Have you ever wondered, dear reader, if any of this is real? The food that you eat, the drinks that you drink, the drugs that you do, the people that you fuck… the ones that you obey? Those who rule you. Are they real? Is any of this real?
You will say "but of course is real". What makes you think it is? Because you read about it online? Or watching a video on YouTube? You watch a documentary on Discovery Channel and then you say "I know history". If I say Titanic, would the ship come into your mind first or that filthy little snotfest of a movie? If I say the First Balkan War? But what if I say… Romanov?
The year 1912 was a tumultuous year for Europe. The Titanic sank, taking with it underwater more than 1500 people, the First Balkan War erupted and ended, for a while, and each major power in the Old World was vying for control over the fate of the continent. One such power was of course, Russia.
Under the Romanov dynasty, the Russian Empire developed tremendously, becoming one of the leading forces in that part of the world. It was the family that gave the world religious leaders like Filaret, rulers like Peter the Great and beautiful princesses that married in some of the most important royal families in Europe, solidifying alliances between the great powers of this great continent. The following year, 1913, would mark the 300th anniversary of the installation of this noble house on the Russian throne. But let us remain in 1912 for a while, for this year was very important for our story and for the future of Russia and of Europe.
On April 17, 1912, the Lena Massacre happened. The Imperial Army shot hundreds of gold miners in northeastern Siberia, causing a large increase of revolutionary sentiment, a spark that ignited the whole powder keg that was Russia at the time. Human historians will say that worker strikes gone wrong or a trigger-happy captain whose forces then slaughtered the protesters caused this massacre. But we know better. Who are we, might you ask? Well… if you are one of us, you surely know who we are. If not and you happened upon this manuscript by mistake, you can stop reading it or continue to explore it and glimpse, for a while, upon the truth, a truth that for a century was covered in so many lies, this truth that is our cross to bear and our pain to endure.
The world is not black and white, that is for sure. Not for humans and, of course, not for us. Especially not for us. Those who share in our curse know that and, at some point, they choose: either make this world whiter or blacker, never black or white. Grey exists in our lives and is part of them just as the sky is part of our world. Yet, there is another color that looms over us: red. The color of blood. Yes, my dear reader, we are the Children of Caine. If you are one of us, surely the term means something to you but if not, well, prepare to be shocked. We are vampires. Yes, you read that correctly. We are vampires, immortal blood drinkers of great power who descended from the first murderer, Adam and Eve's son, Caine. Or at least, that is what the Book of Nod tells us. No one knows for sure and I will not debate that in this manuscript. Let us return to Russia and the year 1912.
In 1912, at Sankt Petersburg, various factions were prepared for a palace conflict that seemed inevitable, especially after the massacre. These factions were not just of humans but factions of Cainites as well. I will not say too much about our kind's organization but know this: there are many clans of vampires and each of them fights for control. In Russia, at that time, three clans rose above the other undead: the Tzimisce, fleshcrafters who claimed to rule the entire Eastern Europe, the Ventrue, kingly and noble and the Brujah, rabble-rousers and revolutionaries. I spoke about Peter the Great earlier. Well, it was due to him that the Cainite society in Russia was so… diverse. Before his rule and the ideas he brought to the table, Russia was ruled by the Tzimisce, or… so they believed. I always thought that someone else pulled their strings, a shadowy puppeteer that had its hand in everything that happened in this country. But that is a story for another day. See how easily we digress? There is so much more than meets the eye in our world. Under Peter the Great, trade with the western Europe flourished and with it, immigrants came, mortal or otherwise. Of course, wherever they go, the Children of Caine involve themselves into that country's politics, creating tight systems that are so intertwined with the mortal ones that it's almost impossible to differentiate them. Russia was not an exception.
To better understand 1912, you must first understand a bit of the history of the Cainites in Russia. Before Peter, some Brujah, helped by the chaos caused by the whole False Dmitri situation, converted to Orthodoxy and infiltrated the Church, driving it to reform (while alienating those who refused such reforms, leading them to call themselves Old Believers, with many of them leaving Russia for fear of persecution). It might be amusing to a Cainite that the Brujah would involve themselves with a church as conservative as the Orthodox Church in Russia but you know the saying: even the devil will quote scripture to fulfil his purposes and what are the Brujah if not devils? Filaret's closest advisor was a rabble-rouser by the name of Vasili Rublev who was none other than the Promethean Lisander Sivili. You see, Filaret was a Romanov, the founder of the house even, a prince of noble blood who was forced to enter the church by Boris Godunov in 1601, alongside his wife who became a nun. You can easily realize that in the prince-turned-monk still lied the desire for power and after his son Michael became Tsar, he became Patriarch in 1619. He wanted to be remembered as a reformer and as a great man and the Brujah were more than happy to acquiesce. Their power of Presence and their manipulation served the new Patriarch well in imposing his church reforms. What did the Brujah gained? Well… what they always wanted: power over the masses.
