Chicago – City of Big Shoulders

“Thank you for meeting me.” The silent ancient lifted his eyes from the bowl warming his hands. Those eyes traced along the distorted reflections in the brass lining the booth and up to the speaker. He was memorizing the shape of the jaw that spoke and the hollow voids above it.   “I hope you haven’t been waiting long, friend.”   “We are not friends.” The words escaped the old one’s lips with measured pauses.   “Maybe so. Maybe soon. We’re all on the same side now, afterall.”   “Are we?” The ancient didn’t bother with any pretense of belief.   “Yes. That is why I wanted to talk, and, I suspect, why you agreed to meet.”   “Call it curiosity.” The venerable Kindred sat back on his bench. None of the restaurant’s other patrons had given them any notice. “Surprise can come even to me. Say your peace.”   The newcomer had settled into their seat, and was now appraising the antiquated fossil on the opposite side of the table. It was an excuse to buy time as they chewed on words they’d carefully rehearsed in their head many times over. “Things have been difficult for some members of my clan, difficult for me.” The speaker ignored the feigned look their host gave. “We are well versed in controlling or otherwise existing alongside our Beast, but some methods are unsavory by Camarilla standards. The Convictions I once held could put me at odds with the Tower I have come to embrace. So I ask for your help in guiding me through this period of adjustment, in finding most suitable ways to live with my Beast. I understand that is the sort of thing you teach at your Eternal Academy.”   “Not quite, but perhaps.” This was not the subject the ancient thought they would be discussing. He stroked his chin absently, giving genuine thought to the matter proposed.   “Perhaps?”   “You present an interesting challenge, one, I fear, that I alone cannot resolve.”   “If not you, then who?”   “I said, ‘I alone.’ You are no doubt aware that Prince Jackson is hosting a large gathering soon, an exhibition of sorts to show the Camarilla that its youngest Prince is strong and that his model is one to copy. He is even loosening his restriction on the number of Anarchs he allows in Chicago. I should think that with so many diverse voices, we are certain to find someone who can speak to your heart, your Beast, and provide you with mentorship on this path.”   An almost annoyed tone inveigled its way into the voice of the ancient’s guest, “you ask me to place my pride and person at the mercy of strangers?”   With the calm words of a patient teacher, “is it any different that what your clan has done by petitioning the Tower. Is it any different than what you have done by asking this of me? Consider a moment, what is a night of possible ignobility compared to an eternity of greater understanding with your Beast? Then think of those whom you will teach, the benefit you will bring them, and the prestige that will gain you.” The answer that came was a pair of narrowing eyes. “I will take that as acceptance.” The ancient teacher even gave a slight chuckle at the prospect before them, “it shall be arranged. A Symposium, a debate, an opportunity for others to speak of the wisdom of their Convictions and how they help them both maintain their humanity and adhere to the strictures of the Tower, or possibly not. Prod them, sort through the chaff and find the grains of wheat you seek, that you may plant those seeds within your heart.”

The City of Chicago, with its teeming mortal population, is host to some incredibly old and powerful vampires who would have you believe they alone control the city. However, Chicago is also home to untold numbers of other supernatural beings who have lived there for generations.   Despite the occasional violent incident, somehow these beings, despite their prejudices and ancient grudges, manage to coexist in relative peace, each adhering to some form of the Masquerade. At the heart of this dance lies a gathering of influential figures representing the various supernatural courts, each vying for dominance, revenge, or peace from across a boardroom table. Little is known about this council, its leader, or its rules. However, it is rumored to have shaped the city’s destiny numerous times throughout its history.    In the past decade, Prince Jackson rose to power after supporting Inyanga’s negotiated peace with the werewolves. This arrangement came after his sire, the former Prince Lodin, was reportedly slain in a violent attack. The move served to demonstrate the young Prince’s political acumen to the city’s Primogen, and was enough to win the support needed to declare Praxis. The city’s residents have since believed themselves safe from lupine violence, provided certain lines are maintained.   Quietly, Prince Jackson worries that the arranged peace is in jeopardy. Despite a firm hold on the kindred population, he struggles to maintain parity with the city’s other supernaturals. These nights, the looming threat of local werewolves has been aggravated by the influx of new and visiting vampires, and the city’s other supernaturals have grown distrustful of the Prince’s ambitions. To avoid another war, the city has once again called this Council to order. Can Prince Jackson keep the peace? Will he need Inyanga’s help?

The Sabbat’s Gehenna Crusade has created large groups of defectors. In many cases, conscientious objectors, or those who view the machinations of the Sabbat leaders as not entirely different from the agendas of the ancients.    Ever the innovator, the young Prince of Chicago has made 2 cuts with 1 stroke. This arrangement has paved the way for him to earn favor with many a wandering shadow, simultaneously bolstering the Camarilla while sowing Lasombra defiance. Jackson’s adept use of hard-line tactics and cunning court maneuvers earned him the trust of his Primogen council.   The price for Lasombra residence in Chicago is simple: an older non-Camarilla Lasombra. A devastating tax, but one many were willing to pay in the chaos that followed the start of the Crusade. However, the fervor surrounding the early days of this deal has subsided and the flow of defectors has stopped. Lasombra abandoning the sinking ship of the Sabbat now ask themselves if the price demanded grows too steep, as there are fewer of them than before. Even those who accepted the offer realize that this brutal state of affairs is unsustainable. Meanwhile, Jackson keeps the reins tight on the shadowy defectors but the strain grows.    One Lasombra, driven by their ambitions and recognizing the dire situation, has stepped forward to seize a coveted opportunity: to ascend to the seat of Primogen. Jackson, ever the political artist, primes his brush again. The canvas of the Camarilla awaits his next brushstroke. Unable to rely on the “impartial nature” of his Primogen council, Jackson seeks outside aid to reach his decision. Will the Lasombra succumb further to disillusionment, or will the shadows indeed rise?