Nephilim

Few know the fledgling Toreador bloodline as anything more than a handful of delusional holdovers of the Dream clinging to their dead idol. On the surface, these devotees seek reunification in death, and so they’re known to outsiders as the Martyrs. Paul Bathalos, the sect’s bishop and a master sculptor, and his right hand the painter Pakourianis the Dove were Michaelite muses during Constantinople’s golden age. Like their Toreador peers, they came to believe Michael was the Archangel of the same name, come to Earth to guide his chosen Cainites until his ascension back to Heaven. Now, in the Eastern Orthodox tradition of theoria, they lead their fellows in ecstatic prayer and meditation to seek a true vision of the Archangel, to be reunited with him through the mystical transformation of theosis.

After several decades of failure, the Toreador accepted that, as the Damned, they couldn’t achieve this on their own. They believe a Cainite prophet of their Clan, whom they call the Song of Michael, will inherit the Archangel’s divinity and raise them up. The Song will appear to them in the purification of the blood, as their dreams have revealed. To find this prophet, Paul and Pakourianis aim to bring every Toreador in the city to their haven in the ruined Church of St. Demetrios for the katharsis. This baptismal rite of their devising is supposed to reveal the divinity in the Song’s vitae. In those others who are not the prophet, it cleanses them of impious passions and prepares them for their eventual deification, christening them childer of Michael in spirit, if not literally. No one has quite yet caught on that the sacrament itself is transformational, changing these Toreador into something else.

Bishop Paul Bathalos could almost be mistaken for a Nosferatu, to those who know no better. Hideous of face and monstrous of form, he begged a Tzimisce fleshcrafter to take away his ethereal beauty to stop the Archangel from wanting him. With this sacrifice, Paul removed himself as an obstacle to Michael’s ascension to glory, and the Nephilim consider him a martyr in spirit for this, the ultimate renunciation of his earthly Aesthete nature. His broodmate is the Presbyter Pakourianis, also called the Dove, a perpetually childlike Cainite who despairs over his failure to learn how to fly, that he might follow his sire into the heavens. His meditations temper his anguish, but the flight of birds, Tremere gargoyles, and other winged things fascinates him.

The Nephilim keep their true name and liturgies secret, lest the heretical Latins interfere. They communicate with one another across the city in encrypted letters marked with their sigil: a stylized humanoid form with wings and fangs, befitting those who will someday ascend as vampiric angels. All Nephilim come from Toreador stock and start off on the Path of the Archangel (below), on the Road of Heaven. Whether the bloodline will breed true for their childer remains to be seen.

"O sire, send to us thy Song and lead us to salvation. Witness thou the gathering of thy blood. With thy wings we ascend. With thy blessing we die."