Sitting in the hotel room in the filthy city of Necropolis, New York, Alton Deveraux the Third was caught by the merciless grip of reminiscence as he lay on his back in the pre-dawn hour, and stared up at the ceiling waiting for the sleep to claim him.  He thought a great deal of late.  How he got here, why he was here in this decadent and defeated burg, and what purpose he would serve here for the cause of the Sabbat which he now served.  What would his sire say, had she known?  Had she still lived.  

	It was at that point a string of thoughts came across his mind.  One that captivated him long past the point where he dropped off to sleep and was revisited by the nightmares of his past.

					*       *      *

	Alton Deveraux "the Seventh" full owner of two treaters within the New Orleans area, in the 1920's, turned now as he exited the Royal Theater, and gazed up at the electric marquis as it flashed brightly into the crisp autumn night on Bourbon Street.  Not entirely grasping what he was doing, so as the people brushed past him on their way out of the film, the first of it's kind in the city.  But soon it became apparent as he looked back through the glass doors as he walked back through them and back into the office of the building where his co-owner, Ralph Campbell, was counting the money they had made that night, and preparing to put it into the safe to take it to the bank tomorrow morning. 

	"Hey Al.  What's up, you look like you just seen a ghost, there, pal." Ralph said in that thick rich Louisiana accent of his as he looked up at Alton through the smoke that listlessly floated from the tip of his cigarette.

	Alton snorted slightly.  "Maybe I did, my friend, maybe I did."

	"You sure you're ok Al?"  Ralph stood now, having just finished counting a stack of 10s and wrapping them up and setting them on the desk as he stubbed out his cigarette and looked Alton over.  "You've kinda got that look again."

	"Do I?" Alton looked sideways at Ralph, diverting his gaze from the old picture of the Théâtre Du'Deveruax that hung on the olive green wall of the office next to the large map of New Orleans that served to color where the safe was hidden in the wall of the office.  "I guess I was just reminiscing again, Ralph."  

	He rolled his shoulders in an idle, yet languid shrug as he turned away from the picture now to look Ralph full on, his eyes casting over the slightly over-weight mortal that stood before him.  His keen vampiric senses picking up on many subtle nuances that even the keenest of these mortal detectives may likely over look, the almost imperceptible stain of spilled liquor on the tan vest, the singed fabric on the lap of the pants where Ralph probably dropped a match on accident while lighting a cigarette, the beginnings of a fray in the material of his shoe lace that would eventually lead to him breaking the lace one morning while tying it up to head out from where ever it was he lived.

	"It happens sometimes, I guess.  I mean this night has a way of bringing back old memories, you know?"  He surmised.

	"That it does, mack, that it does.  Hell earlier tonight I was flipping through some old photo album that Loretta found in the attic of my pop's place.  I told you he died last night, didn't I, Al?"  He looked up at Alton's face.

	"Oh?  I'm terribly sorry to hear that my friend.  Are you ok?" Alton tried to force sympathy into his voice, to betray the fact that deep down he really could care less that this man's father died.  His father was a jackass, in Alton's opinion, though he only met the man once.

	"Yeah." Ralph shook his head slightly.  "Damned heart-attack.  Can you believe that?  I woulda thought it woulda been the home made moonshine and cheap cigars that woulda done him in first, but no, a god-forsaken heart attack"  He mused a bit, sounding offended at the cause of his father's death.
 
	Alton just nodded.  "You were saying something about photo albums, Ralph?"

	"Huh?  Oh.  Yeah.  Like I was sayin'.  Loretta found these old photo albums in the attic of my father's house today while she and the kids were over there goin' through stuff, and if it ain't the damnest thing.  I swear I was lookin' at this one picture of one a my relatives, a great-great-great-great granddad or something like that."  He shook his head a moment pulling up another cigarette and a match and lighting it.  "And there you was starin' right back up at me from that picture."  His voice slightly muffled as he mumbled around the cigarette taking that first drag.  "Well I mean it wasn't you of course.  I looked at the back of the photograph and it said it was Alton Deveruax the Third.  Prolly one of your great-great relatives or somethin' like that, huh, Al?"

