The Winter Solstice
Winter is cold and dark, and attended by the slumber — the seeming death — of all nature. This is the perfect time for Kindred.
Nights are long and none longer than the Winter Solstice, late December, when the earth and all undead upon it are farthest from their oldest foe, the sun. It is traditionally a time of triumph for the elders of the Circle, those who have slept through the most assaults of ever-angry day, the wizened and wise who can no longer feed on the blood of mere mortals, those reputed to dine on viands darker than even Vitae. The Solstice is the night of The Crone.
It’s no coincidence that the Winnowing happens in such close proximity to the Winter Solstice. The confrontation with wisdom and the urge to cast aside all that is false, base and illusory is a perfect compliment to a celebration of those who have survived the longest and who are usually, almost by necessity, the most alienated from human mores. In some domains, the Winnowing occurs before the Solstice.
Often the elders of those areas declare that the Vitae of the young is all the sweeter when it is closer to the heart, closest to the last precious dram held in their veins. In other areas, the Winnowing is always after the Solstice, serving as a personal conclusion to a season that moves the Acolyte’s attention from the community of his fellow Acolytes into his own failures and triumphs.
Nights are long and none longer than the Winter Solstice, late December, when the earth and all undead upon it are farthest from their oldest foe, the sun. It is traditionally a time of triumph for the elders of the Circle, those who have slept through the most assaults of ever-angry day, the wizened and wise who can no longer feed on the blood of mere mortals, those reputed to dine on viands darker than even Vitae. The Solstice is the night of The Crone.
It’s no coincidence that the Winnowing happens in such close proximity to the Winter Solstice. The confrontation with wisdom and the urge to cast aside all that is false, base and illusory is a perfect compliment to a celebration of those who have survived the longest and who are usually, almost by necessity, the most alienated from human mores. In some domains, the Winnowing occurs before the Solstice.
Often the elders of those areas declare that the Vitae of the young is all the sweeter when it is closer to the heart, closest to the last precious dram held in their veins. In other areas, the Winnowing is always after the Solstice, serving as a personal conclusion to a season that moves the Acolyte’s attention from the community of his fellow Acolytes into his own failures and triumphs.
Execution
While there are many flavors of the veneration offered, some common threads are nearly universal. (Indeed, the repeated elements are so nearly attuned that many give credence to the notion that Crones in Torpor contact a patron figure who instructs them in her proper celebration.)
First, there’s a ritualized performance that depicts the progress of the seasons as a metaphor for the progress of an Acolyte. The performance begins with two figures flirting in a bower of spring blossoms. (In these modern nights of hothouses, fresh flowers are easily bought. In the past, substitutes included everything from paintings and tapestries to silk and paper flowers to blooms of skin crafted from live creatures with a virtuoso mix of speed and artistry. Some domains stick to the old traditions.) The Maiden wears white garments and a mask of unlined, smiling innocence. The Fool wears green, has bells on his shoes and a feather in his cap, and his mask’s grin is blank to the point of idiocy. He pursues her clumsily, and she’s tempted, but a woman in black with a deeply wrinkled mask of frowns warns her away, and a man with similar features and garb frightens off The Fool.
The second act begins with a brutal sun rising in the sky (typically a cauldron of fire, sometimes one designed to slosh alarmingly over cast and audience alike). From one wing of the stage stalks The Hero, his mask handsome but stern, often clad in armor and bearing a sword. A pair or trio of armed and unmasked mortals rush forth and do battle. (Sometimes they’re Dominated, but more often it’s just been made very clear to them that their only hope of survival is to kill The Hero. In some very rare cases, they do, in which case they’re typically released and placed under the perpetual protection of those elders being honored. Still, it’s a bad omen for The Hero to die.) Meanwhile, on the other side of the stage, The Scarlet Woman steps forth, long hair untied, wearing a mask of seductive beauty and clad in scarlet (if she wears anything). A mortal is enticed into her arms(usually with Majesty, but in domains where no actresses possess that power a mortal can be Dominated or simply conditioned through vitae Addiction and Vinculum) and devoured (sometimes after or during coitus, sometimes instead of it). When both The Hero and Scarlet Woman have completed their feasts, they fall upon one another. Both intercourse and blood tasting are enacted: one or the other may be simulated, or neither or both.
The third act is autumn, when The Mother steps forth clad in a robe of brilliant reds and golds, greatly pregnant and bearing a mask with a serene smile of contentment. The stern-visaged Father in gray or blue meets her midstage and clasps her hands. Her mask changes (often through showy stage-craft) into a face contorted with agony, and with an explosion of blood from beneath her skirt, out swarms a legion of vermin — snakes, rats, spiders, bats, multitudes of crawling and flying insects. (This is often considered the climax of the play, and isgreeted with wild applause.)
