Elevation in Standing

I am pleased to announce that Prince Alexander Konrad sees our Keeper of Elysium as a Trusted advisor to the court of Washington, DC.

Congratulations.

Bisou, bisou

Desi

Elevation in Standing

Mr. Jackson of clan Brujah is seen as Refined by Prince Clarence Charles Merrick of Richmond, Virginia.  A worthy moniker indeed. 

 

Congratulations.

 Bisou, bisou

Desi

Montgomery, Alabama: June 8, 2013

Montgomery, Alabama: June 8, 2013

On the southern charm of Montgomery:

A few weeks ago I had the privilege of visiting the court of Montgomery.  My first impression?  They are exceptionally polite.  The Dignified Prince Mallory Moore is a delightful southern darling.  In another word, sweet.  She greeted each of the visitors personally and welcomed us to enjoy the hospitality of her city.

On the former seneschal and how he came to be such:

The seneschal, former in this case, made a bit of a stir.  He too made sure to greet all of the new faces.  He also asked each of us if we stood as members of the Ivory Tower.  This was despite having been just acknowledged by the Prince.  Needless to say, we were a bit put off by his line of questioning.

One might wonder if this action had any direct correlation to his removal from the position.  Certainly, by the end of the night a new seneschal had been installed.

On those who found themselves elevated:

It was nice to see Harpy Benedict in his natural setting.  He has been most gracious in all the help he has given Atlanta.  Elder Roane did not wish to see this go unmarked and has recognized in him a most Discerning nature.

For their efforts in aiding the court of Montgomery Prince Mallory has named Richard of Avery Stalwart and Elder Roane as Steadfast.  

I can only hope that the bond between these two cities continues to grow.  The strength of the Camarilla would greatly benefit.

On something that is beginning to sound too familiar:

It seems that Montgomery is plagued by the same rogue kindred as Atlanta.  A newly embraced childe was found with no knowledge of his clan or the camarilla—or even what those two words meant.

Sound familiar?

He seemed to be in a much more lucid state then Atlanta’s unfortunate, and had apparently managed to survive several months on his own.  Quite impressive, if you ask me.

Still, it would appear that we have a serial embracer on our hands.  Is that even a real thing? 

Once again, it was the Brujah who stepped in to see to the care and teaching of this wayward childe.  I have a feeling that they will have an easier time with this one.

Final notes:

Montgomery’s resident Setite got into a debate with several Toreador ladies.  There was no contest.  I quite admired how Lady Bianca dismantled him.  His singular wit was no match for her boundless intelligence.

It was sad, really, like watching a pack of lionesses take down a baby gazelle.  

Harpy Benedict has been tasked with composing an ode to Elder Zylka.  It is to be presented at the next gathering, July 13^th.

Don’t worry, dear readers, I’ll be there to hear it.

Bisou, bisou,

Desi

Elevation in Standing

Elder Roane of clan Brujah would like it to be known that Prince Nicola Adorno of Atlanta is to be Respected.

I have nothing but respect for our beloved Prince.  It is well deserved. 

Bisou, bisou

Desi

Atlanta, Georgia: June 1, 2013

Atlanta, Georgia: June 1, 2013

On southern climate and what makes it so terrible:

Don’t you just love summertime in the south?  A place where heat and humidity collaborate to leave everything in a perpetual state of damp.  It is quite awful!  

Perhaps that is why I find Richard of Avery’s choice in clothing so perplexing.  I can only imagine that velvet-like material clinging to the skin like a wetsuit!  It must be miserably uncomfortable.

Luckily, the Winward Lake House was a lovely refuge from all the dreadful mugginess.  It was exquisitely furnished and the décor was divine—the perfect setting for a celebration of our hard won peace.  Certainly, the taste of Adalina Durante has never been in question, but she chose well for the nights festivities.

On the matter of the King and the trouble it caused:

The taste of the Nosferatu, on the other hand, might be in question.  Part way through the night they discovered a rather garish Elvis statue that the seneschal had spirited away.  No offense to the King, but it clashed quite terribly with the otherwise elegant and classy style of the house.  In an effort to pull a childish prank they hid the figure so that it would reappear in the middle of the gathering.

I don’t know that anyone would have really noticed if it weren’t for Seneschal Durante’s reaction. 

Her upset was so great that one might begin to suspect some personal history between she and the King!  

I have to admit it was tacky and sloppily done—a skilled prankster would never have been caught—but I don’t think anyone expected to get so much of a rise out of the seneschal.  

The pressure of hosting can be quite stressful!

If only the Nosferatu had let matters be.  

