Malady Eden Norwood
Malady Eden Norwood (a.k.a. Spook, Little ghost girl)
Physical Description
General Physical Condition
Malady has pale skin, almost translucent, and long, wispy hair that she sometimes ties up with ribbons. Her eyes are large and doll-like. She has a bright, youthful face and her cheeks always appear flushed as if she is coming down with a fever.
Body Features
Her skin is soft, as if it has never seen much of the outside, but her fingers and knuckles are often dirty.
Physical quirks
Speaks in a soft, quiet voice that never raises much louder than a whisper.
Apparel & Accessories
Prefers white nightgowns and peignoirs. She's always in or around bed anyway so why bother getting dressed?
Mental characteristics
Personal history
Spoilers. Do not click.
• 1910 - Malady Edith Norwood is born in Louisiana, America to wealthy British immigrants.
• 1910 - Her parents are wealthy plantation owners which keeps them away on business for weeks on end. For most of Malady’s early childhood, she is taken care of by her Creole nanny, Maria. She comes to think of Maria as a second mother.
• 1917 - During a particularly cold winter, Malady suddenly falls ill and doesn’t ever seem to recuperate. She is plagued with fatigue and remains bed-ridden most days. Her parents, although still busy, dote on her completely, fulfilling her every whim, no matter how exorbitant. At her parents bequest, Maria returns early from a trip to visit family in New Orleans. She stays close to Malady during this time, entertaining her with bed time stories of the deep south and voodoo.
• 1920 ~ 1925 - It appears as if Malady will never recover from her illness. If anything, she is becoming worse. Her parents fret over her in a superficial way; they spend their wealth on the best doctors money can buy, but none of whom can find the cause of Malady’s sickness. Some even suggest that her affliction is psychological. Her parents refuse to believe it.
• 1925 - Malady’s condition suddenly takes a turn for the worse. She takes a trip to New Orleans with her nanny, Maria, where she is introduced to her daughter Letitia who is around her age. Malady realises that Letitia is the true object of her nanny’s affections and feels utterly betrayed. When Malady returns home, she is overcome with fever, shakes and sores. Her bed nurses pity her and Malady secretly relishes in the attention.
• 1926 - Malady’s parents have gone through most doctors in America’s southern region and decide to bring in a specialist from abroad. Camilla Sutton arrives from London two months later. She visits Malady two times a week at evening. She indulges Malady in all of her conceived illnesses. Marie is incredibly distrustful of the doctor and voices her suspicions. Although Malady’s condition never improves, it is maintained by Dr. Camilla Sutton.
• 1927 - While away on business, there is a freak fire in the hotel her parents are staying at and both of them perish in the blaze. Malady inherits the entire estate and withdraws from society completely, staying locked in her bedroom. The only two people she will allow to see her are Marie and her doctor.
• 1928 - On the eve of her 18th birthday, she is paid an unexpected visit by Camilla. Once alone, Camilla suddenly attacks her. Malady is frail and cannot fight her off. She succumbs to the bite … and dies. • ??? - Malady wakes up a number of years later. Everyone is gone. Her parents. Her doctor. Her nanny. She discovers she is a ghost and haunts the now empty manor, frightening anyone who dares to venture inside. • ??? - The longer she roams the walls of her vacant home, the more desperate she becomes to return to her former life. She clings onto what few memories she has left and they become warped and twisted. She remembers the night before her death with Maria begging her to eat something to aid her failing strength. Rumours start spreading of the haunted house on the hill. • ??? - Malady obsesses over this final memory until every word is ingrained in her skull. She must eat. She comes to the conclusion that this is her unfinished business. She stops frightening away visitors and invites them in for supper instead. • ??? - Two men come to investigate the haunted house and Malady devours them both. Unfortunately, these men turn out to be ghouls belonging to the sheriff, who does not take kindly to his property being eaten. He and several other high-ranking vampires raid the plantation and find Malady. • ??? - Interrogation proves frustratingly futile. Malady claims to be sick and sore all over and too fatigued to speak. The more they push, the less they speak. The only useful information they manage to pull from her is the name Sutton, a name that had not been spoken in the Louisiana court in decades. Outraged, the prince orders Malady to be shoved into a lead-lined crate with no return address and shipped out to sea. • 2018 - January - Malady arrives in Melbourne, almost a century later, starved and raving mad. A withered husk, looking more like a mummy than a seventeen year old girl. Two unfortunate shipping contractors are the first to stumble upon her hundred year old crate. As soon as the door is wedged open she attacks them both and drains them dry, so hungry she feasts on their remains. • 2018 - January - Although Malady escapes, news of a bloody massacre in a loading dock makes it way to Melbourne court and they realise they have a huge masquerade breach on their hands. The warden finds her and throws her before @Prince to be judged. He takes pity on her for one reason or another, and blood bonds her to @Angela. • 2018 - January - Malady becomes instantly enamoured with the woman and entirely dependant upon her. Although Malady keeps up her sickly and fatigued act, and still staunchly believes that she is a ghost with no interest in the politics of vampire court, she would do almost anything for @Angela. The sheriff uses this to her advantage, catering to Malady’s delusions in order to shape and mould her to her own personal advantage. • 2018 - August - Even as the bond between Malady and @Angela weakens, Malady still draws ever closer to her. But instead of carrying out Angela’s desires at her own personal cost, she manipulates those around her. Gradually the courts perspective has shifted. What harm could Malady do? Such a small and frail vampire? So young and sweet. Malady seeks to be adored, and there were many around her that seek to adore her, or at least give her leniency when it is not deserved. The courts know nothing of her real degeneracy – something that Angela discovered early and kept well hidden from everyone else.