	Alton looked the man dead in the eye for a moment before tearing his gaze away from his face and looking back to the image of the Théâtre Du'Deveruax.  "Yes, Ralph, something like that."

	Ralph not having seemed to catch on, just chuckled as he exhaled a puff of smoke, filling the air with the slightly pungent smell of smoldering tobacco rolled by two slightly clumsy sweaty hands. "Yeah apparently this John bought that theater..."  

	"Théâtre." Interrupted Alton.

	"Huh?" Ralph looked puzzled by this interruption.

	"It's pronounced Théâtre, Ralph."  He said without turning around.

	"Oh.  Sorry.  But like I was sayin'.  Apparently he"  But again he would be cut off by Alton, who was slowly beginning to tire of the conversation, not liking the way it was turning out.

	"He bought the Théâtre from your ancestor and refurbished it yes, I am more than familiar with the story."  He turned now again facing Ralph.  "I'm sorry, I have to be on my way Ralph, unless there was anything else you needed my assistance with?"

	Ralph gaped a bit, looking like a fish out of water, but regained his composure soon enough.  "Look Al, I didn't mean to."  He let the statement hang there in the air for a moment.  "I mean I know I tend to prattle on once in awhile, but if I pissed you off Alton, just let me know, ok?"

	Alton let a small smile and a reassuring clap on Ralph's shoulder calm his trepidations.  "Don't worry Ralph you didn't offend me."  Though somewhere in the back of his mind he thought, "If you did I would have killed you by now, Ralph."  But he dismissed this thought quickly with a passive wave of his hand, as if to say to Ralph that everything was all right and forgotten.  

	"Ralph, do you think you could have Loretta bring by that photo album?  I'd really like to look it over, you know almost all of my family's records and pictures were lost in that house fire many years ago."

	"Sure, pal, it's no big deal."  He thought a moment.  Would they really miss those old albums anyways?  Probably not.  Besides that'd make his partner happy, I mean a guy has to know where he came from right?  "Hey Al.  Why don't ya just keep 'em huh?  I mean we're gonna run outta room as it is when we move our stuff in to that house anyway so what's a few boxes of musty old photograph albums right?  Besides if I ever want to wax nostalgic I'll just think about you and that thought'll pass." He grins idly at Alton.

	"Are you certain Ralph? I don't want to take any precious memories from your family, that would be simply rude of me."  Though the whole time he thought to himself, sometimes it's just too easy with these mortals.  The have no respect for the past that they came from.  

	"Naw Al, I don't mind at all, I really don't."  He shrugged his shoulders looking down the length of the cigarette at Alton Deveruax the Third, and the inch and a half of ash fell from the tip of the cigarette. Only to be caught in mid-descent by Alton's hand.  "Dammit, Al, good reflexes." Ralph muttered, sullenly apologetic. "I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention again."
 
	Alton dumped the ash in to the waste paper basket and dusted his hands off looking to Ralph.  "Don't worry about it Ralph, just do try to be more careful next time all right?"  To which Ralph nodded.  "Good.  Now.  If you'll excuse me I am going to go home and go to bed now, Ralph.  If you could have Loretta bring those books by tomorrow evening around nine o'clock?  I'm taking mother out to dinner tomorrow night."

	"Sure Al, no problem.  Sleep tight."  He offered a hand to Alton, who took it and shook it firmly, with a slight grin on his face.

	"Like the dead, Ralph, as usual" He chuckles softly as he turns and heads out of the office.  "Oh and thank you again Ralph, this means a lot to me"  And for once in some time he did not have to force a hint of emotion into his voice, like an actor on the stage, it just seemed to happen, and with that Alton vanished into the chilly New Orleans' night.  Soft plumes of steam puffing from his mouth and nose as he passed along the streets and back into obscurity for yet another night.


