The Fog of Eternity
I have come to believe that the whole world is an enigma, a harmless enigma that is made terrible by our own mad attempt to interpret it as though it had an underlying truth. — Umberto Eco
The precise nature of the Fog of Eternity remains a matter of some debate among Kindred. Discourses and Requiem diaries, dating as far back as the Camarilla, display a peculiar focus on that aspect of Kindred existence, and at least two bloodlines devoted to understanding it have risen over the millennia since. Some Kindred claim that the Fog of Eternity developed as part of the larger curse of undeath, while those who reject the idea of the Kindred condition as a supernatural curse accept the Fog of Eternity as a natural imposition of the Kindred form on the mortal mind. A few Kindred psychologists have claimed, in the last two centuries, that the Fog of Eternity is a necessary process within the vampiric mind that helps buttress the psyche against the madness that would surely come of centuries of unfulfilled hopes and dreams.
Some neonates point out that they have trouble remembering the specifics of an event that occurred a decade ago and that they doubt they’ll be any more capable of doing so after a century. These pragmatic Kindred often dismiss the Fog as a myth, yet another urban legend about vampires, like the dangers of crosses and running water. Memory is notoriously unreliable, and piling centuries of it in a brain meant only to process a few decades can’t help. Mortals, they point out, tend to develop major memory problems in old age, and they live a handful of years compared to the Damned. Some Kindred dismiss this argument; the dangers of senility and Alzheimer’s are physiological, not psychological. Others aren’t so sure.
Indeed, in a way the two game mechanics go hand-inhand. As an elder sleeps and allows her blood to thin out to a sustainable level, any Skills or Attributes she possessed at superhuman levels consequently decrease. These dots lost represent a decreased acuity that had been based in part on years of information and experience; years that vanish into the haze of torpid nightmares.
To clarify, however, the Fog of Eternity does not simply refer to the tendency of Kindred to lose memories in Torpor. While the average Kindred mind tends toward a strength that mortals simply do not possess, especially as the blood thickens, that strength does not necessarily equate to a greater capacity for memory. Even a mortal can be hard-pressed to remember the details of events that happened a few years before, and after a decade or so they tend to fade into broad strokes punctuated by a few hazy but specific memories.
For example, a woman in her early 30s might look back a decade and remember that she was “in college back then.” She likely recalls several specific events that took place in college, especially the ones that she has related to others time and time again in the intervening years. However, to confuse things further, stories often take on a life of their own. Chances are she remembers the stories better than she does the actual events, and in telling each story she might be surprised to find that she uses the same phrases, whole sentences and even vocal cadences with each telling. Yet when she closes her eyes and tries to summon forth the images of what she describes, she likely pulls forth a memory colored more thoroughly with the telling of the story than the actual happenings.
When a person returns to a place he has not been to in a long time, it may feel simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar. While one might be inclined to immediately chalk up the sensation to changes in the environment over time, in truth, the feeling stems equally from the locale as it exists in memory. This blurring of the lines of truth combined with the largely oral historical tradition of the Kindred results more in a mythology than a history, an account in which even the relatively recent past recedes into a fog of analogy.
The Fog of Eternity serves two closely related purposes in the setting. On one hand, it deepens the mystery of the Kindred by declining to openly reveal a definitive vampire history. In doing so it follows the general “toolkit” approach of the World of Darkness games, allowing Storytellers to carve the past from the present in whatever manner best represents the stories they want to tell. It allows for customizability, and a single Storyteller may find that a history in which The Invictus has remained unchanged more-or-less since the rise of Rome fits one chronicle, while a backstory in which The Invictus didn’t come into existence until the 15th century (but claims to be far older) better suits another. This freedom is intentional. The Fog of Eternity does not exist to argue that the Kindred have no past, but rather emphasizes that they have a past that shapes the course of their unlives, yet they don’t have a clear understanding of it.
The Fog of Eternity underscores the importance of the local in the setting. Most Kindred remain fairly well aware of the history of the domain they call home (though in some situations, that slate may have been wiped clean through revolution, attacks by hunters, or any of the other dangers of the Requiem). Many Kindred possess a vague understanding of the history of their covenant in an international sense, even if that history flows as half-formed myths and allegories, but they would be remiss if they didn’t know the major points of history in their local covenant. Few of the Sanctified in Montreal, for example, realize that their covenant brought low the Camarilla in the fourth and fifth centuries, but they certainly are familiar with the story of their first local Archbishop, a Kindred Embraced by native pagans who received a divine vision of the Spear and held the city against outsiders for several decades, causing a rift between the isolationist Sanctified and the rest of the Kindred of Montreal that remains to this night.
The Prince of New Orleans, as another example, arrived in the Americas as little more than a neonate, undertaking a dangerous journey from Spain with his closest confidant on the behest of his elders. His influence has intertwined with the history of the city ever since, wrapping itself into the themes that the setting sets forward for the city, that of the eternal war between faith and the vices that undermine it. In many ways, the history of Augusto Vidal is the history of New Orleans. However, it is not the history of a secret conspiracy of Kindred in Europe or even the history of his covenant, The Lancea Sanctum. Vidal may have been born in Spain, but his history takes place almost solely in New Orleans.
Even if the chronicle takes place in an ancient city such as London or Rome, the reliable history (that witnessed by the major players involved) likely only stretches back a few centuries (due to Torpor and attrition). While the deeper past may be known to a select few Kindred of the area (likely in the form of folktales and myths, no matter how academically their proponents Disguise them), the important history is the one whose results and effects are playing out across the chessboard of the city tonight.
As a result, the history of the World of Darkness outside of the local setting of the Storyteller’s chronicle, including the history of the Kindred, simply doesn’t matter until the story demands that it does. The Kindred of New Orleans might be interested to hear that, two and a half centuries ago, the Kindred of London experienced what they call the Cull; an event that destroyed almost every Kindred in the city. But that frightening prospect wouldn’t matter to them a fraction as much as the revelation of the true hand behind the Storyville murders (the latter simply matters in a real, political way while the former remains mere trivia). Unless, of course, Kindred in New Orleans began to disappear following a recent arrival from London….
But then the Kindred begin asking about their sires’ pasts, only to be utterly shocked by how little these immortal beings know even about their own histories. Kindred who existed less than a hundred years ago take on the mythological Status reserved among mortals for people whose reputations were blown entirely out of proportion when alive (such as Jesse James) or about whom what relatively little is known might be conflicting (such as Shakespeare). Sometimes even Kindred still active take on aspects that combine the historically verifiable with the patently fictitious (not unlike President George Washington). In Chicago, an unbound pimp called Old John serves the Kindred as a terrifying and mysterious boogeyman, despite his widely accepted destruction in the early eighties. Next to nothing is known about the origins, history or motives of the most terrifying American Kindred, the diablerist called Unholy. Even a Kindred whose mortal life was a matter of a great deal of historical study and whose unlife is widely available for reading in Ordo Dracul chapter houses around the world remains a figure of mystery, a being who inspires even the immortal undead to leave a light on when falling into the daysleep. Vlad Dracula would likely have it no other way.
Many of these Kindred accept the version of the past that best supports their personal agenda, whether that involves justifying their sire’s brutal reign or shoring up a clumsy theory about the genesis of a bloodline. The Beast within almost demands such sloth, rejoicing in each minor victory just as it exults in the flow of blood from a victim’s throat. Only the most dedicated Kindred cut through the layers of falsehood and unearth shards of the true past.
Multiple avenues to unearthing the past exist. Sifting through the topsoil to the glimmering gems of truth buried therein can be as easy as arranging a meeting with the Prince and cajoling a truthful answer to one’s questions (ease, of course, is defined relatively). Many young Kindred seek the secrets of the history by bringing the lens of knowledge granted by the Kindred condition to bear against the confused occurrences of the past. Unusual events and strange happenings pepper the history of every city, and the discerning vampire may be able to spot those that bear the taint of Kindred involvement from those that do not.
