Vampire the requiem half damned pdf download

By John Goff, Jess Heinig, Christopher Kobar, Brand Robins,

Dean Shomshak and Chuck Wendig

Vampire created by Mark Rein•Hagen

TM

introduction

2

Credits

Authors: John Goff, Jess Heinig, Christopher Kobar,

Brand Robins, Dean Shomshak and Chuck Wendig

Vampire and the World of Darkness created by

Mark Rein•Hagen

Developers: Justin Achilli and Ken Cliffe

Editor: Ken Cliffe

Art Director: Pauline Benney

Layout & Typesetting: Pauline Benney

Interior Art: Daren Bader, Aleksi Briclot, John Cobb,

Shane Coppage, Alexander Dunnigan, Vince Locke,

Raven Mimura and R K Post

Front Cover Art: Todd Lockwood

Front & Back Cover Design: Pauline Benney

© 2005 White Wolf Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved. Reproduction

without the written permission of the publisher is

expressly forbidden, except for the purposes of reviews, and for

blank character sheets, which may be reproduced for personal

use only. White Wolf, Vampire and World of Darkness are registered

trademarks of White Wolf Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved.

Vampire the Requiem, Storytelling System and Bloodlines

the Hidden are trademarks of White Wolf Publishing, Inc.

All rights reserved. All characters, names, places and text herein

are copyrighted by White Wolf Publishing, Inc.

The mention of or reference to any company or product in these pages is not a challenge to the

trademark or copyright concerned.

This book uses the supernatural for settings, characters and themes. All mystical and supernatural

elements are fiction and intended for entertainment purposes only. This book contains mature

content. Reader discretion is advised.

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bloodlines: the hidden

Introduction

Alucinor

Anvari

Architects of the Monolith

Table of Contents

Bohagande

Gethsemani

Khaibit

Morotrophians

Nahualli

Nelapsi

Oberlochs

Qedeshah

Rakshasa

10

12

20

30

38

48

58

68

78

88

96

106

116

bloodlines: the hidden

TM

introduction

3

PROLOGUE:

BLOOD KIN

The winter moonlight ebbed and flowed amid the scudding

clouds high over the town of Wormwood. From the

grimy, circular window in the attic of the old Stokes mansion,

Edward had a panoramic view of the wooded hillside

and the road leading down into town. A bitter wind

whistled through the window’s broken panes, riffling the

pages of the small book in his pale hands. The vampire

paid it little heed. He’d been cold as the grave for nearly

a hundred years, and cold he would remain.

Once again, he tried to focus on the small, blocky type

cramming the book’s small pages. It was one of nearly a

half-dozen books he’d managed to save from the moldy

library downstairs. Not a one of them had managed to

hold his interest for more than a few pages. This one was

full of poems by a woman he’d never heard of. As the

moonlight waxed brighter he tried to find where he’d left

off, but after a few moments he gave up the attempt and

tossed the old book away in disgust.

The wind whistled and the decrepit house settled on

its foundations, creaking and groaning like a bitter old

crone. The lonely little town at the base of the hill was

dark and seemingly desolate, its narrow streets devoid of

life. It was as if the night belonged to Edward alone —

and in a sense, he supposed it did. Once upon a time,

the notion might have thrilled him, but not any more.

A twinkle of lights and a hint of movement on the

twisting road drew Edward’s eye. A car was working its

way up the hill to where the Stokes Mansion sat. He

checked his watch. It was nearly midnight. Frowning

slightly, the vampire rose from the rickety old chair by

the window and picked his threadbare suit coat from

the floor. He slipped the coat on with care, checking his

starched collar and tie much as he’d once done while

alive, and then made his way to the attic’s narrow stairs.

His limbs felt stiff and it seemed as though his veins

were pulled taut like cords. He hadn’t fed in several

nights, unable to stomach the taste of cow’s blood or to

chase after rats in the mansion’s cellar. Now he regretted

going without.