				               *       *      *



	No one is quite sure the exact date of when the Théâtre Du'Deveraux came into Alton's possessions.  It would seem they've been in the Deveraux family for as long as anyone can remember starting with Alton Deveraux the Third who purchased them from the original owners in the early 1800s during a period of economic stasis in the area. These times, though affluent for many, were not so for most.  Alton the Third bought the original Théâtre.  It was in a such a run-down stat that it took several years of work to bring it up to what it was to become.  When that occurred, it boasted a semi-lavish arrangement of seating and performers, while at the same time having prices that even the down-trodden of the time were occasionally able to afford.  Alton Deveraux the Third truly brought culture to the masses, and they loved him for it.  Every night the Théâtre was packed, and generally remains so to this night, due to the same level of quality both of accommodations and of productions, and affordable seating. 

	Though when Alton Deveraux the Seventh took the reigns the prices went up by a dollar.  This came as no surprise to the populace in New Orleans as the Théâtre Du'Deveraux was the first theater to sport electric lighting in the city, and the populace understood this would incur some added responsibilities in it's maintenance.  So as the roaring 20s now loom over this seemingly timeless burg Théâtre Du'Deveruax stands in the face of time ready to continue to provide the same quality entertainment for the masses at the same generally reasonable prices.



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Théâtre Du'Deveraux (1st theater, public):

	The Théâtre Du'Deveruax, purchased in 1835 by Alton Deveraux the Third was a text book case of rags to riches.  For not before then, and actually not since, has any Théâtre in the history of New Orleans been brought to such a popular, and indeed tragic light as the Théâtre Du'Deveruax.

	The previous owner Milton Campbell was a stingy aristocrat originally from England who came to New Orleans in 1823 in pursuit of the supposed hot seat of Culture and Refinement that the city boasted at that time.  Though he purchased the Théâtre originally upon his arrival, his financial interests soon became the acquisition and maintenance of his new cotton plantation just out side of the city, which of course left the theater on the back burner.  So as it sat there through the years and the shows began to loose their glamour as the Théâtre it's self fell to ruin, Milton began to charge the almost outrageous sum of 15 dollars a show to try to at least keep the Théâtre from being foreclosed upon by the banks.  This of course did not go over well with the general crowds who, by 1835, all but ceased going there in lieu of other forms of stay home entertainment.  

	So facing foreclosure and almost eminent social ruin because of his failure to turn a tidy profit from the Théâtre, Milton jumped at the chance to sell it when he was approached by a fresh faced young man who claimed to be a lower nobleman fresh off the boat from France, who offered to pay up front and in cash.  Certainly it was odd that the gentleman came calling in the evening, but as the young lad put it, he came off the boat all of an hour and 40 minutes ago and he over heard the dock workers talking about a Théâtre  being sold and he simply had to inquire, and that led him to Milton's front door at such an odd hour, cash in hand and dream in mind.

	Alton of course was greeted with skepticism at first, but as the night dolled on and Milton checked his own sources and found that Alton was indeed legit, he sold the Théâtre with out a second thought.  So it was that Théâtre Du'Deveraux came into being that muggy summer night in 1835.  Of course it was a tedious process of restoration that Alton faced, and it brought him close to financial ruination on a number of occasions those first years as he hobnobbed and networked and brought his dream of the Théâtre to reality.  

	Though it seemed that every night Alton could be found working right along side the stage hands and crew members rebuilding every portion of the dilapidated building. Installing plush seats, re-flooring the stage, adding storage, new curtains, refurbishing dressing rooms and even adding balcony seating for the upper class who wished to frequent the shows.  All of this took night in and night out work for almost four years to finally bring it up to what Alton saw in his mind's eye.  Of course there was no compromising, and he charmed and cajoled, and it was even rumored that he killed a man once, to bring his precious Théâtre into being.  And New Orleans loved him.  He was their prodigal son of the night.  He had vision and energy and charisma untold.  He was the working man's prince.  

	Oh how the rumors spread about how Alton would be at a party of some wealthy plantation owner for a few hours rubbing elbows and having his palm greased and then later that night he was found until the wee hours of the morning working away tirelessly in the Théâtre with the crews.  Sounds of sawing, pounding, and carts of supplies and materials coming and going at all hours of the night.  None of which the city ever seemed to overly mind, or take exceptional notice of.