At first glance, members of Clan Mekhet seem uniquely situated to this manner of work. Many Shadows tend toward an academic bent, and the Mekhet Embrace strengthens and quickens their minds. The clan even boasts a bloodline, the aforementioned Agonistes, devoted primarily to uncovering the truths of the past and spreading it to as many Kindred as possible, so that the secrets they unearth don’t vanish into ignorance yet again. Though an established bloodline for almost two millennia, the Agonistes have long been abused for their interest in the past (especially by The Lancea Sanctum, though the Agonistes’ penchant for dabbling in any occult sorcery they come across has a hand in the church’s animosity). They maintain their influence and ability to work largely by making themselves invaluable to Kindred society as a whole. They have developed the most successful processes for avoiding loss of knowledge through Torpor, abilities that remain in high demand among influential elders (and serve to make the Agonistes’ own work that much easier).
However, this type of investigation is hardly limited to Mekhet characters. A Ventrue may be more capable of spotting the invisible hand between unusual activities at city hall, while a coterie’s Daeva might read a society page in an old newspaper and be able to guess why the city’s rising star suddenly stopped being invited to debutante balls. The Storyteller can involve members of any clan by tailoring the challenges before them to the characters’ skills. Investigation serves as the most universally useful Skill towards this end, but Politics and Socialize would grant information in the examples given above; Animal Ken might help a Gangrel make sense of unusual migration patterns, while Stealth or Larceny could reveal to a Nosferatu just how the assassin described in an old police report entered and exited the hotel room of her victim unseen.
Not all strange events can be attributed to vampire involvement, however. Some unusual occurrences in the history of your players’ city may serve as red herrings or could even lead to tense scenes of horror involving entities from the other World of Darkness games. Many newspapers run columns about uncanny events around the world, while books about the apparently unnatural and the boldly unusual grace the shelves of most large bookstores. These can provide inspiration for players and Storytellers alike, while opening the reader’s awareness to just how odd the real world around us can be.
Kindred sources also provide information about the past, albeit information complicated by all of the obstacles noted above. Kindred sources include Requiem diaries (see below), covenant archives and elder mentors. Even if the characters find that their sources are largely honest, each source should only grant a clue towards the greater truth of the puzzle, forcing the characters to work together to piece together the facts. Not only does this involve all off the players, it also explains why the characters are the first (or perhaps one of the few) who have uncovered the truth in question. On the other hand, a suitable anticlimax underscoring the stratification of Kindred society might find the neonate characters uncovering a dark secret that’s openly known to every ancilla and elder in the domain.
Despite the Masquerade, numerous elders and ancillae maintain Requiem diaries. Such may be stacks of literal tomes detailing their nightly struggles, while others may hide their secrets behind hundreds of carefully crafted paintings… the truth of which is only revealed to those in possession of the correct cipher.
Ironically, those Kindred most prone to developing extensive collections of notes in case of unplanned Torpor tend to be the same hypocrites most likely to attack their rivals in Elysium over small-scale breaches of the Masquerade. The fact that they are overcompensating can be easily disguised behind other motivations, hiding the fact that their personal library could blow the Masquerade wide open if it fell into the wrong hands. The enduring fear of Torpor, the nightmares caused thereby and the inevitable slippage of memory over the course of centuries ensure that Kindred continue to risk their existence with personal accounts of their nightly doings.
Requiem diaries are considered an art form in some circles. It is understood that they are the most private, revealing thoughts of an elder vampire, and yet, the writers also understand that at some point, someone other than the author is going to read them. The creator therefore strives to make the reading as interesting as possible. Elders learn to conceal truly damning facts beneath seemingly embarrassing tales. A vampire might wax poetic for pages and pages about his lost love, the woman he left behind when his mortal life ended, and every word of it is true. And yet, as juicy as it might seem, it doesn’t necessarily grant a rival or enemy who reads it any special knowledge, other than a way to get under the elder’s skin. The author retains the advantage — he has a way to remind himself who he is, should he have a bad bout with Torpor. He shows his childer or Allies that he is a feeling, caring being (or was, once), and that might induce them to treat him well. And his enemies, if they find the diary, learn personal details about him, but nothing of his schemes or what plans he has in the works.
This doesn’t take into account, too, that the whole thing could be written in code, or could be an outright fabrication. Writing a fictional Requiem diary is a tactic for confusing one’s enemies that might well work, but it can backfire. A vampire who wakes up from Torpor might have no reason to disbelieve what he wrote about himself, and so if an elder chooses to fabricate a past, he’d better make sure it’s one he likes.
Of course, some elders do this on purpose in order to cleanse their souls of past crimes. If they don’t remember that they did it, they reason, that’s as good as not having done it in the first place.
Vampire: The Requiem presents a setting in which history can and should be incredibly important. The Kindred of the past built the present in which the players stand. The Storyteller should make history her playground, bending, twisting and warping it (before slapping on a thick veneer of lies) in whatever way crafts the most compelling chronicle. The truth is out there; what lies herein is only a guide.
What do the characters stand to gain from excavating the past? Does this aspect of history illuminate the problems of the present, providing the solution to some short-term concern that the characters face? Will, for example, what they uncover condemn the Sheriff for the very crime that he currently works to pin on them? Does some conflict the characters’ sires faced hold the solution to their current situation? Or do the secrets of the past present a greater truth that can change the entire world in which the chronicle takes place? Are unearthed prophecies of the end times coming to fruition? Do the clans all stem from a single founder or are they, ultimately, completely different species of monster? Can the methods used to maintain the ancient Camarilla be updated for use in the modern nights, ushering in a golden age of Kindred power?
What do they have to overcome in order to discover those truths? Is the past a quagmire of lies and deceit that the characters are doomed to become lost in, led to false conclusions by ancient deceptions? Is history a labyrinth of lies through which one can carefully navigate to uncover the truth? The answers to these questions, of course, are not something you should hammer the players with (any more than you would if you decided that in your game, The Lancea Sanctum are right, God is real and the Kindred were cursed by His hand), but having a strong grasp on these truths will help you develop and underscore the themes of your chronicle.
The other important decision the Storyteller must make is the scale of the secrets that matter in her chronicle. A Storyteller can craft an incredibly rewarding chronicle about digging into the past that never leaves the environs of the characters’ city. Kindred history, like its society, is carefully stratified, and each stratum provides darker secrets than the one above. In New Orleans, for example, a group of Kindred working under Primogen Hurst to delve into the secrets of Donovan could very well discover revelations not only about the Sheriff, but also Prince Vidal; such information might drive them into the camp of Lord Savoy, only to uncover in the final act a secret equally dark in the French Quarter Lord’s past. Any sufficiently well crafted setting should be able to support such locally based hunts for the treasures of the past.
On the other hand, the players and Storyteller may be more interested in globe-spanning enigmas, perhaps seeking the founders of the clans or covenants, the reasons for the fall of the Camarilla, the true source of Theban Sorcery or even rumors of an extinct clan. While local secrets may shatter a city’s political structure, Ancient Mysteries unearthed on a global scale can change the world.
If the characters are elders or have been in Torpor, other avenues of intrigue arise. A character may recognize a new acquaintance from sometime in the past, but be unable to understand the uneasy feeling she causes in him. Rivals may call on the character to fulfill a favor owed, but the character has no memory of such an obligation. Characters might not even recognize the very Kindred who attacked them and left them for dead until it is too late. (Describing and roleplaying the character slightly differently, and presenting her with a different name, can do the trick in this latter example. The “remembered” assailant might merely be the confused results of the nightmares of Torpor, or the attacker may have changed her identity. Either way, the twist should scare the hell out of the players.)
Torpor can also act as a convenient way to smooth out tensions that have arisen between players over the course of the game, polishing away the petty insults and small betrayals. Conversely, a Storyteller can use Torpor to plant false seeds of tension in a group that gets along too well for a pack of bloodthirsty fiends. An ambitious Storyteller might combine both, making one character friendlier towards the other while building the Paranoia of the other character towards the first. The Storyteller should be careful with these tools, however, using them only to the extent that the players will appreciate. Some players don’t care to have their feelings or emotions dictated to them and will bristle at any attempt to do so.