• 1910 - Her parents are wealthy plantation owners which keeps them away on business for weeks on end. For most of Malady’s early childhood, she is taken care of by her Creole nanny, Maria. She comes to think of Maria as a second mother.
• 1917 - During a particularly cold winter, Malady suddenly falls ill and doesn’t ever seem to recuperate. She is plagued with fatigue and remains bed-ridden most days. Her parents, although still busy, dote on her completely, fulfilling her every whim, no matter how exorbitant. At her parents bequest, Maria returns early from a trip to visit family in New Orleans. She stays close to Malady during this time, entertaining her with bed time stories of the deep south and voodoo.
• 1920 ~ 1925 - It appears as if Malady will never recover from her illness. If anything, she is becoming worse. Her parents fret over her in a superficial way; they spend their wealth on the best doctors money can buy, but none of whom can find the cause of Malady’s sickness. Some even suggest that her affliction is psychological. Her parents refuse to believe it.
• 1925 - Malady’s condition suddenly takes a turn for the worse. She takes a trip to New Orleans with her nanny, Maria, where she is introduced to her daughter Letitia who is around her age. Malady realises that Letitia is the true object of her nanny’s affections and feels utterly betrayed. When Malady returns home, she is overcome with fever, shakes and sores. Her bed nurses pity her and Malady secretly relishes in the attention.
• 1926 - Malady’s parents have gone through most doctors in America’s southern region and decide to bring in a specialist from abroad. Camilla Sutton arrives from London two months later. She visits Malady two times a week at evening. She indulges Malady in all of her conceived illnesses. Marie is incredibly distrustful of the doctor and voices her suspicions. Although Malady’s condition never improves, it is maintained by Dr. Camilla Sutton.
• 1927 - While away on business, there is a freak fire in the hotel her parents are staying at and both of them perish in the blaze. Malady inherits the entire estate and withdraws from society completely, staying locked in her bedroom. The only two people she will allow to see her are Marie and her doctor.
• 1928 - On the eve of her 18th birthday, she is paid an unexpected visit by Camilla. Once alone, Camilla suddenly attacks her. Malady is frail and cannot fight her off. She succumbs to the bite … and dies. • ??? - Malady wakes up a number of years later. Everyone is gone. Her parents. Her doctor. Her nanny. She discovers she is a ghost and haunts the now empty manor, frightening anyone who dares to venture inside. • ??? - The longer she roams the walls of her vacant home, the more desperate she becomes to return to her former life. She clings onto what few memories she has left and they become warped and twisted. She remembers the night before her death with Maria begging her to eat something to aid her failing strength. Rumours start spreading of the haunted house on the hill. • ??? - Malady obsesses over this final memory until every word is ingrained in her skull. She must eat. She comes to the conclusion that this is her unfinished business. She stops frightening away visitors and invites them in for supper instead. • ??? - Two men come to investigate the haunted house and Malady devours them both. Unfortunately, these men turn out to be ghouls belonging to the sheriff, who does not take kindly to his property being eaten. He and several other high-ranking vampires raid the plantation and find Malady. • ??? - Interrogation proves frustratingly futile. Malady claims to be sick and sore all over and too fatigued to speak. The more they push, the less they speak. The only useful information they manage to pull from her is the name Sutton, a name that had not been spoken in the Louisiana court in decades. Outraged, the prince orders Malady to be shoved into a lead-lined crate with no return address and shipped out to sea. • 2018 - January - Malady arrives in Melbourne, almost a century later, starved and raving mad. A withered husk, looking more like a mummy than a seventeen year old girl. Two unfortunate shipping contractors are the first to stumble upon her hundred year old crate. As soon as the door is wedged open she attacks them both and drains them dry, so hungry she feasts on their remains. • 2018 - January - Although Malady escapes, news of a bloody massacre in a loading dock makes it way to Melbourne court and they realise they have a huge masquerade breach on their hands. The warden finds her and throws her before @Prince to be judged. He takes pity on her for one reason or another, and blood bonds her to @Angela. • 2018 - January - Malady becomes instantly enamoured with the woman and entirely dependant upon her. Although Malady keeps up her sickly and fatigued act, and still staunchly believes that she is a ghost with no interest in the politics of vampire court, she would do almost anything for @Angela. The sheriff uses this to her advantage, catering to Malady’s delusions in order to shape and mould her to her own personal advantage. • 2018 - August - Even as the bond between Malady and @Angela weakens, Malady still draws ever closer to her. But instead of carrying out Angela’s desires at her own personal cost, she manipulates those around her. Gradually the courts perspective has shifted. What harm could Malady do? Such a small and frail vampire? So young and sweet. Malady seeks to be adored, and there were many around her that seek to adore her, or at least give her leniency when it is not deserved. The courts know nothing of her real degeneracy – something that Angela discovered early and kept well hidden from everyone else.