	Of course the fact that Alton was such a night owl at first elicited some suspicions from the locals and the firm believers in the religion of voodoo.  For only devils and thugs were told to be night roamers.  But yet Alton a burning sun of charm, wit, and sophistication, was there every night and only at nights.  But soon it was discovered, as Alton had called in a doctor one night for some mysterious illness he had, that Alton indeed had an acute disorder of the skin that burned him so if he were ever to come in touch with the sun.  Poor Alton was pigmentationally deficient, claimed the doctor.  A genetic disorder apparently common in his family that was sure to be passed down through his blood through the ages.  Alton was then viewed in a new light.  This poor man and his disorder one that would surely devastate lesser men seemed to have no sway on him.  Their pale faced aristocrat.  The son of New Orleans culture, and still the city loved him, showered him more so now with affections and gratuities.  None of which, of course, Alton denied.  After all, even dreams have their prices.

	Eventually though after three and a half years of harsh labor Alton and his crew were finally in business.  He began to scour the city and surrounding areas for talented local actors and actresses.  Of which he seemed to find enmasse (or so the city would love to have him think).  For New Orleans flocked to his feet offering their sons and daughters to this pale wonder.  Alton, for his part, dealt with all this modestly.

	Alton even found love those nights, in the form of the cherub-like, Sophia Chrishompf, the daughter of a local plantation owner whom was good friends with Milton Campbell.  Campbell for his part, now in failing health and even greater failing social standing, made sure every one knew that he helped New Orleans's pale prince find this true love, and know it they did, and humored him up until the day of his death 1843 of Tuberculosis. 
   
	Alton and his then bride Sophia of course attended Milton's funeral.  Alton giving a heart wrenching eulogy comparing Milton to the prince who indeed should be given thanks for helping the pauper.  New Orleans ate it up with sliver plated spoons and loved Milton more in his death then they ever did in his life.  

	On the 1 month anniversary of Milton's death, did Alton hold a gala event to commemorate the opening of the Théâtre Du'Deveraux, and what an event it was.  People came from miles around to see the show, which of course got rave reviews from all the critics.  Alton was the happiest he had ever been.  And still New Orleans loved him all the more.  Despite the fact that some whispered he had also found the fountain of youth and kept it in his plantation house.  For he truly looked no older than he did that night nine years ago when he came to the muggy shores of New Orleans.  

	Of course as it is with happiness it was only temporary.  For half way through the show Sophia had informed one of the Théâtre employees to tell Alton that she had felt faint from heat and was retiring for the evening with most heartfelt sorrow and apologies that she could not share her beloved husband's most proud moment.  Alton of course standing in the wings during the performance was given this message as Sophia departed through a side entrance only to get into a carriage of one of the other local notables (Fredrick Garibaldi) and rushed head long towards hers and Alton's plantation home, figuring they would have more than enough time to complete their lustful fling before Alton managed to make it home that night.

	However they could not have assumed more incorrectly.  As soon as the show finished, Alton left the theater and headed home to check on the condition of his beloved.  Only to find that she did indeed feel faint from the heat, but not the heat that New Orleans is famous for, but the heat of her lover's embrace as they made wild and obscene love in Sophia's and Alton's marital bed.  This of course sent Alton into a wild frenzy.  However unbeknownst to Alton, Sophia's beau had a pepper box near to hand which he used on Alton.  Shooting him once between the eyes.  Thus it was that Alton Deveraux the Third "died" that night, and was buried secretly, near the swamps.  

	Of course a suitable story was made up by Sophia the next night when she rushed into the Théâtre clad in the standard blacks of mourning to tell Alton's Théâtre manager of the terrible incident how brigands jumped Alton on his way home and left his body to rot, and how he was found by one of the servants that night on their way back from fishing in the Mississippi river, and he was brought home for burial that night, because the sweltering heat simply would not allow for a proper viewing, the whole plantation would simply smell awfully.  