An avenue of torpor-based intrigue that combines the confusion caused by the Fog of Eternity with the exploration of Ancient Mysteries, while making everything intensely personal, involves characters uncovering the truth of their own forgotten or confused past. Numerous examples of written fiction, cinema and television about the quest of the amnesiac exist, so we won’t belabor it here. Most importantly, the payoff of this kind of story needs to support its use. Whatever the characters uncover needs to undermine or twist their own assumptions about themselves, Kindred society or reality itself in a significant manner, or the entire effort may turn out anticlimactic.
Consider using the rules provided in Chapter Two for creating Kindred Embraced in earlier times to build a set of characters that have awakened in the modern nights without a clear understanding of their Embrace, mortal lives or how they ended up in Torpor. Similarly, such a character might be integrated into a group of more conventional modern characters, granting a level of intrigue that reaches into the past without feeling irrelevant tonight. Again, examples abound in fiction, especially science fiction and horror, of characters with pasts mysterious even to themselves.
A simple version of this might involve the players designing two characters each, one Embraced in the modern nights and a second Embraced at the height of The Invictus Empire (see p. 151). The Storyteller sets the game simultaneously in medieval Estonia and modern New Orleans, switching back and forth whenever the mood seems right. If the Storyteller wants to emphasize the inevitability of any Kindred institution’s destruction, she may require the medieval characters to be Acolyte Estonians resisting the encroachment of Christianity and the modern characters to be Sanctified, Invictus or Carthian supporters of Prince Vidal as his reign falters in the modern nights. If she wishes to tell the story of The Lancea Sanctum, she may require the characters on both ends of history be members of the covenant, the medieval characters witness to its subjugation of pagan Kindred as the modern characters watch it tear itself apart. Finally, the Storyteller may wish to borrow a theme from the World of Darkness Rulebook: What rises must fall. What has fallen may rise again. In this case she asks her players to portray pagans both in Estonia and in New Orleans. She moves between the two settings, and the characters play witness to the fall of pagan society while actively working to undermine Prince Vidal’s theocracy.
Another advanced technique allows Storytellers the freedom both to mine the characters’ pasts and begin a chronicle in medias res: flashbacks. Flashbacks serve as an excellent method to underscore the themes of the present action while delving into the characters’ pasts for motivations or simply to further flesh them out. Given the various options presented here, flashbacks can take numerous forms. One option is that they are a narrative conceit, with no effect on the characters (other than fleshing out the stories for the players). The flashbacks may be memories surfacing in the characters’ minds, usually inspired by whatever threat the characters are facing in the real time of the story. Perhaps flashbacks only occur when characters unearth some piece of history, and the flashback allows the characters to experience the history rather than simply read about it. Finally, characters who have undergone Torpor may be granted flashbacks that undermine scenes that they already experienced over the course of the game. These are most effective when the Storyteller leaves the veracity of these flashbacks unconfirmed both in and out of character, resulting in tense confusion on the part of the characters. Allowing what occurs in flashbacks to affect the present of the chronicle and involving other players in the flashbacks are both ways of increasing the importance of this method of Storytelling while making it more enjoyable for the players.
Any Kindred who survives the other slings and arrows of the Requiem eventually experiences Torpor. While Torpor typically results from massive injury to the vampire’s body (especially in the young), the eldest of the Kindred feel the pull of Torpor nightly drawing them towards the centurial sleep. While some Storytellers may simply gloss over periods a player’s character spends in Torpor, others might wish to instead explore the torpid experience, either to keep the player involved in an ongoing game or simply out of the opportunities the state presents.
A Storyteller interested in including a Torpor story in her chronicle should begin by establishing the character’s length of Torpor based on her Blood Potency and Humanity as described on pp. 175-177 in Vampire: The Requiem. Remember that a character who enters Torpor due to damage must have enough blood to heal three points of damage or she counts her Blood Potency As One higher for the purposes of determining length of time in Torpor.
A character who enters Torpor due to age, starvation, or as a voluntary act has relatively innocuous dreams for a number of weeks equal to her Resolve + Composure. These dreams resemble, but lack the vibrancy of, the dreams of the living. In short, little differentiates these early Torpor dreams from the daysleep, and a Kindred awoken during this time suffers no ill effects from Torpor dreams. Kindred who take special care to establish an environment of peace and tranquility before entering Torpor convert this period of time to years rather than weeks, while Kindred prepared through the use of mystical means of staving off Torpor (such as those possessed by the Agonistes) may never experience confusing or negative dreams. A vampire regains one point of temporary Willpower for every week spent in this state, up to her usual maximum. This is relevant because the battles to come can strip her Willpower away, which, in turn, can lead to loss of memory.
Conversely, characters with high Blood Potency (6+) or a tendency to experience nightmares anyway (due to a Flaw or derangement) halve their Resolve + Composure ratings for the purpose of determining how long they last before succumbing to the more terrifying dreams of Torpor. Even if a character of advanced age, or one who is predisposed to nightmares, takes the effort to establish a comfortable resting place, thus converting the time before nightmares set in to years rather than nights, she still halves the value of her Resolve + Composure. A character who experiences Torpor due to violence (such as having a stake shoved through her heart) immediately experiences vivid nightmares upon entering Torpor, regaining no temporary Willpower before being locked into a struggle with her subconscious.
Some Kindred, especially those who took care to enter Torpor peacefully, experience the dreams of Torpor as an endlessly cycling series of realistic encounters. They feed, they attend Elysium, and they politick. Kindred who starve into Torpor often focus on dreams of hunting, forever hungry and forever seeking the solace of Vitae in an endless night. Elders who enter Torpor due to advanced age dream of preparations unfulfilled and the realization of plots they never managed to complete. Due to the endless repetitions of these dreams, some elders come to believe in their reality. Stories set in these dreams allow Storytellers to take advantage of the repetitious nature of Kindred existence, heightening it into a bizarre cyclic performance in which the character constantly strives for some fulfillment forever just out of reach.
Kindred who enter Torpor through violence, however, experience a horrible dreamscape. These dreams tend to be surreal explorations of the subconscious in which the character’s fears are personified. These dreams allow Storytellers to play with horror tropes that would otherwise be thematically inappropriate for her game. The Prince of the character’s city may not normally be the type to stalk a character through the twisting abandoned hallways of an eerie museum, but in the Nightmare logic of Torpor, he can, eyes wild and fangs dripping with gore.
The following characteristics define the experience of Torpor dreams:
In non-nightmares, the Adversary may take the form of a new Kindred in the character’s Requiem, but is equally likely to adopt the features of a familiar vampire the character fears. In the latter case, the Adversary’s influence results in subtle changes to the feared Kindred’s appearance, based on what in particular makes the torpid character afraid. A dreaming vampire’s Adversary might be a Kindred who she fears for political reasons. That vampire might therefore always be surrounded by supporters (he might even control them with puppet strings attached to their bones and lips). A character who she fears might be after her blood and soul, though, is likely to be a monster, all fangs and claws… even if he’s a weakling in real life.
The Adversary’s strength is directly proportional to the strength of the character’s Beast. If the Storyteller finds the necessity of a dicepool for the Adversary, it is always the torpid character’s (Blood Potency + 10) – the character’s Humanity. The Adversary possesses an amount of Willpower equal to the character’s Resolve + Composure.
Anxieties serve an active role in the torpid dreams. In nightmares, they may take on overt and horrific characteristics (usually with features inspired by the character’s Vice and clan), while in more rational dreams the anxieties remain mundane but take on a greater significance (or stand in the character’s way more often). The character’s Adversary works to further the Anxieties or to keep the character from overcoming them.