Edward slipped effortlessly amid the debris of the rotting

house, finding his way in utter darkness with supernatural

ease. He descended the narrow servants’ stairs

at the back of the manor and passed through the wreckage

of the huge kitchen, then beyond a sagging door

and into the refuse-strewn yard. After almost a year since

returning to his family’s ancestral home, he knew the

house and its grounds intimately. In his bitter moments

he recalled how much he once longed to live here, but

had to move on in his mortal days. All things come to

those who wait, he thought with a rueful shake of his head.

The wind rattled the bare branches of the sycamore

trees and banged the shutters on the carriage house out

back. Thin wisps of snow raced across the weed-choked

driveway. Distantly, he heard a car door swing shut. Edward

crossed the faint outline of the driveway and slipped

into the darkness beneath the rustling trees, making his

way downhill to the cemetery.

His spirits lifted a bit as he descended — it felt good

to be back out in the woods again. Stalking prey, came

the unbidden thought, and Edward ruthlessly pushed the

urge away. Truth to tell, he missed the joys of the hunt

even more keenly now that he’d left the city behind.

Towns like Wormwood were too small for people to disappear,

night after night. The wilderness was no place

for beasts like him, he thought ironically.

The cemetery was only a few hundred yards from the

manor, surrounded by trees on all sides. As he reached

the wrought-iron fence, Edward could see a slim figure

in a dark coat wandering among the weathered headstones.

The sight of her made his dead heart beat, and

the scene took on a sharp-edged quality. It was desire of

a sort; his cold hands clenched, and he became aware of

the fangs pressing against his lips.

Before he knew it, he had found the gap in the fence and

was sliding like a shadow over the frozen ground. The wind

masked the faint sound of his footsteps. It was so easy. Her

face was turned slightly to the right. The skin of her pale

cheek seemed lit from within, like warm candlelight. He

could almost taste the warmth there, and he was so cold.

Stop… stop… STOP! His mind raged while the Beast inside

him raged back. For a moment he was paralyzed as conflicting

impulses fought for control of his body. Then Charlotte

happened to glance over her shoulder and let out a

startled cry, her gloved hand going to her mouth. Her eyes

were wide with fear. The shock of her expression gave him

the strength to fight his hunger down for a little while longer.

“You’re… you’re late,” he said, a little shakily. “I was

afraid you weren’t going to come.”

“I nearly didn’t,” Charlotte Dean said, her voice

muffled by her glove. Wisps of auburn hair trailed from

beneath her knit cap and fluttered in the cold wind, and

her neck was wrapped in layers of blue woolen scarf. Her

large, dark eyes still regarded Edward a little fearfully.

“Daddy had me working at the house all night, gettin’

the place ready for company. I had to wait ‘til he went

to bed, and snuck out my bedroom window.”

Edward gritted his teeth, forcing down the last of his

hunger, and realized that Charlotte was watching his every

move. He reminded himself once again to not be taken

in by her thick, West Virginia drawl. She was smart and

very perceptive, easily one of the sharpest people in town.

He made an effort to compose himself and took a step

forward, reaching for her wrist. Gently, he pulled her hand

from her face. “I’m glad to see you, Charlotte,” he said,

and gave her a smile. “I was just lonely, that’s all.”

Her dark eyes narrowed suspiciously, then twinkled with

mirth. “I missed you, too,” she said, her rosebud lips quirking

in a faint smile. “You were all I could think about today.”

Edward nodded. “Have you thought about what we

discussed last Friday?”

Charlotte’s smile faded. “I… I don’t know….”

The vampire took her hand in his. He could see her

resolve finally starting to waver, after weeks of patient

effort. “Charlotte, this is a gift I want to give you. You

don’t have to live like this anymore. You don’t want to

live like this. You’ve told me so yourself.”

Charlotte looked away, her face troubled. One gloved hand

unconsciously rubbed her upper arm. Edward wondered if

that was where her father beat her, night after night. “Daddy

says he’s making me strong,” she said, almost in a whisper. A

look of fear passed across her face, and she looked like a lost

child instead of a young woman. “He says I’ve got to get

married soon, and that I’ll have to be tough.”

