Giovanni: The Last Supper

Toreador are artists, writers, and creators: artisans enjoying an immortal life of pageantry and sensuality.

Unlike other clans, Toreador plunge themselves into the mortal world. Often, they will pretend to be mortal, living as glitterati and giving patronage to influential mortal artists. From city to city, passion to passion, the Toreador flit about, inspiring the finest art and leaving behind them a trail of broken hearts. With such refined tastes, it is easy for a member of the Toreador clan to become jaded and bitter, filled with ennui. Surrounded by excess, they quickly lose interest, seizing prize after prize — the sweetest of which are those stolen from another. The oldest Toreador often become depraved, sinking into debauchery simply so they can feel anything at all.

The Clan of the Rose has long associated itself with wealth, comfort and the outward trappings of affluence. Few find it surprising, then, that the Toreador thrive during the nights of the Renaissance era. Whether attending an aristocratic soiree or scheming against their fellow Cainites, the Roses have likely enjoyed the greatest comfort of any clan during the period. As shepherds of mortals - in their minds at least - the grandeur of the era comes largely thanks to them. Apparently.

In truth, the Toreador have made their way much as they always have. While the term "shepherd" may have some ring of truth to it, the Toreador are simply the most adept at following mortal trends, though they rarely found them.

While Toreador patronage may certainly lend credence to a fashion or cultural movement, particularly in the case of extremely influential Roses, these trends originate with the mortals themselves. As parasites, the vampires merely follow what they see, and the Toreador are most capable at this. While others among the undead watch the shifting tides of the mortal world, whether they admit it or not, the Roses usually have the most input as to which mortal patterns the vampires will follow.

In most cases, the Toreador draw attention to this fact only when necessary - as veterans of the Jyhad, subtlety works in their favour - and though they may preen and posture, this comes largely as a desire to have others see them as ineffectual.

Those looking past the façade of vampire affairs understand the true power the Toreador wield. The Roses can make or break a vampire's social fate by casting her behaviour in an unfavourable light or by shifting the Cainite's acceptance of trends she follows; in a society as tied to the approval of elders and one's betters as vampires tend to be, those who can manipulate popular opinion possess far more influence than the unwise suspect.

As liaisons between the world of the living and the world of the undead, the Toreador truck with individual mortals in greater frequency than any other clan. While other vampires may associate with the kine here and there, traffic with mortals is the Toreador's stock in trade. They associate themselves with groups and individuals; they watch the course of mortal opinion and tie themselves to it in order that they may have "the will of the world in our favour," according to one esteemed member of the clan.

Other vampires tend to form narrow stereotypes with regard to the Toreador - they ignore them as dandy fops, navel-gazing fools or debased nobles. For their part, the Toreador simply nod and smile, knowing that an underestimated foe is a Cainite with the upper hand. Let vampire vanity lead these other lessers astray - a look at the history of the Damned brings the truth to light and shows the strength of the Toreador both individually and as a clan. While the Ventrue may lead, their duties would become tremendously more difficult without the support of the Rose - especially since the Cappadocians have become so distant as of late: Power belongs to those who can sway public opinion enough to support their own desires.

The Renaissance

If there was ever a clan who could have been formed solely to revel in the sumptuous nights of the Renaissance, that clan would be the Clan of the Rose. The Toreador are known as Artisans and even more commonly as Epicureans in this rich and exciting new era, full of sensual pleasures for this fastidious clan to whet their selective palates with. These vampires are known for their beauty (often enhanced by Presence) and for their love of all things beautiful - aesthetically, artistically and even spiritually in some rare cases. The overflowing fount of artistic revelation in the Renaissance is a dream come true for the Toreador - many of whom specialise in an art or craft to a supernaturally expert level. 

The Toreador have always been a clan that blend into human society with relative ease and they have spread far and wide due to their ability to move with the times and attach to shifting cultures and societal norms. Their rose garden has flourished particularly well in Western Europe and the Toreador can be found in multiplicity in most bustling Renaissance cities. Many of them adore to pass as wealthy and generous patrons of the arts where they can, and they are just as likely to be found enjoying a shadowy but fashionable corner as a human soiree as they are to be found at a vampiric gathering. The Toreador also excel at the art of social duelling and political warfare - they often occupy positions in vampiric courts that require a good knowledge of etiquette and titles and they are quick to exact scathing corrections when mistakes are made over social status and breeding.

Since the final fall of Constantinople just a year past, the Toreador of Europe are experiencing an element of culture shock as Byzantine Toreador flood into their cities from the East - bringing their strange art, orthodox religion and translated academic texts with them. For Elder toreador, this influx of Old World knowledge has been particularly moving as they watch the arts and beauty of their time begin to take hold again in this new era. The Toreador who fled from Constantinople are still grieving the final loss of their city and many are searching for a new purpose - a new obsession.