In any scene in which the character makes significant strides towards overcoming her Anxieties, the Adversary loses a point of temporary Willpower. In any scene in which the character’s Anxieties overwhelm her, she loses a point of temporary Willpower.
Torpor stories are largely exercises in narrative and storytelling, and, as a result, traits aren’t usually necessary. If the Storyteller needs traits for the Avatar (usually to contest rolls by the Adversary), he may use the highest of the character’s Power, Finesse and Resistance Traits. Most rolls utilize one or a combination of two of the above traits, similar to the rules for ghosts (p. 208 of The World of Darkness Rulebook).
This struggle determines the extent to which the experience of Torpor negatively affects the sleeper. A character who faces and overcomes his fears, soundly defeating his Adversary (by retaining half or more of his Willpower while reducing the Adversary to 0), not only retains his memories and sanity, but may come out of the experience bolstered in mind or spirit, gaining one or more experience points or being granted leave by the Storyteller to purchase a lost dot of Humanity. A character who only barely defeats his Adversary is left somewhat shaken and may have some false memories, but comes out of Torpor largely unchanged.
A character whose Adversary defeats him (that is, the character has no Willpower when the Torpor ends), however, faces harsh repercussions. If the Adversary barely scrapes by a victory, the character’s memories become muddled and confused, replacing some scenes (at Storyteller discretion) that occurred prior to the Torpor with scenes that occurred only in the character’s dreams. A character soundly defeated by his Adversary not only loses more memories, but also gains a derangement appropriate to the content of the Torpor story.
Storytellers might use a freeform narrative-based style of roleplay to determine the outcome of the scenes of conflict between Avatar and Adversary, boil it down to a roll between the opponent’s traits, or use any combination thereof. Storytellers who decline to use dice at all should keep in mind the strength of the Adversary relative to that of the character (determined by the dice pool mechanics given above) when creating challenges or puzzles for the player to overcome. In short, much of the onus to ensuring a fair session falls to the Storyteller, and she must be careful not to abuse her authority.
Some players might find this approach frustrating (much like movies or television shows in which the entire tension about which the plot revolves turns out to be a dream), so the Storyteller should be careful before embarking on this kind of story. Since it puts other players on the sidelines (rather, it means they aren’t actually playing their characters, but are simply acting out the torpid character’s Perception of them), it is perhaps best limited to a single chapter.
Similar to the above approach, characters in Torpor at the same time who share a close connection (such as the bonds of coterie, Vinculum or blood ties) may experience eerily similar Torpor dreams, allowing a Storyteller to involve several torpid characters in the same Torpor story.
Some neonates point out that they have trouble remembering the specifics of an event that occurred a decade ago and that they doubt they’ll be any more capable of doing so after a century. These pragmatic Kindred often dismiss the Fog as a myth, yet another urban legend about vampires, like the dangers of crosses and running water. Memory is notoriously unreliable, and piling centuries of it in a brain meant only to process a few decades can’t help. Mortals, they point out, tend to develop major memory problems in old age, and they live a handful of years compared to the Damned. Some Kindred dismiss this argument; the dangers of senility and Alzheimer’s are physiological, not psychological. Others aren’t so sure.
Why It's There
The question of whether or not the Fog of Eternity is some curse that can be overcome or is simply the result of the length of time that Kindred exist ultimately only matters if the characters are Kindred with a vested interest in overcoming it (such as members of The Ordo Dracul or Agonistes bloodline), in which case the Storyteller is encouraged to decide the precise nature of the phenomenon for her own game. Below, we discuss why the Fog of Eternity exists in the game, both from a mechanics standpoint and why and how it functions in the setting. Understanding these aspects of the game design allows Storytellers to make the right decision for how to handle the Fog of Eternity in their chronicles and allow players to unearth the Ancient Mysteries it obscures.In the Game
The Fog of Eternity exists primarily to maintain a sense of mystery within the game world, while preventing player characters from being completely outclassed by millenniaold vampires with perfect recall and understanding of the thousands of years of human history they have witnessed. Just as rising Blood Potency has the negative effect of requiring blood of ever-increasing power to sustain the Kindred, increased age has the negative effect of requiring ever-greater storage space in the mind to contain everything that elder has experienced.Indeed, in a way the two game mechanics go hand-inhand. As an elder sleeps and allows her blood to thin out to a sustainable level, any Skills or Attributes she possessed at superhuman levels consequently decrease. These dots lost represent a decreased acuity that had been based in part on years of information and experience; years that vanish into the haze of torpid nightmares.
To clarify, however, the Fog of Eternity does not simply refer to the tendency of Kindred to lose memories in Torpor. While the average Kindred mind tends toward a strength that mortals simply do not possess, especially as the blood thickens, that strength does not necessarily equate to a greater capacity for memory. Even a mortal can be hard-pressed to remember the details of events that happened a few years before, and after a decade or so they tend to fade into broad strokes punctuated by a few hazy but specific memories.
For example, a woman in her early 30s might look back a decade and remember that she was “in college back then.” She likely recalls several specific events that took place in college, especially the ones that she has related to others time and time again in the intervening years. However, to confuse things further, stories often take on a life of their own. Chances are she remembers the stories better than she does the actual events, and in telling each story she might be surprised to find that she uses the same phrases, whole sentences and even vocal cadences with each telling. Yet when she closes her eyes and tries to summon forth the images of what she describes, she likely pulls forth a memory colored more thoroughly with the telling of the story than the actual happenings.
When a person returns to a place he has not been to in a long time, it may feel simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar. While one might be inclined to immediately chalk up the sensation to changes in the environment over time, in truth, the feeling stems equally from the locale as it exists in memory. This blurring of the lines of truth combined with the largely oral historical tradition of the Kindred results more in a mythology than a history, an account in which even the relatively recent past recedes into a fog of analogy.
The Fog of Eternity serves two closely related purposes in the setting. On one hand, it deepens the mystery of the Kindred by declining to openly reveal a definitive vampire history. In doing so it follows the general “toolkit” approach of the World of Darkness games, allowing Storytellers to carve the past from the present in whatever manner best represents the stories they want to tell. It allows for customizability, and a single Storyteller may find that a history in which The Invictus has remained unchanged more-or-less since the rise of Rome fits one chronicle, while a backstory in which The Invictus didn’t come into existence until the 15th century (but claims to be far older) better suits another. This freedom is intentional. The Fog of Eternity does not exist to argue that the Kindred have no past, but rather emphasizes that they have a past that shapes the course of their unlives, yet they don’t have a clear understanding of it.
The Fog of Eternity underscores the importance of the local in the setting. Most Kindred remain fairly well aware of the history of the domain they call home (though in some situations, that slate may have been wiped clean through revolution, attacks by hunters, or any of the other dangers of the Requiem). Many Kindred possess a vague understanding of the history of their covenant in an international sense, even if that history flows as half-formed myths and allegories, but they would be remiss if they didn’t know the major points of history in their local covenant. Few of the Sanctified in Montreal, for example, realize that their covenant brought low the Camarilla in the fourth and fifth centuries, but they certainly are familiar with the story of their first local Archbishop, a Kindred Embraced by native pagans who received a divine vision of the Spear and held the city against outsiders for several decades, causing a rift between the isolationist Sanctified and the rest of the Kindred of Montreal that remains to this night.
The Prince of New Orleans, as another example, arrived in the Americas as little more than a neonate, undertaking a dangerous journey from Spain with his closest confidant on the behest of his elders. His influence has intertwined with the history of the city ever since, wrapping itself into the themes that the setting sets forward for the city, that of the eternal war between faith and the vices that undermine it. In many ways, the history of Augusto Vidal is the history of New Orleans. However, it is not the history of a secret conspiracy of Kindred in Europe or even the history of his covenant, The Lancea Sanctum. Vidal may have been born in Spain, but his history takes place almost solely in New Orleans.