“You are strong, Charlotte,” Edward said, stepping closer.

“You’ve lived with that bastard long after your mother

couldn’t. You deserve to be free of him, and I can give

that to you.” He reached out and touched her cheek.

“You’ve suffered long enough. That’s why I came to you.”

She thought of him as her angel. Evidently she’d been

sneaking away from her father’s house for years to visit

the old Stokes mansion. She walked the old family graveyard

and combed the mildewed halls of the manor,

dreaming of the day she could escape Jared Wallace

Dean’s brutal clutches.

The first week Edward settled into the house, he’d

awoken one evening to the sound of footsteps on the

attic stair. Later she said she’d come to the highest part

of the house hoping to throw herself out of one of the

broken windows. When she saw him, wearing some of

the threadbare clothes left in the old place, she thought

him a ghost.

Thinking back, Edward couldn’t explain why he hadn’t

killed her that night. Instead, he’d asked her name, and

then listened to her talk about the violent episodes of her

life. She longed to escape, even if it meant her death, and

that stirred something inside him. It was only later that

he realized what he felt was loneliness. So he kept up his

charade and became her confidante. She told him about

the town and its inhabitants, and in time he realized that

this was his domain. There was no Prince to challenge

him, no Prisci to whom to kowtow. He could do with this

place — these people — as he saw fit. If he chose to create

a childe, there was no one in Wormwood to stop him.

“But I don’t want to leave my home,” she said, her voice

surprisingly strong. “That was my momma’s house. That

was where she died. When I get married, daddy says it’ll be

mine.” Her expression darkened. “It would almost be worth

it, just so I could throw that son of a bitch out.”

Edward smiled. “That’s just it, Charlotte. You don’t

have to leave. You can keep the house. Your father can

even stay there — only he would serve you. You would be

the one in charge. He’d never lay a hand on you again.

Think about that.”

“I know, I know. You’ve said it all before,” Charlotte

said. She looked long and hard into the vampire’s eyes.

“What’s the catch? All you talk about is how strong and

tough I’d become, and how daddy would do anything I

asked. But nothing like that ever comes free. What do I

got to give up in return?”

Edward reached out and touched her cheek once more.

“Does it really matter? Honestly. What would you give

to be free of the life you’ve lived?”

Charlotte took a deep breath. A tear ran down her

cheek. “Anything,” she whispered.

He felt a thrill race through his bones. “Then let me

help you,” he said, drawing her to him.

Suddenly a shaft of bright light reached across the

graveyard, playing fitfully over the broken gravestones.

Without thinking, Edward leapt away from the girl, ducking

behind the moss-covered wings of a mourning angel.

Charlotte turned as the light swept over her, raising

a hand to the glare.

“Charlotte Ann? What in God’s creation are you doin’

up here?”

“Sheriff?” Charlotte squinted into the flashlight’s

beam. “I didn’t mean no harm—”

“It ain’t you I’m worried about, girl,” Sheriff Henry

Waugh said, his voice gruff as gravel. The beam of the

flashlight played about the graveyard again. Charlotte

and Edward heard the jingle of keys as the heavyset lawman

approached. He wore a thick green nylon jacket

with a fur collar and the patches of the Randolph County

Sheriff’s Department on his shoulders. He carried a shotgun

in his left hand. “You get back in that little car of

yours and get right home ‘fore your daddy knows you

snuck out again, or he’ll have your hide and mine.”

“Yes, sir,” Charlotte said, her voice bleak. She

crammed her hands in her pockets and walked past the

sheriff, her shoulders hunched. Waugh stood in the biting

wind, watching her exit through the gate and work

her way down the narrow access road to her car. He

waited until he heard the engine start and saw the headlights

turn back toward town before he looked back to

the statue of the angel. “Come on out,” he snapped. “I

know you’re back there.”

