Belial's Brood - A History
History, n. An account mostly false, of events mostly unimportant, which are brought about by rulers mostly knaves, and soldiers mostly fools. — Ambrose Bierce, The Devil’s Dictionary
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Constance: Introductory notes, October 7. 10:43 pm.I want it on record that I despise being reduced to begging, but begging is essentially what it amounted to. Had anyone else but you asked this of me, I would have refused. More, I’d have taken offense.
As it stands, after substantial negotiations — and, I should point out, a promise of funding that even you might find a bitter draught to swallow — the subject finally agreed to meet with me.
Name Kovitch — comma — Yvgeny. I’m all but certain he is “the Russian” we heard tell about during our otherwise wasted efforts in San Salvador. I know better than to expect anyone to live up to his reputation in the circles we run in, but if he’s even half what he’s said to be, I might finally be able to tell you something genuine about Belial’s Brood. The meet’s scheduled for tomorrow night.
Might want to cross your fingers, even pray, if you remember how. If this leads nowhere, I’m out of ideas.
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Constance: October 8. 1:30 AM.Good evening, Mr. Kovitch.
Kovitch: Ah, hello, Ms. — Constance, was it? You may call me Yvgeny. And I should call you . . .?
Constance: Ms. Constance will do just fine.
Kovitch: Ah. So.
Constance: Word is, Mr. Kovitch, that you’re among the Kindred’s foremost experts on Belial’s Brood. I’m in need of that expertise, that—
Kovitch: Not so loud, please. Unless, of course, you want to get us killed.
Constance: Mr. Kovitch, you put me off for weeks before agreeing to take this meeting. You chose the location — a nice view, I’ll admit, but hardly convenient. And you’ve scarcely made the object of your studies a secret. If you cannot speak freely to me now, when can you?
Kovitch: Never, I suppose. But yes, I have agreed to speak with you, in exchange for much additional funding from your patron. I think refusing to do so now might hurt more than a mere loss of money, yes? So. What is it you wish to know?
Constance: Start with the basics. What is the Brood? Where does it come from?
Kovitch: [A soft chuckle] I think, Ms. Constance, you will find that those are the same question.
Constance: I’m all ears, Mr. Kovitch.
Kovitch: This mortal world is but a veil, Ms. Constance. A thin layer, hazy and indistinct, yet sufficient to blind those who refuse to see beyond it. This is something ancient man knew far better than the fools of the modern world. Powers dwell beyond the understanding of mortals. Tonight, we see but glimpses of them in the trappings of faith, or the symbology and lore of the Goetia, but then? Then man interacted frequently with these powers, but now only a rare few can see the truth. A rare few, such as the Brood — or so they believe, anyway.
Look to the modern interpretation of the Goetia, and you shall find none other than Belial, 68th among the powers listed. He is a demanding spirit, requiring great sacrifice merely to appear, and even greater to grant his favors. It can be no wonder, then, that we as vampires require the sacrifice of others to survive.
Constance: Are the Brood adherents of the Goetia, then?
Kovitch: No, not as modern occultists understand it. The Brood believes that Belial is a true demon, and perhaps King Solomon or other ancient infernalists may have communed with him, so many of Belial’s aspects presented in the Goetia are presumably accurate. The ones who ascribe to him the Judeo- Christian-Islamic origin hold that he is, as suggested in the Goetia, one of the earliest of the fallen — perhaps the first to fall, save for Lucifer himself. And they believe that, among many other passions, he loves little more than tempting priests and men of God into sin and disbelief.
Constance: But?
Kovitch: But they disbelieve that any mere mortal could possibly summon and command him. Beg his indulgence, perhaps, or offer sacrifice to buy his favor, but not command. They don’t necessarily believe that the other Goetic demons are equally real — and those that are real are clearly inferior to Belial himself.
He is the right hand of the Adversary, also called the “Demiurge,” the entity whom Belial’s Brood names as the creator of the Kindred. If man is the creation of the supernal deity, then vampires are the mockery His infernal opposite makes of man. To some of these Antinomians, as the vampires of the Brood seem to call themselves, this “source” is none other than Lucifer himself, the Judeo-Christian-Islamic Satan, thereby making Belial one of the very Dukes of Hell.
Constance: To ‘some?’ And who is this Adversary to the rest?
Kovitch: The truth of the Brood, as best I’ve been able to gather, is that their belief system is substantially more Gnostic than traditionally Biblical. Demon, fallen angel, ancient god or simply great spirit, Belial is considered the Father of the Beast. The Adversary may have birthed the Kindred, and Belial may be just a servant who acts as intermediary with its dark children, but Belial was the one who placed us on the proper path. He was, in a very real way, our own Prometheus.
All this, of course, predates mortal or Kindred understanding of God, of Hell, of the Adversary. If legend holds true, Belial was but one demon among many, not even particularly associated with vampires at all. But Belial saw in our kind a great potential unmet, great power wasted. What his initial connection with the Kindred might have been, I cannot say. He might simply have seen in us a spark of the darkness he called home. He might have seen us as his best tool to corrupt not only men of the supernal deity, but the very fabric of man, the God figure’s greatest creation. Maybe Belial even thought of creating an army capable of rivaling the angels of Heaven, or the legions of Hell who served demons other than he. Whatever his interest, he watched from worlds below, seeking one of the Kindred who might prove worthy of his dark blessing.
And find such a one he did, in pre-Hamurabi Babylon, in the city of Dis —
Constance: Dis? As in the city in Hell? As in Dante? Mr. Kovitch, if the only reason you’re here is to waste my time —
Kovitch: Ms. Constance, I tell you only what I myself have learned. Yes, I have come across many names for this city in my studies, but Dis is the one I find most often. If you intend only to question everything I tell you, then perhaps it is my time being wasted. If not, and you would care for me to continue . . .
Kovitch speaks
In this time, and this place, it would be almost impossible for anyone, mortal or Kindred, to make himself stand out to Belial. For this was a time of dark and jealous gods, of ritual sacrifice, of lawlessness and violence. No Hamurabic code of edicts, no covenants as we know them tonight, no protection for those not strong enough to defend themselves. Even before Belial’s gift, Dis was a vile, rapacious hive.
It was, as you might imagine, a haven for the Kindred, even then. Scions of all five clans, and of many bloodlines long forgotten, flocked to Dis and other cities like it — where no law ruled, nobody watched the night for signs of violence. Where men sacrificed regularly to bloodthirsty gods, nobody questioned strange disappearances in the dark, or the finding of brutalized, bloodless bodies in the muddy streets at dawn. It is no exaggeration to say that, in all ways that mattered, the vampires ruled over Dis, at least at night.
Had they possessed a hierarchical system, a Prince or similar power as most cities have tonight, that rule might have been formalized. Instead, however, each vampire was concerned only with his own good and protecting his own territory. Just as the humans had not yet developed a code of law, so had the Kindred not formed anything in the way of a society. Indeed, other Kindred religious cults, dedicated to the worship of powerful spirits and demons, appeared throughout the years in the city of Dis. One was dedicated to Anshar, who we know today as one of the darkest of Babylon’s greater deities, but the cult swiftly tore itself apart in a paroxysm of ambition, as each member sought to raise his own stature in the eyes of the gods and his fellows. The demongod Baal — also one of the Goetia, incidentally — had his own cadre of vampire worshippers as well, and indeed the cult seemed primed on several occasions to truly take root in Dis, to establish a base of influence that might have made it a true power, perhaps the first such power, in Kindred society. Again, however, Kindred nature won out over faith. The cultists of Baal attempted to raise themselves over their brethren, and they were hunted down to the last and slain for their troubles. Unlike Belial’s children to come, Baal’s followers lacked any special power or insight to grant them an advantage. If Baal truly existed at all, he certainly took no interest in the fates of those who killed in his name.
