Fame is a unique power which challenges the ruling elite. Don’t believe me? Ask any child if they’d rather be a musician, a scientist, or a general. Ask any politician what they wouldn’t do for an endorsement from Taylor Swift. During the height of Rome, the nobility sought to shun actors from polite society, yet Nero performed in his own private theater. These nights, airlines and consumer brands bow to customer complaints on Twitter while fledgling companies supplicate influencers for favor. Fame inspires, motivates, and entertains; it sidesteps more traditional, controllable means of influence; a force derived wholly from the masses and their collective will. As creatures drawn to power, fame is a seductive fire that lures kindred like moths, only to see us burnt to cinders if the Masquerade is transgressed. No wonder the elites try so hard to limit access to it.
We are a group which embraces this power, a collection of actors and influencers, producers, playwrights, and dramatists. We’ve wielded fame to build superstars and to ruin the careers of the unworthy. We control mortal attention to safeguard the Masquerade while choosing which songs will make the top 40 in the span of a day. Some of us embrace fame directly, walking the razor’s edge of discovery, while others wield it from behind on the scenes.
It’s said that fame isn’t for everyone. Running in our circles can attract a dangerous sort of attention. For us, life is a performance and attention is a powerful commodity. Do you have what it takes to navigate the algorithms and join us on the front page?
Chicago – The Iron Horsemen
Ask any Gangrel or Ravnos, and they’ll tell you there’s always been drifters among our kind, kindred whose restless Beasts drive them to cross the horizon. It’s not just them though; even the crustiest among us ache for freedom, pining for the open road. Sure, some may hear it louder than others, but we all yearn for a certain measure of freedom, to roam unfettered by the morass of city politics where licks blind you into thinking the only mobility that matters is up and down their social ladder. Thing is, we’re not all suicidal enough to go roaming the hills and forests naked where werewolves roam and shelter’s a roll of the dice. All of that changed in the 1800s. America pioneered the first true freedom for kindred, laying down tracks for iron horses. The Ventrue may have paid for the railroads, but we were its true barons, our herds traveling with us in boxcar buffets and building ever further west at our direction. We taught them signs to mark safe territory and places to avoid, making them scouts for our growing network. By the early 20th century, hundreds of thousands of transient workers, human nomads, passed through Chicago alone, seeking freedom, adventure, and possibilities, and we moved with them. Times change. Between Henry Ford’s Model T, developments in farm machinery, and even air travel, humanity moved us away from the rails and reduced the need for the migratory laborers that we moved among. We changed too. Many nomads, like the Free Spirits, established themselves as biker gangs or truckers. We’ve got those too, dating back as far as ’35, but Chicago makes a special case. It’s the only place in America where all six of the major railroads meet. We’re where the rubber of the road meets iron track, and as the Cammies lock down their glass fiefdoms, more of us establish mobile Baronies. The Beckoning and the Second Inquisition have affected us just as much as it has the city licks. They created holes in our network and the networks of those who oppose us, no less so in Chicago. The Windy City was always a hub for us, a place for safehouses and moving smuggled cargo. It’s time for us to return there, shore up what remains and possibly even stake new claims.
Points of View: The Iron Horsemen
As an Iron Horseman, let me give you the lowdown—freedom’s in our blood. Ask any Gangrel or Ravnos, they’ll tell you about the drifters among us, the kindred with restless Beasts driving them to chase the horizon. But it ain’t just them; deep down, we all crave that freedom, the kind that gets stifled by city politics where everyone’s scrambling up the social ladder. Back in the 1800s, America laid the tracks for the first real kindred freedom with those iron horses—the railroads. Sure, the Ventrue might’ve funded ’em, but it was us, the true rail barons, who ruled. We moved with transient workers, setting up signs for safe spots and marking territories to avoid. Times have evolved since then. Cars, planes, and modern machinery shifted humanity away from the rails, but we adapted. Many of us turned into bikers or truckers. Here in Chicago, we’ve got a unique spot—it’s the crossroads for all six major railroads. It’s where road meets rail, and as the Camarilla locks down their shiny high-rises, we’re out here, establishing mobile Baronies. The Beckoning and the Second Inquisition hit us hard, tearing holes in our networks and those against us, especially here in Chicago. This city’s always been our hub, a place for our safehouses and for moving what needs to be moved under the radar. Now, it’s time to come back, bolster what’s left, and maybe even claim new ground. The road’s calling, and the Iron Horsemen are answering. Are you in?