The Orthodox Church was the most powerful institution in Russia at the time of the rise of Romanov and only a fool would not want to take part in that. The Brujah, fiery and devilish as they are, are no fools. We had a saying in the old country: Only a Brujah who found God is more dangerous than a godless Brujah. Even though Peter the Great decrease some of the priesthood's power, the Church still remained strong, influenced in no small part by the machinations of the Brujah.
Let us turn to the Ventrue now. The Kingly Clan, however, were not interested in the rigid Orthodox religion, even though they valued it as a tool for manipulation just as their Brujah counterparts. As in the West, the Ventrue were far more interested in acquiring worldly power and money. They infiltrated the financial systems, Ghouling taxmen and the greatest financial advisors to the Tsar. Slowly, the economy of Russia increased and stabilized, all of it under the eye of Clan Ventrue. The Tzimisce were not happy with this, of course, but recognizing the benefits of progress, they made peace with the Ventrue. For their "neighborly" behavior, the Tzimisce were rewarded with great amounts of money, serfs and strange artifacts.
One of the major contributions of the Ventrue in the Petrine era was the creation of a Senate. It basically killed the influence of the boyars (many of them who were servants of the Tzimisce, knowingly or unknowingly) and led to a more Westernized form of rule. It was said that this idea was planted in the Tsar's head by Alexey Makarovski, a Ventrue who was known before arriving in Russia as Livius Adrianus, a fifth generation Cainite. You may notice a pattern: newly arrived vampires took Russian names. Of course, the Tsar wouldn't trust a man named Livius Adrianus, would he? But Alexey Makarovski was a Russian, a man whom Peter the Great appreciated, even if it was in secret. You see, Cainites are not bombastic courtiers but subtle influencers. Makarovski couldn't expose himself to the court because that would have meant his doom, for a man who comes out only at night is prone to many suspicions in a superstitious society as Tsarist Russia.
Now, back to 1912. Two hundred ninety-nine years of Romanov rule, soon to be three hundred. On September 5, 1912, the Tsesarevich (heir apparent) Alexei fell during a holiday and hit his leg. Now, why would such an event bring so much suffering to so many? Well, Alexei was a hemophiliac. He had a curse of his own, not unlike ours, for blood was his pain too. This curse was given to him through his mother's blood by that damnable harridan Queen Victoria, who infested half the European royal families with that filth. Needless to say, that fall caused bleeding and soon after, the young boy was agonizing.
Alexei was beloved by the people and was viewed as the savior of a dynasty that was slowly but surely crumbling. Ever since his birth on August 12, 1904, following four daughters, his mere presence in the world brought renewed hope in the hearts of the people. The boy's injury was not broadcasted to the larger populace at that time but it was known only by few that were close to the Imperial family. That is where I come in. Oh, I haven't introduced myself! My name before arriving to Russia was Aetius, then Daniel, then Francois. In Russia, I was known as Dmitri. I am of clan Malkavian. Yes, yes, stop laughing. I am truly a Malkavian, and a powerful one, mind you, but this book is not about me. It's about our efforts to save the world. On the night of October 7, I was visited by Roman Tzikov, a Bulgarian scribe, at my house in Sankt Petersburg. A boon of my blood, among so many curses, is that I have a perfect memory so what I'm going to tell you is exactly what happened. Tzikov knew what I was for he himself was a Ghoul to the Ventrue princess of Sankt Petersburg, one Anya Dyomin.
"I bring you dire news", he said to me, his voice grave. "The Tsesarevich is dying."
Were I alive, my heart would have pounded. Not with pain or fear, mind you, but with anger. I didn't even ask what happened, for I knew exactly what happened. We Malkavians had no major presence in the mainstream vampiric movement in Russia during these years so individuals such as me were usually attached to one of the three, Brujah, Ventrue or Tzimisce. I had contact with all three and I was neutral. This allowed me to participate in many of their private meetings. All across the board, everyone said the same: Alix of Hesse has no business marrying Grand Duke Nicholas. Everyone with eyes to see and minds to think knew that. Her uncle died of hemophilia, his brother doing the same. Victoria's curse raged loud and proud in her and we did not need to have a bearer of that curse as emperor someday. Alas, the plans of mice and men, as they say… Despite our interventions, Nicholas married her.
