I am Harmut Uradel the Third, but my friends call me “Mutt.” Or… wait, no they don’t; I don’t have any friends. Some may call me mad – those among my kind refer to my people as ‘Lunatics,’ and perhaps rightfully so – so it is a bit ironic, being named Harmut. In my native German, it roughly translates to “hardy mind.”
Hey, stop writing! You killed me, you son of a bitch! I’m angry as hell, and I’m going to kill all of you!
But you’re writing now, not me, oh wait – now I am writing.
Oh… I better do this tomorrow.
Friday, August 22nd, 2003:
I feel better now. The Prince tells me this is a report going “directly to the top,” whatever that means, but why she chose a Malkavian to do it is beyond me. Whoever this is meant for, you might already know me. My sire was pretty popular in the days of old. Bit of nasty business when he frenzied and started mass-murdering folks, but what can you do? Sometimes these things happen.
He’s long since departed this world, though, and I miss him dearly. He comes to me in my hallucinations sometimes; my favorites are when he and I debate Gehenna with The Prophet. The Prophet usually wins.
Anyway, I may as well explain the earlier writings. You know, I could easily toss that page away, but I have a bit of OCD when it comes to waste. That’s not my main affliction – not by a long shot. I have what we like to call “Sanguinary Animism,” which means if I get a little carried away with my feeding, sometimes the person’s soul takes over my body. An Elder once told me that it was my mind playing tricks on me, not the person’s soul taking over, but that was a lie.
Well, that’s enough about me.
I have been ordered by Prince Cassandra to write about a little coterie she’s developed. Keep track of their movements, shadow them, so on and so forth. I doubt I’m the only one involved; she probably wants you to have multiple reports from multiple sources, which is smart on her part.
Let me begin by introducing the coterie.
First, there’s Rebecca Jones. Fancies herself a singer, and is one of those head-in-the-clouds Daughters of Cacophony. Not even a real Kindred in my opinion. “A Toreador walks into a cave…” Their origin is almost like a bad bar joke!
Next, we have Grigori Ivanovich, calls himself Gregory. Blueblooded Ventrue, hates his sire for being a bit of an asshole, has some difficulty feeding from unwilling vessels. Russian (did the name give it away?) and is quite loyal to the Ivory Tower.
Then there’s Sidra Sweet, the antithesis of our buddy Grigori. A Kiasyd, a freak, a Weirdling. Burn her with fire, I say, but nobody listens to me. I sense in her something hidden… something bad. The voices tell me to keep my distance.
Next, Cat Ballentine. Old cowgirl gunslinger from the Wild West. I think. She just woke up from Torpor, seems real out of place in these modern nights. I’m told she’s a Caitiff, and is the oldest generation of the group.
Finally, Jacob… Calloway? He’s one of those damn Usurpers, and even among them he’s a bit of an outsider. Uses that new path… what do they call it, “Technomagic?” Throw him in the fire with Sidra as well.
How did these five come together? Certainly they’re a mixed bag.
Well, it all started last night.
You see, they were the few Kindred who decided to watch the Toreador Primogen’s concert, Danse Macabre. Suddenly there was a fire, a dead Primogen, and this lot scrambling out of a hidden door.
Now they have to solve this mystery, I’m told.
They spent the remainder of last night here, under surveillance. I talked to the ghoul that drove them here, and he said they were ambushed by a thin-blood and some goons. Sidra had also taken a video of the concert, and it showed a villainous man in a dress talking to the Primogen. Suspicious, much?!
Top that all off, Talon, our Keeper of Elysium and Nosferatu Primogen, is missing. Some weird rumors about him and Bryne, the dead Toreador Primogen, being lovers… disgusting… so that’ll be the first stop for the coterie.
Well, that’s it. Goodbye for now.