for the natural environment (as they claim) or out of cowardice and funk (as their enemies claim). Those elders who remain, however, increasingly hold themselves apart from other vampires and other elders. Some Gangrel elders no longer stop traveling at all, endlessly crossing the country or even circling the globe, torn between the distastefulness of involvement and the lingering call of Kindred loyalty. Alienation imprisons these elders just as surely as terror paralyzes those of other clans, however; the difference between motion and stillness is not as great as it might seem. When younger Gangrel meet these elders at Gather, they learn what drives them away from the lights of the Camarilla's cities. Young vampires of other clans seldom encounter Gangrel elders any more. When such meetings happen, however, they resemble storm fronts, bringing thunder and change to all in their path.

No vampire can ignore the elders. Even anarchs and Caitiff find their actions constrained and infringed upon by the machinations of the elders at the heart of the Camarilla. Few vampires have seen a Methuselah, but nearly every city holds an elder prince, and even neonates can address their lord in council. The elders serve as the visible embodiment of vampiric society. Even the Sabbat defines itself primarily through its opposition to the will of the elders and the Traditions they uphold. Although the Sabbat expresses open contempt for the elders' fossilized beliefs and sluggish hearts, they never underestimate the cunning of an elder's mind or the sheer physical power she can bring to bear.

Elders thus hold a linchpin role in vampiric society, the hub of a hundred conflicts and a thousand intrigues. Dealing with elders is often a common occurrence not only for other Kindred but for many other beings and even the common human herd of the World of Darkness. Of course, not every interaction with an elder happens in a ballroom or across a negotiating table. Not everyone knows these dealings for what they truly are, and of those who do, still fewer enjoy them. Elders do not grow old letting others set the meeting grounds, or even by granting importunate strangers audience. Transactions with elders sometimes come indirectly through financial and legal mazes - or more immediately through a car bomb planted by a human minion of a neonate blood bound to an ancilla who serves the elder's whims, all unknowing. Sometimes only the quality of the betrayal or the sheer artistry of the persecution announces elders' work.

On their home ground, the elders retain a calm aloofness, moving with all due speed or not at all. The appearance of disorder within the councils of the Camarilla cannot be tolerated. The elders and the Traditions both make a virtue of stability; even Malkavian elders must restrict their spasms while in Elysiums or salons. To show distraction, haste or even open anger is to show weakness before the harpies and before one's enemies at court. The necessity for calm, for sang-froid and for vampiric courtesy in all its flavors is a charade that rivals the Masquerade in importance within the ranks of the Camarilla. Delivering insults or striking fear into others in such surroundings can take decades, or even centuries, to master.

Outside Elysium, of course, an elder is able to give free reign to her emotions, especially when dealing with progeny or with younger vampires in general. Of course, an elder runs the risk of appearing undignified when investing any emotion at all, even contempt, on a neonate. It is the ancillae who most often feel the wrath and spite of the elders. Elders seldom praise younger vampires, save to humiliate those not receiving such notice - or to appropriate a useful pawn from another elder's chessboard. Intelligent neonates fear elders' open friendship and interest far more than they do the cold disregard they might expect.

Within an elder's own clan, restraint can be looser still. Among the Nosferatu, for example, elders have been known to congratulate childer for success and even to commiserate at failure. Such commiseration takes the form of giving the unfortunate youngster a chance to repair his mistake, but no other clan gives more consideration. Tremere elders also commend success, in the interest of efficiency, but it is a cold and mechanical approbation indeed. In other clans, success by even a coterie of ancillae (or worse yet, neonates) stands a greater chance of marking the coterie as ambitious, and therefore dangerous, than it does of occasioning a reward. The best outcome for such a coterie shows as a glacial increase in status: a half-inch deeper nod, an extra minute of public conversation with a Toreador primogen, or the like. Wise childer take these crumbs gratefully. When large rewards come from an elder, they often come as indirect strikes at her rivals - like everything else in Kindred society, success has its dark side.

A wise ancilla (or over-ambitious neonate) can only rise in status and power by entering the economy of favor and obligation that weaves the elders together. This system of prestation serves as the true currency of the Camarilla. The same hypersensitivity to slight and insult that fuels the flame of the elders' continuous jealousy also allows them to keep track of every small assistance or trifling service performed (for them, or for their rivals) by another Kindred. In order to advance in the estimation of their peers, vampires of the Camarilla curry favor by assisting those peers' goals and hampering the efforts of their enemies. Small services such as attendance at a salon or a tidbit of reliable gossip bring small services in return - delivery of a message or the loan of a talented ghoul for a night.

Some Kindred continuously give and receive favors, keeping themselves afloat through the sheer variety of their contacts. Others try to assist each major faction, trusting that any rising tide will lift their political boats. Still others accumulate numerous small obligations, asking only for rare but significant boons in return. In the hothouse air of the Camarilla, granting a favor is a sign of strength. Only Kindred with great power, the reasoning goes, can afford to disoblige themselves for others. Hence, asking for a boon is a sign of weakness.

A similar logic governs the repayment of favors. Although only the elders' honor actually enforces any obligation to a creditor, an elder who refuses to repay a boon not only appears churlish and vulgar (bad enough in Ventrue or Toreador circles), but seems a weakling desperately hoarding even scraps of influence. The sharks circle at such a sign of weakness. Thus, a clever Kindred often seeks out status and advancements by doing many favors, and weakens her foes by never seeking anything in return. Kindred society sees the bestower as powerful and genteel, while the harpies paint the borrower as desperate for favor and able to subsist only on the sour mercies of his betters.

Behind the mirrored surface of salon and court, Kindred elders labor to undermine their enemies' positions by any means available. Indeed, some elders work harder at weakening other elders than at opposing the Sabbat or the Lupines. This ongoing conspiracy for power consumes the elders' attention by necessity. Even a theoretical elder concerned only for the good of the Camarilla at large would be undone by a hundred plots against her if she did not conspire on her own behalf.

Some of these intrigues remain solely confined to a single clan. In the hierarchical Tremere, internal alliances and covert attempts to rise in faction or chantry politics remain vital; only the Inner Council can promote Tremere vampires within the clan structure. For a vampire to elevate herself in Kindred society at large, however, she must depend not only on her own clan (which usually, though by no means always, supports her ambitions to strengthen the clan as a whole in the city's primogen) but on her contacts and supporters within other clans as well, or with the anarch community. Reputation gains value when it spreads far, and no Kindred can afford to neglect any opening, no matter how indirect, into the councils of the great. A disreputable anarch may hold the key to some strike against the Sabbat, or a vampire of a rival clan might agree to sell out her own archenemy within it. The coins of opportunity and betrayal remain good even outside the Camarilla. Some aspiring Kindred deal with the Lupines (especially Gangrel elders), and particularly rash aspirants may even enter into arrangements with the Sabbat. Many rumors connect certain powerful elders with factions within the Sabbat, and whisper of deals allowing both to prosper from the destruction of a particularly vulnerable lord of the Camarilla.

Controlling the flow of information holds the key to success for any conspiracy. The Nosferatu have a great advantage in this, but this advantage works against them when every other clan instantly suspects their hand in a rumor or in the gathering of forces for rebellion. Although the Nosferatu loudly proclaim their neutrality, other Kindred universally believe that the Nosferatu protest too much. No elder believes in neutrality, anyway, especially not when eternal servitude remains an all-too-real possibility. Elders traditionally trust their greatest secrets only to those ghouls and retainers blood bound into their service. The blood bond does allow any elder to maintain a fairly extensive local power structure - the system only breaks down when another elder must be consulted or somehow involved.