Even if the chronicle takes place in an ancient city such as London or Rome, the reliable history (that witnessed by the major players involved) likely only stretches back a few centuries (due to Torpor and attrition). While the deeper past may be known to a select few Kindred of the area (likely in the form of folktales and myths, no matter how academically their proponents Disguise them), the important history is the one whose results and effects are playing out across the chessboard of the city tonight.
As a result, the history of the World of Darkness outside of the local setting of the Storyteller’s chronicle, including the history of the Kindred, simply doesn’t matter until the story demands that it does. The Kindred of New Orleans might be interested to hear that, two and a half centuries ago, the Kindred of London experienced what they call the Cull; an event that destroyed almost every Kindred in the city. But that frightening prospect wouldn’t matter to them a fraction as much as the revelation of the true hand behind the Storyville murders (the latter simply matters in a real, political way while the former remains mere trivia). Unless, of course, Kindred in New Orleans began to disappear following a recent arrival from London….
Kindred and the Fog of Eternity
Newly Embraced Kindred often assume that a race of ancient creatures will provide eyewitness reports on the history of their country or the world. They question their elders, seeking information on personages whose historicity borders on myth, such as Christ, Shakespeare or King Arthur. When they realize that their elders know no more about such individuals than their mortal counterparts, neonates often shift their line of questioning to famous people of the more recent past: What was Abe Lincoln like? Franz Ferdinand? Queen Elizabeth I? Rarely do the neonates garner more information about such famous and important people than they do the more mythological. Such makes sense of course, given the Kindred predilection towards avoiding the spotlight that such personages often occupy.But then the Kindred begin asking about their sires’ pasts, only to be utterly shocked by how little these immortal beings know even about their own histories. Kindred who existed less than a hundred years ago take on the mythological Status reserved among mortals for people whose reputations were blown entirely out of proportion when alive (such as Jesse James) or about whom what relatively little is known might be conflicting (such as Shakespeare). Sometimes even Kindred still active take on aspects that combine the historically verifiable with the patently fictitious (not unlike President George Washington). In Chicago, an unbound pimp called Old John serves the Kindred as a terrifying and mysterious boogeyman, despite his widely accepted destruction in the early eighties. Next to nothing is known about the origins, history or motives of the most terrifying American Kindred, the diablerist called Unholy. Even a Kindred whose mortal life was a matter of a great deal of historical study and whose unlife is widely available for reading in Ordo Dracul chapter houses around the world remains a figure of mystery, a being who inspires even the immortal undead to leave a light on when falling into the daysleep. Vlad Dracula would likely have it no other way.
Excavating Knights Passed
While the vast majority of Kindred prefer to eke out each night focused on the present and the future, giving little if any attention to the past (yet another underlying cause for the Fog of Eternity), many Kindred take history to task, digging into the depths of deceptions and misconceptions for the true Ancient Mysteries. Kindred scholars exist in every covenant. Sanctified archivists toil over thick tomes, excising heresies (and perhaps hiding them in secret collections). Acolyte priests journey through the wilderness seeking ancient Hierophants who sing of the first nights of man. Ordo Dracul historians debate the finer points of academic history with keepers of the First Estate’s complex system of heraldry, while Carthian revisionists decry any truth as fundamentally tainted by the authority.Many of these Kindred accept the version of the past that best supports their personal agenda, whether that involves justifying their sire’s brutal reign or shoring up a clumsy theory about the genesis of a bloodline. The Beast within almost demands such sloth, rejoicing in each minor victory just as it exults in the flow of blood from a victim’s throat. Only the most dedicated Kindred cut through the layers of falsehood and unearth shards of the true past.
Multiple avenues to unearthing the past exist. Sifting through the topsoil to the glimmering gems of truth buried therein can be as easy as arranging a meeting with the Prince and cajoling a truthful answer to one’s questions (ease, of course, is defined relatively). Many young Kindred seek the secrets of the history by bringing the lens of knowledge granted by the Kindred condition to bear against the confused occurrences of the past. Unusual events and strange happenings pepper the history of every city, and the discerning vampire may be able to spot those that bear the taint of Kindred involvement from those that do not.
At first glance, members of Clan Mekhet seem uniquely situated to this manner of work. Many Shadows tend toward an academic bent, and the Mekhet Embrace strengthens and quickens their minds. The clan even boasts a bloodline, the aforementioned Agonistes, devoted primarily to uncovering the truths of the past and spreading it to as many Kindred as possible, so that the secrets they unearth don’t vanish into ignorance yet again. Though an established bloodline for almost two millennia, the Agonistes have long been abused for their interest in the past (especially by The Lancea Sanctum, though the Agonistes’ penchant for dabbling in any occult sorcery they come across has a hand in the church’s animosity). They maintain their influence and ability to work largely by making themselves invaluable to Kindred society as a whole. They have developed the most successful processes for avoiding loss of knowledge through Torpor, abilities that remain in high demand among influential elders (and serve to make the Agonistes’ own work that much easier).
However, this type of investigation is hardly limited to Mekhet characters. A Ventrue may be more capable of spotting the invisible hand between unusual activities at city hall, while a coterie’s Daeva might read a society page in an old newspaper and be able to guess why the city’s rising star suddenly stopped being invited to debutante balls. The Storyteller can involve members of any clan by tailoring the challenges before them to the characters’ skills. Investigation serves as the most universally useful Skill towards this end, but Politics and Socialize would grant information in the examples given above; Animal Ken might help a Gangrel make sense of unusual migration patterns, while Stealth or Larceny could reveal to a Nosferatu just how the assassin described in an old police report entered and exited the hotel room of her victim unseen.
Not all strange events can be attributed to vampire involvement, however. Some unusual occurrences in the history of your players’ city may serve as red herrings or could even lead to tense scenes of horror involving entities from the other World of Darkness games. Many newspapers run columns about uncanny events around the world, while books about the apparently unnatural and the boldly unusual grace the shelves of most large bookstores. These can provide inspiration for players and Storytellers alike, while opening the reader’s awareness to just how odd the real world around us can be.
Kindred sources also provide information about the past, albeit information complicated by all of the obstacles noted above. Kindred sources include Requiem diaries (see below), covenant archives and elder mentors. Even if the characters find that their sources are largely honest, each source should only grant a clue towards the greater truth of the puzzle, forcing the characters to work together to piece together the facts. Not only does this involve all off the players, it also explains why the characters are the first (or perhaps one of the few) who have uncovered the truth in question. On the other hand, a suitable anticlimax underscoring the stratification of Kindred society might find the neonate characters uncovering a dark secret that’s openly known to every ancilla and elder in the domain.
Requiem Diaries
The Kindred exist in an unusual dichotomy. The First Estate and Sanctified stress the importance of the First Tradition, yet both covenants maintain extensive libraries of records regarding inhuman theological debate and lineages of blood that span decades or centuries between generations. The Ordo Dracul, a politically conservative body that more often than not supports Invictus efforts to enforce the Masquerade, stuffs its numerous chapter houses with every manner of occult item and tome (along with the occasional cassette tape describing the vivisection of a decidedly inhuman entity), while The Circle of the Crone claims to closely follow the Masquerade through a complex oral tradition even as they perform bloody rites to bless their tales of heroism and villainy. The ostensibly benevolent Agonistes line remains one of the greatest offenders, keeping vast ciphered libraries of Kindred lore hidden in the very heart of academic communities throughout the western world.Despite the Masquerade, numerous elders and ancillae maintain Requiem diaries. Such may be stacks of literal tomes detailing their nightly struggles, while others may hide their secrets behind hundreds of carefully crafted paintings… the truth of which is only revealed to those in possession of the correct cipher.
Ironically, those Kindred most prone to developing extensive collections of notes in case of unplanned Torpor tend to be the same hypocrites most likely to attack their rivals in Elysium over small-scale breaches of the Masquerade. The fact that they are overcompensating can be easily disguised behind other motivations, hiding the fact that their personal library could blow the Masquerade wide open if it fell into the wrong hands. The enduring fear of Torpor, the nightmares caused thereby and the inevitable slippage of memory over the course of centuries ensure that Kindred continue to risk their existence with personal accounts of their nightly doings.
