Giovanni: The Last Supper

 The vampires of Clan Brujah were once scholars and seekers of wisdom.

They inspired the glory of ancient Carthage, a mighty city where mortals and vampires lived together in peace. However, Ventrue treachery and the armies of ancient Rome laid Carthage low and forever shattered the Brujah clan. Over the years, internal divides have shaken Clan Brujah to its core, changing the clan’s nature from stoic philosopher to passionate warrior. The Brujah are no longer the creatures they were in Carthage.

As the Renaissance dawns, the Clan is divided in those few who lived true to their legacy as the Learned Clan, and the rest who are mere troublemakers and criminals in the eyes of the wider vampiric world, as many neonates begin to chafe against the oppressive and stagnant politic of their elders.

The closeness of the clan to mortal passions has brought forth the best and the worst of the Age within the clan. Some younger Brujah have started to regard themselves as the downtrodden of vampiric society, not unlike the peasants beneath the mortal lords, and these rebels want to change this through revolution. As kine philosophies, religions and ideas multiply, proliferate and die, the clan becomes more divided as to what should be done to make the world right — and even as to what that right should be. Many of the younger members of the clan no longer heed the wisdom of their elders. Their blood calls to them to do something now, not watch and observe for a few centuries until the patterns of society become apparent to them. The elders merely shake their heads and recall the misjudged dreams of their own youth.

Some Brujah follow the great philosophies and religions of the past, while others adopt new faiths and ideals with equal vigour and convince themselves that the salvation of the fallen world lies there. Some even jump from idea to idea in search of the one that fires their imagination and drives them toward a better world. All of them pursue their ideals with ferocious passion and commitment that would put a hardened crusader to shame.

Few Brujah have any matters that unite them across boundaries either geographical or social. Most are content to pursue their own affairs or pet causes, and these often occupy a significant amount of the Brujah's free time. The Brujah are warriors — but always warriors for a cause. The fierce heat of passion burns within their cold, dead breasts and it drives them to champion causes that they believe can set the world to rights. When Caine slew his bother, he threw the world from its intended course. The horror that it has become must be corrected, and the Brujah intend to do just that. Each member of the clan has her own vision of the way the world should be, and she strives to make that vision become a reality through argument, manipulation and force of arms.

The Brujah have not yet fallen, though they teeter on the edge if the words of their wariest elders are to be believed.

In the past, the Brujah claimed a legacy of wisdom to temper their passion, taking up causes that echoed the still-burning fires in their dead hearts. Tonight, however, the Brujah sicken with a malady of soul that may prove their downfall if they are unable to heal it quickly. It is almost as if the world has changed too much for the Brujah, perhaps even leaving them behind. Tonight, elders wear under the weight of centuries of fighting for causes that advanced achingly slowly, only to be eclipsed in a few short decades by the changes wrought by the scions of the Renaissance era.

Young Brujah, without the experience of centuries to balance their ambitions, expect the ways of these tumultuous times to carry the same weight in the eyes of the other vampires. That is, so accustomed are they to the quick and radical changes of the era, they don't see how their penchant for significant change immediately alienates them not only from their own elders (whose ideas of "progressive" may still include notions of despotism), but from the more conservative members of other clans. The Brujah have rapidly faded from idealistic agents of the new era’s order to marginalised neonates and bitter elders. There are some, however, who see this new age as the hope the clan has been waiting for…

Carthage

To hear most Brujah tell it, Carthage was the next best thing to Heaven, a near-perfect recreation of their own Eden. Brujah walked side by side with mortals, and with several other clans as well - most notably the Children of Haqim. The Brujah reigned above the leaders of the kine, they protected them in exchange for regular offerings of blood, and only rarely did a mortal life actually end beneath vampire fangs. It was the single greatest success the clan ever had in their attempts to rebuild the legendary Second City where the ancients once dwelt. Carthage was undeniable proof that not only Cainites and kine, but Cainites of different bloodlines, could exist together in relative peace, overcoming the hostilities and distrust that so often seem inextricably tied to undead heritage.

This, the Brujah claim, is the paradise denied to them by the Roman Ventrue, who grew jealous of their power and their rapport with the kine, and set out to destroy all they had built. It was the Ventrue, along with their Malkavian and Toreador allies, who turned Rome against Carthage, they who corrupted some of Clan Brujah's greatest minds to debauchery and even infernalism - the blasphemous commune of vampires with demons. Worse, it was Clan Ventrue who were ultimately responsible for the death of Troile who - according, at least, to some legends, remains trapped beneath the salted earth of the battlefields around Carthage.