The risk of betrayal is the corpse at any feast of intrigue. If elder snares and plans run deep, their treacheries run deeper still. Virtually every elder who survives to this day carries a lengthy reputation of conspiracies betrayed and deals broken behind him; treason greases the path to power. Thus, the eldest of the elders find few takers for offers of allegiance, and the most ambitious youngsters can often build factions based on their not-yet debased word. As a result, news of ancillae organization or alliance often causes the elders to strike hard and fast - and to reward generously any informers within the group. Of course, any ancillae factions working against each other become tools for elder rivalries; the best such a coterie can hope for is to be a communal tool of the Camarilla against the Sabbat for a time.

Rather than run the risk of open collusion, then, many elders resort to manipulation of one kind or another to advance themselves over the bodies of their fellows. From the perspective of these elders, nothing gives more satisfaction than a struggle between others. Manipulators enjoy creating rivalries where none exist, and fanning enmities into open conflict. Simply by trading favors, "accidentally" letting a piece of malicious gossip drop in a salon or hinting at alliances that never seem to materialize, a clever elder can bring two other Kindred to an escalating hostility, or even to actual blows.

This potential for manipulation adds another layer to the elders' mutual jealousy and distrust. Elders analyze every action, every favor, every word of other Kindred searching for the hidden trap or poison pill within. Even finding the trap does not mean that the target can avoid it. Vampiric honor, survival or court status can all force an unwilling victim to "play along" with her own manipulation. Harpies and other onlookers particularly admire those elders who can manipulate a knowing victim.

Some manipulators hide traps within traps; when the first is discovered, acting upon it sets off the second. Malkavian elders have gained grim reputations for the unpredictability of the snares they spring; some Malkavians seem to take actions solely to send the victims (or witnesses) into a frenzy of paranoid speculation and countermeasure against a nonexistent threat. One Malkavian elder made a habit of offering a different flower each day to random neonates. Elder after elder tried to decipher the "flower code" and the significance of the choice of neonates; the poor childer were hauled in for interrogation by increasingly distrustful sires, and conducting Elysium became nearly impossible as discussions stopped whenever anyone brought flowers into the room.

It is difficult to manipulate older vampires. Some particularly observant or skilled childer can play upon their elders' natural tendencies to paranoia and jealousy, or to their vanity and suspicion. Most elders can spot these ploys for what they are, however, and ancillae make themselves particularly vulnerable if they attempt such manipulations on a whim or without preparation. Elders manipulate younger vampires, especially, by maneuvering two dangerous coteries to open feuding and mutual self-destruction. Young Kindred seldom know enough of their ground to pose a genuine threat to elders in the political realm, and that's just how the elders like it.

The elders keep their progeny ignorant to make them pliable. Many of the most experienced manipulators can recognize the signs in the seemingly artificial and contrived rivalries between and within clans of the Camarilla. Of course, the most experienced manipulators are also generally the most paranoid and distrusting. These elders fear that they themselves are the targets for such manipulation by the reclusive Methuselahs, or even by the seemingly disinterested Inconnu. This fear becomes another factor in the Camarilla's impotence against the Sabbat and other crises. If the Sabbat, for example, serves the Methuselahs as a stalking horse to weaken and paralyze the otherwise-dangerous Camarilla, then acting against the Sabbat would be playing into the hands of the shadowy Fourth Generation.

A successful conspiracy resembles a magic trick. Distraction and misdirection allow it to go forward. No elder simply moves to do something for a plain and easily understood reason. The eldest of all strive never to show the real reason for their actions. The Kindred of one city tell the story of a Ventrue elder arriving on the scene in time to save the unlife of the city's prince from a Sabbat attack. The Ventrue shouted: "Fear not, sire, I am here to save thee!" The prince paused in his defense, and responded: "I see that, your lordship, but what is in it for me?" Since that Ventrue now rules the city, the question was a good one.

Misdirection often involves a diversion- an elder who plans to weaken a rival may throw a party, take up a new lover or even start an entirely different feud to cover her actions. Attacking on one front to progress on a second is another common type of misdirection. An assault on a rival's resources may actually be intended to goad the target into lowering his own status by requesting a boon from a seemingly disinterested party.

Indirection also helps such schemes go forward. No elder reveals to another every favor she possesses, the extent of her resources or the names of every contact and mortal tool in her retinue. It's rare that they share any information at all, in fact. An example on a small scale: An intriguer might use his influence in the city's police department to hamper a rival's business interests or even her nightly feedings. By successful misdirection in Elysium, he could convince her that her problems stem from an ambitious ancilla (also secretly part of his faction). When she appeals to him for help against the ancilla, he can arrange for the harassment to cease, thus increasing his status at her expense. If the ancilla's ambition has been causing problems as well, he might even solve the problem by arranging an unpleasant fate for his luckless pawn, thus killing two birds with one indirectly hurled stone.

To their distaste, the elders of the Kindred must occasionally share the stage with other supernatural beings of one sort or another. Such necessities irritate elders for many reasons. First, the rules which an elder Kindred spends centuries learning and perfecting have no use outside vampiric existence. Second, most elders know little about other supernaturals, and fear what they do not understand. This fear and ignorance, of course, works to poison the atmosphere of any such dealings. Often, that poison works on both sides; dealings between Kindred and werewolves almost always end badly for someone. Even in situations when no overt rivalries exist, however, confusion and miscommunication takes its toll. Virtually every elder has heard of some unfortunate vampire hampered by the mysterious vagaries of magi or wraiths.

Vampires fear Lupines more, if possible, than humans fear vampires. Since so much of the elders' power rests, ultimately, on fear and force, they instinctively respect, and therefore instinctively resent, the terror and violence inherent in the existence of werewolves. Cautious paranoia thus drives the elders of the Kindred to avoid any contact with Lupines if at all possible. If they absolutely must encounter lycanthropes, the elders take every imaginable precaution to ensure themselves the whip hand. Elders will arrange overwhelming force, arm their ghouls with silver shot and set meeting places in city parks rather than deserted suburbs or wild forest preserves. Elders also take any opportunity to betray and ambush werewolves, considering it to be nothing more than intelligent self-defense. Elders may promise the Lupines anything they want, only to unleash hordes of Brujah ancillae on the Lupine packs the instant their furry backs are turned.

Only the elders of Clan Gangrel find it possible to work with the Lupines on any consistent basis other than enmity and combat - and even they are far from friendship with the Werewolf. For whatever reason, perhaps because the Gangrel's intense need for and near-worship of the wilderness touches some chord within the shapeshifters' being, Gangrel can sometimes make cautious and transitory agreements with the Lupine tribes. To keep faith with the Lupines requires the Gangrel elders to build relationships of mutual trust (or at least bare toleration) over decades, made as difficult as possible by the maniacal suspicion that the werewolves hold for any Kindred regardless of clan.

For creatures who thrive on rules and order, the presence of a human being capable of violating any law of nature at a whim is nerve-wracking indeed. Fortunately for the Camarilla, not only do the human magi themselves work behind the scenes of reality, but their work seems to have virtually nothing to do with the ways of the Kindred. The mystics seem to inhabit an entirely different world from vampires at some times, and frankly no elder troubles herself greatly about them.

The sorcerous Clan Tremere, however, occasionally manages to put aside its qualms to dabble in mortal magi affairs. The clan has never quite been able to leave behind its old associations with the Hermetic houses of its birth, although open consorting between the two would lead to fatal disapproval from the elders of both sides. Elder Tremere recall too well that wizardly quarrels led them to their current state, partly in an attempt to gain some advantage in the battles between the Hermetic houses; they have had centuries to contemplate the choice.

