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Night Secrets Pdf free download. Nielsen Mark of the Thief by Jennifer A. Nielsen Rise of the Wolf by Jennifer A. Nielsen Related Books. Edinburgh was a quick stop on the voyage. A woman waited for us. Or did three?
I cannot remember. I believe I recall their faces. But I only remember one speaking to us. She told us a great many things, but each and every one of us forgot her words. She gave us a fingerbone, clawed, ancient, cold. We kept it densely wrapped, for any plant within a foot of the bone withered in seconds, and no fewer than three horses died while carrying it. One of our charge, an Assamite, holds the bone on her person, and runs with the quickness of the blood alongside our caravan.
She told us to continue on to Norwich. She told us Norwich would not end our journey. She told us that Norwich would give us a knuckle up on the competition.
We have competition? The plot thickens. Did our patron hire multiple companies? Certainly not. Our miracle could not be replicated by anyone short of Caine. Could even Caine abate the need for blood? We traveled on toward Norwich. With Norwich our next waypoint, I have to wonder, to where does this voyage take us? Entry 3: Norwich, August, Norwich gave us an immediate clue.
We looked toward London, and saw in the night sky a red halo around a star. We knew this was our path. However, Norwich offered something else. It offered up the first signs of danger ahead. While we discussed with the locals, a messenger came from London to tell the city that the Church sought out a coterie of demons traveling the countryside toward the capital city. This most certainly referenced our band. The messenger said to the locals that they are to lead the questioning devils to London Town.
There, the messenger said, the demons shall meet their end. Some of our number left the party at this juncture, not willing to risk the Final Death for the voyage. They risked hunger, however, and I do not know at this time what happened to them.
Others girded their loins for battle. We took some of the greatest hunters and warriors in Norwich, and Embraced them into the fold. None of the new childer hungered. None attacked their sires upon rising. We quickly integrated them into the fold. At that, we moved on toward London.
Entry 4: London, August, As we arrived, London was silent. This could not be good. As such a massive entourage, we marched to the gates, and were denied entry. The guard told us to find a rural stable to put us up, and to return come dawn. They said current policy forbade strangers from entering at night. We had a plan. We would not buckle. We would not wait. The hunger for the quest was too great, and the Beast murmured under our dead flesh. One of our Toreador summoned the guard to a nearby house.
We had no time to feed him for three nights, so we gave him the Embrace, and a rapid education. We sent him into the city to investigate and report back. He did not report back, but he did give us all the information we needed. He screamed. He screamed to high heaven. He growled. He hissed. All the while, we saw the warm orange glow of a bonfire above the city gates.
We would not enter London as a coterie. We dispersed. We surrounded the city walls. We each found haven, and planned to move the next night in a concerted effort, both directly militant and covert.
Our fearsome Assamite blessed us all with a veil of the very night. Our spies quickly found the source of the travesty; a lone church stood aside from the bustle of the city. This church still bore the ashes of our unfortunate childe across its lawn. Our warriors moved in to strike, their claws, fangs, and blades empowered by the hunger we shared.
A frightening number of the congregation, at least a dozen, fought with the fires of True Faith. We lost some, mostly the young. But the blood of Caine is strong within us. No man, no mayor, no god will hold back an alliance of the Damned.
A peculiar fact overtook us; some of our number were lost in the act of feeding. What were we becoming? We fought hard, and we conquered after a scant few hours of the siege. We took exactly one prisoner, one Father Childebert Longivad. Like so many fathers of faithful flocks, his faith was not so true. He was nothing more than a power hungry pervert, manipulating the pious to serve his disgusting ends.
Our hunger calmed. We knew we were on the right track. We strung him to a horse, and dragged him along the next steps of our journey. His body gave out, shredded, and fell into a ditch before the first night ended. We traveled quickly; our horses seemed quickened as if they shared our uncanny hunger for the hunt. We traveled every waking hour of the night across the countryside, south into Occitania.
While we oft worried of wild threats such as Lupines, no monster in its right mind would attack a caravan of battle-hardened Cainites. No proper order, at least.
The Ghrian were not known to the people, nor did they have a church. Indeed, the search for his order took several nights of canvassing. The Ghrian were men of letters, and Toulouse acted as a hub for their activities. Every day, never at night, couriers arrived and quickly left with missives dropped in seemingly random locations.
We made every effort to coordinate interceptions. Mind-controlled servants. The randomness threw us off nearly every time; when we managed to find a note, it came up utterly empty of meaning, as if our enemies were one step ahead of us.
This featured nothing damning, nor could our group decipher any form of hidden meaning. Eventually, one of our mark contacted a local Ventrue elder, offering great prestation for the service of possessing a mortal shell to intercept a courier. The courier could give little information. His letter however, once recovered, revealed another step on what is becoming a voyage beyond any of our expectations.