Requiem diaries are considered an art form in some circles. It is understood that they are the most private, revealing thoughts of an elder vampire, and yet, the writers also understand that at some point, someone other than the author is going to read them. The creator therefore strives to make the reading as interesting as possible. Elders learn to conceal truly damning facts beneath seemingly embarrassing tales. A vampire might wax poetic for pages and pages about his lost love, the woman he left behind when his mortal life ended, and every word of it is true. And yet, as juicy as it might seem, it doesn’t necessarily grant a rival or enemy who reads it any special knowledge, other than a way to get under the elder’s skin. The author retains the advantage — he has a way to remind himself who he is, should he have a bad bout with Torpor. He shows his childer or Allies that he is a feeling, caring being (or was, once), and that might induce them to treat him well. And his enemies, if they find the diary, learn personal details about him, but nothing of his schemes or what plans he has in the works.
This doesn’t take into account, too, that the whole thing could be written in code, or could be an outright fabrication. Writing a fictional Requiem diary is a tactic for confusing one’s enemies that might well work, but it can backfire. A vampire who wakes up from Torpor might have no reason to disbelieve what he wrote about himself, and so if an elder chooses to fabricate a past, he’d better make sure it’s one he likes.
Of course, some elders do this on purpose in order to cleanse their souls of past crimes. If they don’t remember that they did it, they reason, that’s as good as not having done it in the first place.
Storytelling the Fog of Eternity
Throughout this book we present artifacts of the past, whether they be literal items unearthed by Kindred scholars or treasure hunters, the stories of important time periods in Kindred history or even actual Kindred divorced from the time in which they were ushered into the night. Feel free to use these examples in any way that serves your chronicle. Perhaps the version of the High Middle Ages presented in these pages, a time of great tumult in which two mighty empires of the night clashed for the right to claim Europe as their own, is only how an ancient Prince of Prussia remembers it, divorced from the center of the action both by geography, time and the confusing nightmares of Torpor. Perhaps an angry Ventrue forged the tomb etching below, hoping to frame the Mekhet of Constantinople for a crime that never occurred (or that he himself committed).Vampire: The Requiem presents a setting in which history can and should be incredibly important. The Kindred of the past built the present in which the players stand. The Storyteller should make history her playground, bending, twisting and warping it (before slapping on a thick veneer of lies) in whatever way crafts the most compelling chronicle. The truth is out there; what lies herein is only a guide.
Uncovering Ancient Mysteries
The most important consideration a Storyteller can give to the manner in which she plans on handling the history of the Kindred is precisely what that history represents, both to the characters delving into it and to the world at large.What do the characters stand to gain from excavating the past? Does this aspect of history illuminate the problems of the present, providing the solution to some short-term concern that the characters face? Will, for example, what they uncover condemn the Sheriff for the very crime that he currently works to pin on them? Does some conflict the characters’ sires faced hold the solution to their current situation? Or do the secrets of the past present a greater truth that can change the entire world in which the chronicle takes place? Are unearthed prophecies of the end times coming to fruition? Do the clans all stem from a single founder or are they, ultimately, completely different species of monster? Can the methods used to maintain the ancient Camarilla be updated for use in the modern nights, ushering in a golden age of Kindred power?
What do they have to overcome in order to discover those truths? Is the past a quagmire of lies and deceit that the characters are doomed to become lost in, led to false conclusions by ancient deceptions? Is history a labyrinth of lies through which one can carefully navigate to uncover the truth? The answers to these questions, of course, are not something you should hammer the players with (any more than you would if you decided that in your game, The Lancea Sanctum are right, God is real and the Kindred were cursed by His hand), but having a strong grasp on these truths will help you develop and underscore the themes of your chronicle.
The other important decision the Storyteller must make is the scale of the secrets that matter in her chronicle. A Storyteller can craft an incredibly rewarding chronicle about digging into the past that never leaves the environs of the characters’ city. Kindred history, like its society, is carefully stratified, and each stratum provides darker secrets than the one above. In New Orleans, for example, a group of Kindred working under Primogen Hurst to delve into the secrets of Donovan could very well discover revelations not only about the Sheriff, but also Prince Vidal; such information might drive them into the camp of Lord Savoy, only to uncover in the final act a secret equally dark in the French Quarter Lord’s past. Any sufficiently well crafted setting should be able to support such locally based hunts for the treasures of the past.
On the other hand, the players and Storyteller may be more interested in globe-spanning enigmas, perhaps seeking the founders of the clans or covenants, the reasons for the fall of the Camarilla, the true source of Theban Sorcery or even rumors of an extinct clan. While local secrets may shatter a city’s political structure, Ancient Mysteries unearthed on a global scale can change the world.
Intrigue Among the Damned
Aside from obscuring the past and providing numerous story hooks for players interested in delving into the bloody history of the Kindred, the Fog of Eternity opens entire vistas of storytelling intrigue. Beyond the possibilities mentioned above, such as seeking solutions for the present in the stories of the past, the Fog of Eternity presents opportunities to set confused elders against one another. A grudge can outlast a Kindred’s memory of why it came to be. Elders may set the player characters on a quest to uncover information about their rivals in the hope of uncovering some truth about themselves (or similarly, may be unaware of a dark secret of their own that the characters are likely to unearth due to such an investigation). How does the elder react when faced with a deed of inconceivable horror that he perpetrated in the past? Does he deny the evidence, decrying the characters as liars and character assassins, withdrawing his support of them? Does he launch into a mindless frenzy, destroying anything he can sink his fangs into?If the characters are elders or have been in Torpor, other avenues of intrigue arise. A character may recognize a new acquaintance from sometime in the past, but be unable to understand the uneasy feeling she causes in him. Rivals may call on the character to fulfill a favor owed, but the character has no memory of such an obligation. Characters might not even recognize the very Kindred who attacked them and left them for dead until it is too late. (Describing and roleplaying the character slightly differently, and presenting her with a different name, can do the trick in this latter example. The “remembered” assailant might merely be the confused results of the nightmares of Torpor, or the attacker may have changed her identity. Either way, the twist should scare the hell out of the players.)
Torpor can also act as a convenient way to smooth out tensions that have arisen between players over the course of the game, polishing away the petty insults and small betrayals. Conversely, a Storyteller can use Torpor to plant false seeds of tension in a group that gets along too well for a pack of bloodthirsty fiends. An ambitious Storyteller might combine both, making one character friendlier towards the other while building the Paranoia of the other character towards the first. The Storyteller should be careful with these tools, however, using them only to the extent that the players will appreciate. Some players don’t care to have their feelings or emotions dictated to them and will bristle at any attempt to do so.
An avenue of torpor-based intrigue that combines the confusion caused by the Fog of Eternity with the exploration of Ancient Mysteries, while making everything intensely personal, involves characters uncovering the truth of their own forgotten or confused past. Numerous examples of written fiction, cinema and television about the quest of the amnesiac exist, so we won’t belabor it here. Most importantly, the payoff of this kind of story needs to support its use. Whatever the characters uncover needs to undermine or twist their own assumptions about themselves, Kindred society or reality itself in a significant manner, or the entire effort may turn out anticlimactic.
Consider using the rules provided in Chapter Two for creating Kindred Embraced in earlier times to build a set of characters that have awakened in the modern nights without a clear understanding of their Embrace, mortal lives or how they ended up in Torpor. Similarly, such a character might be integrated into a group of more conventional modern characters, granting a level of intrigue that reaches into the past without feeling irrelevant tonight. Again, examples abound in fiction, especially science fiction and horror, of characters with pasts mysterious even to themselves.