Wraiths' intangibility, and their lack of involvement in mortal affairs, complicates dealings with the Restless Dead. Most elders are satisfied to leave ghostly things at that; their own lives roil with too much threat and confusion to add still more. However, wraiths make excellent spies; invisible and oft-ignored, they can eavesdrop on the most secret conference. Many of these ghosts seem greatly attached, even tied, to an object or person within the corporeal world, and these so-called Fetters make the best leverage an elder can have over a wraith. Having such a hold on one of the Restless Dead gives an elder a powerful resource - and a dangerous one, should the ghost rebel. Elders on bad terms with the Nosferatu may have overwhelming need to take these risks for such an agent.

The Kindred know little about the changelings, those few faeries left on Earth. During the Dark Ages, Kindred dealt with the fae more often, yet even then mystery, myth and confusion shrouded such transactions. To most elders, dealing with the Fair Folk invites a farrago of mystification and chaos. The traditional and orderly elders of the Camarilla dislike this as much as they dislike the potential lawlessness of the magi. Fortunately, the effect the Fair Folk can have on the Camarilla's conspiracies remains minimal. Any faerie with power left this world long ago for Arcadia; the powerless remnant aren't worth the time it would take to understand them.

Thus, only the occasional Malkavian elder works with the fae. When he does, it seems that insanity and Glamour can find a meeting place somewhere in the forest of illusions and hallucinations surrounding both. What those meetings portend, what occurs within them, and even whether they actually occur in reality at all is known only to the Malkavians - and to the changelings themselves.

Although the Cathayans seem to be fellow vampires, dealing with them is as fraught mystery as with any enigmatic mage - and potentially as dangerous as with a berserker Lupine. There are two great mistakes that elders can make with a Cathayan. First, some elders are prone to treat Cathayans as personages of no great account. Since Cathayans have no status within the Camarilla, and their Disciplines and codes are foreign and unfamiliar, foolish elders feel that the Cathayans can be ignored or viewed solely as exotic curiosities. Centuries of unlife spent ruthlessly cutting and crushing any Kindred who diverges from the minutiae of Camarilla salon etiquette build reflexes of condescension and underestimation that prove most unwise when practiced on the Kindred of the East. The Camarilla Kindred of Hong Kong and elsewhere on the Pacific especially can speak to the folly of such a path.

The other mistake holds equal danger, even if it appears less severe. Many Western Kindred treat the Cathayans as they would any other Kindred, with surface respect and secret resentment. Unfortunately, the Cathayans see the world differently from the Camarilla. Even though both cultures value politeness, reputation and power, the weight they give to each varies widely. Misperceptions build upon each other, and restoring amity becomes ever more difficult. For this reason, many elders of the Camarilla often go out of their way to avoid any dealings at all with the Cathayans. Kindred elders avoid risk even under the best of circumstances; dealing with the Kindred of the East never happens under the best of circumstances.

Elders almost always deal with humanity through networks of false fronts, cut-outs and hired (or ghouled) henchmen. Only the most important, most compromised human servitors ever see an elder face to face. Even then, the elders never reveal their identity, posing as rich businessmen, eccentric collectors or organized crime figures. Humans are almost always expendable - an elder's faintest doubt of a human's trustworthiness or a mortal's first hint of independence signs that mortal's death warrant. No elder thinks twice about murdering a human; he undoubtedly has done so tens of thousands of times over. Humans are more apt to concern themselves with the lives of cattle than Kindred elders are with kine.

Many times, this blindness causes the elder to misjudge a human's capacity for violence or to mistake desperation for tractability. Human breaking points vary, and often the kine fail to recognize when rebellion is instant suicide. Used to dealing with very risk-averse Kindred, elders can be taken by surprise by a human gamble against overwhelming odds. Ossified folly can potentially lead an elder to underestimate a human minion's capacity and send an insufficient force to dispose of an unwanted tool. Any human who gets away once, however, is hunted down by everything available - the Masquerade itself, and the elder's life, is potentially at stake.

Elders and their machinations often serve as the meat of a Vampire: the Masquerade chronicle. Even if the game does not focus on the elders, or even on court and salon, the schemes and plots of the Camarilla greatly affect every other vampire's life and political situation. The elders lie at the center of the Camarilla like bloated spiders within their webs. They notice every quiver of the Kindred around them, and can move to destroy threats with terrifying speed, surgical cunning and paralyzing power.

Elders can be frightening enemies or overwhelming allies, or vice versa, for a coterie of ancillae or neonates. Unless the coterie is made up of determined Caitiff anarchs, it will have to deal with the elders at some point, whether of the city or of their respective clans. The elders dislike and distrust anyone who attempts to stay out of Kindred politics; they cannot do anything about the Inconnu, but they can make unlife on Earth hell for a powerless coterie without allies. Once the coterie makes allies, of course, then it is just as thoroughly ensnared within the labyrinth of elder politics - and the elders win again.

The elders of the Camarilla embody the theme of Vampire: the Masquerade. Elders demonstrate what happens after tragedy. Drained of Humanity, they now fester in the womb of their shadowy existence. Elders serve as a warning: This is what you must not become. And yet, these beings must be defeated at their own game: To avoid them, you must become them. Manipulation and lies beget manipulation and lies, and he who would oppose the elders must use their tools.

The elders also batten upon their childer as their childer batten upon the kine; once an elder gets old enough, metaphor becomes truth and he must physically drain his progeny of vitae to continue his baneful unlife. It is not amiss for a Storyteller to draw parallels between the characters' dysfunctional fear and hatred of their elders and that of the characters' own retinues feelings for them.

Elders of the Camarilla live by the archaic and lifeless Traditions because such is the way of the vampire. Bloodsucking monsters cannot, should not, pretend to life. Such is a parody and a mockery of anything human. The Masquerade separates Kindred from the mortal world just as the scrims and screens of Elysian politics separate the elders from the real concerns of the Kindred. The authority of the elders shares symbolically in the taint of Caine; they are inherently corrupt and foul, representing the corruption of evil and the foulness of diseased blood. The actions of the elders cry out to Heaven for redress and for a cleansing; the players would do well to look for reflections of their characters' actions in the dark glass the elders hold up.

As well as incarnating the themes of Vampire: the Masquerade, using elders in a chronicle can go far to set the mood of the game. More than other Kindred, elders seem wrong. This sense of the uncanny goes far to build an atmosphere laden with menace and unspoken threat. Aside from the sheer unease caused by the blood-freezing power a sixth-generation Kindred commands, players should feel unnerved by the elder's appearance, by his casual inhumanities, and perhaps by the very real feeling that this elder is no longer even remotely human.

Storytellers can easily create the mood of blackest paranoia and jealous suspicion by thrusting the characters into the cream of vampiric high society. A few innuendoes, a hint of a conspiracy, a casual snub, and the players are suddenly mad with envious fear of every other Kindred they meet. When the Storyteller can convey the idea that elders treat everything and everyone with that level of manic fear and hatred, then the mood of the elder mentality snaps firmly into place.

Simple vileness and evil can go some distance to establish mood. Show elders at a divertissement salon playing a game of living chess or holding a grotesque tableau vivant with Dominated thralls. The sparkling imagery of Elysium becomes a whited sepulcher after one or two such events, and even the most light-hearted Toreador should feel the hateful brutality at the core of her existence.

The greatest service that elders perform in a chronicle, of course, is to drive the plot. With a fistful of factions and hundreds of intrigues bubbling away merrily in even a medium-sized city, the Storyteller can hang any number of plots and storylines on the interactions of various elders. Simply gaining an invitation to an important Toreador salon can be a roleplaying challenge that stretches for weeks as the characters jockey to be noticed by the Toreador's neonates (or by her rival's), to find some other Kindred with a precious favor to trade and to unwind skeins of rumor and overheard gossip to discern their own standing. On the other hand, if the Storyteller wishes to throw the players headlong into the mire of Kindred upper-crust life, the characters can be plucked from obscurity by an elder looking for easily-manipulated tools.

