We know the serpent as of old; the cracked papyrus tomb

Disclaimer: Yes, I know I don't own any of this. I play, though – quite regularly. As a matter of fact, I should be getting down there… But anyway. I'm very proud of this poem – it took me a long time to write. You can borrow it, if you want – just ask me first, please.

Induction of Thirteen

We stalk the hills the sidhe have fled, their treasures free for all

The scraps of shrouds our fathers tore; their fangs were fast to fall.

So dine with them in revelry, or dance in the Great Game

But childe, don't ever, ever let them know your secret name.

OOO

Oh, gold and gems and scepter rings; a lesson here to learn

The more they own, the more they thirst – nay, more then long for, burn.

Their glory's in the crown and throne; the coffers theirs to fill –

But childe, don't ever dance unto 'his lordship's' poisoned will.

OOO

The shadows are our eldest friend; theirs is the sweetest song

Of power and pride and briny coast, the Abyss swelling strong

The noonday night; the emptiness the stars once sang awake -

Don't ever tread the boundaries that the shadow-dwellers break.

OOO

Oh, rats and rust and hoarded rot – the refuse of our kind.

The thorny strings the lepers wield; the restless eye and blind.

Their worth is in the wonder that their horror can't chase away –

Don't dare to judge by what they are, or by what others say.

OOO

The poet-kinds of deadened years remember Carthage well;

The standard bright of reddened white; they fought and fed and fell.

Their memories stretch vast and deep; they fight, but not to win

But childe, don't ever dare insult the honor of their kin.

OOO

Steel and smoke and dusty sky – the ashen taste of fear

The shadow that slides through the sky, its deadly purpose clear.

Their passion lies within the vein, they know not mercy sweet

Oh childe, don't ever find yourself the quarry that they seek.

OOO

The graveyard is a second home; it holds the sweetest sleep

But every crypt and yawning ditch their gristly secrets keep.

The ravaged mien, the scalpel keen to pierce the shrouded lands -

Oh childe, don't ever find yourself within the seekers' hands.

OOO

There's power in the sculpted hand, the modulated voice

The painted dancers on the stage who dream they have a choice.

Your muse will grant you wonders that the world would weep to see –

But childe, don't dare mistake it for the truth of breathing free.

OOO

Blood and flail and polished bone – an honor chill and grim

The very strands of life are theirs, to warp and twist and dim.

The lords who dwell without the yard; the screams shall match the sky

Don't cross the voivode, my dove – they will not let you die.

OOO

The mirror is shattered past recall; the shards burn clear and bright

As brilliant as the gibbous moon, where fools draw down the Sight.

They see the Truth behind the lie, the scope of all the Game –

Don't traffic in the secrets bartered thus by the insane.

OOO

A hound shall bell throughout the night; the wolf bites back its cry

A glimpse of eyes; a flash of fang – a hunt that's yet to die.

The silent pact of savagery shall leave them less then whole;

Don't bargain with the Beast, my love, on peril of your soul.

OOO

We know the serpent as of old; the cracked papyrus tomb

They hoard their twisted secrets in the dank and mottled gloom.

Their tongues pour honeyed venom; theirs a god that never fell

Be cautious in your dealings; there is nothing they won't sell.

OOO

I've walked this wide old world a spell; I know each secret way

Past every street and crossroad grand where midnight's children play.

Oh, lock him in a coffin deep with forty silver locks;

But childe, don't ever, ever, ever dare to trust a fox.

In order of appearance: Tremere. Ventrue. Lasombra. Nosferatu. Brujah. Assasmite. Cappadocian/Giovanni. Toreador. Tzimisce. Malkavian. Gangrel. Setite. Ravnos.