Though the Toreador would laud themselves as being the most humane and moral examples among vampires, their cousins in other clans never forget that the Artisans have more than earned their other epithet - The Degenerates. Toreador become quickly and deeply obsessed with the object of their devotions and more often than not, the object in question is a particularly gifted human being.

 A Toreador may become entranced by a mortal’s physical beauty, their artistic talent or even their spiritual fervour - the focus of the obsession is not as important as their all consuming desire to utterly possess this mortal and therefore own whatever it is that makes them beautiful. This obsession often manifests in a sexual or romantic attraction or desire, and it can fade just as quickly as any matter of the heart is wont to do. Darker Toreador are infamous for leaving a trail of heart-broken, blood-bonded and drained humans behind them as they move on to the next fresh new face.

Clan Opinions On…

The Embrace

The Toreador practice of the Embrace varies between a weakness and a strength. Many of the Rose choose childer foolishly, Embracing mortals to whom they find themselves passionately attracted. These dalliances rarely result in vampires who make much of themselves; passion is fleeting, and the turgid romances so endemic to the Renaissance era have given rise to many, many poorly Embraced Toreador. One the other hand, Toreador passion also populates their ranks with a diversity not often seen among other clans, except perhaps the Malkavians (an unhappy comparison no Rose would thank you for).

A Toreador may fall (briefly) in love with someone she might not consider for Embrace and then bring that individual into the world of vampires in spite of herself. Thus, what might seem to be a passionate mistake instead broadens the horizons of both that Cainites and the Toreador as a whole. Certainly, the Toreador constitute one of the most cosmopolitan clans, once the savvy observer learns to see past the carefully cultivated stereotype of art patrons and anachronistic aristocrats. For they make incredible politicians.

This is not to say that every Toreador childe comes about as a result of ill-considered infatuation, but merely that it occurs enough to raise the eyebrows of certain observant Cainites. Some relationships between childer and sires flourish for decades or even centuries; these are the stuff of Toreador legend and later will be at the heart of Gothic veneration.

Loving Mortals
Libellus Sanguinis 2: Keepers of the Word

While it is not to say that the other clans do nor feel love, few would argue that we are the most passionate of Caine's children. Immersing ourselves in art and mortal society as we do, how could we avoid loving those we are surrounded by? Some have said that the "love" in question is merely more of the same courtliness and chivalric behaviour that we have been working on all this while, but those who are fortunate enough to find it would never mistake it for anything else. 

The dichotomy of the seeking and the having, however, is nothing less than sheer anguish. The Book of Nod - indeed, Caine's own words - says that Cainites should not seek love

among mortals. According to both the strictures of the Church and our own words, Cainites are considered damned and unclean, thought to exist beyond the grace of love. And yet, the lure is there, the chance for redemption in the eyes of at least one, and that lure is perhaps the most powerful temptation ever devised. The notion of loving, and being loved in return, is one that often drives many of us to amazing feats of creation and bravery. The Court of Love would not flourish so if we refused to believe in love.

And what of courtly love? It would seem to be the ideal solution to this quandary. At its most basic, courtly love proposes that a knight hold a lady ( particularly an unattainable one) as the pinnacle of virtue and beauty, and do great deeds in her name, all for the chance of a smile, a word of praise or a gentle glance. The lady, in return, is expected to support her "suitor," but is not required to return physical proof of love (a kiss or an embrace). As physicality supposedly should not enter into the equation, chivalric love ought to support both the vampicic knight pining for a lovely mortal woman and the Cainite lady who has caught the eye of a mortal knight. Speaking as one who has sought such refuge in the chivalric courts, however, I find that it satisfies only part of the need - much like sitting at a sumptuous banquet, surrounded by the smells of every dish I have ever enjoyed, and being unable to eat a morsel of it.

Our nobility often have particular considerations with regard to love and marriage. Unmarried nobility are regarded with suspicion, and a noble who is without an heir of his flesh risks his lands being seized by another with a dynasty. Some places do allow for adopted heirs, but alas, only the uncivilized continue this custom. Many of us may take spouses to allay suspicions, particularly if we are maintaining our mortal lives. Sometimes the spouse is told the truth, and sometimes she is not. Some of us have gone so far as to have surrogates assist in "bearing" offspring (such as the mortal wife of a Toreador lord laying with her husband's mortal brother can bear her husband a child). This is a dangerous gamble, though, as the information in the wrong hands could result in charges of incest or illegitimacy at ascension time.

And what of the ascetics you've heard so much about? What of our clergy and those dedicated Cainites who seek the Lord's forgiveness by serving Him? Surely they must give up the notion of love as well, you are thinking. My childe, if chat were true, then what a dull life this would be indeed. Their ardour remains quite alive, but necessarily tempered into something more spiritual in nature - the love of two souls bound in mutual pain and finding passion in their heavenly delirium. I have been told there is something quite similar among the ascetics. Some of those who must maintain "chastity" take up Marianism with a zealotry that has grown to frighten some Churchmen, worshipping the Blessed Mother with a zeal that quite outstrips the thought of God and Christ. l dare say some might see the Heavenly Father as a potential rival! 