Within the complex economy of status, jealousy and prestation that governs the Camarilla, any action the characters take can have repercussions that echo for decades. If they help an elder, his enemies will mark them for recruitment (as spies) or destruction (as threats). This will involve them in plots spun by those enemies' rivals, or their allies. Once they have done other Kindred a favor, even inadvertently, the characters are well and truly hooked.

Larger questions of plot often hang on the action of the elders. Since elders always have some deeply hidden reason for their actions, and act as indirectly as possible, the Storyteller can always tie any loose end or red herring back into the main plot simply by revealing (or inventing) some elder's heretofore-hidden hand behind the mystery. Not everything in the chronicle needs to be the elders' fault, although the elders should certainly react to every major event involving the characters. These reactions can vary from conferring status (even involuntarily) on them, or mistakenly assuming that the coterie was working for some other elder when in fact the coincidence in interests was pure happenstance.

Although it is unusual for a coterie of neonates or ancillae to outmaneuver an elder or think of some angle he missed, it's rather less unusual for a troupe of players to outthink a Storyteller juggling five plotlines and a hundred non-player characters. The Storyteller can respond to such a surprise in three ways. The first, which is the most realistic but the least satisfying, is to save the elder's bacon somehow; bring in an extra squad of ghouls or give the elder some heretofore unheard-of Discipline or occult artifact that coincidentally foils the characters' plan. Elders certainly have such resources, but players reasonably object to seeing them only at the last minute.

The second possibility is simply to accept it. Part of the elders' weakness, after all, is their intense conservatism of outlook and fossilization of mind. It's not unheard of for ancillae or even neonates to develop some fresh new insight that happens to solve some crisis very much to the discomfiture of a slower, more hidebound, elder. This is, after all, part of why elders hate and fear the young. Of course, any coterie that has demonstrated an ability to take down, or even seriously inconvenience, an elder becomes an immediate target for every paranoid elder in the court, which is to say, every elder in the court, period. This certainly makes the characters' existences interesting, and gives the Storyteller a reason to beef up all the elders' defenses from now on so that she won't be caught that way again.

The final option is to reveal that the characters were, unbeknownst to them, following the agenda of another elder. Every clue they found, every hint they followed up on, every mistake their target made was set up by his rival. The players still feel the pleasure of success, but their reward is a nicely mixed one. Furthermore, such a denouement serves to tie the characters even more into elder politics, and thus into further plotlines and story arcs.

Directly portraying vampiric elders can challenge both Storytellers and players. After all, very few roleplayers have centuries of experience at intrigue, murder and court etiquette. Use the central tenets of paranoia, spite, jealousy and the all-important surface calm as your touchstones. Elders are unfeeling, but only in a bad way. They embody corrupt power leashed in silk - predatory cats who gain far more satisfaction from playing with their victims than from the act of consuming them.

The most important factor in playing an elder as Storyteller is control. The elder always desires the appearance of control, even (especially) if he is actually in a blind panicked funk over some real or imaginary threat. Elders strive to keep control of themselves, the conversation, the flow of information and their networks of allies and retainers. If the elder is at court, interrupt discussions with the characters as messengers deliver mysterious tidings, or with brief greetings to some other characters of higher status than the characters. If by some mischance a character scores a hit on an elder in conversation or innuendo, respond cuttingly and end the conversation. Elders do not get drawn into lengthy catfights or playing the dozens with upstarts.

Keep your elders unfailingly courteous and polite, even when angry or vengeful. No elder will lose her sang-froid for a coterie of juvenile riffraff. Keep your diction elegant, your poise controlled and your phrasing exact. Save the full body of vampiric rage for climactic scenes. If the characters see an elder angry, they should remember it for the rest of their (most probably short) unlives.

While embodying cool, harnessed, sadistic power, however, it is important for the Storyteller to remember that the elder is onstage to increase player involvement in the chronicle. The elder's role in the story is to advance theme, mood or plot, not to give the Storyteller a cheap ego trip at his players' expense. Elders can easily be overused. If the players are bored or resentful during scenes with elders, heed their message. Keep the elders in the shadows or across the salon floor. Their actions should convey a sense of mysterious menace, not overfamiliarity or pointless dominance games held over the players' heads.

Creating an Elder

Elders don't spring wholly formed like Athena from the minds of their creators. They are characters with more backstory and history than most. Simply tossing an elder into your game without context is a recipe for disaster - there's a great deal more to these creatures than just piles of Disciplines. When creating an elder, it pays to ask yourself the following questions about her:

How old is she?
Is she an American elder, witness to a bare handful of centuries, or a relic from the days of Magna Graecia? The answer says a great deal about the character's perspective - and how she'll react toward younger Kindred.
Where is she from?
An elder Embraced in Bavaria at the height of the Reformation is likely to have different values than one who began her unlife in pre-Great Fire London or Hannibal's Carthage. Don't forget to take culture and history into account when thinking about how the elder reacts instinctively - the first lessons learned are the last to be forgotten.
Where has she been?
What has she experienced? Did she flee from the Inquisition personally, or did she spend the years of terror hidden in torpor? What other elders or famous figures has she met? That sort of thing tends to impress neonates, as well as providing handy reference points for in-character reminiscences.

There are other questions along these lines that can be useful as well. Plotting out the elder's enemies, putative allies, preferences, quirks, childer and whatnot help fill in the gaps, and provides you with hooks on which to hang future stories. In the end, what your elder's Disciplines are, how many dots she has in each Attribute and so on - all of these things pale in importance when compared to figuring out who the elder is.

Players should pay attention to the roleplaying hints given above for Storytellers if called upon to portray elders in a chronicle. The central themes of control overlaying jealousy, of corruption eating away at tradition and of fear paralyzing power should be foremost in any player's mind as he adopts the role of an elder of the Camarilla.

A chronicle where one player plays an elder and the other characters are lower in status can create problems. The "central" player can wind up annoying the others, especially if he abuses his authority and acts petty and spiteful. Never mind that an actual elder would do exactly that, it's no fun to play. Consider troupe play, where the players take turns portraying the elder in the coterie, as a possible solution. Another solution is to allow all the players to take the role of elders. An all-elder chronicle can be too high-powered for some Storytellers, but the key is to develop threats sufficiently calibrated to the characters' exalted status.

If the players are mature enough to handle great in-character power, and the Storyteller creative enough to develop enough games of politics and intrigue (the ban on violence and Disciplines in Elysium can redress the balance somewhat here, too) or high-tension threats involving major foes, however, an all-elder game can be an exciting change from the endless round of manipulation and shadow-boxing.

Let the players take the roles of the primogen of the city; the Storyteller can spend a few sessions letting them get a feel for their new domain, exercising authority, judging salons, having nosy reporters or FBI agents killed with a languid wave of the hand to thirsty ancillae. Then, of course, the dread beast of politics rears its head. Clan differences may impel the players into maneuvering amongst themselves. If the players don't take each other's betrayal and conspiracy personally, this nicely solves the Storyteller's problem of threat calibration. If the players prefer coterie unity, however, facing down the Sabbat presents more than enough challenge. For mystery, the Storyteller might send the elders after the Antediluvians; for a more spiritual campaign, she could spotlight the blissful temptations of the Inconnu. Every elder harbors centuries of stories - why not your chronicle, too?

The Inconnu

Ask a hundred Kindred what the Inconnu are really up to, and you'll get two hundred different answers. The sect remains, mysterious and omnipresent, in the background of every vampire's thoughts. The fact that the Inconnu don't seem to do anything is maddening to other vampires. Plot and counterplot, thrust, parry and riposte - vampires are used to that sort of thing. In a strange way, the endless dance of intrigue and conflict is comforting; everyone knows what to expect, after all.