Had things continued as they were then, the city would likely have been lost to mythology and history, just another horrifically violent community in an era literally pockmarked with such.
But then! Then came one, purportedly of the Gangrel clan, whose name is recorded variously as Enkara, Enhidir and Enkhatur.
I can tell you who Enkhatur was, at least according to the Brood myths I’ve heard. He was, as I said, a Gangrel, and one of great age and power. He held power over many of the Kindred of Dis, through a combination of physical might and religious authority. Enkhatur was a priest among Kindred, at least of a sort. He preached the glory of many of early Babylon’s darkest gods, and claimed that the “curse” of vampirism was the first step between mortality and divinity. One of the many gods whom he addressed in his rites and ceremonies was, of course, Belial, though Enkhatur might have called Belial by a different name at the time.
The legends of the Brood are spotty and ambiguous, and I fear that I cannot tell you precisely what Enkhatur did to attract Belial’s oppressive attention. It is, in fact, not merely a common scholastic question among the Antinomians, but some of the neonates purportedly have made it into a game, to see who can come up with the most vile and outlandish tale of Enkhatur’s depravities. One common supposition claims that where most of the city’s Kindred sacrificed animals or mortals to their gods, Enkhatur sacrificed other Kindred, maintaining that only they were worthy gifts to Belial and the other powers. Another would have it that Enkhatur went a step further yet, deliberately Embracing Kindred so that he might always have a pool of ready blood sacrifices. Still a third — one that I believe to be the most commonly held, though I must confess my skills as a researcher have led to no confirmation of this belief — maintains that Enkhatur made a dark pact with Belial while still a mortal, and then deliberately sought out the Embrace so that he might never die, and thus never pay the price of his soul. Belial, rather than being angered, was impressed (or at least amused) by the mortal’s audacity, as well as his willingness to accept one damnation over another, provided it was of his own making.
Belial appeared to Enkhatur in visitations, coming upon him in the ecstasy of feeding, or as an horrific noonday dream. Gradually, Belial revealed to the Gangrel the truth of the Kindred state, made him understand that the gift the Adversary offered was being squandered. To Enkhatur, Belial granted the first of the great Investments, diabolic powers the likes of which only Kindred who know the “truth” of Belial can master. And Enkhatur worshipped him.
Like most of our kind, however, he worshipped ambition even more. When demonstrations of Enkhatur’s new potency drew other Kindred to seek the truth of Belial, the demon rejoiced. When Enkhatur Embraced a small cadre of childer, that he might have allies he could trust amidst the growing cult, Belial approved. When Enkhatur and his progeny revealed themselves as more enlightened than the other vampires of Dis, the demon delighted.
But when Enkhatur set the Kindred to rule over the mortals in the streets, reigning with iron fist at night and through the eyes and the hands of fanatical ghouls during the day, Belial grew wroth. Demon that he was, he delighted in the pain and suffering of the mortal herds, tortured and pleasured, saved or slain, at the whim of their undying masters. Yet this was not the purpose to which he had set Enkhatur! Any fool could use power to hurt and enslave. Belial sought to lift the Kindred up, to make them true disciples of the Adversary, to become all that their deathless forms and powerful magics could become. The temporal power to which Enkhatur aspired could be a useful tool, but only to a vampire who had already mastered himself; to one who had only begun to walk the path, it was a distraction.
Still, had this been Enkhatur’s only sin, Belial might have watched and waited, seen how the Gangrel’s efforts played out, perhaps been content to seek a new disciple in decades or centuries. If there is any single trait that all demons share in common with Lucifer Morningstar, however, it must be an unbending pride. A delay in his objectives, Belial could tolerate, but when Enkhatur, drunk with power and acclaim, began teaching his newest followers that the Investments were the results of his own growing might, the demon’s fury knew no bounds.
Belial reached into the dreams of the vampires of Dis, speaking directly to their dark soul, their Beast, in a tongue their minds could not hear, but that they and their offspring could never truly forget. He awakened in them instincts so primal that, even in the deepest depths of frenzy, none had ever felt them before. The demon turned vampire against vampire throughout the city, drowning them in a tide of blood, burying them in an avalanche of tearing claws and gnashing fangs. The Kindred weren’t the only combatants. Mortal turned on mortal, using the chaos as an excuse to exorcise old grudges, or to eliminate competitors. Cults of rival deities massacred one another in veritable orgies of bloodshed. Some among the Brood believe that even the spirits were wild that night, as magics flared uncontrolled and maddened shapeshifters tore random passersby apart.
This was the end of Dis itself, now remembered only in legends of Hell, instead of a very real Hell on Earth. All those who survived, mortal and Kindred, fled the city for distant lands.
Enkhatur, it must be noted, died shamefully, attempting to sneak out of Dis amidst a family of fleeing mortals. Legend says that even to the last, as he disappeared beneath a maddened pack of his own childer, he begged and shrieked at them to let him go, to keep him prisoner and torture him eternally —anything but to finally send his soul back to the demon he had so fully wronged.
Constance: It hardly sounds like a viable basis for a multi-millennial sect, Mr. Kovitch. Even assuming any of it were true, that sort of treatment hardly sounds like an inducement to worship.
Kovitch: Ms. Constance, do you want to know why you are seeking the aid of a scholar, as opposed to doing the necessary research and becoming one yourself?
Constance: I lack the time. Or the interest.
Kovitch: Hardly. Time is the one thing we Kindred are never short of, and if you had no interest, we would hardly be speaking now. You lack the patience. If my tale were concluded, I would say so.
Constance: Oh, I’m so terribly sorry. [A snort from Kovitch] By all means, pray continue.
Kovitch continues
Many of Enkhatur’s childer were among the survivors . . . not least because, perhaps guided by Belial’s own influence, they spent much of their time hunting down their sire and were thus on the periphery of the chaos and bloodshed. Legend tells that as their senses and their sanity slowly came back to them, they stood atop a small rise and watched Dis burn. Only when the plumes of smoke were subtly tinted by the coming dawn did the pack — arguably the Brood’s first covey — go to ground in a nearby hole.
When they rose the next evening, they found one of their number still awake, having somehow waited out the day without so much as blinking her eyes. Called variably Shatri and Shadira, she was one of Enkhatur’s eldest, and during her sleepless day she purportedly received the second revelation of Belial.
“We have proved unworthy of the gifts Belial has bestowed upon us,” she told her brethren when they awakened. “We have squandered them in base pursuits, wasteful bids for power over those to whom we are already clearly superior. Yet he means not to strip them from us, for he hopes one night we shall indeed have earned them fully. Mistake this not for mercy on his part, for he has none, but like all good generals he seeks only the finest temper for his weapons.
“From this night, and ever forth, the Duke of the Pit shall whisper constantly to our true selves, our dark souls, the Beast we once mistook for a millstone about our necks. No more shall we, once mortal and still flawed as we are, be responsible for deciding who may know the truths Belial has brought us. All those whom he deems fit to benefit from his teachings shall hear him, though they know it not, and to him, and to us, be drawn. And only in the shedding of blood can we ever prove our worth, for only there can we display our strength, and only there can we show to Belial that we remember the fall of Dis, and the lessons it has taught.
