Vampire: the Requiem introduction story
Here is a short story introducing you to the Danse Macabre as it is played in Canada.
Note that this category is considered in-game fiction written by a recluse vampire called Teacher. It gives you a good
feel for the chronicle, but specific facts might be wrong or misleading.
Mephisto's plea
Mephisto passed between the hosts of neon lights encumbering the alleyways most of his kind would call home. The prey’s
scent was dimming, he felt. Maybe she was growing a little more cautious since the incident on Berri Street. It was
becoming obvious he would not be getting a third chance at her, and the clock was ticking.
How long could she prowl the streets of Montreal before she met one of those he sought? The results would be
catastrophic! The letter she carried for her Church of the Damned would have far greater repercussions than even she could
realize! Sonia Estellet played her game very well, but it was a dangerous game, and one Mephisto had to make her lose.
There was no time to contact anyone else, lest he lose track of her.
“How ironic that one of the most devout followers of the Toronto revolt had become the greatest danger alive for the
Carthian Movement, thought Mephisto! Another problem to add to the long list caused by Christopher Lincoln, self-proclaimed
Carthian Prince of Toronto. Carthian Prince. He was a shame to the movement, and to the revolution. But his time would come.”
Leaving the alleyway for a main street, Mephisto caught a glance at a strange man, dressed in a fashion reminiscent of
the 1920’s, and his gut started stirring. Suddenly, his vision blurred, his eyes turned to red, and he felt the need to
kill. Kill and Feed, NOW! He heard voices telling him to hack his way to the bastard and show him who is the master, to
tell this repugnant little, miserable…
“NO!”, he heard himself shouting. Everybody around turned towards him, wondering why he shouted. This was bad. Drawing
attention while searching for a prey is insanity. Fucking beast! It has almost taken over him, and that would have meant
blood, and not for the drinking. “Freaking blood, I need some!” shouted a voice in his head. But he wouldn’t listen, not
with his mission on hand.
Somebody else was roaming through the streets tonight. Somebody who might even have picked up the same trail he did.
The only thing he could do now is act a little crazy, to ward off the attention of the nearby onlookers, and than get to
the hotel the strange man entered. The Beast made him lose track of his first prey anyway.
---
Galant Delabrise was a young one among his kin, as his existence as an immortal only spanned a few decades. He was a
proud servant of the First Estate, and the childe of an important figure of the Thorned Wreath. Apparently, his progenitor
was the first kindred amongst Montreal’ Invictus who had shunned the traditional nobility of the order for the more
promising business faction, a decision that gained him an importance and respect he still has to lose.
Galant, however, was not chosen for his capacities as a businessman, even though none doubted these abilities. Galant
was chosen to reign in the organized crime sprawling in the city, because the mafia was costing dearly for the honest
businessmen his sire needed for his master plans.
Galant’s greatest ability, and perhaps the least none among his peers, is the ability to track down someone. And this is
what he’d been doing for the better part of the afternoon. Apparently, somebody had spotted a kindred near the Far Inn Hotel,
a young girl who apparently made a point of walking in every street Montreal has to offer, and be seen by anyone. It seemed
as though she wanted to be found, but her reason remained obscure still. And that’s why he was called: to make her talk,
one way or the other.
All he lacked now was her room number, a problem he would remedy soon enough. Entering the hotel, he came up to the
counter. The receptionist was young, but not beautiful by most standards, and her appearance screamed “Love me!”, which
made her an easy prospect for questioning. He than came up to her, flirted a little, than came off with a number. He
waited until he reached the stairs before letting the expression of disgust appear on his face. The girl probably never saw
a toothbrush in her life, and not for the lack of a need for it.
Putting those needless thoughts aside, he came to the fourth floor and took a look around. Aside from a couple entering
their room, the corridor was empty. Perfect.
Galant walked up to door number 405, hesitated, and realized the lock was far beyond his ability to pick. He’d have to
get in the appropriate way. He knocked on the door, than positioned himself leaning on the wall alongside the door.
To Galant’s surprise, the door opened, and a girl came out, not carefully enough. Galant jumped on her and mastered her
before she could even scream, locking the door behind him and forcing the girl in a painful position, her face to the ground
and a knee on her spine. She had no choice but to talk now, he thought.
“Listen to me, you little squirt, said the man! We don’t like no one roaming in our domains without ever coming and
showing their respect to our Lord and Father Lecaron! You better have a great excuse to convince me not to kill you right
here and now! And don’t you make no noise!”
With that, the man released his hand from the victim’s mouth, and awaited her reply, his hand clearly prepared to muzzle
her again if she was going to scream or call for help. But her answer did not disappoint him:
“For the Mercy of God, I beg of you, I come in the name of cardinal Tranato. He has learned of a plan that threatens the
safety of his Holiness Father Lecaron! I must speak to him at once!”
“Why should I believe you? And why would cardinal Tranato send such an incompetent little spy among us if he was to
contact us? He has many people we do know!”
“He couldn’t risk it, with those maniacs that hold Toronto! All the elders are being watched and treated like dogs! I
could escape because I’m not seen as a threat! Please milord, leave me be! The proof is in my purse right on the bed!”
“I’m not amateurish enough to fall for this kind of prank! If you try to double-cross me, I will…”
Halting in the middle of his sentence, Galant lifted his eyes towards the door, sniffing in the air. Befuddled at first,
he caught a glimpse of a yellow light just outside, and the Beast within him lunged in a force of terror that could not be
mistaken. He knew what that light was.
Fire! Terrible, avenging fire! Looking around the room, releasing his prisoner who screamed as one possessed by the
Devil under a rain of blessed water, he realized that all exits needed him to cross the door and hop through the flames,
if he could muster the will to do so.
Then, with eyes closed, he came upon the door put his hand on the hot — no, burning — handle, and when he opened the
door, he faced a blaze that overcame his will to advance, overcame his self-conscience, overcame him as something else took
over, and as he uselessly fled to the corner of the room with the other mad one screaming in what humans would hear as the
Devil’s language, he forgot all memories, all consciousness, and passed away in this miserable state.
---
The evening was smooth now. The blaze of the Far Inn Hotel far behind him, Mephisto Gianni walked calmly towards the
eastern part of the city, and even though he had calmed himself, his face still instilled fear into the minds of the mortals
he crossed, a fear they would never forget.
Passing through a few alleyways to get away from the crowds, he reached Montcalm Street, and knocked at a basement door
there. The door opened and closed behind him, making a squeaking sound Mephisto never could endure. Two men were standing
in front of him, waiting patiently for an explanation, wondering why Mephisto had left his post in Toronto.
Mephisto looked at the eldest one in the eye, and proclaimed with a tone of shame in his voice:
“Soon, they will know. Tomorrow, as the Twilight greets the Sun and takes it to Morpheus, we must strike. There is no
other way!”
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