Edward rose smoothly from behind the gravestone. “What

the hell do you think you’re doing?” He said angrily.

“Shut up and get in the fucking car,” Waugh growled.

“We’ve got a problem.”

***

Before Edward Stokes came back to Wormwood,

Henry Lee Waugh was the meanest man in town.

He’d become a soldier in ‘69, serving two tours with

the Marines in Vietnam and killing his fair share of

“gooks.” He went to work in the sawmills when he got

back, and after watching the old sheriff crack skulls and

skim money off the local moonshiners, he realized he

was missing out on his true calling. In 1975 he unseated

old George Baines in the local election and had been

sheriff ever since. At 52 he was a burly man who’d put

on a gut from too many free meals at the local diner, and

all the beer he could drink at the taverns in town, but

he had hands like anvils and no qualms about using them.

Waugh had hunted all his life, and was a deadly man

in the woods. Edward came to Wormwood the previous

spring, running on fumes and with a dead hitchhiker in

the trunk of his car. He’d stopped by the side of the road

in the middle of a forest and dragged the body off into

the trees. When he came back, Sheriff Waugh was waiting

for him.

He and the sheriff had reached an understanding then

and there. It was either that or kill the man, Edward

knew, and he was loath to have the blood of Wormwood’s

protector on his hands. He needed someplace to lay low

for a while, and returning to the old family home seemed

like an ideal plan. With Waugh on his side, no one in

town could touch him. What’s more, he could feed off

the local drunks every few nights in the town jail with

no one the wiser. In return, Edward watched the sheriff’s

back every time he shook down one of the local ‘shiners

or pot growers up in the hills. There were Kindred back

in Pittsburgh who would have sneered at such an arrangement,

but it was a small price to pay for sanctuary.

So far, Waugh had refused every offer to taste Edward’s

blood, and the vampire knew better than to force the

issue. Waugh wasn’t getting any younger, though. Sooner

or later he’d start to feel his strength slipping away. It

was just a matter of time.

Waugh guided his patrol car through Wormwood’s

empty streets. Nearly all the storefronts were dark. Only

the Honkytonk Tavern, just off the square, showed any

signs of life. He eased the car past the bar, eyeing the

four men loitering out front. “What the hell are you doing

with Charlotte Ann Dean?” Waugh finally asked.

Edward glanced at Waugh from the shadows of the

backseat. “She found me. I didn’t seek her out.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Her daddy’s the

mayor of this town, and also happens to be a cousin of

mine, so you need to find someone else to pass the time

with, you hear?”

The vampire shook his head. “Christ almighty! Are

all you people related in the sticks?”

Much to Edward’s surprise, Waugh seemed to take the

jibe seriously. “Most of the old families are,” he said solemnly.

“And people stick to their own. It ain’t like down

in the city,” he said, plucking a styrofoam cup from the

dashboard holder and spitting a thin stream of tobacco

juice into it. “Blood runs thicker than damn near anything

else up here. You’d best remember that.”

“I know more about it than you can imagine,” Edward

said coldly. He hadn’t told Waugh that his own kin once

lived there, too. “Now, what’s this problem of yours?”

The sheriff turned in his seat and fixed the vampire

with a baleful eye. “You’ll see,” he said after a moment,

and then turned his gaze back to the road.

They drove on in silence, heading east out of town.

Mountains loomed on the horizon, and snow began to

settle on the windshield. After almost half an hour they

turned off the narrow two-lane road onto a rutted dirt

track that led back into the trees. Edward caught a

glimpse of a rusted old mailbox leaning at an angle at

the mouth of the track. “Whose house are we going to?”

he asked.

“The Hardy’s,” Waugh replied, easing the car down

the rough path. “They’ve lived down here for more than

50 years. Got a call from their cousin Marie this afternoon.

She lives over in Erwin. Said she hadn’t been able

to get anybody on the phone for a week, so she asked me

to check things out.”

Edward leaned forward. “And?”