Sexuality
Definitely has known to favour women, although it's hard to tell if it's attraction or simply a Jocasta complex.
Mental Trauma
She is thoroughly convinced she is a ghost. To those that will listen (and she will certainly make you listen), she will speak of fondly of her nanny and doctor although the details are hazy and vague.
Intellectual Characteristics
Despite her antiquated views on society, she is intelligent and educated to a degree.
Morality & Philosophy
Mortals are beneath her. Kindred society is also beneath her. But she so desperately wants to be part of something.
Malady has pale skin, almost translucent, and long, wispy hair that she ties up with ribbons. Her eyes are large and doll-like. She has a bright, youthful face and her cheeks always appear flushed as if she is coming down with a fever.
Current Location
Melbourne, Australia
Age
17
Date of Birth
Birthday: January 13th, ???? / Death: January 12th, ????
Children
Gender
Female
Eyes
Dark brown
Hair
Dark brown
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
Pale, almost transluscent
Height
156cm
Weight
55kg
Blood Sacrifice pt II
12:00am, 28th, August, 2020
* Stuck in basement with Larissa and some guy who is bleeding out on the floor.
* Bishop is very rude, but also taken aback by Malady's claim of not being a vampire.
*Malady looks around and sees a gap in the fog of the bricks.
*Larissa claims to see trains and bricks. Malady opens a door in the wall. Larissa cries. There's another wall and Malady pulls a lever. Larissa is unhinged from reality so Malady compels her to imagine herself as a sack of potatoes and puts one of her socks in Larissa's mouth. She carries them out. Her stomach is rumbling.
* Goes invisible. Eventually Larissa wakes up. Malady drops her and continues on. Larissa wanders after her.
*Larissa messes around with the computer.
*Sneaks outside to 8ft wall. Larissa climbs over the wall. Malady can't get over. Feeds Yuri her blood and he wakes up and lifts her over. He manages to get over himself.
Blood Sacrifice
Drinking blood and making people into ghouuls.
Williams
David Williams
Beneath the Rotten Church
Dear Diary,
I went to church today. Feels like half a century since I went last - not that I made it to the sermon (regrettably since there is none whose soul needs more redemption than mine). The church doorman would not let myself pass without a smile. But what am I to prove with such a thing? That I am a good girl in need of salvation? Perhaps if Doctor Sutton had asked, I might have obliged but that whole thing feels so long ago, and I will certainly not smile for a stranger when he has done nothing to earn my pleasantries. On the contrary, shouldn't he be smiling at the sight of me?
Mr. Anton passes inside without me but I am stuck outside with this damnable doorman. After a while he seems to relent, and a Sister Judith collects me. She leads me to the left and down some stairs. Hardly surprising for a church such as this to be underground, but we walk for a while and I have yet to see any sight of Mr. Anton.
The walls become wet, the concrete stripped away to reveal brick beneath. She leads me into a small room. Mr. Anton is not still not to be seen. Sister Judith says she will attend to me shortly, and leaves me in this miserable place. I wait a while, but my impatience overcomes me. There is a nagging in the back of my head, and the walls feel
The Price of the Snake Prince's Insight
7:00pm, 20th, August, 2020
Dear Diary,
I am terribly sorry for neglecting you as late. I have hardly had the strength to rouse myself, much less hold pen to paper, or rather press these keys to make the words appear on this too bright box. I shall do my best to recount recent events, as many troubling things have surfaced, much like cadavers rising to the fetid surface of the Atchafalaya Basin.
We started the week by trying to find more about that Gangrel tasked us to find – "Insights of the Snake Price". Who this price is, and what his insights are, I still am not certain, but Miss Ducky said we might find something if we inquired at a bookstore by the name of "Ray's Occult Books".
