Saber de lineas de sangre 344257123-V20-Lore-of-the-Bloodlines-11056187-pdf | Page 21

“Again,” he said.
“No,” she replied.
“I don’t think I heard you correctly.”
“Yes, you did.”
“You will do as you are told!” shouted
Byron, more desperately than he exp
ected.
“No. You are going to open this cag
e and release me. Then you are goin
g to commit to several
new policies and ensure the Prince
and the other Primogen agree. Then,
and only then, will I sing
for you again.”
Byron was dumbstruck and angry, but
the echo of her voice was still there
in the room. He began
to realize how much he needed to hea
r it.
Eloise seemed to stand taller inside
her cage. “I really did think it would
take longer to addict
such an eminent Toreador,” she smiled
.
“Sing for me!” shouted Byron desper
ately.
Eloise stepped closer to the bars. “Kn
eel for me, and I might,” she whispered
.
Byron slowly sank to his knees. “Ple
ase,” he murmured.
Overture
Where did we come from? I’m told it’s one of the mysteries
of the modern age. All I know are the stories that my sire told
me, and her sire told her. Perhaps my sire was the original;
perhaps we’re actually all just Toreador with a special skill. I
can’t tell you the truth, as valuable and as elusive such a thing
is among us. But I can tell you what I was told, even though it
will grant you more questions than answers in the long run.
One of the tales involves three sisters. They all had
incredible voices and talent, enough to interest several
vampiric Clans. One was embraced by the Toreador,
another by the Ventrue, and the third by the Malkavians.
However, the divisions of Clan could not keep them apart,
and against the orders of their elders they met in secret.
Unfortunately, the elders rarely reward disobedience, and
each was punished severely.
However, instead of coming to heel, each punishment
only made the sisters more determined and cunning.
Together, they began to plot a way to escape their Clans
and be together. So they started sharing not only their skills
but their blood, hoping to bind themselves even more than
before. As time passed, they began to grow together, and
the ties to their sires gradually weakened. They found new
skills and developed new powers as they became more than
the sum of their parts. Those they sired claimed that legacy
as Daughters of Cacophony.
20
There are three different stories about their end. In one,
they all became like the Toreador, and were so fixated by
the harmony they could produce. It is said they became lost
one day in a single perfect note and remain frozen forever,
listening to a song they cannot stop singing. Another tale
blames the Malkavian blood, saying they became crazed by
constant music and developed a hatred of it. They sought
out musicians and slaughtered them until Clan Toreador
captured them. They scream nightly in some deep dungeon
to stop the music that only they can hear. The Ventrue tale
is simpler. It is said they simply developed a taste for each
other’s blood. Nothing else would grant them sustenance,
so they fell upon each other, and the victor has held the
other two prisoners as her personal supply for centuries.
Are any of those stories the truth? I cannot tell you. Perhaps
there is a grain in them. But how can you believe one tale
when even the stories of our origin in the Victorian era is a
lie? It is true that era was a golden age for us. Music halls and
theatres could be found in every town. Indeed, competition
for the greatest acts was rife, and in an age without television,
radio, or phonographs, the people clamored to hear our
song. That is not to say such demand had never been the
case before. For hundreds of years previously, the wealthy
had considered music a valuable accomplishment and
entertained each other with song after dinner. But the
Victorian age was not just an age of music, it was an age
of the performer. We captured hearts from the stage, be it
in the charm of the music hall or the drama of the opera.
DAUGHTERS OF CACOPHONY