The final act opens with the dark clad elder figures from the first scene sitting on icy thrones. They sit, motionless and silent, for anywhere from 10 minutes to a full hour. (Anyone in the audience who moves during this time is guilty of a tremendous breech of etiquette.) At last, the figures stand and walk slowly to one side of the stage, where a Fool woos a Maiden. The Crone advises her while The Hermit frightens him, and the cycle ends where it started.
When the performance is complete, there are blood offerings to the great ones. Almost always, the oldest male and female vampires in the Circle play the roles of The Crone and Hermit, and they go directly from their performance to officiating at this next segment.
For the spirits, there is an animal or (more rarely) human sacrifice. Typically, every Kindred who can still feed from mortals offers a drink to each elder of the covenant who no longer has that opportunity. In this one night, a truly ancient vampire could gain enough Vitae to last a month, or even longer if the domain has a huge Circle. (Usually, these elders protect themselves with the Willful Vitae ritual. Then again, some don’t, feeling that a string of minor Vinculums is the perfect way to keep themselves relevant and involved in the covenant.)
All this, including the drama, is conducted with a minimum of speech. In some domains, there is music (either instrumental or choral), but the offering of blood to the elder Kindred is universally performed in absolute silence.
When it is done, all leave. None speak. What is there to say?
First, there’s a ritualized performance that depicts the progress of the seasons as a metaphor for the progress of an Acolyte. The performance begins with two figures flirting in a bower of spring blossoms. (In these modern nights of hothouses, fresh flowers are easily bought. In the past, substitutes included everything from paintings and tapestries to silk and paper flowers to blooms of skin crafted from live creatures with a virtuoso mix of speed and artistry. Some domains stick to the old traditions.) The Maiden wears white garments and a mask of unlined, smiling innocence. The Fool wears green, has bells on his shoes and a feather in his cap, and his mask’s grin is blank to the point of idiocy. He pursues her clumsily, and she’s tempted, but a woman in black with a deeply wrinkled mask of frowns warns her away, and a man with similar features and garb frightens off The Fool.
The second act begins with a brutal sun rising in the sky (typically a cauldron of fire, sometimes one designed to slosh alarmingly over cast and audience alike). From one wing of the stage stalks The Hero, his mask handsome but stern, often clad in armor and bearing a sword. A pair or trio of armed and unmasked mortals rush forth and do battle. (Sometimes they’re Dominated, but more often it’s just been made very clear to them that their only hope of survival is to kill The Hero. In some very rare cases, they do, in which case they’re typically released and placed under the perpetual protection of those elders being honored. Still, it’s a bad omen for The Hero to die.) Meanwhile, on the other side of the stage, The Scarlet Woman steps forth, long hair untied, wearing a mask of seductive beauty and clad in scarlet (if she wears anything). A mortal is enticed into her arms(usually with Majesty, but in domains where no actresses possess that power a mortal can be Dominated or simply conditioned through vitae Addiction and Vinculum) and devoured (sometimes after or during coitus, sometimes instead of it). When both The Hero and Scarlet Woman have completed their feasts, they fall upon one another. Both intercourse and blood tasting are enacted: one or the other may be simulated, or neither or both.
The third act is autumn, when The Mother steps forth clad in a robe of brilliant reds and golds, greatly pregnant and bearing a mask with a serene smile of contentment. The stern-visaged Father in gray or blue meets her midstage and clasps her hands. Her mask changes (often through showy stage-craft) into a face contorted with agony, and with an explosion of blood from beneath her skirt, out swarms a legion of vermin — snakes, rats, spiders, bats, multitudes of crawling and flying insects. (This is often considered the climax of the play, and isgreeted with wild applause.)
The final act opens with the dark clad elder figures from the first scene sitting on icy thrones. They sit, motionless and silent, for anywhere from 10 minutes to a full hour. (Anyone in the audience who moves during this time is guilty of a tremendous breech of etiquette.) At last, the figures stand and walk slowly to one side of the stage, where a Fool woos a Maiden. The Crone advises her while The Hermit frightens him, and the cycle ends where it started.
When the performance is complete, there are blood offerings to the great ones. Almost always, the oldest male and female vampires in the Circle play the roles of The Crone and Hermit, and they go directly from their performance to officiating at this next segment.
For the spirits, there is an animal or (more rarely) human sacrifice. Typically, every Kindred who can still feed from mortals offers a drink to each elder of the covenant who no longer has that opportunity. In this one night, a truly ancient vampire could gain enough Vitae to last a month, or even longer if the domain has a huge Circle. (Usually, these elders protect themselves with the Willful Vitae ritual. Then again, some don’t, feeling that a string of minor Vinculums is the perfect way to keep themselves relevant and involved in the covenant.)
All this, including the drama, is conducted with a minimum of speech. In some domains, there is music (either instrumental or choral), but the offering of blood to the elder Kindred is universally performed in absolute silence.
When it is done, all leave. None speak. What is there to say?
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