The whole situation would hardly be noteworthy, but there was to be a finale to their little stunt.  It came in the form of a giant velvet likeness of Elvis which appeared in the main hall.  Their flagrant disregard for the seneschal’s obvious distress is a clear example of taking things too far. One might mistake the harmless attempt at humor for something more malicious.

Tsk, tsk.

Personal pleasure should never be at the expense of a court officer.

On the abandoned child and what happened to her:

There were a few new faces that evening, but the one that had everyone’s attention was a lone little Caitiff.  This unfortunate soul has found herself at the wrong end of a bite and drop!  She was left to wander the streets with no knowledge of what she was or how she had gotten there.  It became readily apparent that her mind had been tampered with, and it has left her in a fragile state.

Ultimately, the Brujah stepped up to the plate to take her under their wing.  It was with them she seemed to have the most in common.  I just hope that the traumatic events have not permanently scarred her, and that with their guidance she can come to accept the reality of her situation.

Final Notes:

We have a delightful new word to add to our vocabulary thanks to Gretta Zylka, one of our illustrious visitors from Montgomery.  A Toreadorable is a group of young Toreador gathered together.  Isn’t it brilliant?

Speaking of the Toreador, they presented Prince Adorno with a most lovely bit of jewelry to mark the occasion.  The craftsmanship was absolutely superb.  I might just have to commission a piece for myself!

And finally, Veronica Lang would like it to be known that Orenna of the Rose is Beloved in her eyes and Imogen is to be Respected.  

Until next time, dear readers.

Bisou, bisou

Desi

Atlanta, Georgia: May 4, 2013

Atlanta, Georgia: May 4, 2013

On the purpose for our gathering:

It is no secret that tensions ran high as we gathered in the basement of Sub Rosa.   The time had finally come to sign the treaty that would put the turbulent past behind us.  The space was packed, which only showed the eagerness of the city to move forward into a brighter future.  The past cannot be forgotten but it can be forgiven, and we all gathered together to show our willingness to unite for the strength of the Camarilla and the strength of Atlanta.

I doubt that every fence found itself mended by the end of the night but an important first step has been made.

On the treaty and its ghostly implications:

With the signing of the treaty well under way, it seemed that the whole affair would come to a successful and uneventful conclusion. 

If only we should be so lucky.

Surprisingly (or not), when the Anarch approached to sign her name the document responded in a most peculiar way. 

Words appeared that had not been there before, words that threatened the city and Prince Nicola! 

It seemed a dangerous prank to pull even for an Anarch, but her name would soon be cleared.

The errant writing appeared to a handful more, and it seemed the only thing that they did have in common was a connection to the spirit world.   

Ghostly threats from beyond the grave?  This is the first time I’ve ever known a praxis to be threatened by spirits, at least in a city that boasts no Necromancers.

And it would not be our only dealing with the restless dead that night!

On the biker gang:

Of all the nights for a leather-clad group of Brujah ruffians to ride into town, this was not the most choice of evenings. 

I’m not usually one to harp on stereotypes, but they were a biker gang! 

Their arrival in the city could hardly go unnoticed, as one of their first actions was to trespass on territory overseen by the Sherriff!  Not only was this group of hooligans feeding where they didn’t belong but they were also found embracing childer!

Further investigation revealed two startling facts.

The first: They had been given permission to feed in the city by the Tremere, whose territory neighbored the aforementioned. 

Perhaps the Tremere need to learn the boundaries of their land a little better?

The second: The Vipers claimed to have permission to embrace within Atlanta as well!  By whom, you ask?  The Mad Prince!

It would appear that our city is not only being plagued by ghostly threats, but by actual ghosts.  Of course, the more likely (and true) scenario is that there was an imposter running about claiming to either be the late prince or speak for him.

I suppose if there were a silver lining to this whole ado it would be in the fact that the biker gang was very apologetic for the confusion.  They took to the news of the Mad Prince’s demise quite well and even offered to sign the treaty! 

Let’s hope their eagerness to put the whole mess to bed was in earnest, though it certainly was the night for new beginnings.

On the consequences of the Tremere:

What bit of trouble didn’t lead back to the Tremere? 

It’s true they were innocent of the Treaty Debacle, but it did seem that every other incident had their fingerprints all over them.

They let the biker gang into their territory.

They brought a potentially dangerous (and magical) painting onto Elysium.

Oh!  I haven’t yet regaled you with the story?

It seems that Oliver Mayne approached clan Nosforatu in hopes that they had one among their number with artistic gifts.  That they did not seek a member of the Rose certainly raises questions as to their intent.  It was Luna deCoeur who answered their inquiry as she is known both to dance and sing.  She was asked if she would like to see a painting.