“And never more shall we allow any of our number to put himself above the rest, as our misguided father had done, for Belial is the path to the Adversary, and only through him may we descend to our greatest depths.”
Kovitch: [An exasperated sigh] And what is it that draws the skeptical expression this time, Ms. Constance?
Constance: I’m not sure which one I find harder to believe: that there was ever a city ruled openly by the Kindred or that those who ruled could so blithely agree not to seek to recreate that power in a new domain.
Kovitch: It is not so hard to believe. To the Fog of Eternity, we have lost much of the history of even the most meticulous covenants and bloodlines. How much more, then, this sect that cares so little for recording its secrets?
Constance: I can accept that knowledge of this city — Dis, if you must — might have been lost. But the closest thing to “Kindred rule” recorded by history is the Camarilla in Rome, and even then it wasn’t open. I just don’t accept that none of the survivors of Dis tried to recreate it.
Kovitch: What would make you think they did not?
Constance: You just said —
Kovitch: I believe I said that none of Enkhatur’s childer ever attempted such a thing again. But Enkhatur’s childer were hardly the only Kindred of Dis, for all that they were the most influential.
Constance: What are you . . . ? Kovitch: Where exactly do you think the Ventrue got the idea for the Camarilla?
[20 seconds of silence]
Constance: You cannot possibly expect me to believe that.
Kovitch: What do I care what you believe? It is what the Antinomians believe, and I have found nothing in my studies to prove otherwise.
Nor was Rome wasn’t the first time and place this was tried. Many of the non-Antinomian Kindred who fled Dis had seen what a city looked like under open vampire rule. Even some of those who had followed Enkhatur’s teachings, though none who were his immediate childer, found the pull of temporal power stronger than their commitment to Belial. They attempted to found the same sort of society elsewhere, scattering throughout what are now the African and Eurasian continents. And everywhere they failed.
Constance: I suppose the Brood takes credit for that, too.
Kovitch: Not all of it, no. The prevailing attitude amongst the Antinomians seems to be one of scorn, and a belief that no vampire-dominated society is possible without Belial’s favor — and that as not even the Brood has yet proved itself fully worthy of that favor, certainly no unbeliever could hope to be.
But make no mistake, Belial’s Brood has been watching. Each attempt at recreating Dis has provided the Antinomians with great opportunity to test and to prove themselves, to pit themselves against the interests of powerful Kindred, as well as to thumb their noses at established secular and religious authorities.
They were present at the founding of the Camarilla, the first serious effort to unite the Kindred under a single umbrella without the trappings of mortal power. When the Camarilla fell, they spread out along with other Kindred, finding their way to the edges of the Old World, and then to the New.
Constance: To what end? To destroy everything the other covenants built?
Kovitch: No, you are not listening. The Antinomians held masses to the Adversary during the Inquisition, practiced witchcraft in the Colonies, studied Goetic mysticism in the nights of Crowley, played heavy metal and mutilated children in the ’80s. Some of it has been ludicrous, some terrifying and none intended to destroy the other Kindred. The Antimonians do not care about the other Kindred. To prove worthy of Belial’s teachings, the Antimonians must embrace everything that makes them vampire, and reject everything that made them human. And what makes a human human, if not the works of God?
That, Ms. Constance, is what the Brood is, and where it’s from. They are the children of a heretic, the disciples of Lucifer’s right hand, the Beasts who would shed their flesh and be Beasts. Every act of inhumanity, every act that mocks God, every act performed for no better reason than it is against the dictates of Heaven — these are the things that bring them closer to Belial, closer to learning whatever lesson the demon truly sought to teach the vampires of Dis.
Constance: And...what lesson is that?
[A pause of silence]
Kovitch: If I knew that, Ms. Constance, I would hardly require your patron’s funding, would I?
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Constance: Supplementary notes. February 27. 11:47 PM.I thought I was done with this. The ridiculous fairytale told me by that insufferable Russian, while hardly believable, seemed more than sufficient to provide you what you wished to know. In the past months, I have moved on to other projects.
Several nights back, however, I received a telephone call from one of the contacts I had spoken to a year ago, and long since forgotten about. He wished to give me a name: Pratt-Alvigsonne — comma — Paul. My contact wouldn’t say anything more than that, supposedly out of fear. It was, in fact, very over-the-top cloak-and-dagger, and really quite irritating. We simply must cultivate a better class of informants when we have the time.
In any event, knowing how much the topic interests you, I decided it would be prudent to put out a few feelers. The only Paul Pratt-Alvigsonne I could find (and I somehow doubt there are many with that particular name) is an old man dwelling in an “assisted living home for the incapable.”
Mortals never say what they mean anymore. “Assisted living home,” indeed. I’m standing outside it right now, and it is an asylum if ever there was one, replete with unnecessarily gothic architecture, overhanging doorways and even the requisite crash of lightning in the storm clouds above. Lovecraft himself would be delighted.
As for me, I expect I am about to have another evening of my time wasted. I cannot imagine what a mortal might be able to tell us about the Brood that we do not already know. As always, though, I shall make certain. We wouldn’t want you to be disappointed.
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Constance: Addendum:There may be more to this than I thought. You know the acuity of my senses; it’s one of the reasons you have me running all over looking for things for you. It has been a long time — my mortal days, in fact — since I have been uncertain of my surroundings.
Simply walking from the car to the door, however, I have developed the strong impression that someone is watching me. Shadows in the corner of my eyes that fade as I turn, sounds at the very farthest reaches of even my hearing.
If someone is keeping an eye on this asylum, it may just be that Mr. Pratt-Alvigsonne knows something important after all.
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Constance: ...if I record this, do you?Pratt-Alvigsonne: Not at all. [coughs twice] Nor, I suspect, would you let it stop you if I did.
Constance: Perhaps not, but it’s only polite to ask. Mr. Pratt-Alvigsonne, I realize that you’ve gone over this dozens of times with dozens of doctors, but I’m here to ask the nature of the experiences you’ve had, or believe you’ve had. By better understanding them, we can —
Pratt-Alvigsonne: Ms. Constance, I apologize for [cough] interrupting you, but let’s not prevaricate. You’re here to ask me about Belial’s Brood.
Constance: I . . . what?
Pratt-Alvigsonne: It’s the only thing you Kindred ever come to ask me about.
[15 seconds of silence]
Constance: I see. And do you intend to answer my questions?
Pratt-Alvigsonne: I believe we can [coughs twice] come to an arrangement. Turn that [cough] off for a moment.
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Pratt-Alvigsonne: . . . me going for a good several weeks, at least. Thank you much, young lady.Constance: The pleasure was all yours, I’m sure. And I’m likely several times your age.
Pratt-Alvigsonne: When you have seen what I have seen, Ms. Constance, you learn swiftly that one’s age has very little to do with growing old.
So, you wish to know about Belial’s Brood. I’m going to guess that I wasn’t your first stop on this little hunt of yours, which means you’ve probably already learned a great deal.
It’s all wrong, of course.
Tell me, Ms. Constance, have you accepted Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior?
[Five seconds of silence]
Constance: If you’re about to start proselytizing to me . . .
Pratt-Alvigsonne: Not at all. Merely establishing a frame of reference. So many people believe the Messiah has come and gone once already, and that he will return at the end of days, a time heralded by the coming of the Anti-Christ.
Constance: Yes. And?
Pratt-Alvigsonne: Yet nobody seems to consider the possibility that the Anti-Christ, too, has walked the world once before.
[More silence]
Constance: Are you trying to tell me that you believe Belial . . .?
