Efecto credencial

For millennia, we chose to be known as scholars, ascetics, and diplomats. Our rich knowledge made us indispensable to other Cainites. We honed ourselves in hundreds of fields, but advertised few. In Persia, Greece, and later Rome, we became loyal subjects to magi, philosophers, and emperors. Rarely would our full array of powers be exposed, allowing us to dance in the background as empires fell, and learn from the mistakes and successes of others. I’m told of the time Emperor Caracalla of the Romans was slaughtered by his own men at the advice of one of my Harbinger brethren, who was herself in his employ. She gained little obvious benefit from murdering Caracalla, except to study and record how his followers rebuilt afterward. She carefully observed the variation in how the soul of a ruler exits a body, compared to when escaping the mouth of a deceased peasant.

As it turns out, there’s little difference to be noted. Our line was rarely renowned for its proficiency in the field of conflict. This was deliberate. I was cupbearer to the Malkavian warlord of Diyarbakır. Despite my position, my true skill was in laying waste to Theodosius’ soldiers through use of blade, horse, and understanding of pestilence’s carriage. My sire was a poet of Zamya, who channeled his art through the rotting corpses of loved ones. He used those same corpses as unerringly reliable killers. Our skill in dealing death was as sharp as our knowledge of its forms, but it was a secret talent.

We were a diverse family, but the relationships between mentors and apprentices were bonds of true kinship. As unappealing as we were to look upon, our vast collection of talents put the Ventrue and Followers of Set in debt to us with pleasing regularity. All the while, we concealed gifts and honed disciplines, preparing for the possibility of one night crushing the Cainite masters with whom we consorted.

This is where we Harbingers differed from our Clan’s core. We possessed a cohesive focus: becoming relied upon, even essential to the working of courts far and wide. Our information network spread through the Underworld and back to the lands of the living. While our kin experimented with corpses, we opened channels to cavort with spirits. The Long Night’s end could have been brought about centuries before the War of Princes commenced.

Such potential was laid to waste due to Ashur’s deliration. Our Clan was bonded only through veneration of our Father. We were the progeny of Ashur; a name oft given to vampires who succumb to the parasite feasting on their souls. Others called him Cappadocius, or Anubis, or Laodice, or Kizurra. His identity matters less than one would

think. He ultimately became a deific symbol for abuse and manipulation. It’s rare for any Harbinger to not think of our Father and succumb to vestigial abhorrence. My disgust for this vampire is absolute, as despite our fulfilling works, he saw fit to sacrifice the majority of his childer — his family — as grist for the foul mills churning in his soul. Ashur possessed profound deficiency in sanity, honor, and awareness. He ever lacked the shard of a soul leading to peace and resolution, and was constantly driven to revelations that further muddled the little wisdom he possessed. As we reached our zenith in multiplicity, buried deep within Cainite domains ranging from the Gothic Kingdoms to the Pyu City States, our doom came at his command.

Father deemed us unworthy of this immortal life. He ripped our hearts to pieces as Set did to Osiris, and we were too afraid of this insane demigod to resist the edict. I witnessed my sire, four childer, and hundreds of my kin descend into oblivion because Ashur elected on a whim to punish them for transgressions never adequately explained.

We could have fought back. We should have. To my eternal shame, I didn’t lift a finger as I watched my beloved childer disappear into the darkness. Knowing now what they went through, I despise myself for not following them.

HARBINGERS OF SKULLS 42

Lazarus

Lazarus resisted. Father’s childe rebuked the fallacy of our failure, and led a horde of fellows from Ashur’s slaughterhouse to the safety of Egypt. We survivors called ourselves “Lazarenes,” and diverted our death magics into assisting the Followers of Set, for whom Lazarus possessed fondness. I followed Lazarus in anguish for my personal loss, and rage for the contacts, agents, and plans put to ruin by a maniac’s purge.

“Of what dire crime could we be so guilty as to surrender eternal life?” was a question asked frequently by Lazarus and his disciples. We spread throughout the African continent in efforts to coax any surviving, disenfranchised members of our Clan to the fold, using Lazarus’ honeyed words of vengeance and former glories. We occasioned to travel overseas to do likewise, but Ashur’s minions were keen to obliterate us when we encountered them. From this point, the shadow war between the sycophantic devotees of Father and we Lazarenes commenced, and never really ceased.

Our mantra was simple: “We will present Ashur with the skulls of those he murdered, before shredding his soul as he destroyed ours.”

Some among my kin place our founding as Harbingers at the point of Ashur’s great betrayal. Lazarus united us in hatred for Father. I realize before — when we acted as regal worms in the bellies of other Cainite domains — we lacked a formal title. Despite this, it was mostly the former Cainites I knew — and know — as Harbingers who flocked to Lazarus’ banner.

In any case, titles lack relevance in the greater story. The Followers of Set requested tutelage in necromancy, offering half a millennium’s protection as payment. They were keen to use our gifts for tracing the spiritual path of their god. There were those among us who taught Setites basic rituals and powers affecting the body, but Lazarus was clear we must never explain how the souls of the dead may be summoned, or their lands entered. This agreement survived for little over a century before the Serpents’ demands became such that if we refused, we would be cast to the desert winds. Our greatest assets were ever the clandestine information we accrued in our centuries of service to other Clans, and our gifts of necromancy. When it came to our survival, we chose to divulge all information accumulated on the domains, personages, and abilities of the Assamites. It was a grand cache of intelligence, which I understand the Setites put to destructive use. Begrudgingly, the Setites ensured our sanctuary was maintained for a few centuries more.