	Word of this spread and New Orleans mourned.  All the while Sophia mourned to the public’s eye, and grew fat with child ("Alton's" of course, the heir to his legacy), and stayed home more and more, as she was attended to by her beau who 5 months into her pregnancy, "heavy-heartedly" took upon himself the burden of helping Sophia both manage the Théâtre and the new child.  All the while Alton waited and watched from his shallow grave.  Feeding off the occasional rats and swamp creatures.  

	But he would have to wait for several years, and watch.  Letting the seething anger grow deep within his breast while he observed from afar Sophia and Fredrick marry, and give birth to a baby boy, in the spring of 1844, whom they named Alton Deveruax the Fourth in honor of his father and his tragic death at the hands of out laws.  He, too, watched Alton grow into a young man, and made plans to bring around the true birth into his family.  He would see this child truly earn his namesake and so too would he see this child sire himself an air and seek to fulfill the revenge that Alton the Third so preciously desired.

	So when Alton the Fourth turned 18 the time was right for him to meet the woman whom he would later marry, Janette Williams.  Though their first meeting was not precisely what one could call smooth, for Alton the Fourth seemed to lack much in the way of social graces, it did end well, for Janette asked Alton the Fourth to again call upon her when he would.  Thusly the union was successful, and at age 22 Alton and Janette married in the summer of 1846.  Alton the Third was pleased, and then waited for their first child who was born a year later, a girl, which they named Clarice (who would later die in 1851 from small pox shortly before her birthday).  Still Alton waited, and was again rewarded in 1856 when Janette gave birth to a healthy baby boy whom they both agreed to name Alton in honor of his grandfather, and so it was that Alton the Third saw his opportunity, and he began to wait for his time to set forth his sweet revenge.

	That time came 17 years later when Alton Deveruax the Fourth stood on the stage his father built on the anniversary of his murder, and in as lavish a form , as the night the Théâtre opened Alton the Fourth dedicated the show that night, not only to his murdered father, and his Théâtre's anniversary, but his mother who was again pregnant with Fredrick's child, but too saddened by the night's woefully memory to attend.  

	So it was that Alton the Third watched from the box seats.  In all his hidden splendor.  Waiting for his moment to pass on his true legacy to his "son", the legacy of death and blood.  Which he did when Alton the Fourth, like he himself had done, rushed immediately home that night to stay with his beloved mother.  Alton the Third embraced his son, and told him the entire story of what had occurred and Alton the Fourth, enraged at the years of betrayal rushed home and killed his mother, father, unborn sibling and burnt down the house.  Rushed back into town to alert the cities patrons and raise a cry to arms to come battle the blaze which he himself barely escaped from.  That night, Alton Deveraux the Fourth truly became his father's son.  The legacy complete. 

	Shortly after this occurred, Alton the Fourth went to his son and proclaimed him the new owner of the Théâtre.  After doing this, Alton the Fourth departed with his father and sire to France where he would spend several more years learning precisely what his father had done to him, and subsequently attempt to destroy Alton the Third (an attempt which ended with Alton the Fourth's final death at the hands of the then Primogen of the Toreador in Paris France). Which left his son Alton the Fifth, who was all of 17 years old, to take the reigns of the family Théâtre, and his place in the Deveruax family legacy.  
   
	However, Alton the Fifth was different, where in, fate seemed to smile upon him and his brood, and he married quietly, his love of 12 years (Antoinette "Anna" Perot) and fathered 3 children (Alton Deveruax the Sixth September 17th 1888, Benjamin Deveruax August 10th 1880, and Juliette Deveruax May 4th 1876), during which time, the controlling hand of Alton the Third was not to be felt in the Théâtre.  Leaving just enough to ensure the success of the Théâtre, whilst they pursued their own ends in that far away land.
 
	This brings us now to the year 1906.  Many interesting times have of course come and gone, both in New Orleans and around the world, and still the Théâtre Du'Deveruax stood.  A silent testament to the city of New Orleans' prosperity and culture.  A legacy of blood firmly rooted to that night, with Alton the Third still firmly behind the helm of the great ship.  Certainly others of Alton's line had come to own the Théâtre by then.  