Pratt-Alvigsonne: Is the offspring of the Adversary, born to a mortal, as a mortal, and sent to walk the world of man clothed in flesh and blood. That, Ms. Constance, is exactly what I’m trying to tell you.
Pratt-Alvigsonne speaks
His mother’s name was Imarku. She is called a saint by some among the Brood, but she was certainly no virgin. A harlot who could be had by anyone, for any purpose, for the price of a crust of bread, her body was far too riddled with syphilis and other diseases for her to have borne a child. Yet she awoke one day to discover that she was, indeed, with child.
A hazard of her profession, she had learned long ago — before illness had stripped her of her reproductive capability — to recognize the signs. She knew that she was pregnant long before her body showed any outward clues, and she knew as well that it could be no natural child growing within her pocked and shriveled womb.
More importantly, others would know, for Imarku’s health was hardly a secret among those with whom she associated. In fear of being branded a consort of gods or demons, she fled her home, eventually settling in a city of ancient Babylon, one whose name has since been forgotten.
Constance: Mr. Pratt-Alvigsonne, my prior informant told me that the Brood descended from a pre-Babylonian city called Dis.
Pratt-Alvigsonne: Your prior contact was a jackass. Dis? Really. There are a few among the Brood who might believe such things — the same ones who believe they are honoring Belial by listening to bad music turned up much too loud or slitting the throats of animals and waving them about like party sparklers.
Constance: I see. I suppose every institution must have its unfortunate elements.
Pratt-Alvigsonne: I suppose so. May I continue?
Pratt-Alvigsonne continues
Belial’s childhood and early adulthood, the legends tell us, were fraught with horrors and difficulties. He grew up in poverty, and in poverty he remained for a protracted period, oft-times surviving on little more than a few bites of food a day. His mother, his half-siblings, the master smith who taught him his trade of bronzecrafting, his first wife — all of them died violently, stripped away by the fist, or the sword or the teeth of creatures, vampire and otherwise, that haunted the nights even then. Some few among the Brood maintain that Belial himself slew all these people over this slight or that insult. Most, however, believe instead that this was the Adversary’s way of testing his son, of teaching Belial the first of many lessons he must eventually learn.
Indeed, Belial swiftly learned self-reliance. He needed none, and sought help from none. What he needed he earned, or took, on his own. He took a second wife, and when she died, a third, and he spawned children but refused to rely on the aid or assistance of any of them. He thrived, as much as anyone thrived in that primitive time. It became clear, after several years, that this bronze-smith whom others had believed to be cursed was, in fact, succeeding beyond anyone’s expectations. His tools and weapons proved superior, even when rushed or made with inferior materials. There was always sufficient bronze or sufficient food when he went to market, regardless of prevailing conditions. No random robbers accosted him on the streets, nor did he ever fall afoul of the city’s various religious fanatics.
Others began to watch him, to follow him, to learn his secrets of success. And Belial, though initially intending to send them away, found himself flattered by their attentions — it can be said that he had, if nothing else, his father’s pride — and he began to preach. His doctrines of individuality, of self-reliance, of doing for oneself rather than turning to any of the myriad gods of the age, were revolutionary, but they found a home in the hearts of many who listened. Almost overnight, Belial found himself the equivalent of a religious leader.
This, of course, did not sit well with the priests of the local gods, and they set soldiers against Belial and his new following. And it was here that Belial showed himself stronger than his spiritual nemesis, who was at this time many centuries away from being born — for Belial was willing to fight to protect what was his.
Dozens of Belial’s followers stood against many hundreds of the priests’ soldiers, and his followers did not yield. Perhaps Belial’s success to this point was miraculous in and of itself, but it was here that he worked the first of his dark miracles before witnesses, the first of many to come. The soldiers struck at his flesh, and their swords grew brittle as glass and then shattered; yet the weapons of his own followers cleaved through the shields of the enemy with ease. Where Belial’s followers were grossly outnumbered, the beasts of the night rose up and attacked his foes, squirming beneath armor and chewing through muscle and bone.
Amidst it all, Belial stood weaponless, laying about him with his hands alone. And where he struck flesh, that flesh burned, leaving behind dozens of corpses with nothing but the blackened imprint of an open hand to show how they had died.
When word of Belial’s miracles spread, his following increased tenfold. Belial continued to use his abilities to defend what was his, to obtain further riches still, and he prospered. Eventually, there came a time when he had a sufficiency of disciples that he could have asked anything of them; he need never lift another finger on his own behalf. Yet he did not, for never had he forgotten the first of lessons life taught him: to rely on himself, and himself alone.
Yes, word of Belial spread — and not just among mortals. The Kindred of the era had no covenants as we would recognize them, perhaps not even the clans we know tonight, but they were Kindred, and the Kindred nature does not change.
The first of the Kindred to seek power over Belial was one named Enhidir. We know little of him, save that he sought to overwhelm Belial’s mind, to control one capable of such dark miracles for his own ends.
But Enhidir’s power, the Kindred’s power, was of the Adversary, and held no fear for one who was himself birthed of the Adversary. Belial allowed Enhidir to enter his mind, to see what it was he truly sought to master, and the vampire was left maddened and near mindless by the experience.
This was Belial’s first direct experience with the Kindred, though he had encountered them in passing before, and it came as a revelation to him. He knew, now, who his true flock must be, what doctrine he must teach. Yet he knew, too, that they must come to him, if they were ever to accept his teachings.
We know not the name of the second vampire Belial encountered. It was some years after —
Constance: Wait one minute. What’s with the name thing?
Pratt-Alvigsonne: I beg your pardon?
Constance: You haven’t told me the name of Belial’s siblings, or the smith to whom he was apprenticed or his wife. Now you’ve got this “nameless vampire.” I realize the histories are spotty, but —
Pratt-Alvigsonne: I suggest you try to get used to it, Ms. Constance. There will be much more. The Brood believes it improper to try to identify such individuals. They have transcended any feeble names we might put to them; to seek to pin them down in such a way is to seek power over them, and that is nothing but an insult. They recognize the name of Belial, because it is only through him that the Kindred can ascend, but the others must remain unknown. Some of the more zealous among the Brood prefer not to even utter Belial’s name if they can avoid it. They refer to themselves as the Nameless, rather than as Belial’s Brood.
Constance: Indeed. My prior source claimed the Kindred of the Brood called themselves “Antinomians.”
Pratt-Alvigsonne: Phaw! I suppose someone poorly versed in Latin — and a cretin, besides — might come to believe that that term meant “Nameless.”
Constance: I’m not certain that’s what he —
Pratt-Alvigsonne: We’ve only just touched on Belial, Ms. Constance. We haven’t even gotten to the Brood yet. And if you keep interrupting me...
Pratt-Alvigsonne continues
This vampire sought a more direct means of gaining Belial’s power for himself. He sought not to dominate the worker of dark miracles, but instead to Embrace him. The tales tell that he appeared outside Belial’s hut mere moments after dusk and slipped inside.
What happened within, however, the tales do not tell, except to say that the vampire and the son of the Adversary spoke long into the night, and nearly until dawn. Scholars among the Brood strive to this night to learn what Belial said, and to this night they strive in vain. What we do know is that when the pair emerged, mere moments before the sun arose, Belial was still a mortal and the vampire had become his First Apostle, never again to leave his side.
Constance: Wait.
Pratt-Alvigsonne: [An exasperated sigh] What did I just say about interrupting me?
Constance: So, if not at this point, when was Belial Embraced?
