Giovanni: The Last Supper

 One of the most ancient and enigmatic of vampire clans, the Malkavians have enjoyed a similar fall from grace as their Brujah cousins over the past few centuries - though the glittering lights of the Renaissance might help to elevate them.

Whilst clans such as the Nosferatu might undergo terrifying physical changes upon their embrace, Malkavians instead experience a metamorphosis of the mind. Upon rebirth as a Cainite, their minds are warped, twisted or otherwise shattered completely. This can make them unpredictable and dangerous (such is the popular stereotype amid those that might judge them), but in many cases it affords them a peculiar insight and wisdom that no other clan can quite understand - nor do they dare to. For this reason, Malkavians often posed as spiritual leaders or holy guides within cities of the classical era - touting and occasionally outright believing that their gifts of foresight made them emissaries of the Gods. 

After the fall of Rome, clan Malkavian found itself falling upon difficult times. There was less room for seers and oracles as the dark ages rolled across Europe - though some who could adapt to the dominance of Christianity continued to fill this niche. Some even blamed them for some of Rome’s more unstable emperors. The rest were looked upon with pity or fear by many other Cainites - especially those who had not lived during the glory days of Rome and ancient Greece. 

Malkavians are spread evenly but sparsely throughout the peninsula. Their madness and disunity, however, keeps them from all but isolated positions of power and influence. The madmen instrumental in Rome's destruction of Carthage seem to have either lost interest in the region or moved on to more verdant pastures.

Now regarded as a ‘low clan’ the Malkavians that retained lucidity nevertheless could find places alongside Ventrue kings as advisors, or even as jesters amongst certain courts. The clan maintained a nature as tricksters of a sort - not purely for their own enjoyment; many believed that in challenging the reality and preconceptions of other Cainites, the ‘victim’ could learn valuable insights. Despite the richly varied nature of Malkavians, all of them are connected through an indescribable tether that links each member of the clan mentally - though some experience their whole unlives without noticing it. Others can immerse themselves within this network like a vast, cold ocean - gaining untold insight at the risk of true madness. It is within this web that many Malkavians believe their antediluvian founder lurks. 

The Renaissance

As Renaissance portraits begin to show an uncanny self-awareness in the expression of the sitters, so too do the Malkavians look inward to their lives, and this capacity of theirs to see beyond the looking glass is opening their eyes to the era and what it can offer. There is approaching hope and even a chance to make something new of their lot. For those born without privilege, the forming Middle Class is as inspiring to the downtrodden in the mortal world as it is to the disregarded Clan of the Moon, whose clan weakness cripples them in the eyes of other vampires.

The Renaissance brought something new to each member of this clan; no two individuals have quite the same outlook on this time of social change and enlightenment. For some, this era saw a resurgence of classical philosophy and arts which could only be received with delight. The explosion of culture and scientific advancement certainly suited those of a more scholarly persuasion, and many Malkavians maintain deep interests into the nature of vampiric physiology and psychology. Plenty of Malkavians sit just as comfortably on the side of the church and spiritual concerns - rejecting matters of science as they trust instead in their God(s) or the whispers in their own heads.

The societal and financial turbulence of the era is also perfect for those that dabble in mortal affairs - as many members of this clan are wont to do. Some feel greater animosity at being branded a Low Clan by the rest of vampiric society, and might feel inspired by the many uprisings and revolutions that take place during this time and just before it in the peasantry. Few other clans display such a contrast between the scientific and the spiritual, the conservative and the revolutionary.

Some Malkavians have been mistaken for saints and prophets, and have thus had a dramatic influence on many local churches over the centuries. The clan as a whole appears to have little formal interest in the Church, however. As ever, the Malkavians of the Renaissance era remain fractious and motivated by their own unknowable stimuli, so motivated sometimes that it is not uncommon for a Malkavian to sink entire centuries or their whole unlife into what other vampires would hesitantly call a completely pointless endeavour. Malkavians do not, on the whole, hold the desire to keep pace with vampiric society in the way a Toreador might, perhaps despondently aware that their own blood will bite their long-built efforts when they least expect it, when a Derangement is triggered in august company. Better not to try. For those Malkavians who do make the attempt - and more uncommonly still achieve political success - they are a very rare, and terrifying breed of the clan, one that other Cainites handle with extreme caution.

These few, eerily progressive among the clan are masters of the mind, and use their expertise to manipulate, seduce, coerce or otherwise persuade fellows of their clan to follow their near cultish personality. Seemingly lucid, stable Malkavians are a horrifying force to behold.  Not least because any elder Lunatic who has not yet expressed their Derangement is either terribly controlled - or more likely: a volcano waiting to explode. Often when you least expect it. These elders are as lethal to themselves as they are to everyone else, and centuries of a Malkavian’s political progress is often undone in one tragic loss of control. Indeed, the Clan of the Moon is often the most tragic, perhaps the reason why they and the Nosferatu understand each other so well.

Although Malkavians are often relegated to less distinguished social strata, the strange egalitarian inclinations exhibited by some Cainites of the era have allowed for the Lunatics to truly earn the esteem of their undead peers - in certain circles where madness and enlightenment can be interchanged. Even if they eschew the high politics of Princes and their entourages, some Malkavians cultivate power amid the halls of mortal politics. Whispers of mad generals, debased monks, fractured aristocrats and sadistic doctors may all have Malkavians behind them or at their core, assuming that they're not the products of the alcohol-addled minds of the era's feverish artists.

Ultimately, it is not the Malkavian talking excitedly to the wall that one should fear; it is the one staring straight back at you, engaging in polite, innocuous conversation.