But the Inconnu don't play those sorts of games. They do, as far as the average Kindred can see, nothing. And that drives the rest of the vampiric community insane with curiosity - primarily because no one who's been Embraced for more than an hour can believe that beings so old and so potent could refrain from engaging in the same sorts of games that the rest of the vampires play.

Perhaps this perspective is a failure of vampiric perspective; younger vampires simply can't conceive of their wiser elders being like anything but themselves. Perhaps the Inconnu simply do sit, and watch, and in some cases seek Golconda endlessly. Perhaps�.

Technically speaking, the Inconnu are not so much a vampiric sect as they are a sort of community of mutual respect. So far as anyone knows, there is no Inner Circle of Inconnu, no grand and terrible gathering of grand and terrible vampires deciding the fate of the sect. Instead, the Inconnu - on those rare occasions when a vampire identifies himself as such - seem to be a loosely affiliated band of individuals, brought together by shared interest and experience but distanced by a healthy fear and respect of one another's power. Certainly Golconda seems to be on the agenda of many members of the sect, but "seems to be" isn't quite enough to ensure mutual safety when two incredibly powerful Kindred get a little too close.

Most often, an Inconnu is sensed simply as a presence, a feeling of ineffable power lurking in the background whenever a too-inquisitive trespasser comes near the vampire's dwelling. Even random passersby often get some fragment of this effect, which explains at least some of the supposedly "haunted" or "cursed" places in the world. Many members of the sect have gone to ground somewhere and stayed in that spot for centuries (See "Monitors," p. 225), though only a select few choose cities in which to dwell. The remainder prefer isolated and rural locations, often outside the purview of even other supernatural creatures. Inconnu retreat from society to be distinctly alone, and they take that notion seriously. What good is solitude for purposes of contemplating Golconda if ancillae are poking around the haven every other year or so?

In the end, then, the Inconnu are the Kindred's favorite homegrown mystery, always present to be debated, but never rousing themselves to act and thus disprove anyone's pet theories about them. In a strange sense the Inconnu are almost a comforting presence to their younger brethren, a slumbering volcano in the distance that the locals simultaneously respect and fear. No, the vampires of the Camarilla most assuredly do not want the Inconnu to start playing an active role in vampiric society, but their quiet presence is more pleasant to contemplate than, say, the possible machinations of the Antediluvians. The Inconnu are the figurative "devil you know," though that knowledge is ever so slight - and even among Kindred, the devil you know is better than the one you don't.

Any sane Kindred (and any Malkavian as well) has a healthy fear for the Inconnu. Everyone knows they can act, and act decisively - it's just that they don't. Paranoid sires tell their childer stories of entire towns (or in more grandiose versions, cities) wiped clean of their vampiric populations for some slight, real or imagined, against the Inconnu. As to whether or not these stories are true, let it suffice to say that it's hard to find evidence against them - which makes the tales all the more terrifying to particularly imaginative Kindred.

The likelihood is that the Inconnu themselves started those rumors (and may even have backed one or two of them up, just to prove the point) to ensure that younger Kindred have and maintain a gut-wrenching fear of what the Inconnu just might do. While this tactic might seem to deprive the Inconnu of potential helpers or allies, the truth is that should assistance be required, the Inconnu can no doubt compel it. Furthermore, the terror that these ancient Kindred inspire is sufficient to deter any number of would-be diablerists intent on potent Inconnu vitae. While the odds are that very few, if any, of these seekers would survive their quests, it's easier for the Inconnu never have to deal with them at all. As for those latter-day Troiles whom the stories don't discourage, even they are sufficiently affected by the tales to be hindered in their hunts by the effects of raw fear. A hunter who is distracted by legends and jumping at shadows soon becomes easy prey himself.

The Inconnu as a sect only came to prominence during the centuries immediately preceding the formation of the Camarilla and Sabbat; some historians claim that the Inconnu "formalized" as a result of those events. Older Kindred remember the Inconnu in those days as being described as remnants of the Roman order, vampires who had flourished under the Pax Romana et Vampirica and who felt displaced in the subsequent chaos. Precisely how the sect has evolved since then - particularly as regards its members' total rejection of the Jyhad and all its works - is shrouded in mystery. Again, the moment of decision would seem to be the mid-15th century, but that is sheerest conjecture.

Part of the mystery of the Inconnu is their sense of scale, one so grand that it is simply beyond the comprehension of younger Kindred. A decade or even a century is nothing to one of these ancients. Matters of ultimate urgency to neonates and ancillae are like mayflies to them, gone in a matter of moments. In a sense, the Inconnu are to younger vampires what those vampires are to mortals - just as an ancilla sees things from a much longer perspective than does a human, so does an Inconnu see things from a much longer perspective than a young vampire. The impending overthrow of a prince, anarch revolutions, Ravnos infestations - all those things that are matters of life and death to neonates and ancillae alike - are mere eyeblinks to the Inconnu, no more worthy of attention than a mortal mayoral election is to a Kindred Embraced a century ago. Indeed, it would not be too far-fetched to say that one of the great frustrations Kindred have in dealing with the Inconnu is that the sect treats younger vampires exactly as they are accustomed to treating others - and that even elders are a lot better at dishing out that sort of thing than receiving it.

The question of whether or not the Inconnu interfere in Camarilla society is one that has plagued the Camarilla since its inception. The consensus among Camarilla vampires seems to be "Yes, they do interfere, but we don't know how - and that's what terrifies us." The perceived hand of the Inconnu is everywhere, causing neonates and elders alike to react to the supposed manipulations of the mysterious sect. Further actions are taken to prepare against the (theoretically inevitable) day when the Inconnu do wish to take an active role.

So, by dint of others' reactions, paranoid fantasies and plans, the Inconnu do indeed affect the Camarilla on a nightly basis. On the other hand, the question of whether the Inconnu themselves actually do anything in addition to inspiring frenzies of activity remains debatable. This, presumably, is exactly the way the Inconnu like it.

On an individual basis, meetings with members of the Inconnu are rare and portentous. No one walks away from meeting a Methuselah unchanged, though whether the change is for the better or the worse is debatable. Encounters with Inconnu have specific purposes: warnings, threats, the odd moment of congratulation and the occasional recruitment onto the path of Golconda. Such encounters are more like audiences than discussions; the power dynamic in a room always tilts precipitously toward the Methuselah. Regardless of a given meeting's purpose, the sense of awe and power than an Inconnu brings to the table inevitably has an impact. Few vampires ever willingly speak of their contact with Inconnu, though whether this reticence grows out of fear, respect or compulsion no one can say.

One of the most prevalent rumors about the Inconnu is that some/most/all of them have achieved the semi-mythical state known as Golconda. While official Camarilla policy on Golconda is that it is a pleasant myth, that same policy subtly discourages anyone from diverting his energies from the sect to seeking that myth out. As a result, the notion that the Inconnu seemingly have the key to whatever Golconda might be (and trying to get consensus on that matter is like collecting hen's teeth) makes them slightly suspect in a fashion completely unrelated to their monstrous power.

Basic theory on Golconda is that it is the state wherein a vampire masters and tames his Beast, rendering himself immune to its ravages and frenzies. The effects this mastery has on matters such as vampiric hunger, Rotschreck and so on are open to debate among vampiric theorists (Golconda studies being second only to Noddist lore as a popular field for unliving scholars). Thus, it is no surprise that knowledge of this mysterious philosophy is ascribed to this mysterious sect of vampires.

