Saber de lineas de sangre 344257123-V20-Lore-of-the-Bloodlines-11056187-pdf | Page 44

to each other. It took years to develop rituals allowing us
to feed from beyond the Shroud. Until that time, hunger
forced us to subsist on herds — few of which survived more
than a month — and then cannibalism.
The numbers diablerie cost us are more than I care to
count. In truth, I cannot remember much of existence in
the Shadowlands. The rivers of the damned steal memory as
we drain blood. Sometimes the Shadowlands find a way to
plant a new r eminiscence, its nightmare-weaving inhabitants
taking delight in driving us insane with conflicted memories.
We were attacked relentlessly. Some Harbingers slew
themselves. Others became convinced they were ghosts.
Years trapped in the Underworld forced many to torpor,
but the Shadowlands are no haven in which to rest a head.
We had always resembled corpses, but swimming the
Lethe savaged our bodies. It’s reckoned by some Harbingers
the Lethe scoured our flesh as we were recognized as false
inhabitants of the Shadowlands. We became lost among
one another, forced to adopt masks in order to recognize
former friends and foes.
My theory — perhaps addled by memorial hatred — is our
faces were lost to Ashur. The Giovanni who thought him
destroyed did not realize they sent a portion of his soul to
the Shadowlands. I recollect being damned as traitor to the
blood, my very countenance stripped as I was castigated for
failing Father. Deferred sentencing due centuries before.
Even in this state, Father’s disappointment in his progeny
was supreme.
Moments of elation in the Underworld were fleeting, but
when they did occurr, we celebrated with merry dances of
the dead. The rare occasions we encountered members of
our line long thought lost to the Underworld were joyous
beyond measure. I reencountered my sire in such a fashion,
and we celebrated with the theft of a Giovanni ghoul from
across the Shroud, dining on him for weeks.
Throughout our time in this hell, we spied and intruded
on the plans of Cainites and mortals. We offered wraiths
tortured by Giovanni our future aid against the Venetians.
All we asked was peace. Our numbers were depleted, but
a detente formed. Our information networks grew, along
with our caches of rich intelligence on Cainite behavior
and court intrigue. From our safety beyond the veil, we
became the ultimate voyeurs.
Over the years, a vampire calling himself the Capuchin
appeared to us, offering guidance to sanctuaries not
threatened by Tempest, Spectres, and worse. He was our
guardian angel in times of great woe. We would make
The Importance of Masks
Pogroms have slaughtered the Harbingers for
over a millennium. Whether from within or
without, fate has been intent on periodically
whittling down the numbers of the Lazarenes,
scrubbing their identities from history
books and in the case of their time in the
Shadowlands — their own memories.
Harbingers known as the Disciples award
members of the bloodline masks implying
status, role, and achievements prior to and since
their reemergence. They range from plain death
masks to baroque constructions of stunning
complexity. Aside from providing suitable
disguise in Elysium and at esbat, each imbedded
jewel, painted frown, and curved horn tells
other Harbingers something of the bearer’s past,
so even if they forget, others might remember.
A mask might state whether the wearer is
fool or scholar, necromancer or diplomat.
Each precious stone indicates a ritual created.
The curvature of the mask’s nose tells how
many Giovanni the wearer’s slain. The mask’s
resemblance to a lost Harbinger confirms
true status, as the Lazarenes are dedicated to
avenging their fallen ranks.
offerings to him as if he were some visiting god whenever
his cloaked form approached. In retrospect, we supplicated
ourselves disgracefully. When he showed himself most
recently, and removed his mask to reveal the visage of
Lazarus, we knew he would return us to the lands of the
living. He came to us with a promise:
“Half a millennium of torment is half a millennium
of wisdom. As you suffered the needles of malevolence,
you listened to every word spoken by your jailor. You will
use every one of those words as weapons. Your role is as
Harbingers of Skulls. You are the dagger, poised to slice
open the soul of Ashur and every one of his servants. You
will present your skulls to Father, and herald the end.”
LORE OF THE BLOODLINES
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