Red Moon Over Poe's Masquerade

Scar Story

     After easing Futaba back into society, the coterie found themselves at the beach just after dark. It was a lovely scene, even at night. What wasn't so lovely though, was what Futaba saw when Ren took his shirt off. The others, thanks to their night at the Asylum, had already seen it, but their newest addition had not. There were claw-like scars on his chest, and when he bent down to lay out the beach blanket, she saw a much longer one on his back. "H...How did you get those? I-if you don't mind me asking, that is." The messy-haired kindred looked up. "Did Ambrus ever tell you about the Sect War?"

     "No, he didn't."

     "Time for a history lesson, then. In the late 1990's, early 2000s, political tensions in kindred society had reached the breaking point. It resulted in an all-out world war between the Camarilla and the Sabbat. The Anarchs were still little more than a splinter faction of the Camarilla at that point. It wasn't just them fighting though, lots of independents got caught in the middle too. I was in Le Mans under the name 'René Baudelaire'."

     "I tried to stay out of it, tried to keep my hands clean. Well, as clean as a blood-sucking monster's hands can be, anyway, but I was eventually pulled in as well. I fought on the side of the Camarilla. The Sabbat have always been too savage for my liking. Taking down an important figure on the opposite side became a matter of competitive pride. I ended up taking two of 'em down, and as you can see, I have the scars to prove it."

     "One was a Tzimisce elder who called himself Dasco. Turns out he was Archbishop of Sopron. He gave me these scratches on my chest when he entered his war form, which I repaid by dumping lighter fluid on him and hitting him with a match." The ghouls and light-haired vampire stared widely, trying to imagine how their oldest boyfriend survived that. He went on, "As for the scar on my back, that was from my sire, who was none too pleased with me siding against her sect. Yeah... Hisa slashed me with a blade that she coated with her blood, which she made poisonous. Wasn't counting on me having my shotgun loaded with incendiary bullets, though. In case you're wondering, I pitched the gun, too loud, have to reload it too often. Don't have to reload a blade, though. Haven't fired one since, could remember how if I ever needed to though."

     "Because I took down two names, I became a war hero among the Camarilla, and earned a level of respect not typically granted to us Caitiffs, and a war criminal among the Sabbat. So if we ever visit Lviv, I'm even more so a dead man walking than I am here. That's it, that's the story." "Interesting," Goro replied, "a blood hunt's the closest I've ever come to being in war, but then again, I'm an infant compared to most vampires."

     "Not so much these days, with so many elders and Methusalahs dying off."

     "I don't think I've ever shown any of you what I learned from the experience. Do you still have the knife on you, Ren?"

     "Hold up a moment, just what do you wan-"

     "I want you to throw it at me, don't worry, I'll either dodge or catch it."

     Ren was very apprehensive, but heeded the request, and as promised, the knife was caught, earning clapping and interjections of disbelief from the others. "Not too many Malkavians that possess Celerity." Ren quipped, to which Goro replied, "Not too many widely respected Caitiff. There's another, more recent development I'd like to how you as well." With that, he removed his contacts, revealing a matching eye color. "When I saw this, I knew it could only mean one thing: I had regained some of the humanity that was robbed from me." To which Ren replied, ashamed of himself, "As to where I lost some."