Name: Syrus Moretti
Brithplace: Genoa, Italy
Clan: Cappadocian
Apparent Age: 42
Born: 1074
Ghouled: 1116
Embraced: 1158
Generation: 10th
Syrus crept up upon the woman. She was standing alone, near a quiet,
unoccupied building in a village near the outskirts of Venice.
He had walked for many hours, seeking to find her. Not her specifically ...
as far as he could tell. But to find HER, the one who had haunted his dreams
all these years. Maybe she would be the one.
He brought the cord around her neck in a flash. While what he was doing was
as vile as any act imaginable ... he hated to think she might suffer in the
process. He could not bear to cause her pain, not again.
Suddenly, with a deft move, she burst free. Syrus was at once terrified;
all of his victims had stuggled, if only for a moment. But none had had the
strength to break free; she had done it efortlessly. He held his ground tenuously,
torn between whether he should renew his attack or flee before she saw his
face. At once, his indecision was moot; she grabbed him by the throat, a
look of visciousness replacing her previously fair countenance.
"Whoever sent you," she said with a sneer, "Chose their assassin poorly."
"What...?" Syrus gasped desperately, barely louder than a whisper over the
iron grip she had over his throat. His reaction seemed to confuse his would-be
victim, and for a moment her hold loosened. He felt his opportunity and suggenly
wriggled free, beginning to take off in a full-out sprint.
And at once, he was halted. His body suddenly ... froze, stiffened like he
was paralyzed. Was he dying? Had she stabbed him in the back? Broken his
neck? He felt that he was standing upright, but just couldn't move anymore.
"Nobody sent you...?" She asked, so briskly that it was mostly rhetorical.
"Then why did you attack me?"
He had told noone of his sins. A forced confession like this, humiliated
like this. "I ... I just wanted to know. What it would ... be like," he settled
on. His answer was deliberately vague, and only half-true. He had not the
time to construct a better lie.
She looked upon him quizzically. "Curious? About death?" She said, a tone
of intrigue filling her voice. "We have a bit in common, it seems. Have you
done this before?"
"No!" Syrus retorted.
A look of anger flushed over her face. She drew a dagger and pointed it at
Syrus' face. "It pains me when I am lied to," ahe said, "and so it shall
pain you as well." She fiercely dug the dagger into his cheek, causing Syrus
to cry out in agony. "Three times!" he protested. "You'd have been the fourth"
"Good," she said. "Then you're not adverse to unpleasant tasks. Perhaps if
you're willing to perform such a task or two for me, I'll refrain from doing
unto you as you'd have done to me. But first, a small measure to ensure you're
more honest with me in the future. And with that, she took her dagger and
cut the palm of her hand.
Syrus spent many years in the service of his master, whose name was Carina.
She told him who and what she was, and introduced him to her other two ghouls.
As it turned out, the other two had been chosen for service under unusual
circumstances as well, though none with quite the ironic flair of his "chance
encounter" with her. She taught him a bit about the history of her kind,
and specifically of her clan - Clan Cappadocian.
And indeed, his chores to her were unpleasant. For the most part, his tasks
were menial; maintainance, keeping up her Venice household during the daytime.
But several times, he had to kill for her. As there was often one of Carina's
other ghouls present, he could not even seek the answer to his own questions.
The targets were generally male, anyway.
One night, when Carina was elswhere on business which he ghouls could not
attend, Syrus chose to wander on his own. While his bond to Carina supplanted
his own burning desires to some extent, the mystery was never far from his
mind. He wondered if he'd ever have another chance to feel again, the way
he had felt that day in Jerusalem.
Suddenly, an ashen-faced man appeared in front of him, seemingly out of nowhere.
He glared at Syrus in a way that frightened him like he'd never been frightened
before. "I've been looking for you for quite some time," the man told him,
with an accent he could not quite identify. "Who are you?" Syrus replied.
"Nobody you would recognize," the man said. "But we share one thing. You
remember HER, right?"
Syrus could not speak. "Did you know her name? It was Nura," the stranger
said. "Do you still hear her voice? Did her cries of pain, of terror please
you?" Syrus began to cry. How could he know this? "Who are you?" Syrus asked
a second time, pitifully. The man just smiled. "You're on the verge of coming
full circle," he said. "It's time for you to come with me." He advanced toward
Syrus.
Syrus tried to draw his dagger, but the man was upon him more quickly than
he expected. In a bit of fortuitous clumsiness, he pulled out his crucifix
instead of his dagger. While he thought for a second the error would be the
death of him, the stanger suddenly staggered and stepped back.
Could it be the crucifix? Hadn't Carina said that such a thing was a myth,
that vampires were not actually affected by such things? Syrus was not one
to question what his eyes told him. He held the crucifix up high, watching
in puzzlement as the intruding Cainite winced at its sight. "This is monumentally
unfortunate for both of us," he said to Syrus. "Perhaps you still have a
few things to learn. I'll teach them to you yet." and with that, the stranger
simply vanished.