[10 seconds of silence]
Pratt-Alvigsonne: Ms. Constance, what could I possibly have said to give you the impression that he was Embraced?
[20 seconds of silence]
Constance: You mean to tell me that Belial’s Brood worship — even named themselves, in fact —after a mortal?
Pratt-Alvigsonne: Ah . . . I never get tired of that look. Yes indeed, Ms. Constance. Like the son of God, the son of the Adversary was mortal. And remained so until the day he died — or at least he may have.
Pratt-Alvigsonne continues
To this First Apostle, Belial taught secrets the likes of which his mortal followers could never comprehend. “I perform miracles,” Belial is said to have told his Kindred disciples, “but you are miracles. Dead yet living, waking yet ageless; there is nothing of the mundane, nothing of the natural, in your flesh. Learn the lessons I can teach you, guide yourself through my words onto my father’s path and there will be nothing in this world you cannot do, no act of will you cannot make manifest.” Indeed, most of the Brood believes that the various powers they can access tonight, abilities known to no other Kindred, are the simplest and weakest of the dark miracles of which Belial spoke.
Belial and his Apostle spread his words and his teachings, and many Kindred flocked to his call. From one, Belial eventually acknowledged no fewer than five true Apostles, and several dozen other Kindred followers who never attained that level of favor — or of power. Belial brought the truth of their condition to the Kindred, and not only the Brood’s abilities, but many of the Disciplines so common to vampires today, spring from his teachings. He taught the vampires to speak in the language of the Beast, so that no matter what their words sounded like to casual ears, each knew precisely what the other meant to convey.
Belial did not forget his mortal followers, but he clearly favored the Kindred, for they far more fully embodied his teachings of might and power. With his blessing, the Kindred assumed as much influence over the mortals as they could enforce. For several bloody years, the city was ruled entirely by night, with its mortal populace either living in fear of, or becoming devoted servants to, the demigods who slept by day.
Just as his preaching to his mortal flock had threatened the religious elite years earlier, and just as Jesus’ own teachings would irritate the powers of Rome centuries later, so did many among the Kindred grow concerned at the news and the word they heard coming from this obscure city. The Kindred had no set societal structure to be endangered, of course, but certainly many individuals, Princes the likes of which we have even now, felt their grasp on power threatened. Some few might even have already had the beginnings of a larger plan, what would eventually result in the Camarilla or the covenants we know tonight.
Whatever their true motivations, many of the most influential vampires of the age moved against Belial’s growing cult. Favored mortal pawns and contacts died swiftly, supplies ceased moving — all the same song and dance with which you are no doubt already familiar. Many of Belial’s followers, the more cowardly and weak-willed among them, abandoned their savior for fear of being associated with his inevitable fall. But the Five Apostles, and a few dozen other Kindred besides, stood by his side.
Persecution of the cult at the hands of frightened Kindred increased, until merely being associated with Belial was enough to condemn a vampire to Final Death. Slowly, through attrition as members were slain or fled, the cult was reduced to no more than Belial and his Five Apostles.
Belial was himself an old man by this time, and though his Apostles begged him to let one of them Embrace him, that he might continue to lead them, he refused. All his power, all his influence, he had gained himself, through his own ambition and the gifts he could call upon as the son of the Adversary. He would not, Belial swore, continue in any state wherein he would owe his power or his existence to another.
The First Apostle, who had known Belial and his teachings longest, accepted his declaration, albeit with a heavy heart. But the others, for all Belial’s teachings of selfreliance, were too afraid to accept. In the dark hours before the dawn, three of them overcame the First Apostle and held him fast, while the Third Apostle crept into the room where the aged Belial slept. There, crying tears of crimson, she feasted upon her savior’s blood, and bit her own lip asunder that she might return unlife in place of the life she had drained.
When the others freed him, the First Apostle raged. He set upon the one who had attempted to Embrace Belial, and beat her nigh unto torpor. Yet he did not slay the Third Apostle, or any of her accomplices. He would wait to learn what his newly Embraced master would have him do, for it was only right that he be the one to assign punishment.
For three nights and three days, Belial lay in his hut, dead to all outward observers. For three nights and three days, the Apostles waited with diminishing hope, praying that their savior, the son of the Adversary, might yet awaken to unlife and guide them as he had always done.
On the evening of the fourth day, the Five Apostles entered the hut to check on their master, only to find his room empty, the cot on which he had lain apparently undisturbed. Though they searched throughout the night, not even their greatest powers of Auspex could detect the slightest trace of Belial, or determine how he had slipped away — or even whether he was yet living or undead.
Now the others turned to the First Apostle with fear, for they knew that he was greatest among them, that without the element of surprise they would be hard-pressed to defeat him, and that he was greatly angered with them.
“You have proved us unworthy of Belial’s teachings,” he told them, his voice sad, his jaw clenched in anger. “You have been weak, where Belial taught strength. You have been afraid, where Belial taught fearlessness.
“And I...I have been merciful, where Belial taught us to show none.”
The First Apostle fell upon the Third, breaking her bones and drinking of her blood until there was nothing left to sustain her. As her dust fell through his fingers and poured from his lips, he turned again to the others. “Go. Flee from me now, before the legacy of Belial dies here with us. Others will come to you, and they will know what you should have learned even though you teach them not. Only at the end of nights will the Son of the Adversary walk the world again, and only those who have proved worthy will share in his power in the age to come.”
Constance: And then?
Pratt-Alvigsonne: And then what?
Constance: Once the Apostles scattered. Where did they go? How did the Brood spread from there?
Pratt-Alvigsonne: All excellent questions, Ms. Constance. Come back in a few weeks, and I’ll be happy to address them. Oh, and Ms. Constance? You should probably eat before you visit me again.
*click*
*click*
Constance: Sup—supplementary notes, March 22. 1—ah, 1:16 AM.[slightly muffled] Do, um... Do you prefer “Mr. Jackal” or “the Jackal,” or...?
Jackal: No. Just “Jackal” will suffice. I left other names and titles buried in an unmarked grave long ago.
Constance: I see. [volume returns to normal] I have returned to my room after a fruitless night to find a stranger waiting for me. He insists I call him “Jackal,” and has provided no additional identification. He appears —
Jackal: I would prefer no record of my appearance, Ms. Constance. It is safer for us both. Consider it my price for allowing you to record this conversation at all.
Constance: I — yes, as you wish. All right, Jackal. You mentioned Belial’s Brood.
Jackal: I did.
Constance: And what makes you think I have any involvement with them?
Jackal: You have no involvement with them, but not for lack of trying. You’ve spoken to the Slav, Kovitch. You’ve been to see Pratt-Alvigsonne — not, I would point out, the wisest move you might have made.
Constance: How did you —
Jackal: After your conversation with Kovitch, you stopped speaking to your contacts on this matter. After you saw the old lunatic, you redoubled your prior efforts. Also not the most shrewd move.
Constance: How do you know this?
Jackal: I keep a very close eye on all things connected to the Brood, Ms. Constance, or at the least I attempt to. You have been less than subtle in your inquiries.
Constance: Since when does the Brood care what people think or say about them?
Jackal: They likely don’t. “Likely” is a very thin line on which to hang your continued wellbeing.
Constance: And why do you care?
Jackal: Because I think we may be able to help each other. I, too, have a substantial interest in Belial’s Brood.
Constance: And you are willing to share information?
Jackal: I am. Only, however, if you go first.
Constance: How do I know you’ll uphold your end of the bargain?
Jackal: You do not, I suppose. But this is hardly the time to start worrying about risks, is it?