Waugh edged the cruiser around a bend and pulled

into a yard crowded with the rusted hulks of old cars

and pickups. Beyond the wrecks, Edward could see a low,

single-story house with a peaked roof. Lights were on

behind a number of curtained windows.

The sheriff climbed from the driver’s seat and went

around to open Edward’s door. “See for yourself,” he said.

Edward climbed from the car. He felt the freezing wind

on his face, but otherwise the woods were deathly still.

Standing up, he could look over the hood of an old El

Camino and see that the house’s front door yawned wide,

spilling yellow light onto the muddy yard.

He could smell blood from where he stood.

“Maybe you’d better stay here,” Edward said, feeling

his guts lurch in hunger.

“Maybe you should kiss my ass,” Waugh growled. Edward

realized the sheriff was carrying his shotgun again.

Slowly, carefully, Edward made his way to the house.

Just beyond the last wreck he saw a pair of hounds that

had been torn to pieces, their limbs and organs scattered

across the ground. He eyed black pools of congealed blood

and his tongue worked hungrily in his mouth.

There were bloodstains on the porch. Handprints, and

shoeprints leading away from the house. Up close, Edward

could see that the door had been kicked in.

Waugh cleared his throat and spoke. “When I first

saw the hounds, I figured they’d fought a pack of coyotes.

But then I saw those.” He pointed at the prints.

“What kind of shoe do you wear, Edward?”

Edward turned on the man. “You think I did this?”

Waugh’s face was grim. “It wasn’t anybody human,

that’s for sure.”

Gritting his teeth, the vampire put his foot down next

to one of the footprints, demonstrating that his show

was at least two sizes smaller. Vindicated, he stepped into

the house. The front door hung on a single hinge. Holes

from shotgun pellets dotted the reverse side.

A naked man lay spread-eagle in the center of the

living room, nailed to the floor. It looked like dogs had

torn at his body. His eyes were wide and pleading, and

his genitals hung from his mouth.

He’d been alive until the very end. After the dogs had

been at him. After his balls had been cut off and jammed

into his mouth. Edward could tell by the way the blood

pooled around the body. That was something he knew well.

Streaks of blood and feces smeared the walls. Shelves

had been smashed and tables overturned. Magazines,

framed photos and knickknacks littered the floor.

“Rufus put up a fight, I reckon,” Waugh said bleakly.

“For what little good it did him.” He brushed past Edward

and headed to the rear of the house. The vampire

tore his gaze away from the mutilated body and followed.

They walked down a narrow, dimly lit hall and emerged

into the kitchen. Broken plates crunched under the

sheriff’s boots as he surveyed the scene.

“I figure he thought he could hold them off at the

front door while the wife and kids ran out the back. But

somebody was waiting for them.”

The back door hung open and the kitchen table lay in

a broken heap on the porch. All of the chairs had been

broken, save one. In it, a woman sat, strapped in place

with layers of shiny duct tape. She was as pale as porcelain.

A terrible wound gaped at her throat, but her glassy

eyes were fixed on the two corpses lying across the room.

Two boys, 13 and eight, lay atop one another, almost in

a brotherly embrace. Both had been bitten multiple

times, but they weren’t the marks of angry dogs.

“She watched while they died, and then it was her

turn,” the sheriff said. He stared hard at Edward. “Someone

drank their blood. So you can see why I’m a little

fucking suspicious.”

Edward stepped warily around the room. Bloody paw

prints crisscrossed the tile, and more handprints smeared

the walls. “You’re out of your goddamn mind,” Edward

said angrily. One person couldn’t have done this. It was

a pack of people, and they had dogs.” His mind reeled.

“Well, you tell me what happened then!” Waugh staggered

to the back door and leaned against the frame.

“You said there weren’t any… people… like you within

a hundred miles of here!”

“There aren’t. We stick to cities. That’s where the…

food is.” Edward’s mind raced, trying to come up with

explanations. There were stories of monsters that hunted

in the wilderness — werewolves, among other things —

but nothing that drank blood like the Kindred.

