Vampire - The Requiem Rulebook.pdf - Requiem - Kubz

A Mode rn Gothic Storyte l ling Game

Vampire ® created by Mark Rein•Hagen

“Would you like to

dance?” she asked me. I

died that night.

It was cold, winter, but

though the outside cold

never touched us, the

inside cold eclipsed the

warmth of the fire blazing

on her terrace, growing

outward to meet the chill

of the season on its own

terms. We danced, my

hand on the small of her

back, yet she led me

nonetheless. The music

came from… somewhere.

Strings. A piano. That

was all. I never saw the

players, though I heard

their tune. It was a

strange piece to dance to:

a dirge, almost a requiem.

The wind moved the

curtains. We danced and

she moved in close, as if

to kiss my neck. It was

not a kiss, however, but

the sweetest damnation.

She took my life, then,

and I felt the vitality ebb

from my throat in a

crimson bloom.

And then she gave

it back.

I had spent eight years becoming a doctor. Fresh

from medical school, I took a job under a friend of the

family, a fellow doctor. Only a year into my practice,

he invited me to a party hosted by one of his patients.

A special patient, he said, one of the few upon whom he

still paid house calls. It was to be a formal affair, a

white-tie party visited by the upper echelon of society.

I was beside myself. After all, I was no more than a

young, inexperienced sawbones; I might as well be a quack or

charlatan as far as society was concerned. I arrived

nervously but on time, and it was there that I met the men

and women — no, those others — who would be my fellows in

the eternal pageant that I was oblivious would follow.

I remember Lady Moltis, a beauty from somewhere in

Europe but who had a reputation as a “black widow”

(only after my death would I learn the significance of

that statement). Mr. Audelia was a queer man who never

looked anyone in the eye and whose body curled in upon

itself at his extremities. Mr. Bennett seemed rustic, but

my hostess assured me that he had power and money far

beyond the suggestion of his simple facade. Mr. Maxwell

had arrived from Chicago and was rumored to be either

one of its rising stars or its fallen scions, depending upon

to whom I spoke. A woman named Lindsay was a scandal,

having never taken a husband “in life” and who

comported herself with little of the propriety that the

rest of the women maintained.

Little did I know then that this was no true party,

but a panoply of monsters. Even my hindsight fails me,

for when I spent those precious few moments with Miss

Lindsay, I recall none of what happened, but I know

now that the liaison was far more than mere

attraction (and that the stain at my wrist probably

didn’t come from a pinching cufflink).

Another night, another victim; that’s how I look at it.

Motherfuckers don’t want to die, all they have to do is

stay out of my way. “Though I walk through the valley

of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,” yeah,

because I’m the wickedest sonofabitch you’re gonna

find down here.

I don’t draw the line at just normal people, either. I’ll

kill my own kind if I need to. What the fucking

“Kindred” need to understand is that there’s nothing

more important than the place you call your own. Oh,

I’m sure they have some fancy word for me and my kind.

I know their titles and offices and all that bullshit

make a big deal out of who’s responsible for what and

who needs to keep who in line, and motherfuckers like

me are the reason for it all. Someone comes beating

down your door at just a few minutes past sunset, you

know you’re in trouble. Still, making it on your own is

part of what this is. I didn’t sign on for a bunch of new

rules when my goddamn sire Changed me. Shit, that’s half

the reason I cut off his head and drank his soul along

with his blood.

Respect, that’s what I’m saying. It’s about respect.

God knows the fucking Kindred aren’t going to give you

any. You have to take it or make your own.

You don’t know terror, whelp. All that stuff

you’re talking about? That’s just being afraid.

Growing up in your safe little suburbia, how would

you ever know real terror? And now the power of

the Blood makes you feel ever more invincible.

Now that you’re among the Damned, real terror

will find you. You can pray that it doesn’t, but it

will. It found me. Horror — actual, visceral horror

— is here in our precious city. I never want to

see it again, but that’s part of the terror, isn’t

it? I can’t control it. All I can do is hope that

that thing never wants to see me again.

Vampire - The Requiem Rulebook.pdf

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