Once there, Mr. Anton demonstrated that he certainly has a diplomatic way with words. I don't suppose that New Yorker behind the counter would've agreed much although. The way Mr. Anton whips that pistol around might leave one to imagine he may be compensating for factors he lacks elsewhere. Thankfully, I am a lady of great decorum so I would never let my mind to wander to such distasteful things.
Regardless, we bullied the information we needed out of Mr. Stantz, and left.
We made our way to Luna Park. Apparently this place of attraction is Gangrel territory, so chancing upon the Gangrel Priscus was of no surprise. A few words were exchanged, but nothing remarkable, and we continued to make our way along the beach. Walking is fatiguing enough, without walking on sand. I asked Mr. Anton if he might carry me, but he refused. Inconceivable.
Thankfully, it was almost at this moment that Miss Larissa found a peculiar outcrop, the rocks stacked up as if to make a door. At its base we found the rock marked by white paint. The symbols the same as those I saw in my dreams. Even more curious, there was a small hole. After some discussion, I allowed my half dollar to be put into the hole and the door opened up. On the other side of the door, we saw a tray. I retrieved my half-dollar, and the others picked up some of the ancient coins that lay there also. Turning back to the dark corridor behind us, we found a room with humans circled around a book on an altar at its centre. Their painted gold bodies reflected the dim torchlight as they slavishly prayed at the altar. A strange thing to do for a book that was sold second hand for $49.95.
We dispatched of them. Miss Larissa cried and moaned because they were mortals, but the rest of us carried on. She certainly is prone to weeping. I wonder if it makes those around her more sympathetic? It certainly does nothing for me, but it might be a useful tool to have in my emotional arsenal.
We took the book and attempted to leave through the door we came through. However the fare was wrong, so we ended up in what I could only assume were different planes. We had to spend another half dollar to leave. A very taxing door indeed.
While the others were preoccupied with something else, I found a white vehicle idling in the carpark. A voice calls out to me. At a later stage, Larissa will tell me that it is unwise to get into unmarked vans, but unaware as I am, I get in.
Inside, the smell is overwhelming and if I were a vampire like the others, I am certain I would've been salivating. However, as I am not, I do not drink from the proffered blood-filled bucket at my feet. The man inside introduces himself as Mr. Carpenter. A most foul-faced individual if I ever saw one. His skin is charred and burning, his eyes in danger of rolling free of their socket. I have met these Nosferatu types before, but it doesn't make their presence any less unnerving.
The others returned and Mr. Carpenter offers us a ride to the Cat Club. We make sure to leave him in the car.
Inside the club, we don't find Miss Ducky, but we do find a Professor Mandarin of the Ventrue. The Professor takes the book, but wants us to investigate this snake cult deeper. Bishop Judas in particular, is quite troubling to her. As is the Prince's reluctance to do anything about it. Afterwards, Mr. Alex gives us some money for our trouble of which Mr. Anton and I take our just share. Miss Larissa is quite the altruistic one, donating some of her share to the help waiting outside.
And since our trip is never-ending, our next stop for the night was yet another vile club. This one by the name of The Painted Lady. How many more of these morally reprehensible places will our work keep dragging us to?
We move upstairs past the doorman, then downstairs through a closet, and immediately we are in the thick of it. Although the room is not entirely filled with Nosferatu, the smell rising off the crowd is certainly evidence of their presence. Although we are here to meet the Nosferatu Priscus, I soon forget this ambition as through the immoral sight of flesh on flesh, the stink of blood and sweat other fetid substances that overwhelm the senses, a flash of blonde hair catches my eye.
It can't be. Why would she be here?
But I'd know her anywhere. And I certainly have followed her enough to know her well. I try to follow her into a vaulted room, but my path is blocked by yet another doorman. I can hear her agony through the steel. Mr. Carpenter, busybody that he is, finds me in the crowd and demands to know why I want entry to a tattoo room. A tattoo! Of all the vile, reprobate things a person can do to themselves. Much less a woman! Much less my Angie!
How could she do this to herself? To me? Branding herself like a pig.
I can feel Larissa's hands on my shoulders but I can't hear her over the sound of Angie's betrayal.
The Three Symbols
12th, August - 17th August, 2020
Dear Diary,
Some days I feel as if I shall never find rest while others are long and languid, and time drags its feet like a petulant child. Although I am not in the habit of complaining (despite the fact I am oft unable to get out of bed as I am beset with fatigue and body aches), last week was particularly sluggish and dull.
Most of the week I spent recovering from a recent illness that kept me bed bound, as if I were to so much as sit up, I would surely faint. When my health had been somewhat restored, I spent the last of these idle days inquiring into certain affairs. Although I did not discover anything particularly interesting (except that she keeps fewer friends than even I).
It was Saturday when I finally decided to pay a visit to my dear friend Madam Lowana. I regret not having enough time to stipend her with, as I owe a great deal to her. As it was she that found me in my weakest hours, and who now keeps me grounded to this plane of existence, although this unlife is suffering in its most extreme. It is also she who seeks to help me traverse these mortal bindings and set me free.