Waugh looked out into the darkness, shaking his head.

“Something’s come down out of the mountains,” he said.

It was the first time Edward had ever heard the burly

sheriff sound afraid.

“Don’t be stupid, I told you there aren’t any of us out here.”

“How the fuck do you know, city boy?” Waugh snarled,

spitting a stream of juice out the door. “I’ve lived here

pretty much all my life and there’s parts of those hills

I’ve never seen. Parts I’ve never wanted to see.” He hung

his head, ashamed of his own display of fear. “There’s

stories of places, towns that no one comes or goes from.

I’ve heard stories from my granddaddy not even you

would believe. You ain’t from here. You don’t know a

damn thing about the hills or our ways.”

Edward bared his teeth, fighting the urge to knock

the insolent man to the ground. Maybe I should have killed

the idiot when I first saw him, he thought. In truth, Edward

didn’t remember the local stories from his longpast

mortal days. “Listen to me,” he finally said. “There

are no vampires in the hills. None. You have your ways.

We have ours. We have laws and traditions that are older

than you could imagine. Vampires could no more prosper

in those mountains than you could live on the

moon.” He planted his hands on his hips and surveyed

the wreckage. “It’s got to be a pack of nomads.”

The sheriff raised his head. “Come again?”

“We travel just like you do, but we don’t care much for

planes. Some vampires have been known to wander like gypsies,

despite the dangers.” He nodded to himself. That sort of

made sense. “They needed to eat, and found an out of the way

place to feed. They could be hundreds of miles away by now.”

Waugh stared hard at Edward. “You think so?”

“Nothing else makes sense.”

The sheriff straightened with a sigh. “What the hell

am I going to tell Marie… the cousin?”

“Tell her there was a fire,” Edward said flatly. “Is there

a propane tank out back?”

***

When Edward rose the next night, Waugh’s car was

waiting outside the old manor.

“You were wrong,” Waugh said after the vampire

emerged from the house. “There’s hill folk in town. I

saw them in the general store this afternoon.”

“If they were out in the daylight I guarantee you they

aren’t vampires,” Edward snapped.

Waugh didn’t give any ground, planting his fists on

his gun belt. “Well if you’re so goddamned smart maybe

you can tell me why they’re laying up at the Crowder

farm. I followed ‘em after they left the store and they’re

as thick as flies all around the old homestead.”

Edward glared angrily for a moment, debating what to

do. “All right,” he said at last. “Let’s go get some answers.”

The old Crowder farm was just south of town and had

been abandoned for at least 10 years, after the eldest Crowder

died picking tobacco and the kids moved their mother to

nearby Erwin. The fields all lay fallow and the old clapboard

house sat beneath the shade of a huge elm tree.

There seemed to be no lights inside as the patrol car

pulled up to the house, but a bonbonfire was burning in

the yard. Three old pickups sat in the yard in a loose

semicircle around the blaze. Silhouettes of people moved

at the edge of the firelight.

Edward felt his dead heart lurch at the sight of the

flames. He ground his teeth and glared at the shifting

light until the surge of panic subsided. “Fucking hicks,”

he snarled. Somewhere near the back of the house he

could hear the yammering of a pack of dogs.

Several of the silhouettes stepped in front of the fire

and faced the dark police car. Waugh took a deep breath.

“Well, they know we’re here. Now what?”

Edward shrugged out of his coat. “We lay down the

law,” he said. “If they’re nomads, I tell them who’s boss

and we send them on their way. If they’re just hicks squatting

on an old farm then we crack some heads.”

Waugh nodded. That was something he understood.

“You sure you’re up to his?” he asked, reaching back for

his shotgun.

The vampire smiled, showing his fangs. “Remind me to

tell you one of these nights why I got run out of Pittsburgh.”

Edward’s body changed even as he climbed from the

car. He summoned the fury from his desiccated veins,

drawing upon the potency of his stolen blood. His fingers

lengthened into vicious, black claws, and his muscles

trembled like taut steel cables. He called upon the Beast

and let it radiate from his body, showing him for the

true predator that he was.