Everybody Knows

Very few - perhaps a dozen - Kindred actually know what Monitors are. A bare handful more are even aware of their existence, and all of those are predictably close-mouthed about the subject. It's not that Monitors go door to door advising other vampires not to speak about them; rather, it's that Kindred who blather to others about mysterious Inconnu monitoring entire cities tend to be ignored, mocked or silenced. Whether the Inconnu themselves are behind this uniformly negative reaction is a matter of quiet debate among those "in the know," but no one's willing to risk his immortal neck to test the hypothesis.

On the other hand, a great many younger Kindred, particularly those with Auspex, report uncanny, undirected feelings of being watched, particularly in cities where a Monitor is present. There's also a prevalence of unquiet or nightmarish dreaming among these vampires, presumably a result of their fragile minds being touched by the Monitor's roving will. Unsolicited bits of memory and conjecture accidentally dropped into a neonate's mind in this fashion can give the young vampire remarkable insight - or set her up as a target because she knows too much.

On one level it makes sense that a majority of the Inconnu have in fact achieved Golconda; ultimate enlightenment would seem a better reason than most that the Methuselahs don't constantly interfere with or hunt their distant descendants. The isolation and desolation that the Inconnu demand of their havens also seem to lend themselves to contemplation, not distraction - a necessary prerequisite to Golconda, one would think. Furthermore, whispered conversations between those Kindred who have in fact met - knowingly or unawares - members of the Inconnu often agree on one point: the utter serenity and calm that seemingly radiated from the Methuselah.

It is commonly accepted rumor that members of the Inconnu who have attained enlightenment do in fact rouse themselves to seek disciples on the path to Golconda. The recruitment process can take years or centuries - some Kindred have reported being approached a half-dozen times over a half-dozen centuries. Other times, the target of the attempt is a freshly Embraced neonate of exceptional potential or lineage, as the Methuselah seeks to pre-empt centuries of torment and blood by starting the prize catch down the "right road" early. Coercion is never used in these matters. One cannot be forced onto the road to Golconda, only convinced to travel it for oneself.

Kindred who accept the Inconnu's blandishments on the matter make a point of setting their unliving affairs in order and then disappearing, presumably to join their new teachers in the wilderness. Such tidy disappearances are unsettling to the Kindred's "survivors," and since many students of Golconda never return home, a sinister air can sometimes shroud the whole process. Most of these disciples are never heard from again, though debate rages as to whether the vanished ones then take up positions among the Inconnu, change identities or simply are destroyed as part of the Inconnu's sinister, hidden plots.

Inconnu who hold the position of Monitor, it should be noted, never take students on the road to Golconda. They have other concerns and duties, and can offer none of what a true seeker after Golconda needs.

If a younger Kindred comes in contact with a member of the Inconnu at all (a highly unlikely proposition at best), odds are that the one he meets is a city's Monitor. While the vast majority of Inconnu ensconce themselves in havens far from the hustle and bustle of the cities - not to mention the younger vampires therein - a few members of the sect pick for themselves a certain metropolis and become its Monitor. Birth, breeding and long habit have no bearing on a Monitor's choice of home - the Monitor of Chicago, for example, has spent only a tiny fraction of her unlife in the city. Instead, the selection seems dictated by factors invisible to less experienced observers; panicked rumors lay the blame at the feet of Noddist prophecies, patterns of ley lines, instructions from Caine himself and, most disturbingly, the notion that in places where the Methuselahs sleep, the Inconnu are bound to watch.

Be that as it may, once a Monitor chooses a city she is bound to it for, if not the remainder of her existence, then at least a considerable portion of it. It is her duty to observe all that goes on in that city, the overt as well as the hidden, and more importantly, to understand it. So far as anyone (other than the Inconnu know) there is no system whereby a Monitor turns in reports or makes presentations. It is simply the Monitor's duty to know - and somehow, the other Inconnu who need to know what she knows always seem to have that information as well. More than one recently relocated Kindred has found himself confronted with a mysterious stranger who seems to know entirely too much about his past�.

In general, Monitors do not ever interfere with the course of events in their cities. There is no oath of noninterference taken, no geas against meddling, but it is understood that Monitors are in place to watch, not to act. Like most customs of the Kindred, this one is honored as much in the breach as in the observance, as many Monitors find themselves irresistibly drawn to interfere in the actions of a younger vampire who reminds them of a lover, a friend, a childe or perhaps even a long-ago version of themselves. Such dalliances are usually brief - no more than three or four decades in duration - and never of the sort to impact directly the greater flow of events in the city. A Monitor may bend her principles to protect a favorite from a random attack by a no-account Caitiff, but rarely will she so much as lift a finger to shelter him from a blood hunt.

Contrary to what one might expect, a Monitor usually has but a single haven from which to observe his charge. A Monitor's haven is usually central to the urban area he is responsible for, and more often than not located beneath some sort of public or historical building - one that is not likely to draw excessive visitors, but which has enough traffic to ensure its continued existence. Any vampire who wanders into a Monitor's home by accident is subtly compelled by a form of Presence (difficulty 10 to resist the suggestion) to exit as quickly as possible, satisfied as to the generally benign and empty nature of the place. That is not to say that Monitors' havens are undefended - most have effective, if not technologically sophisticated, traps and safeguards in serried ranks. Monitors don't, however, have obtrusive or extensive networks of vampiric, ghoul or mortal servants - the whole point of the position, after all, is to watch everyone. What ghouls a Monitor is likely to keep are animal in form, though these creatures are invariably centuries old, supernaturally intelligent and gifted with Disciplines. (See Ghouls: Fatal Addiction for more information on animal ghouls.)

Encounters with a Monitor follow only one rule: The Monitor never identifies himself as such. On those exceedingly rare occasions when a Monitor feels he absolutely must talk with a younger Kindred - or is caught socially outside his haven - he creates a false identity, usually that of an anarch or a traveler just passing through the city. The wise Monitor has a whole set of additional auras (See Auspex, p.84) prepared for such situations, if not a set of new visages (See Obfuscate, p. 91). As it's highly unlikely that anyone in a given city is likely to have the power to pierce the powers an Inconnu brings to bear, it's not very hard for a Monitor to wrap himself in protective illusions.

Monitors of Note

No one is sure precisely how many Monitors there actually are, as only a few have ever revealed themselves. Some of those who have been identified as such are:

Rebekah, Monitor of Chicago - Rebekah is perhaps the most public of the Monitors, having dabbled repeatedly in Chicago's tumultuous affairs. She makes her haven at the city's aquarium, a locale entirely too accessible to make her sectmates happy.
Mahatma, Monitor of Istanbul - Of all the Inconnu, Mahatma seems most closely interested in Saulot's many legacies. She speaks fondly of having known Saulot himself, at least in the company of her fellow Inconnu, and has acted on multiple occasions to assist his descendants.
Maltheas the Ventrue - Maltheas was last seen in attendance at the Convention of Thorns. Since then his whereabouts and even his continued existence are matters of conjecture. The theory in vogue among survivors of that long-ago parley is that Maltheas, rather than Monitoring a single city, casts his unsleeping gaze over the Camarilla itself.
Dondinni, Monitor of Genoa - Dondinni is among the most active of the Inconnu, fully convinced that Gehenna is imminent and zealously involved in searching for evidence to that effect. The Daughters of Cacophony in particular worry him, and members of that bloodline find his city to be an inhospitable place.

A Monitor interacts with vampires outside of her sect on her terms only. That means she arranges the time and place of the meeting, and then nine times out of 10 sets things up so that the interaction appears coincidental. Most Monitors are plain-spoken; they have no patience for cryptic statements or convoluted riddles. The risk inherent in compromising her observer's position by interacting with the ones she is observing is too great; a Monitor has no interest in being Delphically obtuse. Centuries of observation have taught the Inconnu that plain information travels the best and with the least misinterpretation. No Monitor wants to risk coming out of hiding, only to have the ancilla she speaks to completely miss the point of what she was trying to say.