It shames me to think of the wealth I knew in my living days, as I am now deeply impoverished. I am sure my living self would pass from shock to see me scrounging in the dust laden rooms of the lower floors, behind ancient sofa cushions and cracks in moulden floorboards. Still, one is unable to travel without tender, so I thought myself lucky to find a half dollar in the back of an empty till.
Upon hailing a cab, there seemed to be some confusion about the value of a half dollar. I am still unfamiliar with the currency of these convicts. Perhaps it is similar to the Eastern orients with their imaginary sums.
Regardless, I managed to get himself to Madam Lowana, where as always, she greeted me with warm, arms. Madam Lowana is a large woman, dark-skinned, and her tongue makes me feel homesick as it carries the twang of southern natives. But I had come with a purpose, not to spend my hours inquiring into that wonderfully open mind of hers.
As she always does, she asked if I would meet her friends, and if I had made any friends of my own. She’s always saying that friends are wonderful things to have, and that it does one well to share their company. But Madam Lowana’s company is mine alone, and I have not made proper friends with the others. And why would I? They are of lower stock and their hands are dirty and their minds impure.
So I told her as I always tell her, yes, yes, of course Madam Lowana, what a splendid idea. But I shall continue to keep her as I always have – to myself.
I told her of my vision. As a ghost it is only natural for me to be deeply in touch with the other world and beyond, but even Madam Lowana seemed surprised. These three symbols are things from old times. The one drawn in threads of lightning resembled the rainbow serpent, both a giver of life and a destructive force. A creator. She was less certain about the second symbol, that which came in oozing liquid, but it prompted imagery of Aboriginal bunyips. These creatures were once a protectors of man, but now have been diluted with legend. The last symbol she did not recognise, just that it was old.
I am not like the others. I am set apart from them. I am both cursed and blessed. Special. Precious. I left Madam Lowana feeling both lighter and weighted down with the knowledge of my divine favour.
The Prince
2:00am, 12th, August, 2020
After an age, the door opens to Elysium. The doorman is there to greet us but he is quite ill-mannered. I am hardly surprised – a man such as that, covered in tattoos like a seafarer. He has a particular tattoo on his chest: a V with a hideous slash through it. It is ugly and old and all the ink has already bled out of it. Nanny had tattoos too but they were white like scans and could only be seen under beams of moonlight.
The other doorman is much kinder, but he is not the same as the time before last and I wondered what happened to that one. He informs us of the rules (mustn’t use powers, no violence, no killing, bow upon entering, stand at our seats, bow again…) and we enter.
Upstairs is a picture gallery that I have seen many times before although every time I do, the paint is somehow more flaked and peeling. Paintings line the wall, all turned wall-side save for one. The portrait is of a well-fed man with thinning black hair and piercing green eyes. The inscription reads ‘Leslie Taylor; President 1915-1922’.
Through the large wooden doors at the back is a grand hall with chandeliers above and ornate tables and chairs arranged around the room. A chair, gilded and inlaid with plush velvet is at the centre back of the room. In it sits the man – Leslie Taylor.
He is older than I (although I do not suspect by much), but younger than Mr. Anton, and we bow and pay our courtesies to him. When I met him previously, I did not think too highly of him and I certainly do not think too much of him now. But I was raised to mind my manners even when I do not think I should have to.
I am mid-curtsey when the doorman’s head receives a bullet that it spits onto the floor in a gruesome spatter of blood and hot viscera.
Mr. Anton is grinning ear to ear while Miss Larissa looks ready to faint. It appears Mr. Leslie has taken offence to our respects and does not appreciate good manners. I am sure he, like the doorman, also has many tattoos benefitting his vulgar character. Although I suppose I can’t be too displeased when the favour he bestowed upon me brought me to Angie.
Mr. Leslie and Mr. Anton engage in some male banter pertaining to their desire for one another, that I’m not in a mind to notice much of. But it seems that the Prince had eyes for Mr. Anton and had wanted him to be a Brujah like himself.
We are then released of our sires – or rather, Mr. Anton and Miss Larissa are now free kindred. I, myself, am not like the others so I have no need to be released as a ghost I am free to do as I please.
From the darkness swelling at the corners of the room, a woman steps into the light and my heart feels ready to burst. I run to Angie and hold her hands in mine. For a moment they are warm, but as soon as it is there the warmth shrinks away and Angie slips from my hold and draws towards the Prince.
The Sheriff. The Right Hand of the Prince. Angela Taylor. My Angie.
I’d eat those around her to keep her with me but she doesn’t want to be kept (even though she is, just not by me).