	In fact it had passed to the 18 year old Alton the Sixth by this time.  Whom had seen in this the greatest opportunity to date, the chance to expand the Théâtre into another venue.  So he went to seek the silent partner that had always been there for the Théâtre in the past, to entreat him to loan Alton the Sixth the money to build a new Théâtre.  But unlike the Théâtre Du'Deveruax, this théâtre would remain a private one for the Deveraux family, who had, by then become one of the more prominent families in the city of New Orleans. This prospect intrigued the silent partner (Alton the Third who himself had just returned, silently, to the city of New Orleans, after losing his childer to the fangs of the Toreador Primogen in Paris a year earlier) and he accepted.  So it was that Théâtre des Saints was born.


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Théâtre des Saints:


	Initial construction on the Théâtre des Saints did not begin until the next summer, however, due to the constrictions of the one constant that not even the most powerful of controlling vampires can change, the changing of the seasons.  However, in the mid-spring of 1906, the first shovels full of dirt were wrested free of the earth and the construction began.  There was little for Alton the Seventh to do this time, however, as he, unlike his ancestor Alton the Third, had no knowledge of construction, only management, so that was precisely what he did with the Théâtre Du'Deveruax.

	It was also around this time that Alton the Third again felt the need to steer the course of events to his whims, and presented Alton the Sixth with an irresistible temptation.  Woman.  Alton the Third had spent many years previously, whilst in Paris, hand selecting a female, of exact specifications who, ironically, seemed to be the spitting image of Sophia.  This woman, Claire DuValle, was then ghouled and Alton the Third put her to immediate good use managing not only his discreet attempt to harness his formerly dead libido (She simply attributed it to the vampiric equivalent of a mid-life crisis but she lived to serve the desires and whims of her domitor to the absolute best of her capability, lest she fall out of his favor), but his temporary acquisition of a Théâtre in Paris, until the time of their return in New Orleans.

	Of course she was the most exquisite, and refined woman that Alton the Sixth had met in quite some time, and he fell instantly in love with her, which pleased Alton the Third greatly, as he would often over see their rendezvous from afar, to ensure that matters went according to his designs.  Which they did amazingly well, with almost no prompting form Alton the Third, and this pleased him even further.  So he continued to guide Alton the Seventh and his bourgeoning relationship, while also overseeing the construction of the Théâtre des Saints personally, when ever possible.

	Then almost 1 year later, and well after Alton the Sixth's marriage to Claire and their own siring and rearing of 5 healthy happy children (2 boys and 3 girls), the construction of the Théâtre des Saints came to a conclusion, on the precise date of the opening of the Théâtre Du'Deveruax.  This of course was the first and last time that this Théâtre would be open to the public, much to the sadness of New Orleans, for by now the Théâtre Du'Deveruax had become a household name in the city.  But they did accept it, chalking it up to the simple whims of a spoiled child wishing to have his cake and eat it too.  This suited the Deveraux clan immensely, especially Alton the Third, whom did his best to ensure that the Théâtre des Saints would remain used as little as possible, openly, except on the nights of private shows, which only occurred on the occasion.  Sadly though Alton Deveruax the Sixth died in 1912 as the result of a freak automobile accident.

	However, just because the Théâtre des Saints was never seen to be holding shows but maybe once or twice a month, or on special occasions, it did remain a small hub of activity both for the family, and a range of characters supposedly of all repute who would gather there and hold gatherings as many nights as they could stand.  Of course it was Alton the Third who was the master of these ceremonies, for he could finally be amongst others of his own kind, which saved his mind from falling to insanity those nights, because it was seldom in New Orleans, for Alton the Third to have met other vampires.  They hid extremely well even from him.