Tomorrow, we will make our way to Toledo. We travel one stronger, for our friend Ventrue now possesses the same hunger for the quest, and has asked to accompany us in exchange for erasing the debts we owe. Our Assamite friend told us tales of its inhabitants. Toledo was her first goal on her pilgrimage from the East; she came as part of a caravan of Muslim settlers looking to expand mercantile associations within the region.
She said that in the time of her first pilgrimage, things looked very good for the Muslim settlers of Toledo. The Assamites maintained good relations with some of the Jewish Tremere of the region, where they drew boundaries both physical and conceptual, and traded notes for the advancement of their arts. This arrangement unraveled with the Christian Reconquista; tensions flared, and no faction could get along. We quickly found two things in Toledo.
We attempted to question him, to uncover from where the key came, and in where it fit, but he had no awareness. In fact, he could not even remember ever having the key, or having given it to us.
The second came in similar fashion. A smith handed us a gorgeous dagger, a blade of Toledo steel. He told us that the key would plunge into the heart of darkness, and the dagger would open the door.
Again, he did not know anything else that could help us. We toiled for nearly another month, actively pursuing our next lead. We had these tools, but could not tell where they were to be used. Some of our number fled the party.
Not many, but our. Discouraged, we followed the first potential lead. That lead came in the form of a dream. Our Malkavian, Catherine, told us to move west to the ocean.
She said the red light rises in the east and sets in the west. She said tonight, whatever tonight means, we must travel and follow the falling star.
Hungry for the road, we rode on. Addenda: My friend Tremere on our travels tells us that there is no organization of Jewish Tremere.
No formally organized cabal exists, and in the time period recognized, the Tremere did not exist properly in that region. He suggests that our Assamite friend may have referenced one of the many Tremori cults, some of which took refuge in the nascent clan.
Entry 8: Lisbon, November The strangest thing occurred last night. We set out on our road westward from Toledo. We bedded down before the first dawn. When we rose at dusk, we were but an hour from Lisbon. Where were we that night?
How did we travel so rapidly? What of our mysterious patron? Did our patron help us in our journey? I cannot answer these questions. We still have not fed on the blood of the living. Some of us lament the loss, and speak of how we miss the taste, the connection. Does this travel peculiarity truly matter? We do not know.
But it certainly affects us, and our morale. We cling together. This is not out of any particular prejudice, but how could the locals understand us? As we combed through the tunnels in that hill, we saw shadows.
We saw dozens of shadows, which scampered through the halls. Even the quickest of our number could not catch these shades; they would give us no answers. But what they did give us was a massacre. We followed them to an antechamber which had no fewer than three dozen bodies, each rent the way you might expect from a pack of wolves. Our hunger drove us to investigate, and we saw signs of the Ghrian. We saw coinage from Toulouse. We saw feathers we recognized from the church there.
Amidst the brutality, we found a writ of command from a Bishop in Cordoba. If this Bishop was truly a church official, this puts the Ghrian in some peripheral involvement with the church.
We decided to put aside our concerns about the rapid travel, and move on toward Cordoba. Entry 9: Cordoba, December We made our way to Cordoba. The trip was mostly uneventful. While we traveled, our Malkavians and Toreador swore they saw eyes on us, from the distance, from the wooded depths.
We investigated, sending scouts out in every direction, but came up with nothing substantial. We found tracks for that to be Lupine, but are somewhat smaller than any of us are used to. Vaguely animalistic, with claws, but barely human size, let alone larger. The city, freshly conquered as part of the Reconquista, was a hotbed of faith. Everywhere we looked, we found new churches built. The city had more than enough for its present population; we expect that they seek to expand and maintain a stranglehold on their Christianity.
However, these churches gave us something to look into. Many of the buildings were in use, despite being currently under construction. We learned from our time in London. We briefly took roots in the city, finding connections, and charming the locals. We made the city work for us, in seeking out our prey. Just under a fortnight has passed, and we have found our mark.
We have received numerous, simultaneous reports of one certain church with a growing army. However, the reports wildly varied in their numbers. All reports have him a beautiful man. Some reports say he is old, some young, some clean, some filthy. One report, the one we worry most about, speaks of his sunlight-golden eyes. We hoped to plan a greater siege, a starvation game, but the rumors speak of the church moving on to the next city, to Granada.
Their plan is to move within the week, and thus, we will mount an assault to start the next sundown. Entry 10 Addendum: Cordoba, December … I wrote this entry, but I cannot remember writing this entry, or what it contained.
I see the faint scrawlings on the next sheet of paper, and they do not match my Entry 9. Again, we know not how we arrived in the fair city. Before I speak of our time in Granada, I wish to compile my understanding of our time in Cordoba, after Entry 9. Our plan included a thorough attack from ambush, using our Nosferatu and Assamite members to great effect, following with our other members immediately.