Others turn to mysticism in their lonely travels and travails, seeking to embrace the ideals of loving God by many means, and in that mysticism, they speak of the relations between God and Man in a variety of terms. One ideal that is so often used comes from the lips of Christ Himself, that Man is like a bride and God's spirit the bridegroom at a chaste and spiritual wedding. I have read poetry from some of these chaste mystics, and that could just as easily be a song from a passionate knight to his lovely lady. 'The Song of Solomon'' would be the most familiar to you, but I would also suggest any writings of Leonidas of Athos, if you ever happen to come across them. A word of caution, tho' - some of these mystics are considered in the minds of some to be nigh unto heretics,and you never know who will fall under the shadow. If you keep writings of these  scribblers, be certain that you have a good hiding place in which to store their creations.

The other supernatural races may well entice us to lose our hearts. In Ireland, not a few of us have fallen in love with the faeries who came to dance on Midsummer's Night, and some of the Fair Folk returned the favour. Ghostly lovers or passionate witches may also bring one to his knees - I recall one such witch, with hair the colour of the forgotten sun and eyes as blue as a summer sky. She had met young Gervase during the dancing of a feast day, and they were sun and fire from the start. Unfortunately, when it was learned that Gervase was spending his time with a pretty (and mortal) witch, Rosalba, one of the women of the clan, went nearly mad with jealousy and hunted down the unfortunate mortal (and Gervase, I recall) with the fury of a beast. 

Such matches, when they occur (and occur they do) are considered star-crossed from the beginning, and all the lovers may look forward to his flight and deception as they wait for those few moments when they can be together. As for Gervase and his witch, the two eventually fled and I heard no more of them. At best they were driven out - at worst, they were pursued and killed. Cruel? Unfortunately, while we may sigh over tales of lovers parted and the like, we are not very good at tolerating them among our own.

The Auction

The Toreador see acquisition of promising humans as their domain, at least where appearance and artistic skill are concerned. They are incensed that another clan is holding what looks to be the occasion of the century and they do not like the idea of having to trade expensive boons for what should be theirs by right if they want it. They have heard that these humans may possess exquisitely delicious blood and that many of them are particularly beautiful, powerful and talented. 

Forever the ultimate hypocrites, the Toreador see the Giovanni as a cruel and vulgar clan - how dare they trade mortals for advantage? The gentler Toreadors may cradle their bleeding hearts as they agonise over the fates of these mortals - some may picture themselves rescuing them as their knight in blood stained but fashionable armour. The majority of the clan, however, are more likely to engage in their usual debased levels of moral and political backstabbing to get exactly what they want at the best price possible. If they come across useful information regarding the goals of other clans while they are at their work, then that would be a particularly juicy added bonus.

Profane Rebirth

The jarring clatter of wooden shutters assails your senses, driving into the meat of your sensitive skull like a blunt nail. As your eyelids flutter open, everything is so sharp. Colours blossom to life in a way you had never before known, and you realise you are staring up at the richly embroidered canopy of a silk curtained four-poster bed. With a sudden jolt, you find yourself sitting bolt upright and pressed against the padded headboard as you realise you lie in a bedroom you have never seen before.

You almost crack the back of your head against the wall - your movements are far too quick, acutely unfamiliar to you. Your legs are tangled in silk sheets, which lie in shredded tatters about your cold body like remnants of a discarded chrysalis. Just as a gentle night-time breeze caresses your bare skin, you realise something is wrong. Your pores no longer pucker and react to the chill, and though you are holding your breath in shock, you find that you do not need to draw another.

Before you can truly process this, a smell fills your nostrils. With the instinctual grace of a predator, you find yourself uncoiling from your defensive stance and shakily sliding from the bed, drawn to…something outside the luxurious curtains. Your mind crashes back into place all at once as you stumble backward with horror. Two, beautiful corpses are draped across a chaise lounge. Cold, coagulated blood is smeared across their bodies, and has soaked into the rich velvet of the chaise. The floor about them is splattered with it, and your eyes roam over alluring garments now torn and stained - discarded on the floor. Courtesans, you realise now as some semblance of memory comes back to you.

That’s right... you are the beloved heir of a great French house, and had been attending a social gathering of nobility in Paris…

Your thoughts are interrupted as you finally place the odd taste at the back of your throat that had been vexing you. Blood. Suddenly, you find yourself doubling over with some sort of terrible, visceral realisation and the urge to vomit hits you like a boot to the midriff. Just as you feel something cold, sticky and unspeakable rising in your throat, a soft hand presses against your lips.

You are held from behind in a gentle, if inescapable embrace, and feel your gag reflex fade somewhat at the coolness of the touch. There is no heat in the body pressed against yours, but soft locks of golden hair drape over your bare shoulder, tickling your collar bone.

“Let us not sully such a joyous occasion, my childe,” a soft voice sounds in your ear.

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