	But the nights passed and eventually the Théâtre des Saints became known as a family Théâtre that held the most extravagant productions (for the mortals), of which only the rarest word would slip to those who would dream idly of being invited to one of these shows.  It too became known (to the vampires of the area) as an Elysium.  A safe haven from all forms of malice that seemed to litter their nights with blood and deceit.  Still the nights carried on through the years, until one night in 1924 when Alton the Seventh (who was the spitting image of Alton the Third) was poised to begin to study under his father that something happened.  

	What that one thing, however, that had happened, and Alton the Third did not plan for, was the fact that his presence had become so keenly noticed within the household, and to a slight degree the populace of the city.  This prompted him to take surprisingly drastic measures to quash the scandalous rumors of incestuous activities within the House of Deveruax, for he simply would not tolerate that.  

	So in the autumn months of 1924 Alton the Third explained quietly his plans to Claire.  Though she wept long into the night and the next day she knew it was what had to occur for the name of Deveruax not to be besmirched. That night she went to the family crypt behind the plantation house, in the private cemetery, and met with Alton before he did what he had to do, after that she then went and payed her last respects to Alton the Seventh.  For his time had come to take his place in the Deveruax legacy.  

	It was only an hour later that Alton the Seventh lay buried in the coffin that Alton the Third inhabited mere hours before, and Claire stayed behind and wept there for many hours later, until Alton the Third silently and sadly returned, hands and clothes soaked in blood.  He now would become Alton the Seventh, and in so doing brought forth the present era of prosperity and notoriety of both the Théâtre des Saints and Théâtre Du'Deveruax.  

	With it also came the co-ownership of the first nickelodeon to come to New Orleans, the Royal Theater. Which was ironically enough also purchased by the direct descendant of Milton Campbell. Alton the Third of course threw as much into the purchase and eventual construction of this picture show theater as he did his own Théâtre Du'Deveruax, so long ago.      

					 
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 	For many years after that time a quiet peace lay upon the name of Deveruax.  Years slowly ticked away for Alton and his retainer Claire.  Each of which brought them deeper into the solitude of the existence of a vampire who had inhabited an area for some time.  Alton continued to host regular gatherings of vampires at the Théâtre des Saints, in which many of the elite of the cities kindred populace would come to gather.  There were times when even the so-called Prince, a vampire by the name of Adrien Westcott, and his more than ostentatious toady, known as Corben DuPrix.  

	Certainly others came and went, even held there galas, but none seemed to entirely catch the fickle attentions of Alton.  There were also times when he thought it laughable that these vampires and their Camarilla would so espouse their desire of humanity while those who introduced themselves to be of his (what they called a clan) brood, sought only to pour beauty over themselves like expensive wines and beers.  Though while he laughed in private, Alton played along, and listened as they spoke of their Masquerades, and their humanities, using and manipulating the mortals with abandon.  Never truly able to see the entire need for what they spoke of, however, he practiced those words which he agreed with, and privately disregarded the rest.  

	Time did pass however, as it was wont to do for the line of Caine.  And Alton watched the area around him change.  The conversations of those vampires that would visit the Théâtre des Saints, for around the year 1932 those numbers began to dwindle as the nation, still shaking off the effects of the Depression, and Prohibition, also now looked to the wars raging in Europe, and sent her sons and daughters to serve as soldiers and nurses.  This time seemed to crawl for Alton.  

	However, in his missives to other individuals across the area, he did stumble across several cases of anomalous behaviors.  Levels of brutality blamed on the Negroes and their practices of Vodoun, and other such dark things, as well as wild animals.  These caused some concern for him so in the year of 1934 he went to investigate a particularly brutal case, with the assistance of a vampiric Sherif, named Rodun, in which the reports of humans were hung by their feet from trees and their throats were slit.  As well as large pyres seen burning in the depths of the swamps where humans, even the practitioners of Vodoun, feared to tread.  Where it was said only creatures of black horror lived.