Our plan was to overwhelm, and to take key hostages for information. Not a one of us remembers the night after. However, as we sit in Granada, near the beautiful Alhambra fortress, we assess our situation. Many of our supplies show traces of blood. We all wear different clothing from when we last remember. Many of our weapons are missing; some are broken and show intense wear. Oddly as well, our mouths, our fangs, our lips show stains of blood. Our bellies feel full, very full.
But what does this mean? Have we strayed from our voyage? Tomorrow, we search Granada. We cannot work with assumptions. The mission must come first. Entry Granada, January After our investigation into the matter of our missing time, we discovered that nearly a month had passed since our last known night in Cordoba. Much of that could be accounted for in travel — although who knows, considering our mysterious journey between Toledo and Lisbon.
It feels as if we know less of our mission now than before we began. Granada offered a beautiful backdrop for our meticulous search. Our next clue came from an odd source; our resident Malkavian found a lamp in the marketplace.
The lamp spoke to our camp, and something incomprehensible manifested from it. I could try to describe it, but my words would betray the experience. It looked… like an epiphany.
It looked like understanding, wisdom, and knowledge. It looked like so many things that have no look whatsoever. But let me not dwell on description. What it said was much more important. It told us it was just another resident of the dark city, and that it fled. It told us that many attempted escape, but it knows of none other which survived.
It told us that the city entrance moves frequently, but that it could help to guide us. It told us it would only appear to us again in the shadows, but that our navigator would forever hear its advice. It helped our navigator, perchance coincidentally our Malkavian, telling him where to go through strange, riddle-like suggestions. Please indulge me. I should add that I sleep a dreamless daysleep.
An ally of mine among the Tremere speaks of one very vivid dream of an Earth with two moons. He dreams it at least once per month. I do not dream. But I dreamt. I dreamt of a lovely field, a grove of fruit trees.
I dreamt of a figure, sometimes man, sometimes woman. It was cloaked in moonlight pulled tight against otherwise naked flesh. It held me like a lover, and I swooned with its finger between my teeth. I felt vulnerable and helpless, but warm within its arms.
It then hummed a song incomprehensible, full of words in a language I could not hope to understand. Not once, not in its whisper, not in its song, did its lips move. It held me, and I had no hope but to remain in its arms.
I felt a fear of the unknown, a fear of the outside. Its arms were my only respite. And in this dream, the sun rose on this bountiful grove. The sun shocked my eyes briefly, but then the figure wrapped me in glorious wings. These were wings not of feather, of flesh, or of bone. These were wings crafted of the starry sky. I knew I was protected by this darkness. I yawned like a babe, and the figure finally opened its mouth. It leaned over me as I sat cradled, and it spewed from its gullet a strange fluid into my mouth the way a mother bird might her young.
I took down what I could, but gagged on the excess. The figure closed our distance into a flooded kiss, forcing the mixture down my throat. While this would seem frightening and stifling, I found this nourishment oddly comforting. Then, I saw into its eyes. Its eyes were nothing, nothing at all.
Not even the blackness of Lasombra blood. This was truly a void. As I looked, my mouth still sprayed with what it pushed between our lips, every bit of me began to pull into its eyes. First my flesh tugged from muscle. Then my eyes snapped from my face. Not once, not once at all, did I feel afraid. I pray that I wanted it more. I woke asking myself how I could have that, outside my bastard dreams. Our clue, our lead this time, came in the form of a story.
Not quite as peculiar as my dream, but none the less interesting. He owned most of the surrounding region, and gave lease to lesser farmers in his periphery. At the event, a traveled trobairitz entertained with tales of her time on the road. She came from the northeast, from Marseilles and Paris. She told a tale she said is sweeping the countryside. She told us of a flock of pale riders, of gaunt hunters from the British Isles. Cheeky and subtle in her telling, she hinted that we could be mistaken for the very flock.
We exchanged glances throughout, and later blood. Her story said this flock represented a premature Armageddon. Marcus Verus, the vampiric Prince of Chester, secretly prepares to go into torpor. Should his plans be made public, the Prince knows the wolves — both real and imagined — would launch an attack, threatening all within his domain. That's where you come in.
Legacy of Lies includes: Basic rules for players V20 Dark Ages Companion Travel the long roads and deep seas in search of power and experience danger, or tackle the wilderness to hunt monsters and face death. Settlements large and small dot the black expanse with the promise of sanctuary, life, and community. These bastions of civilization present cold comfort, when playing host to vampire warlords and sadistic Cainite faiths. Whether led by a Prince, a coordinated belief, But the truly wondrous, truly frightening truths require you look deeper.
That you delve in long, lost places. These, my friend, are those long, lost places. Patricide looms. Young powers look up the ladder to the next rungs, and see stagnation and hypocrisy. They see targets. When they look down, they see humanity. They see a power that could change everything. They see mortals organizing into universities and empires.
In the mortal world of , power shifted at the rate an army marched. For the undead, The Mongol army crushed Baghdad, then Russia under its heel, then moved on to devastate Poland and Hungary.
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