Not every city has a Monitor. Truth be told, precious few do, and those metropolitan areas blessed (or cursed) with such tend to be hotbeds of all sorts of vampiric activity. Once a Monitor chooses a locale to settle in, she stays there - forever. There are no vacations, no nights away; everything that goes on must be observed. There is also only one Monitor per city. While Monitors-in-place don't go out of their way to advertise their presence, they do subtly and psychically encourage other would-be observers to go elsewhere. No one, not even the Inconnu, know exactly which cities hold Monitors and how long those Kindred have been in place; Mahatma of Istanbul is reasonably certain she has the longest tenure among current Monitors, but then reflects that in her youth she felt somehow discouraged from the idea of taking up residence in at least three other cities.

Storytelling With the Inconnu

While it may be tempting to drop one or two Methuselahs into your chronicle, just to show uppity ancillae exactly how steep the World of Darkness' power curve really is, a wise Storyteller refrains from doing so. Familiarity breeds contempt, and the more times characters see a member of the Inconnu, the more the awe he should inspires diminishes. Once a band of neonates - or even ancillae or elders - gets chummy with a member of the Inconnu, there's no way to resurrect the impact this incredibly old, incredibly powerful and incredibly alien creature should have. Appearances by Inconnu should be rare, brief and telling - only matters of the gravest import should be able to coax one of these vampiric recluses out of hiding.

A better tack to take is to hint at Inconnu interest or interference - a shadowy observer here, an anonymous message there and above all an ominous sense of being observed. Above all, the sense of mystery the Inconnu project must be maintained, else they become just another set of powerful vampires/antagonists/mentors/whatever. Remember: The Inconnu have baffled the Camarilla for five centuries and more. They should be able to hold your players back from their secrets as well.

Ghouls

One of the fundamental differences between the Camarilla and the Sabbat is the former's policy of working, whenever possible, through mortals instead of running roughshod over them. A literal manifestation of that willingness to work with mortals is the Camarilla's reliance upon the half-human class of creatures called ghouls. Whereas the Sabbat (save the tradition-minded Tzimisce) shun and despise ghouls, the Camarilla regards them as vital cogs in the sect's machinery. Without the still-living ghouls, who would oversee the Masquerade in the daylight hours? Who would take care of the thousand dangling details that plague a vampire's existence? And who would move against the sect's enemies, external and internal, during those hours when all Kindred sleep, if not for the ghouls?

In truth, ghouls are integral to the Camarilla's existence and function. All of the grandiose plans laid by elders depend on a hundred small tasks being done properly - tasks that are inevitably entrusted to ghouls. Maintaining the Masquerade would also be impossible without ghoul assistance. The dozens of tiny tears that the fabric of the deception develops each year are best and most subtly stitched up from within the mortal community; a ghouled police captain or newspaper editor can repair a breach of the Masquerade reflexively, without fear of engendering further incidents. They are only human, after all.

In brief, a ghoul is a mortal being who has ingested Kindred vitae. While the term "ghoul" usually refers to a human being, animals of any sort can be ghouled (witness the horrific swarms of ghouled mosquitoes and flies hovering around the average Nosferatu). Odds are, however, that if someone uses the term "ghoul" she means a human being - more or less.

There are many benefits to becoming a ghoul - retarded aging; increased strength, speed and stamina; inhumanly fast healing and on occasion, the chance to learn some basic vampiric Disciplines. The deal does have its down side, however - part and parcel with a ghoul's abilities comes a slavering addiction to vitae, the likelihood of being blood bound and the fact that by becoming ghouled, a mortal takes an irrevocable half-step into the world of the Camarilla. There is no turning back once that first sip of vitae goes down; at that point the ghoul becomes a walking, talking violation of the Masquerade. The only two options are to go forward in hopes of the Embrace or to remain still, as a ghoul. To go back is to invite death in the name of protecting the Masquerade.

For more information on the powers, flaws and other foibles of ghouls, see Ghouls: Fatal Addiction.

Too Many Ghouls

While the limits on creating ghouls are not quite as strict for Camarilla vampires as are the limitations on bestowing the Embrace, there's still a common sense factor involved. Maintaining a ghoul takes blood. Maintaining a lot of ghouls takes a lot of blood. A vampire who surrenders a great deal of blood to ghouls every month needs to feed that much more to make up for the voluntary donations. Additional feedings leads to additional corpses, and more chances to break the Masquerade, and so on�. Most Kindred prefer to keep a few trusted ghouls. It's easier, safer and less wearing that way.

In addition, the wider a Kindred's network of ghouls is, the more suspicion she garners from her peers. A vampire with too many eyes on the street and too many hands to do her bidding is a danger to others of her kind, pure and simple. As a result, there are frequent "prunings" of ambitious Kindred's retainers and the like.

The Traditions prevent a Camarilla vampire from vigorously Embracing anyone she feels like, but that still leaves the question of how a law-abiding vampire can exert her influence on the mortal institutions that interest her. The best solution to this quandary is through judicious and appropriate ghouling. Camarilla vampires are prevented by custom, peer pressure and occasional princely fiat from creating too many ghouls - there are only so many worthwhile mortals to go around, after all - so they have to make the ones they pick count. Competition for prize humans has gotten so fierce in some places that "bag limits" have been imposed (See A World of Darkness: Second Edition, p. 16).

There are three factors that determine a mortal's potential for being ghouled: position, talent and availability. The first refers to what exactly the mortal does. Is he a judge who can squash cases that might expose vampiric shenanigans? What about a local sports figure who, by dint of his vitae-given advantages, can improve his team's fortunes and finances (not to mention all those involved in industries ancillary to the team)? Perhaps a muckraking newspaper reporter can be convinced, after a taste of the vitae, to go dig up someone else's secrets. And so it goes, with the highest placed mortals attracting the most vampiric attention. Oftentimes, a particularly pivotal mortal is left alone by agreement among several vampires who previously competed for his allegiance, the idea being that it is better to have no one control him than to have a rival do so. Not all ghouls are selected for long-term cultivation, either - there are plenty of times when a particular mortal (say, an underdog prize fighter on whom a vampire has bet heavily) is useful now, but won't be in six months. Such mortals are ghouled, then thrown away - their position is only of concern for a brief and shining moment.

The second criterion is talent. The Toreador and Ventrue (and on an entirely different level, the Nosferatu) are past masters at spotting the potential in a mortal who has not yet made her name, and plucking that flower for themselves. There are also specific skills - accounting, computer literacy and the intricacies of modern law, just to name three - that many Kindred find beyond their experience, and as such they look to human beings with the skill sets they need to handle those affairs. Such ghouls are often left in place to pursue their normal lives, more or less, and are summoned by their masters only in need or to refresh the blood bond. It makes sense to do it that way, after all - why pay to support a ghoul full-time when he can be at your beck and call 24/7 while still paying his own way?

That being said, there are any number of Kindred who don't want their staff getting too far from them. Ventrue, for example, prefer to have certain ghouls with access to vital financial information kept on a very short leash. Such ghouls "disappear" from the mortal world (often with the able assistance of still other ghouls, who have performed this sort of extraction before) and become immersed in the world of the Camarilla.

The third, and least quantifiable, criterion for a Camarilla vampire ghouling someone is simply opportunity. A Toreador who sees a mortal too beautiful to pass up may ghoul her in lieu of Embracing her; a Nosferatu may ghoul a terminally ill vagrant out of pity and to create a debt of gratitude. Such ghouls rarely stick with their creators long, as the vampires tend to tire of their creations of the moment rather quickly. Even the supposedly civilized vampires of the Camarilla have no qualms about destroying their ghouls if the ghouls provide unsatisfactory service, grow too erratic, seek to escape servitude or simply catch a vampire in a bad mood.

