Another snippet from the in-game past of our Montreal by Night game.
It was the first new moon since the fall equinox, making it a most fitting night. Dark, without sign of gods good will, nor hope for the dawn. Made worse by the wind that howled down the river, bringing with it a chill. The news of the British triumph had made it’s way to the city weeks ago down that same river, but both the chill wind and the news caused one to shiver. Questions of “Am I making the right decision? Will we survive this?” had long been answered for him, or so he thought. Attempting to convince himself, he went over his speech once again “You all know who I am. Not long ago you considered me a deadly foe.” The creak of the rampart door snapped him from his silent rehearsal. Without turning, he knew that it must be his new gift, for no other would intrude upon him this evening. “Yes Truteau?”
Stepping forward and closing the door the ghoul spoke, “Seigneur Prionnsa, I beg your pardon for the interruption. By Mary I do, but you have a visitor who arrived by carriage a few moments ago.”
The Seigneur frowned as he spun around, perhaps more quickly than he would normally, but his nerves were short. “Well, who is it man?”
The ghoul began to stutter, a defect, no doubt a result of the inbreeding that was required to produce such a unique creature. “Seigneur…Prionnsa…I…ah….” With visible effort, the ghoul attempted to compose himself “It is my …my… Lady…my former Lady, Seigneur Prionnsa. She…ah…..wishes…”
Cutting off his servants words, and forcing a calm tone into his own voice, the Prionnsa did his best to conceal his own surprise at the news. “Yes, yes, a word no doubt. Fine, see her in, and offer our best refreshments. I shall join in a moment.”
His mind raced as he thought of meeting with one as old as she. So notorious that her infamy was known in the Camarilla as well as in the Sabatt. “This could bode ill.” he murmured aloud. Forcing blood to his skin, the Prionnsa turns out toward the river again. By letting the chill wind whip across his face, he was able to use it as a catharsis, a focus. “I shall let her wait. Is that not what Mithras told me to do? Let even your betters wait a few moments. So easy to say when you are the ruler of the Baronies of Avalon.” The heat of the blood was wicking from his face as his mind turned again to his speech. “Tonight I stand before you, Brothers and Sisters. I ask you to accept me into your pack. By doing so, you gain both a Brother, and a gift. I bequest upon to you, Brothers and Sisters of Caine, this city.” He paused in his thoughts as a muffled scream came from within his home. “Damn it, the speech is too short, why does she insist that it be so? And now, what is she doing? Will I even have a retainer, but that damn Zantosa left, if I leave her in there.”
His final thoughts before he turned to enter his Fortress, least his lingering cost him more staff were “With no small measure of luck, and with her backing, I shall have a new title by the end of this night.”