It’s been a while, Edward thought with a savage grin. These

bastards better step and fetch or someone’s going to die tonight.

Edward headed right for the fire. The closer he got, the

better he could see the men shadowed by the flames. They

wore overalls or jeans and stained shirts. Not a one of them

was shorter than six feet. The hill folk had weathered skin

and scars on their faces and hands. Some wore their hair

long, while others were shaved bare. They watched Edward

with the kind of soulless interest typical of a hunting

dog, but they gave way as the vampire approached. They

were mortal. Edward could almost taste their blood.

Waugh stayed close beside the vampire, shotgun held

ready. If the presence of the gun or the lawman troubled

the hill folk, they gave no sign.

The door to the farmhouse hung open and dim light

shone inside. Convinced that the mortals around the

fire were no threat, Edward stepped onto the porch and

proceeded inside.

It was nothing like the Hardy house within. It was

much, much worse.

The stench of rotting meat hung heavy in the air. Blood

was spattered and smeared over every surface. Someone

had even scrawled crude letters on the plaster façade of

one wall: Blood comes first. Never betray the blood. Carcasses

of animals littered the floor, their entrails heaped together.

In the middle of the room, surrounded by carrion, sat

a woken corpse.

The creature stared at Edward with bright, glassy eyes.

Its skin was withered and leathery, pulled back from its

mouth and eye sockets like that of a mummy. Wisps of

white hair fringed a skull browned with age, and the

figure’s hands were curled into twisted claws.

Edward looked into the monster’s eyes and knew that

he was in the presence of another vampire.

Waugh let out a shriek, his shotgun clattering to the

floor as he staggered back into the night. A groaning,

bubbling sound welled up from the withered vampire’s

throat. It took a moment for Edward’s stunned mind to

realize that the thing was laughing. Then its jaws moved

and the creature spoke.

“Boys! Get in here,” the creature grated. “We got us a visitor.”

Edward fought for self-control, his feet rooted to the

spot. His mind reeled. “What… what in the name of

God are you?” he asked.

There was the faintest whisper of wind against his face,

and then a fearsome blow struck him in the side of the

head. As he crashed to the floor, a voice behind him

said, “Show some respect to yer elders, boy.”

Edward rolled onto his back. Another vampire loomed

over him. Though the newcomer was younger looking

than the withered thing sitting in the room — this one’s

hair was jet-black — his skin was also deeply tanned

and wrinkled. He wore engineer’s boots and frayed jeans,

topped by a worn flannel shirt. Like Edward, his fingers

were tipped with vicious claws.

“Well, lookee here,” the new vampire said, smiling

cruelly. His blue eyes were dead as stones. “You must be

that city boy we heard about.”

“This is my domain,” Edward growled, surging to his

feet. “The Traditions—”

The black-haired vampire struck with blinding speed,

raking his talons across Edward’s face. Edward screamed,

reeling backward, and the man grabbed him by the

throat. “Traditions? That your city law, boy? We only

got one law here.” He spun Edward around and pointed

to the writing on the wall. “Blood comes first. If you

ain’t kin, you’re just meat.” The vampire spun Edward

around again. “And you ain’t no kin of mine.”

Edward roared as the Beast within him flared. A red rage

roiled up and he lashed at the sneering face before him. Claws

cut and blood flowed, and he remembered nothing more.

***

When Edward came to his senses, he realized how

badly he’d been hurt. His body was a mass of torn tissue

and shredded flesh.

He tried to peer through crusted lids. The hill folk

had tied him to a post outside. Something heavy surrounded

his lower legs. Looking down, he saw that it

was a pair of old tires.

Edward heard a man’s laughter nearby. He’d heard that

voice before. He forced his eyes open a bit more and

realized that he wasn’t at the Crowder farm any more.