[10 seconds of silence]
*click*
*click*
Jackal: — ry interesting.Constance: You believe either of those stories?
Jackal: You would be surprised, Ms. Constance, how little I believe of anything.
Constance: But you said you had some information of your own about the Brood. Which of those tales corresponds most closely to your own knowledge of their beliefs?
Jackal: Neither.
Constance: What?
Jackal: This is the first time I recall having heard either of those legends. Let me tell you what I have heard regarding the birth of Belial’s Brood.
The Jackal speaks
Belial was born so long ago that history and mythology are utterly indistinguishable. His father was a warrior of one of the ancient tribes, though the legends differ on precisely which — Midianite, perhaps, or Hittite. His life growing up was as so many others: hard and violent, made up of periods of hunger and want, punctuated by short bursts of hideously bloody conquest and the temporary comfort of a life lived on the spoils of war.
He grew to become a great warrior himself, as so many of those people were, and eventually became the warlord of one of the smaller tribes of his nation. It is said that he was the greatest warrior of his age; I’m certain we must chalk at least some of that up to typical mythic exaggeration, but doubtless he was a soldier of no small ability. That he committed many of what the modern world would consider atrocities isalso not in doubt. That was, after all, simply the way of the world. The tribes killed for land, for food, for vengeance, for religious reasons, sometimes because that is simply what they did. Men, women, children . . . It hardly mattered.
Distasteful, yes. But as I said, common to the time. It was certainly nothing to distinguish Belial from any of the other warlords and tribal leaders. His tribe was incredibly ferocious and highly skilled, much like their leader, and they proved victorious against every foe they encountered. Nomadic tribes, remnant Sumerians, communes of Israelites all fell to Belial’s warriors. Had he led a larger tribe, or an entire nation, he might well have changed the course of pre-Christian history, but as it was, he had little cultural impact despite his fearsome nature.
Belial did, however, have two personality traits that caused him to stand out, even among the other skilled warriors and merciless leaders of the age. The first was his household god. Not only most nations, but most communities, and even many families had their own pantheon of gods and spirits, of course. Belial always attributed his success to one, one that had, or so he claimed, watched over his family line since the very first dawn. It was a god to which he gave no name, when asked, save one. I do not know the actual term — nor could I likely pronounce it, coming as it does from a dead language — but I am given to understand that it translates most closely to “Most Terrible Enemy of My Enemy.”
The other was his rather unfortunate tendency toward cannibalism.
Constance: But how unusual is that, really?
Jackal: How many cannibals did you know in your mortal life, Ms. Constance?
Constance: That’s hardly what I meant, Jackal. Lots of primitive cultures practiced ritual cannibalism. Some Native American tribes believed they consume an enemy’s strength by eating his heart. On the Asian continent —
Jackal: If I’d known this was to be an anthropology lesson, I would have brought a pen.
Consume: My point is, while I don’t profess to be an expert on pre-Biblical era mytho-history, was cannibalism truly that unusual?
Jackal: I couldn’t say. But Belial was hardly a traditional cannibal.
The Jackal continues
You are at least partly correct in your surmise. Belial seemed to believe that consuming the flesh of his foes granted him a measure of their potency. It was, at least initially, an act he performed only on occasion. He might consume a great enemy he had just defeated, or he might consume some of an enemy’s soldiers to give him strength to face his true foe. But in either case, it started as a quirk, not a true habit.
Eventually, however, word of his practice spread — and not only spread, but grew, as rumors and tales are wont to do. Many who dwelt in the lands near Belial’s tribe came to believe that he was a flesheating horror, birthed from the foulest imagination of the darkest gods. It was said that he used his teeth in combat, that he would eat the flesh off a man’s face on the battlefield, that he sent his warriors on raids with the sole purpose of bringing back captives to be devoured.
None of it was true, of course, but it was enough to cause fear of Belial and his tribe of savages to spread far faster and more strongly than it otherwise might. When Belial himself first heard of these tales, ironically enough from an enemy captive who begged the conqueror not to eat his family, the warlord was pleased. He knew full well the power of fear as a weapon.
Gradually, it seems that Belial began, to use the modern colloquialism, to believe his own hype. His behavior became ever more gruesome, ever more savage. He began to seek out opportunities to consume human flesh. He did indeed send raiding parties to take slaves, and some of those slaves had a very short span of service. He was witnessed more than once to move in on a foe and, rather than strike with his sword, to take a bite from the other man’s neck or shoulders.
Many among the Brood — or at least so I’m given to understand — theorize that Belial was simply playing to his reputation. If his previous behavior had spawned such horrific tales, and thus caused his enemies to tremble in fear at his mere name, then what more could he accomplish by actually taking those tales to heart? Even if this were the case to start with, however, Belial swiftly lost sight of any goal so mundane. He developed a taste for the bloodshed, an apparent addiction to human flesh. On the rare occasion that his warriors could not acquire an appropriate meal, Belial turned one of his own people into his next repast. His most brutal warriors aped his behavior, adopting cannibalism themselves, though never to the same grotesque extremes as their warlord.
For all his apparent madness, however, at least one element of Belial’s practice never changed. While he believed he was taking the strength of his foes into himself as he consumed them, he always dedicated their deaths to his unnamed god.
Unlikely as it sounds, Belial lived through many decades of war and conquest. Although injured many times, and struck down by illness many others, he always recovered. It must have seemed to his followers that his cannibalistic acts truly had given him the strength of all those whom he had slain, for he seemed to have the resilience of an army.
Eventually, Belial began to grow old, and it is said that for the first time, those who knew him best could see the glimmer of fear in his eyes. Belial was no coward. He was not afraid of death per se; but the notion of succumbing to a foe against whom he could not fight unsettled him. He sought the advice of wise men, prophets and witches, but while many provided means of staving the years off for a time, age continued to creep up on him.
It was one night, while deep in prayer to his dark god, that Belial had what can only be described as a twisted epiphany. If consuming the flesh of the strong made him stronger...
Could consuming the flesh of the young make him younger?
Belial’s standing orders to his soldiers changed, becoming so horrible that even many of his most savage men fled from his tribe rather than follow them, or face his wrath for disobeying. The focus of their raids against enemy lands shifted to the gathering of children almost exclusively. Within a span of several short years, scores if not hundreds of infants and adolescents met their deaths in the cooking fires of Belial’s camps. When even this proved insufficient to sate Belial’s lust for young flesh, he ordered the capture of women and girls of childbearing age, to be held as breeding stock — and, secondarily, to slake the more natural but still violent lusts of the soldiers.
Even then, Belial did not forget the strategic elements of his actions. Where possible, he directed these raids against the families of those who would soon face him on the field of battle, demoralizing them, rendering them afraid to leave their homes for fear their loved ones would be dragged away in their absence. Even though their numbers had shrunk, as those who refused to be part of such horrors fled, Belial’s tribe remained the most feared warriors in the region.
It is, of course, unlikely that Belial’s practice of eating the young would have truly slowed the aging process, but he was given no opportunity to find out for certain. For with these latest horrors, Belial learned the lesson so many other monsters and tyrants have learned throughout history: if you push too far, fear can drive even the most cowardly or demure people to action.
No tribes existed anywhere nearby with sufficient strength, or sufficient numbers, to challenge Belial’s warriors. But against all the local tribes together, united despite their own ancient feuds and current enmities, even the mightiest of soldiers could not hope to stand.