I feel Miss Larissa stiffen behind me. Or rather I hear her. Little sharp breaths that don’t need to be breathed. Her voice is hitched, fast, undone. I’ve missed something significant here but I’m too caught up in everything that’s being wrenched away from me that I don’t notice her clearly.
The Prince informs the other two that they have full feeding rights and have obtained the right of domain. However, they must still answer to him.
*Scribbled drawing of Australia with notes: Melbourne (Camarilla) under siege – 100 to 150 vamps, Perth – Anarchs, Brisbane – Shovel Heads, Sydney – Free vamps, Canberra – Hunters (2nd inquisition?), Adelaide – Ming Xiao*
*A note in a different hand*
Rules:
Breed – ask him
Serve – with a smile
Leave – no
Don’t contact unless important for Melb.
See council members or relevant Primogen.
After our meeting with the Prince, we are taken to the Chancellor’s ballroom. Although the room is grand, it is in poor shape. I suspect the kindred in the room are from lesser breeding as they are seated at tables and chairs which can be folded down and none of them seemed particularly pained about the fact.
They are the Primogen Council:
Nathan Carroll – Ventrue
Ronnie Connor – Malkavian
Victoria Cruise (brunette) – Toreador
Dr. Elizabeth Perez – Tremere (head of the Chantry)
Daniel Williams – Nosferatu
Annie Chester (distasteful blue mohawk and male jeans) – Gangrel
We are instructed to sit (although I would rather die than sit, but I suppose I have already passed over, just not quite entirely). I start to feel my head grow hot with fatigue and I reach out for Miss Larissa so that her pale warmth might give me strength.
The council deem the completion of our task as ‘suitable’, considering the three corpses washed up on the shoes of the Yarra (perhaps next time we should clean up slightly further away?). As a token reward, Mr. Anton is given $20,000 and encouraged to direct his avarice to things more kindred in nature rather than material possessions. We are collectively awarded the property at 100 Victoria Street of which we may take residence and the few blocks it occupies around it.
A wretched sight if I ever saw one, Mr. Daniel the Nosferatu Primogen approaches as and requests our presence at his Waterfront City Office at 11:00pm sharp. We are to knock on the maintenance door to gain entry. In return we may collect a minor boon from him.
Thus ends our affairs at Elysium. The car is waiting downstairs for us, and the journey home is reasonably shorter than the journey there.
Once we are home, we spy a man hovering around the entrance to our haven. I have not seen him before although I have encountered his ilk. He is dressed in black with red accents. The pin on his shirt – a sword piercing the sun – is the most obvious tell. He flicks his brownish, reddish eyes to us and greets us with a white toothed missionary’s smile.
He is Bishop Judas, from a nearby congregation. If we are so inclined we may join him in worship Wednesday evening, 2 hours after sundown at the old church (on the corner of Bourke & Exhibition St).
It has been a long time since I have paid my respects to the Lord, and when I finally pass on I know I will come to greet him in my eternal slumber. But I have met Sabbat like Bishop Judas, and I’ve seen their devilry and dark ministry and I’ve no inclination to pray with fiends such as them. Or so says Angie, and nanny too if she were here.
We are polite but vague in our acceptation of his invitation. Hopefully he won’t trouble us further.
Inside, I put the body of the ex-doorman in the cooler and head upstairs to bed.
A Vision
7:00pm, August 11th, 2020
I shan’t ever understand the whims of these kindred. What invented pleasures or pains they derive from their practises. With music that rattles the bones, liquor enough to make one ill, dressed up worse than those West-end walkers! This place is a fetid nest for the depraved. Although my head feels less swollen and haunted in this place, looking at writhing flesh like maggots in an open carcass I still feel like I ought to be sick.
I can feel myself become flush with fever and fatigue and so I seek refuge upstairs, with Mr. Anton and Miss. Larissa following close at my heels. We pass a veterinary that presents itself as a café (although at the moment it is closed). Ducky is waiting for us in the room upstairs and she tells us non-too-politely that this is her domain and that she expects us to respect it as such. She is quite filthy with Mr. Anton for letting it slip to Mr. Crowe that she had helped us the day previous. Mr. Anton is (unsurprisingly) indignant and quarrelsome. I get the feeling he is not often invited to tea, and that this Ducky is not much for hosting as they are both rather loud and I am starting to get a headache. There is a box she wants Anton to stand in although I haven’t the faintest what ‘snitches are bitches’ means, but it serves to further inflame Mr. Anton’s rage.
It is then that Ducky reminds us all of the six tenets of the Camarilla, particularly the tenet of Domain and Hospitality. I admit, I am not listening well and have taken up residence on the couch as my head feels quite sore and I am sure I shall faint at any moment.
After much length and discussion, Mr. Anton apologises and after some consideration Ducky does not make him get in the box.
She finally tells us why she has brought us here – she is seeking a book: Insights of the Snake Prince.