Advanced Storytelling Techniques
Everything mentioned above can be extrapolated into new and exciting ways of experiencing Vampire: The Requiem. Stories can be told over decades or centuries without being communicated in a linear manner; events may jump back and forth as the characters uncover more about themselves, their mentors or sires. A single game may see players taking on multiple characters from across history, playing out stories that, while not necessarily visible to the individual shortsighted Kindred involved, weave a rich tapestry across the ages for the players to appreciate.A simple version of this might involve the players designing two characters each, one Embraced in the modern nights and a second Embraced at the height of The Invictus Empire (see p. 151). The Storyteller sets the game simultaneously in medieval Estonia and modern New Orleans, switching back and forth whenever the mood seems right. If the Storyteller wants to emphasize the inevitability of any Kindred institution’s destruction, she may require the medieval characters to be Acolyte Estonians resisting the encroachment of Christianity and the modern characters to be Sanctified, Invictus or Carthian supporters of Prince Vidal as his reign falters in the modern nights. If she wishes to tell the story of The Lancea Sanctum, she may require the characters on both ends of history be members of the covenant, the medieval characters witness to its subjugation of pagan Kindred as the modern characters watch it tear itself apart. Finally, the Storyteller may wish to borrow a theme from the World of Darkness Rulebook: What rises must fall. What has fallen may rise again. In this case she asks her players to portray pagans both in Estonia and in New Orleans. She moves between the two settings, and the characters play witness to the fall of pagan society while actively working to undermine Prince Vidal’s theocracy.
Another advanced technique allows Storytellers the freedom both to mine the characters’ pasts and begin a chronicle in medias res: flashbacks. Flashbacks serve as an excellent method to underscore the themes of the present action while delving into the characters’ pasts for motivations or simply to further flesh them out. Given the various options presented here, flashbacks can take numerous forms. One option is that they are a narrative conceit, with no effect on the characters (other than fleshing out the stories for the players). The flashbacks may be memories surfacing in the characters’ minds, usually inspired by whatever threat the characters are facing in the real time of the story. Perhaps flashbacks only occur when characters unearth some piece of history, and the flashback allows the characters to experience the history rather than simply read about it. Finally, characters who have undergone Torpor may be granted flashbacks that undermine scenes that they already experienced over the course of the game. These are most effective when the Storyteller leaves the veracity of these flashbacks unconfirmed both in and out of character, resulting in tense confusion on the part of the characters. Allowing what occurs in flashbacks to affect the present of the chronicle and involving other players in the flashbacks are both ways of increasing the importance of this method of Storytelling while making it more enjoyable for the players.
Torpor Stories
Despite its inevitability and the Kindred factions devoted to its study, Torpor remains one of the Kindred condition’s most hotly debated mysteries. What esoteric truths damn the Kindred to decades of sleep to overcome the drawbacks of potent Vitae? At what point must a Kindred sleep for weeks or longer to heal horrible wounds, when a brief expenditure of the blood mended all previous injury? What relationship does the Kindred’s connection to the Beast have with the amount of time spent in the sleep of ages? From what source do the terrible nightmares that plague the sleeping stem?Any Kindred who survives the other slings and arrows of the Requiem eventually experiences Torpor. While Torpor typically results from massive injury to the vampire’s body (especially in the young), the eldest of the Kindred feel the pull of Torpor nightly drawing them towards the centurial sleep. While some Storytellers may simply gloss over periods a player’s character spends in Torpor, others might wish to instead explore the torpid experience, either to keep the player involved in an ongoing game or simply out of the opportunities the state presents.
The Brother of Death
The first thing any serious scholar of Torpor recognizes is that context largely determines content. The state of a Kindred’s mind when she slips into the long sleep has a pervasive effect on the matter of the vampire’s dreams. A Kindred beaten into Torpor finds herself locked in months or years of terror, reliving the assault that brought her low, perhaps replacing her assailant with any number of other anxieties. A Kindred who slips into the long sleep voluntarily or due to age, on the other hand, may have pleasant (or, at least, uneventful) dreams as he retreats from the violence and fear engendered by the Requiem.A Storyteller interested in including a Torpor story in her chronicle should begin by establishing the character’s length of Torpor based on her Blood Potency and Humanity as described on pp. 175-177 in Vampire: The Requiem. Remember that a character who enters Torpor due to damage must have enough blood to heal three points of damage or she counts her Blood Potency As One higher for the purposes of determining length of time in Torpor.
A character who enters Torpor due to age, starvation, or as a voluntary act has relatively innocuous dreams for a number of weeks equal to her Resolve + Composure. These dreams resemble, but lack the vibrancy of, the dreams of the living. In short, little differentiates these early Torpor dreams from the daysleep, and a Kindred awoken during this time suffers no ill effects from Torpor dreams. Kindred who take special care to establish an environment of peace and tranquility before entering Torpor convert this period of time to years rather than weeks, while Kindred prepared through the use of mystical means of staving off Torpor (such as those possessed by the Agonistes) may never experience confusing or negative dreams. A vampire regains one point of temporary Willpower for every week spent in this state, up to her usual maximum. This is relevant because the battles to come can strip her Willpower away, which, in turn, can lead to loss of memory.
Conversely, characters with high Blood Potency (6+) or a tendency to experience nightmares anyway (due to a Flaw or derangement) halve their Resolve + Composure ratings for the purpose of determining how long they last before succumbing to the more terrifying dreams of Torpor. Even if a character of advanced age, or one who is predisposed to nightmares, takes the effort to establish a comfortable resting place, thus converting the time before nightmares set in to years rather than nights, she still halves the value of her Resolve + Composure. A character who experiences Torpor due to violence (such as having a stake shoved through her heart) immediately experiences vivid nightmares upon entering Torpor, regaining no temporary Willpower before being locked into a struggle with her subconscious.
Facets of Torpor
Kindred essentially experience two types of dreams: nightmares and everything else. The latter tend to be vague, formless and placid, yet they can bring comfort to a Kindred seeking respite from the horror of the Danse Macabre. Kindred nightmares, on the other hand, seem bolstered by both the blood and the Beast, taking on a surreal and vivid immediacy that can be difficult to differentiate from reality.Some Kindred, especially those who took care to enter Torpor peacefully, experience the dreams of Torpor as an endlessly cycling series of realistic encounters. They feed, they attend Elysium, and they politick. Kindred who starve into Torpor often focus on dreams of hunting, forever hungry and forever seeking the solace of Vitae in an endless night. Elders who enter Torpor due to advanced age dream of preparations unfulfilled and the realization of plots they never managed to complete. Due to the endless repetitions of these dreams, some elders come to believe in their reality. Stories set in these dreams allow Storytellers to take advantage of the repetitious nature of Kindred existence, heightening it into a bizarre cyclic performance in which the character constantly strives for some fulfillment forever just out of reach.
Kindred who enter Torpor through violence, however, experience a horrible dreamscape. These dreams tend to be surreal explorations of the subconscious in which the character’s fears are personified. These dreams allow Storytellers to play with horror tropes that would otherwise be thematically inappropriate for her game. The Prince of the character’s city may not normally be the type to stalk a character through the twisting abandoned hallways of an eerie museum, but in the Nightmare logic of Torpor, he can, eyes wild and fangs dripping with gore.
The following characteristics define the experience of Torpor dreams:
Adversary
Torpor dreams, whether nightmarish or stoically banal, almost universally feature an Adversary, an entity that acts as a personification of the dreaming character’s Beast. The imagery of the Adversary typically stems from a combination of the character’s clan and Vice. A Mekhet with the Vice of Pride may experience her Beast as a regal and terrible monster of shadows, while one with the Vice of Gluttony may suffer the abuses of a bloated pool of darkness that consumes all it comes into contact with.In non-nightmares, the Adversary may take the form of a new Kindred in the character’s Requiem, but is equally likely to adopt the features of a familiar vampire the character fears. In the latter case, the Adversary’s influence results in subtle changes to the feared Kindred’s appearance, based on what in particular makes the torpid character afraid. A dreaming vampire’s Adversary might be a Kindred who she fears for political reasons. That vampire might therefore always be surrounded by supporters (he might even control them with puppet strings attached to their bones and lips). A character who she fears might be after her blood and soul, though, is likely to be a monster, all fangs and claws… even if he’s a weakling in real life.