Medicine did not understand this disease at the time. We knew not of the fact that the disease was a byproduct of a lack of protein necessary for coagulation in the blood and blood transfusions were not a thing back then. I know what you might be thinking: how can experts in blood could not know? Well, we are experts in drinking blood, not studying blood. Besides, the blood of a hemophiliac tastes no different than the one of a normal human. Of course, no cure was known. You realize now how problematic was the situation. Let us return to Roman Tzikov and that fateful night.
"A telegram came from Spala. It happened a month ago. He fell and he bled. Now, that wound opened and…"
Tzikov was nervous. Now, you might wonder why a Ghoul would be so affected by it. We all were affected, humans or Cainite. Except the Brujah, damned for all existence be them.
"Who is there with him?"
"You mean… one of you?"
"One of us, one of you, matters not. Is there anyone?"
"No."
I wanted to kill Tzikov at that moment. I felt that rush coming inside me, lifting me up towards the point of no return. But I calmed. Outside, rain started pouring, as if the sky itself cried for the little prince. I wanted to transform into a bird, to fly far, far away in the rain to where he was, to heal him. But… I couldn't and those who could, were far, far away too. Many believed them dead, killed by the Tremere but I knew better. If he died, our great work would have been ruined forever. Tzikov asked me if I was alright.
"No, I am not."
How could I be? Spala was a village in Poland where the Tsar owned a hunting lodge and the Polish Cainites would have finished the little prince, as an act of retribution, for the wars between Poland and Russia were still fresh in their minds. I sent Roman Tzikov away and, then, I left too. I fed on a young man that was walking on the Neva's boardwalk. That calmed me down for a bit but soon, I overheard some drunks talking about the prince. Despite having pitched myself as having a perfect memory, to my eternal shame, I can't remember what they said. Did they say "the prince was sick"? Did they say "the prince is dead"? All in all, I couldn't bear it to hear anymore and I slew the two drunks, draining them of their vitae. No matter how much I drank, nothing could calm me. Then, I realized that was not a frenzy but… the other dark Beast in me. You see, we Cainites have a Beast inside, one that is raving and roaring if it doesn't get blood. Malkavians, however, have a second Beast, the beast of madness. Some are raving paranoids, other artistic schizophrenics while others psychopathic killers, pedophiles and rapists. I am what many of my adopted countrymen are… I am a fanatic but unlike them, I am not a fanatic for God. I am a fanatic for kings. Weird, isn't it. But let me explain: I am very old and I come from a time when kings and emperors were worshipped as gods. The idea of a great and just leader was the lynchpin of every successful nation. Look at Alexander the Great, whose mother was one of our Malkavian blood and now graces the pages of the Camarilla's Red List as anathema. Look at Leonidas of Sparta. Look at the Sun King Louis. All great men who ruled their country anointed by their gods, born to rule, not chosen by the filthy, unwashed, uneducated human masses. In their blood lied greatness just as it lied in Alexei Nikolayevich. His father was weak, indecisive and plagued with doubts but the son… was kind, good-natured and showed promising signs of becoming a great ruler. But I digress again…
On October 10, a solar eclipse was reported from South America. In the meantime, Sankt Petersburg was almost in mourning. The newspapers informed the filthy populace that the prince received the last sacrament. An entire city was in the streets, praying for the Tsesarevich. What a gathering of fools. How can prayer heal what the best minds of medicine can't? Would the prince's light darken as the sun darkened that day in Brazil and Ecuador? On the 12th, however, the first good news came from Spala. The prince was feeling better. Who healed him? Was it a human doctor? A Salubri that hoped to be hidden in Russia in exchange for his deed? A Tremere that wanted to bring his clan in the country? The truth was far, far worse. You see, dear reader, if a human doctor cured His Highness, he would have received an inhuman amount of money and he would have been sent back from where he came, or be given a position at the court while a Salubri would have been rewarded by the monarchist vampires who wouldn't mind protecting a Unicorn from the Tremere. But the… creature that defiled the prince was no man and no Cainite. It was something else. History remembers it as Grigori Rasputin. I remember it as the Defiler, for I am the one who eventually killed it.