The battle raged long, with only a few moments of respite. Finally, as the sun began to sink into the west on the evening of the third day, the warriors of the united tribes pierced Belial’s last line of defense. Atop a rise now slick with blood, they surrounded the great tent defended by Belial himself, along with his five most loyal and most fearsome soldiers. Although each took with him more than a dozen of the enemy, the warriors dropped one by one, until only Belial himself still stood. Sword, spear and arrow opened wound after wound in Belial’s flesh, and finally even he could no longer stand, yet he lived still. Triumphant, the tribesmen hefted Belial onto their shoulders and carried him into his own tent.
There they were confronted with horrors the likes of which they could scarcely have dreamt. Here lay evidence of the warlord’s most recent repasts. Clothes of children lay folded in a neat pile, ready to be dispersed to the young of Belial’s own tribe. Cuts of meat, some of which were still recognizably human, hung upon hooks, waiting to be prepared. Bloodstained bowls of wood and bone littered a long table. And before a gilded altar to an unknown god, there lay a pile of tiny skulls, stacked to the height of a short man.
Maddened with horror and grief — and not a little fear — Belial’s conquerors slit the warlord’s throat and left him to die lying atop his own altar. Then they stepped outside and lit the tent aflame.
Had they stayed to watch it burn, they might have seen that although burning scraps rained down around Belial and the altar, the flames themselves did not reach him, for the dirt floor of the tent failed, of course, to burn. They might also have seen, after the sun set, the mighty warlord drag himself to his feet, one hand pressed firmly to the wound across his throat, staunching the flow of blood, even if only for a short time.
Belial knew he was dying, and he raged against his fate, against the weaklings who had managed to overcome him. He tried to shout, but his voice was a mere gurgling croak, muffled not merely by the wound that must soon slay him despite his best efforts, but also by the smoke that filled his lungs. Wracked by an agonizing thirst, Belial partook of the only drink available to him — his own previously spilled blood, collected in the cupped hands of the idol atop the altar.
Despite the flames nearby, the blood should have cooled at least somewhat in the night air, yet it burned like fire as it trickled down his throat. Belial felt a new strength flush his limbs, like nothing he had ever felt before. The wound on his neck slowed its flow, and then ceased to bleed altogether. And before Belial’s suddenly sharpened eyes, the idol of his dark god melted away, starting at the hands where the warlord’s blood had pooled.
Constance: I’m not entirely certain I understand. Are you suggesting Belial Embraced himself?
Jackal: Hardly, though it was his own blood that carried the dark blessing. Haven’t you been listening at all? Who do you think Belial’s “familial god” was?
Constance: The Adversary, in Judeo-Christian-Islamic terms. I got that. I’m not an idiot.
Jackal: The Demiurge, or the “source,” as he is known to the Brood. Belial received his gift directly. An Immaculate Embrace, if you prefer. Belial was the first vampire — patient zero, if you’re of a scientific mind — an honor he had earned through his devout worship and his...interesting proclivities.
The Jackal continues
Belial received no immediate knowledge of his new condition, but he learned swiftly enough to follow his instincts. He knew, before the rising sun touched the horizon, that he was forevermore denied the light of day. He discovered how to draw upon the power within him to perform feats far beyond those he could have imagined as a mortal. And he learned that what he had believed in life was now the factual basis of his new existence: only by feeding on the lives of others could he survive, and remain strong.
More than that, however, he learned that his prayers to his god were now answered far more directly, so long as they were augmented with the power of his own blood. He could work uncountable dark miracles and mastered secret rites, only a few of which have survived to the modern nights as the Brood’s own form of mysticism.
For several years, Belial dwelt alone in the wild. He hunted the fringes of nearby tribes and villages when he hungered, but otherwise avoided human contact. He acted thus not out of fear, for truly Belial feared nothing now save the burning touch of the sun, but in order to obtain as complete a mastery of his new abilities as his soldier’s training had granted him over his old. And finally, when he felt he was ready, Belial sought his revenge.
The first to die were the members of his own tribe who had deserted him. With the patience of immortality, Belial tracked them down to their new nations, and he slaughtered them to the last, along with their families. Tales spread of these terrible deaths; some attributed them to some horrible plague, while others evoked demons or angry spirits. Fear of Belial spread once more, though none now knew him by name.
Next were the leaders of the warriors who had defeated him, starting with the most mighty and working his way down, and again their families and loved ones perished with them. Now the tales that spread spoke of a curse, the vengeance of the god Belial had once worshipped — and in a way, I suppose, those tales were not wholly wrong.
But as before, the fear Belial engendered eventually turned on him. Perhaps guided by their own gods, or even by the voice of the one God whom they had not yet acknowledged, the priests of the tribes learned to guide their soldiers and their people in ways to fight the bearer of this curse. The cleansing power of open flame, the barrier of the holy sign faithfully presented and Belial’s great vulnerability during the hours of day, all these were turned against him by the surviving family and friends of those he had slain. Although he lingered for years, continuing his murderous vendetta, Belial was eventually forced to flee the lands he had hunted as both man and Kindred, never to return.
For many years, Belial wandered, feasting off the various communities through which he moved. Eventually, however, with the passing years, the immortal warlord grew lonely, for he had rarely been without the company of the warriors of his tribe. For the first time, he sought out not a small village or a nomadic tribe in which to hunt but one of the great cities of the time. Eventually, he found himself in what would become Babylon, in the now-forgotten city of Sayhad.
Constance: Sayhad? Not “Dis?” Not “some unknown city?”
Jackal: That is what I said, yes.
Constance: Do you have any reason to suspect that your identification is any more accurate than the other two tales?
Jackal: It’s what I’ve learned. As to which is the truth, if any of them, I can’t imagine I’m any better a judge than you.
The Jackal continues
For a time, the relative crush of humanity around him slaked Belial’s loneliness, and it certainly made hunting far easier. Soon, however, he craved true companionship. For the first time, Belial contemplated the possibility of creating more like him. He prayed to his god for guidance, but on this matter, no answer was forthcoming, no dark miracle or unholy power offered itself as a solution.
Belial was no fool, however, and it took him little time to determine that the power must be in the blood. Not only was it the source of his strength, but the blood had been the catalyst for his own transmutation.
He watched the city for months, until he had identified several individuals he considered worthy of his own undying nature. His first attempt at the Embrace was less than a complete success. The man to whom he fed his blood gained strength, and grew unswervingly loyal to Belial, but he was still clearly mortal. Although disappointed, Belial saw the possibilities inherent in a faithful servant, stronger than any mortal soldier, who could operate by day, and he bound several more of these earliest ghouls to aid him in his endeavors. It is for this reason, I believe, that the Brood offers its ghouls an unusual amount of respect tonight: with the exception of Belial himself, they actually predate the Kindred.
It was only when several of Belial’s ghouls died violently in battle with the zealots of a rival cult that the true nature of the Embrace became apparent. One of the ghouls, a man named Enkahas, who had fed most recently, arose as a vampire, the first other than Belial himself. Then Belial realized that, just as his life had been all but spent when he drank from the cupped hands of the altar, so, too, must a potential vampire be drained to the point of death before the blood of the sire would offer a true transformation.
I’m certain that more than a few would-be Kindred died as Belial and Enkahas mastered the procedure, but eventually the first vampire indeed had a loyal brood of childer. To them he taught all that he had learned, about the nature of their new existence, the extent of their powers and the fealty they owed his dark god.