Outsiders such as the Ventrue have a different version, of course.

But who cares about that?

Carthage was the last time Clan Brujah had any particular center of influence. Thy scattered after that, winding up in all manner of places across Europe, the British Isles and beyond. Travel to Outremer, you will find Brujah dwelling among the Saracens in the Holy Land; to the Papal States, you will find them ensconced in the Church hierarchy, though in far fewer numbers than the Lasombra and even the Cappadocians; to Norway, you will find them side by side with the Gangrel among the pagans of the North. And, though many Cainites do not know of their presence, you will find the Brujah even in Eastern Europe (especially in the south, where they are assumed to have settled after being driven from Rome by the Ventrue in nights long past), the traditional demesne of the Tzimisce, who are now burning in their beds.

The Renaissance

The political chaos and innovation of Italian city-states attracts droves of Brujah - much to the chagrin of the Lasombra, who are used to sharing Italy with Clan Cappadocian only, and at that only Venice, and only since the introduction of the Giovanni family into the clan of death. Some Brujah supported the communes of the past, seeking to make the early governments stable and prosperous. They do work well with other vampires, at least when they get their way.

Other Brujah feel that while the city-states are a great improvement over the feudal system, that they are not yet sufficiently egalitarian; they push constantly for a perfect constitution.

The Brujah currently have no designs on the Church. If anything, they wish to keep it free from the influence of the other clans. Brujah often believe that, as the guardian of human knowledge and human spirituality (at least in this part of the world), the Church must be a willing party to any new Carthage. Vampires and mortals alike must exist together in prosperity for the Brujah idea of eden to come about, and with Christianity's current power it seems impossible this could happen without the Church's blessing.

Those of the Brujah who are not busy preparing for another Crusade in jaw-locked stress from the last, are watching the Church with some measure of respect, and especially the monasteries, for trying to keep the flame of learning alive even over the Dark Medieval world. The plague hit many monasteries, and the Brujah have become ever more protective with knowledge, throwing into the spirit of the Renaissance with an almost desperate vigour.

Clan Opinions on...

The Embrace

The Brujah look for three qualities in recruits: commitment to a cause, the intelligence to comprehend that cause and the passion needed to make it a reality. Most choose their childer from the upper echelons of society, assuming that the most capable can be found in their number. A small but significant number of the clan, however, were low-born in life but showed enough drive, belief and spirit to attract the attention of an undying Zealot. Often a sire and childe haven together, with the sire subjecting the fledgling to long periods of tuition and physical training. In recent years, small groups of young Cainites with similar beliefs have set up communal havens.

The Brujah have found so many different ideals to espouse in the Dark Medieval world that they find it increasingly hard to work together. Often a sire and her fledgling stay together for some years, with the childe acting as an apprentice to her sire. The childe usually finds her own cause and sets off alone to pursue it wherever she thinks best, rather than waiting to be formally released. In some major cities, groups of Brujah gather every few years for grand councils in which each puts forward his or her view of the world and the clan's role within it. Sometimes they achieve great things at these councils, and a great and passionate speaker wins over many of her fellows to a particular cause. More often than not, though, they become week-long exercises in circular debates and all-out conflict.

The Auction

The oldest amongst this divided clan will no doubt have researched the Black Sun with the same ravenous zeal usually expected of clans such as the Cappadocians, so will be approaching the auction with inquisitive minds. What could these affected humans mean for the future of Cainites - and indeed all of Europe? Are they merely the first of many powerful humans? This could even be a product of God striving to restore balance and give his children weapons against the damned? Or perhaps it is something darker still gifting them to the damned…? Given so many of the Black Sun children have already been killed, such a thing has already been wasted by other more scared mortals.

Brujah of the scholarly persuasion will certainly look to mortal known as the Apprentice as a promising Embrace prospect. The younger or more fractious members of the clan might be drawn to the Fury - truly an effective tool to shatter the façade of dignified order within the Elders. In secret, the most revolutionary souls might look to steal the Bond-Breaker from those who might fear it's potential, though such an Embrace might have to be followed with extreme caution.

How The Mighty Are Falling

The Brujah are of the High Clans, the first cursed, the elite of Caine's people. Why, then, do they seem to hold less and less power as the nights go by? Why are Brujah Princes suddenly worthy of note, rather than simply an assumed fact of Cainite society? Why do many of their childer - far more than any outside the clan, or even within, realise - break from the old ways and rebel against the elders?