A contradictory woman, she tells us that there is no time limit on this delivery but she needs it soon. We may find it in a book store near Minotaur’s on William Street, or near Lightning Ridge Opals, but she cannot obtain it herself due to her poor relations with the kindred in that area.
We are told that we may have one drink downstairs, but as I have mentioned previously, I have no need to eat as I am not like these blood-sucking fiends but rather something different entirely. We are also warned not to mention her name or that she has asked us for favours, and that we ought to be careful of Leslie Taylor - the prince.
Downstairs, Mr. Anton finds a red headed woman wearing what can only be described as poured on rubber, although I’d rather not dwell on what sordid affairs they indulged. To my dismay, Miss Larissa was much the same with her own company, although she kept secret behind a thick velvet curtain that was difficult to peer around.
Thankfully soon, a limousine arrives and takes us to the Elysium. Although it is a fine ride, I tire of it quickly as it feels much longer than it ever had before, and the windows are darkened and the drivers glass is up.
When I have had about enough and I have mind to tell the driver to quit his aimless meandering, suddenly everything falls away. Or rather it feels like I am sinking except when I reach out I can only touch the darkness and it is inky and congealed. And then, in a manner that was all at once and yet very slowly, I dreamt.
There was a great city, that burns and is rebuilt a hundred times or more, and every time it rises up again it is more grotesque than last, with hard steel lines and flat, lifeless surfaces. And in this moment a hand breaks through the bloated storm clouds above, bestial and all-powerful. It scorches the skies fire red and lays all to waste, shattering glass and twisting metal, the streets drenched with blood. I feel all together tightly scrunched up and torn to pieces in the sight of this invincible darkness.
Then the premonition comes. A flash of lightning breaks the sky apart and a symbol is drawn in the threads of light. Then a sound so loud you could hardly hear it, and when my ears are left only ringing, another sign is carved into the carcass of one of the buildings, dripping ichor and fluid. The last symbol comes with torrential rain, that washes the ground before me blood red.
And then the voice spoke to me. It spoke:
Et quis non habet animam et octo civitatem, sed quod producat ex imperio obumbratio.
Although I am often plagued by night terrors, none have felt so visceral that I felt they could take me completely into their madness.
I woke and wept, and not even Miss Larissa’s warm embrace could soothe me from my horror.
The Docklands
11:00pm, 10th, August, 2020
Our late night escapades were so long I’ve had to split them up. I hope you don’t mind, diary.
The woman and her service leave and we leave soon after. Inexplicably, one of the men has burst into mist. There’s nothing to be done about it so we press on. It’s a shame it wasn’t the one in the suit, but I suppose that’s the way it goes.
We take a cab to the docks (eighteen dollars). There isn’t much to say about the place. It’s a classic dockyard, with coloured shipping containers piled up and rust all over every surface. There are also garlic, crucifixes and such odd paraphernalia strewn about. Miss Larissa appears quite frightened at the sight of them while I am too, loathe to touch anything lest I become infected with something dreadful. There are some yachts along the pier but I haven’t been on a boat since I came here and anyway I don’t like the water much.
There’s also a demountable or ‘donga’ as the others called it, which is lit up and three men whom are patrolling the area. I can see they are as unwashed as this dockyard and it seems bothersome to get them involved, so we attempt to move as best we can under the shelter of night. Mr. Anton disappears and when he returns he informs us he has found the shipping crate but it is locked and covered in strange symbols.
*picture of the free Ventrue symbol*.
I follow Mr. Anton to the donga and there is a woman sat at a desk there. I don’t think she’s much of anything at all, but Mr. Anton must think she’s rather fetching because the first thing he does is attempt to put his charms on her.
However, apparently she is the proper sort because she screams for help. The man from outside that we slipped by comes in but Mr. Anton puts a good bullet into his gut and so he falls to the ground. I don’t think he’s quite dead yet, but the others that come in are certainly surprised. There are more bullets but I’m not really sure because I really wasn’t too fussed about it all. I am looking over the papers on the woman’s desk and the light device on her desk, but I really can’t get a proper look, except that it seems she has a rather keen interest in supernatural talkies and fiction.
By the time I have finished, the others have tied up the woman and the other men are on the floor. Miss Larissa has also found herself a gun. We take the woman’s identification and all other personal effects, while after a lengthy discussion we decide to put the men in the Yarra (I wonder if I should erase this part lest it be traced back to this bog?) even though some of them are not quite dead yet.
Humans are certainly a bothersome business so the less connection we have to this place and their corpses the better.
We telephone Mr. Crowe and head back to the club, but it is very difficult going indeed as I am unwell most days and hardly fit to be carried, let alone walk on my own feeble legs. I do not think the other two are much good if they are able to ignore the sufferings of a poor young girl such as myself.