A rare few ghouls are created as a sort of probationary status, to see if they're worthy of the Embrace. Most ghouls think this notion applies to them, that they're going to be next to ascend to immortality. The actual percentage of ghouls being groomed for Kindred status is tiny, but the Camarilla allows its servants to hope. It keeps them in line that much more efficiently.

Ghouls of Convenience

Sometimes mortals receive the blood just because it's too annoying to do anything otherwise. The owner and bouncer of a Kindred's favorite club, for example, are prime targets for this sort of thing. The vampire is there five nights a week and has to go through the charade of pretending to be mortal each and every night. Sooner or later, it gets boring and tiresome, and there's always the possibility of a slip. It's much easier just to ghoul both the bouncer and the owner (and maybe a bartender as well, who can then be persuaded to stock suitable refreshment) and sidestep the whole process. Ditto for the human who comes to read the electric meter on the haven and other such routine mortal annoyances. The only hitch with this sort of thing is that there are probably six or seven other vampires who have exactly the same idea, and competition for ghouls, regardless of their utility, can get fatally vicious.

The Camarilla uses ghouls for a wide variety of tasks, usually those too menial, repetitive or dangerous for the Kindred themselves to attend to. While ghouls of particular expertise or use are handled with kid gloves - no Toreador wants her pet sculptor having a fit of jealous pique with a blowtorch in hand - the ruck and run of the "half-bloods" are treated like the vampiric equivalent of the hired help.

Just because someone is dead doesn't mean that she doesn't have errands to run and minor details to tend to. While trips to the DMV and the grocery store might be replaced by a run to the hardware store for lightproofing supplies, the principle remains the same. There's too much to do, and only 12 hours a night to do it in. That means that Camarilla vampires need someone to take care of the necessaries, and that someone is inevitably a ghoul. Errand boy is actually a position of more trust than one might think; a ghoul who brings back faulty materials for rendering his mistress' haven lightproof is in a great deal of trouble - assuming his mistress survives the consequences of his mistake. Some particularly cautious Kindred even prefer to have systems of drop-offs and package pickups for their ghouls, thus lessening the chance that an unobservant delivery ghoul might be followed back home.

The Kindred also employ their ghouls for carpentry and construction projects, rather than trust outsiders. It is a far better thing to have your booby-traps and secret chambers constructed by those who love and trust you absolutely. After all, there is no such thing as a truly independent contractor in the World of Darkness.

Toreador aren't the only vain vampires, and it isn't just the Degenerates who have gaggles of ghouls devoted to grooming them. The habit's been picked up by the Ventrue as well, particularly those looking to make a splash before the prince. Ghoulish personal attendants are much-loved, if they do their jobs well. A ghoul who can make a vampire look good and, more importantly, feel good about the way he looks, is an invaluable asset. Some Toreador spend literally hours gazing at their own reflections as their favorite ghouls pamper and preen them, lost in the ever-lovelier vision of themselves. Ghouls of this sort often travel with their regnants as well, tending to the slightest displaced tress or misplaced fold of cloth, and a vampire thus attended will make a tremendous production out of the fact that she is being tended so completely. Pity, then, the ghoul who doesn't quite measure up to her mistress' grooming standards...

No one can be two places at once, though some elders may give the idea their very best effort. Ghouls, on the other hand, can serve as a vampire's eyes-on-the-ground. A few loyal ghouls scattered throughout a city can pick up an awful lot of information during the course of a single day, then distill that knowledge for their regnant's benefit. Nosferatu and, surprisingly, Toreador love to set their ghouls up as living security cameras. Such ghouls can go weeks or even years before being called on to report, but in the meantime they are still out there, constantly watching.

Many of the vampires of the Camarilla enjoy the very process of the Hunt - the chase, the subtlety, the sheer artistry of it and finally, the taste of vitae flavored with fear or arousal. Then there are those Kindred who, for whatever reason - a lack of skill at covering up, a nasty habit of frenzying or even just the press of the schedule - honestly don't have the inclination to go stalking the rain-slicked streets in search of sustenance. They'd rather order takeout, as it were. That's where the ghouls come in.

Doing procurement work for a Kindred is a dangerous and dirty job. It is no less than the kidnapping of human beings on a regular basis, and in all probability acting as the accessory to a great many murders as well. To be trusted to bring home supper for one's regnant means that a ghoul has nerves of steel and very little that is human left to him - in addition to whatever skills are required for the pickups. Ventrue in particular like to give this chore to their most trusted ghouls, saving them the trouble of having to hunt in accordance with their prey exclusion. A ghoul who's trained to bring home the right sort of bacon can save a busy Ventrue many precious hours, and may well be rewarded for such.

However, it is not lost on the Kindred that ghouls who go out hunting for them are honing the skills that might someday allow those ghouls to hunt the Kindred themselves. Any vampire who lets his ghouls hunt for him is constantly trapped between the necessity of having competent help and the danger that too-competent help represents.

The vampires of the Camarilla don't like to risk their immortal necks, which means when there's a possibility that they'll get hurt, they try to send in the ghouls instead. The philosophy isn't quite as callous as it seems; a trained group of ghouls should be able to handle any mortal threat and a fair number of supernatural ones as well. A single ghoul may or may not be the equal of a vampire (though in a tussle between an experienced ghoul and a neonate, it pays to put your money on the mortal), but four heavily armed and practiced ghouls can extract a troublesome anarch from a crowded restaurant with a minimum of mess and bloodshed. Ghouls also make the perfect agents for more stereotypical intimidation techniques, as well as for taking out unsuspecting hunters. The average field Inquisitor isn't necessarily looking for an enemy who breathes, after all.

When wartime comes, however, things get more serious. The Sabbat's great advantage is in the sheer number of vampires they can bring to the fight; ghouls are the Camarilla's only hope of countering that weapon. Hopefully, the number of mortals the Camarilla throws into the line can stem the assault's tide, buying the Kindred the time they need to mount their other defenses. On a more macabre note, if the worst happens, dead ghouls in the street are much less of a threat to the Masquerade than dead neonates. Even in defeat, the Traditions must be observed.

Ghouls offer the Camarilla another, decided advantage on the attack: The ability to move and fight during daylight. When the Camarilla decides it's time for a counterstrike, it's ghouls who go in under the cover of sunlight. If the assault goes well, the ghouls catch their opponents at their sluggish worst, and an entire war party can be cleaned out in a matter of bare minutes.

Invaluable yet inferior - that dichotomy sums up ghouls' place in the Camarilla. The sect would crumble literally overnight were it to be deprived of its half-human servants, but the fact remains that they are servants - lesser beings by definition and by blood. Ghouls have no rights under the Camarilla save what their regnants choose to grant them, and the right of destruction can be invoked at any time.

Thus begins an intricate dance of status and favor. In theory, a ghoul has no place and no standing within the sect, but the trusted and ancient ghoul of an elder may well carry more weight in council than a blood-on-the-chin ranting neonate. Complicating matters is the fact that most ghouls are indeed blood bound to their masters, and get both enthusiastic and inventive in those masters' defense. Such zealotry often pits ghouls against other Kindred who pose a threat to their masters, and can lead to embarrassing moments for the vampires in question. The choice between setting the precedent of allowing a ghoul to attack a Kindred and get away with it, or sacrificing a favorite ghoul to appease a hated rival is a particularly unappealing one.

In the end, ghouls are held to a double standard - despised as a class but valued individually. No vampire - and no ghoul - should ever forget it. The consequences of a poor memory, on anyone's part, are invariably both fatal and brief.