A request, in my opinion, made all the more suspicious in its simplicity.

Upon seeing the painting the strangest effect overtook Ms. Fattoria.  One witness said she seemed captured by it, in the way a Toreador becomes absorbed at the sight of a masterful work of art. 

Another said it tried to eat her soul!

Whatever the true effect—it seemed the Tremere weren’t entirely sure what it would do—it seems hardly the sort of thing to be brought onto Elysium!

And I’m sure their little powwow with the Gangrel was nothing more than catching up between old friends.

If Mr. Mayne hadn’t already been named Cowardly for his abandonment of the city at its most desperate time of need, I might be tempted to call him imprudent for his show of poor judgment.

I will give him the benefit of the doubt and hope that this was only a temporary lapse.

Final Notes:

Mr. Hawthorn has made the wise decision to return to the Ivory Tower and Prince Nicola has granted him acknowledgement.

Anyone who was not in attendance has 30 days to sign the treaty.  Please contact Thomas for arrangements.

Finally, those who wish to speak with the Prince privately should schedule a meeting time with Seneschal Adalina Durante.

The evening had its ups and downs, but we succeeded in our purpose.  The treaty has been signed, and the future laid out before us.  Atlanta is a great city and it will only grow greater.

Bisou, Bisou

Desi

Portland, Oregon: April 2009

Portland, Oregon: April 2009

On where we were and why we were there:

It was in memory of the late seneschal that we found ourselves gathered in the dark halls of a mausoleum on the anniversary of his death.  There, a shrine had been built so that those who knew him might remember and those who didn’t might understand the sacrifice he made.  This proud Ventrue gave his life so that Portland might grow strong against the rebellious sect.  Perhaps it was a somber veil to gather beneath, but the night served as an important reminder.  The Camarilla is strong because there are those willing to defend it. 

On what people wore and why they shouldn’t have:

It is hard to say whether it was ignorance of the solemnity of the event or indifference that led to some of the choices for evening wear.  Neither is an acceptable excuse, and Prince Canaan was understandably upset by the lack of respect.  Indeed, some clans are known for their proclivity of dressing down, but there is still a level of effort to be made when attending such a service.  Even Mannford—the self-proclaimed isolated, demon-hunting, creature of the night—managed to come more or less appropriately attired for the occasion!

I don’t think it’s a stretch to expect you to hang up your cringeworthy pants—plaid is never acceptable—and ratty band t-shirt for one night.  It’s just tacky.  Surely there is something in that pile of clothes you keep on the floor that would have suited better.

On the Tremere and their unique fashion sense:

Mr. Malcolm Mayhew, famed Harpy of Seattle, was as far from tacky as one can get!  Little did he know, however, that Mr. Salazar would attempt to upstage his outstanding sense of style.  Except for the color of their vests and ties the two Tremere could have been twins!  Every detail, right down to their jaunty bowler hats, was in perfect synchronicity.  

Undoubtedly, Mr. Mayhew would claim it as proof that great minds think alike.

Elder Viktor Cantemir definitely stood out in the crowd.  He seems quite determined to bring ruffled shirts and jacquard coats back into fashion.  The question remains: fashion forward or fashion faux pas?

Several Tremere sported an interesting accessory, and it was one that did not go without notice.  Little crystal pins seemed to be everywhere!   All those who sport the triangular accessory claim membership to “The Glass Pyramid”.  

I won’t go into detail about what that means, but you should definitely ask your local representative. 

Hopefully, they won’t be as verbose as Mr. Mayhew in their explanation!

On the memorial and the things we learned therein:

Legiea recited the Bard’s Fear No More in honor of the late seneschal.  It was an eloquent and sad piece that captured the evening’s mood beautifully.  It seems that our dear harpy has a way of capturing us with her words no matter if she is speaking or singing them.

If only her performance could have saved us from Lady Cassandra’s presentation!

I could not have conceived that by the end of the night I would know that the deceased had a fondness for redheads or that Lady Cassandra often disrespected his age often saying he was “covered in mummy dust”.  While sharing amusing anecdotes is not an uncommon funerary practice, I think this would count as bit of an overshare!

Were that all I might not have found her display so vulgar!

I don’t know what inspired the Toreador Primogen to speak so crassly to those assembled.  Perhaps in her grief she experienced a crucial lapse in judgment.  I would like to think that.  Still, it’s hard to imagine anyone in any state thinking it appropriate to call a group of esteemed elders and respected members of the tower a bunch of boring fools!

If only that had been the last shock of the night.

On unknown party guests and the implications of their presence:

Herr Wagner brought it to our attention that there was a Setite in our midst.  When we saw her seated near the Prince (in those chairs reserved for court officers) we couldn’t help but wonder if he knew the true nature of the creature with whom he was speaking!  