When we go back to meet Mr. Crowe he is quite surprised indeed. However he takes the woman and her belongings and we are free to go home.
New beginnings and fateful meetings
7:00pm, 10th, August, 2020
It has been an age since I put ink to paper. Or rather, since this device that Angie has gifted to me has. She says if I post it, it’ll go into the bog? I’m not sure I can quite fathom what she means. Inept, though I am, I will persevere.
Regardless, in light of last night’s events, I feel compelled to write all that has transpired.
I have never thought of myself as someone who plays well with others. Nor have I thought myself as someone who abides by regulations that were not implemented by my own doing. I am not one of them, so why should I? I am adrift here, unhinged from either reality, unable to claw my way back like some rabid dog needed to be put down.
Angie is always quick to remind me that this kindred society is not my house, and I am its guest. I suppose her words hold some merit. I have not been put down yet.
I received an invitation the day before last, although it was unsigned save for the initials V.C. The letter requested my presence on Victoria Street. I assumed (incorrectly) that it was addressed to myself alone, but when I arrived there were others. Two men and a woman. The men, admittedly forgettable, but the woman was charming. Although her figure is quite immodest, her character is anything but. I wonder if she is as sweet on the inside as she appears on the outside. Given the chance, I’m sure most would not refuse her solicitation for better acquaintance (I find myself not immune to these imaginings).
When I knocked upon the door there was no answer. One of the men - the one predisposed to gaudy suits - boorishly invited himself inside. I could already tell that it would be most troublesome company.
Inside we are greeted by a man in a tan suit and the sight of train tracks. The man introduces himself as Jackson Crow. He informs us that he is a butler (although I am loathe to admit much better dressed than mine). We follow him along the tracks until we find the dining car, shabby though it is. Inside the lights are too bright and the liquor bottles are too few and half empty (although I have never tasted the stuff and shan’t ever). There is a stage and the rafters are quiet and dark.
Mr. Crowe presents us with a job. We are to find a woman and silence her. In exchange we will be given freedom.
Dossier: Madison Larkin (form. Bridges). 27. Chestnut hair. 2 year old son. Address - 6/29 Little Bourke St. Works for newspaper at 147 Russell St.
But what of those of us who do not truly desire to be free? If I am own haunting, then Angie will leave. Just like the others. And if I don’t have her then what do I have?
I see Angie’s face then, from up above, although I’m not sure if it’s really her or someone else. The haunted mind oft plays tricks and makes games of memories. When I see her face I am aloft with despair. I want to draw near to her, be with her, by her. But every time I draw close she pulls further away. How is one to keep someone who does not wish to be kept?
The man in the flashy suit - Mr. Anton - uses some device to find the woman we’re seeking. Something about Russians and illicit goods and wares operating out of the Docklands. We take a car to her address and find her residence. It is part of a tiny complex that is grotesquely modern.
I attend Mr. Anton upstairs while the others remain downstairs. The meet we meet at the door - Madison’s husband - is a pitiful excuse of a human. In this instance I do not blame Mr. Anton for losing his temper, but things quickly spiral out of control. The others come upstairs and the state of affairs worsens. None of them have learnt like I have, even if I am not like them at all. Not yet, but they will.
Before he telephones the police, we learn that his wife has been out at all hours, particularly around the Docklands (that name keeps cropping up), and she has been with a man. He is visibly enfeebled and distraught, and the appearance of the others only exacerbates the problem.
Scribbled note: - Contact: Stephen Curnow (Ventrue. Anarch Council. Connections to Docklands Park), Nothing going on between them (?), Kennedy Assoc.
I take the man and suck his spirit out. He is much quieter now.
I would say that he is bleeding out on the floor but he’s actually shrunken and bloodless. The others seem troubled (although some less than others), but they will no doubt understand soon. I feel myself connect a little better with them now. Feel myself become grounded; corporeal. And then the feeling dissipates like smoke curling off the length of a Chesterfield.
We discover photographs of the man and child and Miss Larissa complains and cries endlessly. Does she really care for this ill-fated man and company, or has she not yet learned the bitterness of this un-life? I have learned not to mind the cattle so much.
Scribbled on notepaper torn out: - Vamp story with photo of Nosferatu. Lot 7, North Wharf Rd, Shipping Container Serco 87. Secured freight coming in.
The others contact the mother (through some little device) stating that her child is gravely ill, but the mother pays no mind to the message.
The father is still on the carpet. Before we can decide what to do with his body, there is a commotion at the door. A woman with a terrible temper and a feculent manner of speaking appears. With her is a man with much improved decorum. They introduce themselves as Ducky and Alex.
Apparently she has been waiting for us, but thought it was necessary to intervene. We unburden ourselves of the corpse on the floor and the baby in the nursery. In exchange we are to meet her at her establishment
We leave.
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