					*       *       * 

	It was a cool spring night when Alton and Rodun breeched the last perimeter of the swamp to the clearing where the dark rites were told to have been held.  The eyes of the two vampires were keen, as they cast glances back and forth for traces that the mortals may have missed.  As they walked around both were stricken by the sheer brutality of the scene.  Desiccated bodies hanging from trees that the authorities had yet to remove because of the smell and the inability to get their crude vehicles to any close proximity of the grove within the swamp.  Blood staining the ground a dark crusty brown.  Though, as Rodun found, one important clue had not been removed.  That being something that had been practically buried in the spongy ground and covered by trampled grasses and a fallen, charred, piece of log.  That clue had been a tarnished, and jewel encrusted dagger, stained brown with flakes of long dried blood.  

	After some speculation Rodun had surmised that this had belonged to a roving pack of vampirica diabolia.  A nickname given to a certain cult of vampires, as Rodun explained to Alton, named the Sabbat.  Creatures who reveled in their beastly and darker natures.  Truly horrible creatures who should have been destroyed, that offered ominous omens, to the Sherif, that they weren't.  So.  With dagger in tow, they turned and made their way back to New Orleans.  Completely unaware that their visit had not gone unnoticed by that same pack of vampires who created the ritual site.

				      *        *        *

	Alton sat in the back of the Chevy as it ambled along back towards New Orleans, twirling the dagger over and over in his hands as he examined the finer details of the instrument.  His mind a tumble of thoughts.  What exactly was it to be Sabbat, where were they now, and what plans did they have?  What else was known about this cult that was conveniently not mentioned to Alton by his peers that would still visit the théâtre on occasion? 

	Eventually the car turned and made it's rumbling way down the familiar road towards the plantation house.  However, as Alton sat there, something did not quite feel right to him.  As a frown crossed his lips he pinpointed exactly what it was.  
	The air was thick with the smell of burning wood.  His eyes scanned the road as he urged his eyes to work to their fullest, until he saw the plantation and the théâtre roaring in flames as small specks of people ran in a frenzy of motion around the structures.  Some appearing to be attempting to battle the blaze, while others simply gave in to the fear and panic.
	As they pulled up they noticed immediately that the individuals were In fact not Alton's servants, but the personal servants of both the Prince and his Seneschal.  As Rodun and Alton leapt out of the car, fighting to control their own inner beasts, they began to question frantic servants who were running to and fro with water buckets and hoses, and shovels of sand.  The only answer they received was that a pack of blackened devils swooped down upon the building and lit it ablaze.  All screaming and organized as they trapped the prince and some of his court inside and proceeded to cry out into the night that the city was under new rulership now.  That of the Sabbat.
	Reeling from the news and pushed ever closer to the edge by his beast, Rodun lost control and was gripped by a hysterical frenzy.  Though little was remembered about the tousle that ensued, it was later recounted that Alton, who was his first target, slew Rodun with the dagger they brought back from the ritual site, and then Alton fled into the swamps as the buildings soon burned to ash.
				       *      *      *
	
	As was expected the town was saddened to hear about the loss of the Deveruax family plantation and the gorgeous Théâtre des Saintes.  Though many felt like that loss even keener when Alton announced to those of his peers that he would be taking the opportunity as an omen, and moving to the northern parts of the country.  So it was that in middle of the spring of 1932 that Alton moved to Chicago.  By the beginning of summer he was settled into a nice villa in the burgeoning suburbs of the sprawling gangster town. 
	



	Though his years in Chicago where not overly unruly, they did come with their difficulties.  Namely when he set about establishing his new théâtre in the city, in an area that he did not entirely realize was already in the firm control of a family of dark gangster-esque vampires, the Giovanni.  So.  Again he was forced to find his way out into the world.  This time he struck out for the west.  Towards a city that he had heard was more friendly towards those vampires who wished to simply be left to their own devices.  
	
	So it was that in the early months of fall, Alton stepped off the train in the city of San Francisco.  It was there that he met with a great deal of success.  For as much as he loved New Orleans, and New Orleans loved him, San Francisco did not seem to care one way or the other.  He was surrounded, too, by other things of which he had only slightly experienced before, and he soaked in every single facet of the life and the energy there he could.  By nights he indulged in every form of vice he could find, as well as worked towards establishing another théâtre.