Elder Preston had earlier found himself in the company of the serpent and the Prince of Seattle, from where she hailed, and was none the wiser by the end of their rather lengthy conversation.

One can only imagine what sort of liberties she must be allowed in order to so confidently and brazenly consort with civilized individuals.

It’s hard to think that something even worse lurked among us that night, but alas this was indeed the case.  A Fiend had dressed himself up and mingled among the party guests.  Thankfully he was discovered, but his apprehension would elude those who would apprehend him as he turned into a pile of blood and slithered away!

I know, dearest readers, I was as appalled and disgusted as you are.  

It is unsettling to know that you might have rubbed elbows with a creature as dark and disgusting as a Fiend.  With all those of a more martial bent in hot pursuit, we were left to continue the night’s festivities—if you could call them that—with the hope that there would be no more unwelcome visitors. 

On the brilliance of Clé deMontes and the test of Mr. Mayhew’s virtue:

Before the night’s end we would come to learn of the history between Clé deMontes and Malcolm Mayhew.  With no more detail than he “was acting under instructions”, Mr. Mayhew explained that he had twice put the dear mademoiselle’s life in danger…or at least allowed her to believe such!  

I think it goes without saying that this left some fences to be mended between the two of them! 

After a failed attempt to talk the matter out—failed, perhaps, because Mr. Mayhew did not stay for the whole conversation—Clé graciously offered a final opportunity to make things right between them.

In order to win back into the side of her good graces Mr. Mayhew would have to write a poem expressing his regret over his actions however necessary he claims them to have been.  This poem would be judged by a group of individuals chosen my Mademoiselle deMontes, and it would be up to them to decide if he deserved clemency.  

If they applauded then she would wipe the slate clean.  If they did not then he would be at the mercy of his own failure.

And so, we all awaited the second evening with great anticipation.

On the words of Mr. Mayhew and how they were received:

In his tardiness it was easy to think that Malcolm Mayhew had perhaps decided to circumvent his task by simply not showing.  But certainly he is a harpy, and what is a harpy without his words?  Our patience would not go unrewarded.

We gathered around the table eagerly awaiting the words he had composed.  So that you might make your own assessment, I have decided to record the poem here.  Judge wisely.

Je suis désolé, Clé

Calm reflection grants

Still minds a sense

Of perspective lost

Sorrow makes full

Moons a tale writ

Of regret across the stars

This is an echo of

Pain once felt in

Beating heart

A gift without

Measure, a reminder

Of things thought long gone

Thank you, I am sorry

The silence that followed was filled with anticipation over who would be the first to clap, if any.  It was Herr Wagner who broke the quiet and everyone soon followed his lead. 

Mr. Mayhew had won his pardon.

Of course, the task of remaining in Clé deMontes’ favor is still ahead of him.

On the matter of flags and the trouble they caused:

To counterbalance the morbidity of the previous night we were treated to a Toreador salon the next.  The space itself was grand, which should have been no surprise considering it was held in the Keeper of Elysium’s personal domain.   

What was surprising were some of the choices in décor.  On one side of the room were a string of flags all boasting strange and unknown symbols.  Even the Tremere could make neither heads nor tails of them.  

But it was the flags on the other side of the room that would lead to a bit of an uproar.  At first glance they were innocuous.  A display of clan symbols and nothing more.

Behind the Prince, appropriately, hung the rose of clan Toreador.  On either side flew flags of pillar clans.  Directly above them and centered on the wall was the symbol for the clan of snakes, and it was bookended by two other independent clans.  

We hope that this was a grievous oversight made by the interior decorators and not a choice made in good conscious.  Or perhaps, there had been an intended game of darts only someone forgot to bring the actual darts.  

After extensive inquiries—for when have you known me to be anything but thorough—we were left with no greater answer than that the ghoul responsible for hanging the flags had been “dealt with”. 

No one was willing to take responsibility for the outrageous error, though everyone seemed happy to point fingers.  

I only remind you that we were in the Keeper’s personal domain.

On the rest of the salon and the evening’s conclusion:

Despite the offending decorations and the garish dress and behavior of a certain Setite, the night was an overall success.

Ligeia secured the performance of a young and talented violinist by the name of Michael Harris.  He played well into the night fulfilling what requests he could.  We were delighted but a display of swordsmanship in which we learned never to underestimate a woman and her fan.  And the matter of the fiend came to a conclusion—whether it was satisfying or not depends on who you speak to.

I look forward to visiting Portland again, but only if it promises to be as exciting.

Bisou, Bisou

Desi