The Adversary’s strength is directly proportional to the strength of the character’s Beast. If the Storyteller finds the necessity of a dicepool for the Adversary, it is always the torpid character’s (Blood Potency + 10) – the character’s Humanity. The Adversary possesses an amount of Willpower equal to the character’s Resolve + Composure.
Anxieties
Kindred who extol Torpor as a cathartic experience universally claim that overcoming or accepting one’s Anxieties is key to this catharsis. Anxieties typically take inspiration from the character’s primary motivations, Virtue and covenant, though Vice and clan play a minor role as well. Kindred in Torpor experience Anxieties as overlarge versions of the fears they deal with every night. Storytellers are encouraged to keep in mind the character’s recent struggles and accomplishments, as well as any goals she has professed to be working towards, when developing her Anxieties.Anxieties serve an active role in the torpid dreams. In nightmares, they may take on overt and horrific characteristics (usually with features inspired by the character’s Vice and clan), while in more rational dreams the anxieties remain mundane but take on a greater significance (or stand in the character’s way more often). The character’s Adversary works to further the Anxieties or to keep the character from overcoming them.
In any scene in which the character makes significant strides towards overcoming her Anxieties, the Adversary loses a point of temporary Willpower. In any scene in which the character’s Anxieties overwhelm her, she loses a point of temporary Willpower.
Aspects
The simple building blocks of the character’s torpid dreamscape are called Aspects. Aspects flavor the entire dream world with imagery taken primarily from the character’s covenant and clan. An elder Gangrel of The Invictus, experiencing a non-nightmare Torpor dream, may inhabit a dream version of her own city, but her clan affiliation lends everything that occurs a certain feral immediacy while her covenant membership extends to the city’s architecture, making it significantly more gothic or baroque than it would be otherwise. A young Carthian Daeva, on the other hand, might experience a Nightmare of wildly erratic excess, a forever-shifting fetish club in which the chairs are upholstered with human skin. Covenant-inspired Aspects occur especially often among faithful Acolytes and Sanctified.Avatar
The Avatar is the representation of the character’s self within her own consciousness. In other words, the player controls the Avatar just as she would her character. The character’s Virtue, Vice, covenant and clan all play a part in the Avatar’s appearance, as does the character’s idealized sense of self. A character who believes himself ugly will have an Avatar even more hideous than the character, for example, while a Ventrue with the Justice Virtue may seem particularly upright but judgmental. Occasionally these aspects take on a more literal appearance (the aforementioned Ventrue might be adorned in judge’s robes).Torpor stories are largely exercises in narrative and storytelling, and, as a result, traits aren’t usually necessary. If the Storyteller needs traits for the Avatar (usually to contest rolls by the Adversary), he may use the highest of the character’s Power, Finesse and Resistance Traits. Most rolls utilize one or a combination of two of the above traits, similar to the rules for ghosts (p. 208 of The World of Darkness Rulebook).
The Sleep, Perchance to Dream
Torpor stories play out as a highly metaphorical struggle between the Avatar and the Adversary. During each scene the Adversary uses the character’s Anxieties (in a backdrop of the dream’s Aspects) to challenge the Avatar. With each scene, both the Adversary and the Avatar risk a Willpower point. Whichever aspect of the Kindred’s mind overcomes the other retains its Willpower point, while the other loses a point.This struggle determines the extent to which the experience of Torpor negatively affects the sleeper. A character who faces and overcomes his fears, soundly defeating his Adversary (by retaining half or more of his Willpower while reducing the Adversary to 0), not only retains his memories and sanity, but may come out of the experience bolstered in mind or spirit, gaining one or more experience points or being granted leave by the Storyteller to purchase a lost dot of Humanity. A character who only barely defeats his Adversary is left somewhat shaken and may have some false memories, but comes out of Torpor largely unchanged.
A character whose Adversary defeats him (that is, the character has no Willpower when the Torpor ends), however, faces harsh repercussions. If the Adversary barely scrapes by a victory, the character’s memories become muddled and confused, replacing some scenes (at Storyteller discretion) that occurred prior to the Torpor with scenes that occurred only in the character’s dreams. A character soundly defeated by his Adversary not only loses more memories, but also gains a derangement appropriate to the content of the Torpor story.
Storytellers might use a freeform narrative-based style of roleplay to determine the outcome of the scenes of conflict between Avatar and Adversary, boil it down to a roll between the opponent’s traits, or use any combination thereof. Storytellers who decline to use dice at all should keep in mind the strength of the Adversary relative to that of the character (determined by the dice pool mechanics given above) when creating challenges or puzzles for the player to overcome. In short, much of the onus to ensuring a fair session falls to the Storyteller, and she must be careful not to abuse her authority.
Teh Waking Dream
Storytellers interested in pushing the envelope of what is and isn’t real for the characters may continue the chronicle, coming up with a plausible reason to keep a starving or deeply wounded character from Torpor. The Storyteller should take the players of the other characters aside and explain to them that they are portraying the torpid character’s Perception of their characters rather than playing their actual characters (which gives them room to explore the behavior of their character as they emphasize certain aspects over others). The Storyteller then leads the characters through a Nightmare session of harrowing, Requiem-altering events or frustrating, repetitive and confusing tasks, often pulling the rug out from under the players, changing important personages in the story or the locale the story takes place in with the same ease that dreams shift. Asking the players of the nontorpid characters to roll with these punches as if nothing is wrong can heighten the confusion for the torpid player. When the Storyteller feels she has thoroughly explored what she wants from the torpid character’s dreamscape, she wakes the targeted character up, informing him that everything he experienced seemed utterly real.Some players might find this approach frustrating (much like movies or television shows in which the entire tension about which the plot revolves turns out to be a dream), so the Storyteller should be careful before embarking on this kind of story. Since it puts other players on the sidelines (rather, it means they aren’t actually playing their characters, but are simply acting out the torpid character’s Perception of them), it is perhaps best limited to a single chapter.
Similar to the above approach, characters in Torpor at the same time who share a close connection (such as the bonds of coterie, Vinculum or blood ties) may experience eerily similar Torpor dreams, allowing a Storyteller to involve several torpid characters in the same Torpor story.
I have heard many of my contemporaries say that the Fog of Eternity is the true curse of of our kind. That it dooms us to repeat the mistakes of the past time and time again. Yet sometimes I wonder: Is it not a boon that our elders lose some of their acuity over long centuries of torpor? Is it not pleasing to know that a truth of the past can be unearthed once an aged monster has forgotten to continue obscuring it? Hostely, for all that is lost through the Fog, I prefer this world of forgotten evils to a tyranny of perfect, ancient monsters. In the former, I see hope.
— Bianca tilley, Master Archivist of the Agonistes
— Bianca tilley, Master Archivist of the Agonistes
Type
Mental
Numbers
If you’d rather have a more concrete system for what memories a vampires loses, consider this one. For every point of Willpower by which the Adversary’s total exceeds the vampire’s when the Torpor ends, the vampire loses one dot of a Skill. If the vampire has no Willpower when the Torpor ends, the vampire loses Skill dots equal to double the Adversary’s total.Note that this is a harsh method of simulating the effects of Torpor. The best way to do it is for the Storyteller and player to work together and figure out what the character remembers, what has been lost, and what she now believes is real due to Torpor dreams. The next chapter includes systems for reclaiming memories lost to Torpor, and it’s perfectly acceptable to have those methods apply to regaining Skill dots. That just means that an elder fresh out of a bad Torpor is vulnerable until she can figure out what’s going on.
While any Skill might be lost to Torpor, it makes more sense for Mental and Social Skills to be affected first. The vampire loses factual knowledge, but is still just as skilled with a blade as she ever was. This plays to the notion of the confused, angry and still very dangerous elder vampire, recently out of Torpor and ravenously hungry.