Syrus told Carina the story of what had happened upon her return. She was
visibly fascinated. "I didn't know you were a person of such faith," she
said.
"I'm not really, not anymore. I was a part of the First Crusade. I was there
when the Christians reclaimed Jerusalem. That was when-" Syrus stopped abruptly.
"What?" Carina asked. Syrus could not deny his master ... but if she knew
everything, surely she'd loathe him. "That was ... that was the first time.
That I ... killed ... a woman." he stammered. She could tell when he was
lying. Could she sense a half-truth?
She paused thoughtfully. "The vampire you described. Much of his skill and
appearance resemble that of Clan Assamite," she said. "But his ability to
recount your sins, and his revulsion to your holy symbol..." Carina looked
concerned. "I think, Syrus, that you should leave Venice."
Leave Venice? "You want me to leave?" Syrus asked. "But I don't want to leave
you!" She smiled at her thrall. "You have things to learn, and I am not a
very patient teacher. You seek answers to the mystery. There is a better
place for you. I have contacts in Genoa that are looking for someone like
yourself."
"Genoa?" Syrus said. "I was born there. I lived there until I left for the
Crusade."
"Truly? Better still," Carina said. "I will write you a letter, which you
will take to Father Joseph in Genoa. He is somewhat akin to a brother to
me. Leave in the morning, and proceed to his church without delay." Syrus
began to protest, but Carina silenced him quickly. "I've made my decision,"
she told him bluntly. "You'll understand someday it was for the best."
The trip was neither long nor difficult, but for the pain of leaving his
regnant behind troubled him. Worse was the fact that the second woman he
had killed had been in Genoa, which was much of the reason he left his hometown.
She hadn't made him feel the way that ... Nura? Was that really her name?
... had made her feel. The way he took her, violated her, and slew her. The
high that, in spite of his efforts, he could not duplicate.
He arrived as promised, at the church of Father Francis Joseph. A church
under the control of a vampire ... if he were the man of faith he'd been
in his younger years, Syrus would be horrified by the notion. He arrived
and met with the priest.
The letter troubled Father Joseph greatly. He was silent for what seemed
an eternity, before he finally turned to Syrus and spoke. "Carina belives
you should be made a neonate of our clan," he said. "That you are one who
seeks to solve the mysteries of life and death, like the proginators of our
clan." Syrus was shocked. Carina had thought he was worthy of joining them?
She'd seldom praised him at all, let alone looked upon him as an equal. And
a vampire? The idea, while it had crossed his mind, frightened him. He had
fallen from grace far enough as it was; would he turn from God entirely?
"It is uncommon to bestow the embrace upon one who has served as a ghoul,"
Joseph continued. "But I trust my sister's judgement. Will you serve Clan
Cappadocian? Will you seek to become closer to God, and continue to seek
answers to life's questions?"
On this, Syrus knew his calling. "I will," he replied.
"Very well." the priest bared his fangs. "Are you familiar with our clan's
customs for fledgelings?" Syrus was worried suddenly. "No," he answered.
"Good," the priest said. And in a second, Syrus' mortal life was over.
Buried in the catacombs of the church, Syrus had time to think over his condition
upon awaking. As soon as he realized where he was and what the purpose of
his condition was, his fear gave way to introspection. And he was soon thereafter
overwhelmed by guilt. How much of his own driving cause was simple, animalistic
predation? For the first time, he felt true shame and remorse for violating
the innocent girl.
And Carina! He'd planned the same thing for her. The vulgarness of the idea
shook him like it never had before, and he resolved to prove himself. Prove
himself to her. Prove himself to his clan. He would attone for his sins,
he would become - ironically - less of a beast in death than he was in life.
And all at once, he felt a great sense of unease about Carina. The love he
felt for her was at once numbed. What was happening to him? Were his emotions
dying as surely as his flesh? He was deeply disturbed by his sudden loss
of feeling for his regnant. Much of what remained of his first night was
spent pondering this.
The trial of his first night now complete, Father Joseph helped Syrus sate
his thirst and explained much to him. Many were things Carina had already
taught him, though many more were things that had been unlear before. Carina's
description of Joseph as a great teacher were accurate, though he seemed
terribly distant.
On his fourth night, Syrus could not avoid asking about it any longer. "Father,"
he said. "I was bound to Carina for many years. When I was contemplating
on my first night, I suddenly lost all feeling for her. I thought that the
bond of blood was eternal. How could it have left me?"
Tears welled up in Joseph's eyes. "By no failing of your own, childe," he
said. "While you slept in the catacombs, the home of my sister was attacked.
Carina and her ghouls were slaughtered by an unknown foe. Thus is your bond
to her broken."
Syrus was utterly at a loss for words. His expression was blank, the feeling
of loss in his heart was palpable. "Either your departure from that place
was a blessing or a curse. Let us hope, for the sake of both of us, that
it was the former."