Clan Opinions On…

The Embrace

The Calling
Libellus Sanguinis 4: Thieves In The Night

We are chosen for the Embrace. That is the bond that ties our fractured clan together. Unlike the other clans, we do not damn those unready or unwilling to accept our curse — to do so is cruel and a waste of our progenitor’s blood, he who we do not name, for names carry great and terrible power. We Embrace only those ready for madness and to be remade in our image. The candidate may well be blind to his own potential, and others may see only caprice in our choice, but that is but a mirage. There is always meaning in our choice. Always. We are agents of destiny and divine providence.

The truth is Malkavians can sense the seeds of madness in others. We call this the calling. Like a siren’s song, the calling draws us to our future childe. It reveals which soul needs our blessing and which deserves naught but an early grave. To hear the calling is to see the divine lunacy in others, to experience an intoxicating and fleeting epiphany. We hear the silent pleas for help, redemption and understanding that are the root of madness. Some heed this call like a powerful urge, a desire born of impulse and instinct. Without warning, often unaware of their own actions, they Embrace their chosen in a bloody rage. To others, the calling leads to a careful pantomime: a game of cat and mouse that culminates in the Embrace.

Our Embrace is a rebirth. We are all born into this world innocent and blind in our love for God, unable to speak anything but babble. In a word, we are born mad, touched by His divine love. In time, however, the base language of man infects and taints us. We forget our divine roots and its essential madness. But there are those who remember. It is they who call to us to Embrace them, to reunite them with the glory and mystery of God through our damned existence. It is the hand of God that chooses — and condemns — our childer. This potential is rooted, sometimes deeply, other times just below the surface, in knowledge, ambition or sin.

The Auction

Known as the Clan of the Moon - it is not surprising that the day of the Black Sun left Clan Malkavian in a state of alarm and disarray. The event triggered a ripple of dreams, visions and innumerable forms of distress throughout the clan across the continent. 

A few might even have known about the existence of these blessed mortals without ever having met one - though few would have believed them. Stranger still, the humans seemed obfuscated even to those rare vampires who might have sensed or known of them; until only a year ago, that is. To those vampires, these Black Sun Children might be harbingers of a great prophecy or dark fate. Others see them as a chance for a brand new experience and something that has never quite been seen before, surely an exciting prospect for this inquisitive clan. The dreams and whispers circling this strange auction no doubt tug at the synapses of many Malkavians, drawing them towards the event even if they received no invitation.

Ultimately, the Clan of the Moon is as divided on how to deal with these mortals as they are practically every issue in their unlives. Herding cats is not a phrase too out of keeping when trying to formulate a unifying theme for Clan Malkavian; even their own personal madness varies from one Malkavian to the next with no pattern, rhyme or reason to an outsider. Often, the only unifier to the Lunatics is just how many vampires pity or look down upon them. It might not sit well with some of them that gifted and even traumatised mortals are being paraded around like a circus act for the benefit of the High Clans (because surely it will be they who win the fate of these creatures), but there are an equal number of Malkavians who might find it all entertaining, sadistically or otherwise. Where one Malkavian is gleeful, another is horrified, and another still is enraged by the auction.

Profane Rebirth

You sit alone, blinking from the harsh light of a full moon as your auditory senses are assailed by a constant rolling crash. There’s the sharp, rough odour of the ocean. A moment of confusion; why are you here? A cold-dampened shift sticks to your flesh, white in the light, and your scalp is cold. Your head is soaked, everything slick to your skull and you feel the chill of sea spray soaked through your untamed hair. Your skin is still tingling with goose-bumps, but you notice with muted concern that they are fading; the cold doesn’t cut as deep as it should. You can still feel the chill envelop you, but your body isn’t reacting the way it should.

Another crash; a wave cracks against the base of the cliff far below you. Aged stone pillars reach toward an inky sky, three of them on every side of you, arranged around the cracked slab of granite beneath your shaking body. Countless weeds have pushed their way through the stone, tickling your side through your clothes. You shift slightly to get your bearings, and catch sight of something wet and dark staining your gown and pooling beside your prone body. That sticky sensation was more than just the spray of the ocean and the cold, damp night - blood is soaking thickly through the thin fabric and spreading down across the curves of your body from a deep wound at your throat.

You try to gasp and sit up, a rush of adrenaline surging through your body. It is... difficult; you feel like you are moving through treacle despite your nerves screaming at you. A cry escapes your lips, subdued as a whimper. Suddenly, the overwhelming sensation of being watched breaks across your mind like a wave, and your eyes open wider - separately casting around you like a hare cornered by hounds. Not just one pair of eyes, but thousands. They talk amongst themselves, appraising you, judging you, mocking your sluggish movements and laughing at the very sight of your hearts-blood leaking from your vessel.

“Open your eyes.” 

Were they not?

You open them, and see a dark, inky sky. A voice as cold and soft as starlight rouses you. You lie upon a clean granite slab, under an endless sea of stars. You are calm, and somewhere nearby a gently rolling tide (no battering waves) only serves to soothe whatever troublesome, awful thing had been assaulting you in your sleep. Your body is warm and whole, the white shift unblemished.

The owner of that voice leans over your body and smiles. Distantly, you hear a wave catch with a startling sense of Deja Your voice catches in your throat as you realise you’ve seen this scene before, and mundane physical stimuli falls away as suddenly as dropping from a cliff, there is nothing you would do to prevent that mouth finding your jugular and the indescribable sensation that follows. Your sire to be is already pinning you, his mouth open at a yawning, snarled angle. Bloody saliva winks wetly from two enormous canines. Then you died.

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