He was back in town, in a grassy backyard surrounded

by a high fence. A tall house loomed up in front of him,

its windows dark. People milled about in the shadows,

hill folk and locals. As his head moved, he heard murmurs

from the gathered figures, and they drew closer.

Amid them was a figure in white. Edward tried to focus.

The first person he recognized was Sheriff Waugh,

his face a pale mask of terror. He was wearing a suit,

complete with a carnation in his lapel.

Beside Waugh was a heavyset man with a florid face

and knobby knuckles. Edward’s mind worked, trying to

place the face, and then he remembered. It was the mayor,

Jared Wallace Dean. He moved as though in a dream, his

face both beatific and dreadful at the same time.

Then the figure in white resolved, and Edward realized

that it was Charlotte. She wore a silk wedding dress

streaked with blood. Her eyes were glassy with shock.

Wild cheers echoed across the lawn, and the hill folk

raced around Dean and his kin. They surrounded Edward,

shouting Charlotte’s name. One of the burly men

held a pine bough wrapped in rags. As Edward watched,

he pulled out a lighter and the torch flared to life.

Terror sang along Edward’s limbs. With the last of his

strength he fought against his bonds, but his ruined body

betrayed him. As he struggled, he saw the black-haired

vampire step into view.

The vampire’s weathered face was a ruin. Edward’s claws

had torn deep furrows across his cheek and had put out

his right eye. Much of his nose was gone, too. For all that,

however, the creature managed a white-toothed smile.

Waugh moaned and fell to his knees. “I tried to tell

you. I tried!” he whimpered. It took a moment before

Edward realized the sheriff was talking to him.

The black-haired vampire shook his head and looked

at Waugh. “You’re wasting your breath, cousin,” the creature

said. “He ain’t kin. Not like us.” Still smiling, he

turned to Charlotte and took her hand, then looked back

at Edward. “We’re all one family. Soon me and this pretty

little wife of mine will make us a brood, and you’ll be a

proud uncle, Sheriff Waugh.”

The vampire held out Charlotte’s hand and the torch

was pressed into her grip. “But first there’s a little something

you got to do for me, sugar,” the monster said, showing

no apparent fear of the deadly flame. “Your daddy

told us how strong you are. Now show me.”

He stepped away. Charlotte looked at the torch, then to

her father. “Go on,” the mayor said. “The family ain’t got

no use for weaklings. After all, he’s just some city boy.”

Charlotte turned. A slow smile spread across her face,

and she held out the torch to the tires. Edward writhed

and screamed.

“All I ever wanted was a family,” she said, watching

Edward burn.

introduction

10

bloodlines: the hidden

Introduction

Lineage of the Blood

The clans of the Kindred are as aged as vampires themselves.

Initiation into the night is synonymous with being

Embraced as one of the Daeva, Gangrel, Nosferatu,

Mekhet or Ventrue. It goes without saying that a mortal

cursed with unlife joins his sire in the blood of his clan.

That has been the reality of the Danse Macabre for millennia.

And yet, Kindred aren’t strictly bound to a single fate

once they’re reborn. While they’re turned into, say,

Gangrel or Mekhet, that blood does not necessarily define

who and what they are and always will be. The nuances

of the Requiem are more subtle and mysterious

than that. The ages have shown that if a vampire undergoes

traumatic, grueling or obsessive abuse or effort,

he may literally change the very nature of the Blood. A

Ventrue’s insanity could take such a bizarre or compelling

turn that its victim emerges as something else. A

Nosferatu’s single-mindedness in pursuing a goal could

alter his very supernatural identity, turning him into

something different from his clanmates.

Such transformations, while they almost always begin

with individual vampires, can result in whole lineages

of Kindred who deviate from their parent clans. The

result is a bloodline; an offshoot, derivation, distraction

or refinement of recognized vampire ancestry. How such

divergences are defined — with praise or derision — is

merely a matter of the originator’s perspective, or that

of the brethren he leaves behind.

Of course, whether the founder of a new strain is able

to foster a new and unique bloodline is subject to a

variety of factors. While the conditions that changed