The truth, though few admit it, is that the Brujah are slipping. They have already begun a slow but steady decline that might eventually lead them from Zealots to Rabble, from respected leaders and old philosophers to just more mouths among the masses. Few of their elders see it, or they do not acknowledge it if they do. It is a rare (but increasingly valuable) Brujah elder who not only recognises this plight, but aims to do something about it. For these ancient scholars, just perhaps, the Black Dawn represents the sign they have been waiting for - and new blood to reinvigorate their clan.

Profane Rebirth

A cornucopia of scents greets you as you stand statuesque on the balcony overlooking colourful streets below. Some - the tantalising scent of braised meats and richly sweetened baked goods - are lost on you. No matter how delicious, food no longer tempts you, a fact that was one of the more difficult to process. You miss the simple privilege of longing for your favourite dishes, or those that bring back rose tinted thoughts of home. Your sire has chided you for such things in the past. 'Though cruel, it is easier to let go of such things, and instead turn towards a more noble purpose.'

You turn away from the busy night time streets of Madrid far below, and pass through gossamer drapery that shifts in the evening breeze. Though it has been little over a few weeks since you entered this 'life', your sire has done what they could to make it comfortable, if productive. You were a highborn individual of scholarly leaning, and this has certainly been cultivated since you were brought to this luxurious townhouse.

They tell you that you are kept here for your own safety. The first few days were the hardest; as your mind struggled to grasp the radical shift your body and soul experienced, you were prone to terrible outbursts of destructive fury. More than once you found yourself pinned to a wall, your sire frowning at you with a longsword thrust through your shoulder and deeply embedded into the stone. You've been trying to find your peace, you really have. If they would just let you leave these walls to give yourself some breathing room, you know you would be better. The irony of the thought makes you sneer at your reflection in the ornate mirror standing against the wall.

With a forced sigh, you find yourself rubbing your temples, wishing that you could just take a siesta rather than constantly confront these thoughts over and over again. Sleep doesn't comfort you any longer, it is simply a… nothingness that still fills you with fear. Your sire tells you that too will pass. Confused fever dreams come at other times.

You cross the room, past a large, luxurious desk - piled high with expensive tomes and scrolls procured for you by your sire. It was a pleasant surprise that they seem keen to facilitate your studies, and indeed broaden your horizons considerably. You have always been fascinated by the nature of man and philosophies of great scholars of the classical era, and now you realise how laughably stunted your knowledge had been before you met your new benefactor. It was the one, considerable upside to all this. Now you have an eternity to learn, explore and experience the world - as long as you satisfy your guardian enough that they see fit to Release you. 

As your path takes you before the tall, free-standing mirror you catch a fleeting glimpse of yourself. Your stomach lurches - you have been avoiding it for a reason; in fact you even asked the servants to remove it from your room once already. Your sire refused your request, stating it was better to grow accustomed to the eyes of a changed soul staring back at you if you were to learn to live with yourself ad infinitum.

There is something lurking inside your eyes which used to be such a soft, caramel brown. Your skin may be greyer and your complexion ashen, but it was the eyes that bothered you. You see the thing, and it sees you. Your stomach lurches as a sudden surge of rage bursts upwards from an ever seething current -  helpless despairing fury at all that has been taken from you, and everything yet to come that you cannot possibly yet grasp.

With a ferocity you never possessed in life, you strike the mirror with your right fist. It was an expensive one indeed - only the most wealthy could afford glass fronted mirrors - and the glass shatters instantly. The wooden base of the mirror cracks and splinters along the grain, the whole thing buckling as it collapses ruined to the floor. You withdraw your arm, shaking, as you gaze with frozen morbid curiosity at the many shards of glass and wood now protruding from your flesh. Blood does not flow freely from the punctures, and it only sickens you more.

Cradling your wounded arm with your other hand, you sit heavily upon the four-poster bed and feel the need to cry strangling your throat like a noose. You can't do it - you know the tears would come out as blood and the thought only disgusts you more. The servants would have heard the crash. Your sire will be here soon, and will no doubt reprimand you for your lack of decorum and self control. You'll try again tomorrow, no matter how hard the progress might be. If there is one thing you excel at, it is stubbornness, and the drive to succeed even if just to spite those who believed you could not.

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