Then, with a population of vampires and ghouls supporting him, Belial returned to what he did best — conquest through fear. The mortal leaders and priests of Sayhad could do nothing to protect themselves, let alone the other citizens of the city. In a mere handful of nights, Belial’s name was whispered and screamed throughout Sayhad, and the people knew that they now answered not to any mortal king but to a night-dwelling demigod against whom they had no defense. For the vampires it was a paradise; they fed when they chose, on whom they chose and none could gainsay them save Belial himself, who saw little need to reign his followers in. For the mortals, the city of Sayhad was a tiny piece of Hell.
It was ultimately Enkahas, the Second Eldest, who caused the downfall of Belial’s dominion. Seduced by the power he held, Enkahas began to believe himself a true divinity on Earth. He ceased worshipping Belial’s god, and instead pressed his followers, his minions and his childer to worship him.
He lost much of what he was in this apostasy. The tongue of Belial’s god, whom all vampires could instinctively speak from the moment of Embrace, was lost to him. His Investments and rituals ceased to function.
Yet he remained ageless and undead, a creature of the night who fed on blood. He kept the vast majority of his unholy powers and his inhuman strength. Most horrifically, where Belial and the faithful were concerned, he retained the ability to bind humans through the power of his blood, and to create his own progeny through the Embrace.
Belial and his childer fell upon Enkahas and his own offspring with the maddened fury of Hell’s own demons, tearing them apart in an orgy of blood and leaving the quivering chunks of flesh to burn in the rising sun. The damage, however, had already been done. The vampires of Sayhad now knew that, while Belial’s god might be the original source of their kind, obedience, fealty and worship were not integral aspects of their condition. For the sacrifice of only a few of their many abilities, the vampires could be their own masters, owing adulation to none, answerable to none. The vampires could create childer and ghouls without the necessity of dedicating them to this god, indoctrinating them to be loyal to their sires alone.
The Kindred of Sayhad fell into a religious and civil war, with Belial and the faithful on one side and this new breed of “independent” vampire on the other. In the first nights of the struggle, Belial held the upper hand, but his enemy grew in number far more swiftly than his own forces. Investments and the tongue of the Beast gave the faithful an edge, but it was one that would eventually be overwhelmed by sheer numbers.
As it happened, however, the vampires never had the opportunity to decide the matter for themselves. The mortals of the city swiftly became aware of the struggle occurring beneath the veil of night, and the most resourceful of them eventually learned the theological underpinnings behind it. This information they took to their priests, who realized that if the vampiric nature could be so drastically changed simply by failing to worship their creator, then perhaps the power of other gods could be turned against them as well. This was the source of faith as the enemy of the Kindred, and it was a weapon the mortals wielded with great skill and desperation. In months, between their own strife and the efforts of the priests, the vampires were almost wiped out, their numbers reduced to a fraction of what they had been.
Both factions of vampires knew that Sayhad was lost to them, but they knew as well that they could hunt — and perhaps rule once more — in other cities, in other lands. The apostates scattered wildly in all directions, with no plan other than escape, and no unity. Belial’s offspring, however, knew that they could not afford to disperse so completely. The teachings of Belial’s god, and the true nature and true loyalty of vampires, must survive. They departed in small groups, determined to survive. In every land through which they passed, they searched for those who would join them in their worship and service of the Adversary. And indeed they seemed aided by their god directly, as a few of the vampires they met over the years — even those descended from the apostates, who had never even heard of Belial or his god — seemed blessed with an understanding of the language of the Beast. Thus, the teachings of the first vampire survived even the fall of his domain, and spread through the world even to the modern nights.
Constance: You seem to have left something out.
Jackal: Belial. His fate.
Constance: That would be it. You speak of his brood fleeing Sayhad, but nothing of Belial himself. Was he slain in the war?
Jackal: That’s a very good question. I have no answer for you. The legends of the Brood simply cease mentioning Belial after the fall of his domain in Sayhad. They speak of him only in the past tense. But they don’t suggest his final fate, either. There are certainly enough hypotheses, some so old they qualify as myths themselves: The mortal priests slew him. The apostates slew him. He sank into torpor and still rests deep beneath what was Sayhad, whatever it may be now. He disappeared into the world with his followers, and spread his teachings even as they did, until he was slain in some other nation and some other time. He survives even now, passing as a normal vampire. He has ascended into some greater form, something above vampire, closer to the Adversary himself. Or any one of two dozen other possibilities, none of which have the tiniest shred of evidence supporting them.
Constance: That’s vaguely unsatisfying.
Jackal: If you’re looking for neat and tidy answers, Ms. Constance, perhaps the Requiem isn’t the existence for you.
Constance: Indeed. So, what else?
Jackal: Else?
Constance: You’ve spoken at length about the birth of the Brood. It seems that’s all anyone talks to me about. But there’s so much more I need to know, about the Brood tonight. How they behave, what their practices are, how they’re organized.
Jackal: I started with the beginning because it is the beginning. As for the rest . . . that’s very dangerous information you’re delving into, Ms. Constance.
Constance: No less so than you are, as you’ve made clear.
Jackal: True. I . . . no.
Constance: No?
Jackal: Not tonight. I’ve spent too much time here already, and I frankly do not yet know how fully you can be trusted. What I’ve told you so far is myth, legend. To speak of specifics, modern facts... no. Not yet.
Constance: But —
Jackal: When I’ve looked a bit more into who you are, when I’ve decided I’m prepared to continue our discussions, I’ll contact you.
Constance: I see. And if you decide you’re not prepared to continue?
Jackal: Then you’ll not hear from me. Simple enough, no?
*click*
*click*
Constance: Addendum.That was not pleasant. I’m not accustomed to being caught by surprise; it hasn’t happened since my mortal days. I don’t know who this Jackal is, but I intensely dislike the fact that I didn’t know he was waiting in here for me. I’m going to have to look into him further, when all this is done.
I’m also finding it more than a little irritating that nobody wants to finish the conversations they start. I was hoping to be able to provide you a bit more in the way of concrete details.
Still, I think we can call what we have so far a successful start. I’m certain, as you listen, you’ll note the same similarities in these tales that I have. For all their differences, there’s a kernel of agreement in these origin myths, and certainly more than a little bit of shared thematics.
It may be enough, if we can eke even a few details out of the Jackal, or perhaps Pratt-Alvigsonne. It’s not as though Prince Rittichier is an expert on the Brood, either. We should be able to use what we’ve got to make your next efforts look like just another Brood rampage, with nobody the wis —
*click*
*click*
[10 seconds of silence, punctuated by sporadic tearing noises and a choked gurgle]Unknown: Hello, Jackal. Ave Satani, and all that.
As I record this message, you’re thinking about Ms. Constance. You’re wondering if she’s an enemy, and thinking about the danger you’ve put her in, talking to her directly, if she’s not. You’re giving serious thought to coming back here, if you haven’t turned back already. In a matter of moments, you’re going to come through that door — or maybe the window — to warn her that staying here is a bad idea.
Trust me. She knows.
[gurgle]
I’ve been following your trail for a long time now, Jackal — engaged in your “pursuit,” if you’ll excuse the humor. I’m looking forward to catching up.
And right about now, the hair on your neck is starting to stand up. Because now, you’re suddenly wondering why I bothered to leave you a recorded message, as opposed to waiting for you myself.
Turn around, brother.
*click*
“Everything that’s ever been said out loud is a fucking lie.
You want to hear the truth?
Put your ear to your own chest and listen what the thing inside you says.”
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You want to hear the truth?
Put your ear to your own chest and listen what the thing inside you says.”
Remove these ads. Join the Worldbuilders Guild
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