Journey Through Darkness

Introduction

Jaden Gutte is my most recent creation, a character with a narrow vision and a straightforward motive: revenge. He'll get his revenge against those who stole his centuries and replaced them with nightmarish Harrowings in the Tempest. Never one to kill without cause, Jaden's motives are far more.. sinister. Wrapping his Machiavellian operations in thick layers of subterfuge, Jaden wages complex psychological warfare against his enemies, slowly cracking them after years of careful and subtle torture.

For you see, gentle reader, Jaden has not forgotten his heritage, an unlife that began as a Cappadocian and was perverted by the Shadowlands into which he and his brethren were forced to flee to escape the great Giovanni betrayal. Indeed, it is not a mystery as to whom Jaden's hatred, vengeance, anger and revenge is directed. His aura is black. His soul is twisted. Camarilla, Giovanni and sympathizers beware, you're in for horror, insanity, torture and mayhem. There are far worse things in the World of Darkness than Final Death..

Jaden Gutte's Background

I awaken, jarred from my slumber by the twisted evil that has descended upon me during the night. Hands. Everywhere. Grasping, pulling, gnawing, ripping, tugging, crushing, twisting, tearing, scuttling over me like spiders born of incredible strength, more than I can count, everywhere at once, everywhere at once. I try to scream, but foul tasting, rotting, crumbling hands find my mouth and plunge fingers inside, down my throat, my scream becoming a gag, then a retch. I peer wildly through the complete, utter darkness that surrounds me, seeking some clue as to the identities of whatever demons hold me down, be they monsters having crawled up from beneath my bed or an orgy of deranged sexual predators having crept through my open window. My bed... my bed? I am not in my bed. Cold stone beneath my back, no sheets over my body. I am naked, and the hands are not all that hold me down. Fog of sleep clearing from my mind, amid the grotesque grasping of each gnarled hand, I can feel the leather straps that bind me securely. I bite down, seeking to inflict startling pain on whomever's fingers have so daringly invaded my mouth. With the texture of dry leaves, the hand yields under my teeth and three fingers are severed, rolling around in my mouth, assaulting my senses with the pungent taste of rotting flesh. I spit, fail, swallow, retch. "The master..." one grunts in a rasping whisper, straining to form the words as if some deformity at birth left it unable to articulate with ease. "The master..." it begins again, but I am in no frame of mind to listen, thrashing and seeking escape from this nightmarish hell in which I have suddenly found myself, torn from my comfortable room and my comfortable bed. "The master..." "The master..." says another, attempting to help the first, and another joins in, three part harmony of struggling voices as if a trio of ancient crones with smoke tortured throats were suddenly possessed with the urge to raise their voices in heartfelt song. "The master... comes..." A descant joins the raucous melody as a wheezing, high pitched cackle adds the final word, the monsters aiding each other. "The master..." I am blinded by the smallest flicker of light at the corner of my vision, for I have grown so accustomed to the night that holds me prisoner. Miles away it seems, the flame of a candle, silhouetting my captors, so many of them, huddled over me like vultures awaiting the death throes to end and the feasting to begin. "Strigare," says a new voice, haunting and foreboding, more frightening in so many different ways than the rasping monsters that hold me down. Apparently heeding the foreign instruction, the demons fall away like a curtain, revealing my bruised and battered body to the whim of 'the master'. "Be silent, Nichelle." It knows my name? How does it know my name? The thought rolls around in my head like a mantra, the last of my security and confidence stripped away by the omniscience of this master. HOW DOES IT KNOW MY NAME? HOW DOES IT KNOW MY NAME?! "Jaden Gutte," it says and for a moment I am confused until I realize I am muttering 'name' over and over, the final word of my private chant, panting hysterically. The master must have believed I was speaking to him. Jaden Gutte. Jaden Gutte. Jaden Gutte. I now know more than I need to know, but my nightmare now has an identity and for that I am marginally thankful. A sound like dry leaves being raked over gravel echoes throughout the room as Jaden Gutte moves closer, giving me an indication of the size of the chamber in which I'm held. It is spacious, but the ceiling is low. The temperature is cold. The smell is death - I've never smelled death before, but I recognize it. I whimper, shrinking into the cold stone as Jaden Gutte's face is revealed by the aura of light cast by the single candle, only inches from mine - an eternally grinning skull, sunken eyes but sun dried raisons and tight skin yellowed like aged paper. The grin parts, shriveled tongue licking teeth obscenely as words tumble forth. One skeletal hand gently runs up the outside of my leg, leeching heat from my veins. "Betrayal," he whispers sibilantly, as if that one word had come to represent everything for which Jaden Gutte stood. "Betrayal is why you are here, Nichelle. Betrayal is why you will never leave. Your father. Kept locked to you the book of family secrets, he did." My whimper culminates into a sob as the roving fingers spiral over the scar left by my recent appendectomy. I want to ask the monster why, I want to know what I am doing here, but I can't bring my mouth to form words. "Oh, Nichelle. You bring me such joy. I have waited centuries for a moment such as this." A black, bloodcurdling cackle follows, the grinning skull swallowed by darkness as a gust of wind extinguishes the candle. I gasp, cringing, tears flowing freely as I fight against my bonds. "Nichelle. We will have a discussion, I think, about the past." The finger has reached my lips, brushing them closed, pressing firmly in a savage command for my silence. "Welcome to my nightmare, Giovanni." * * * * * As all stories have a beginning, so must the saga of Jaden Gutte. Born in Kayseri, Cappadocia on the eleventh of May, 1189, Jaden was a child destined for a life of poverty. His mother was a prostitute, and his father was one of her nameless clients. Fortunately for Jaden, she died at a young age of syphilis before parental neglect could take too much of an emotional toll on his young mind. Well accustomed to the arts of begging, Jaden made a living in the poverty stricken slums of Kayseri throughout the early portion of his life, scraping together barely enough to eat and managing to find work from time to time as a carriage bearer or messenger. Even in poverty, Jaden dreamed of the future. His dreams centered around the mystic Mount Erciyes, towering to the south of the bustling city. Whenever depression set in and he was tempted to throw himself under the razor sharp wheels of titanic Cappadocian carriages, his almond eyes would rise to the cloud shrouded summit of Mount Erciyes and he would imagine flying there to escape the hellish twilight in which he lived. An epiphany hit him during the winter of 1218 as he settled into a niche between two buildings, wrapping tattered rags around himself and holding his begging bowl out meekly before him. The sun set to the west and the mountain was bathed in an aura of red light, the swirling snow at its summit refracting solar radiance and causing it to shimmer with icy brilliance. It seemed to call to the boy, promising a life far better than the miserable existance he currently lived. Jaden stood, his bowl falling to one side, the copper coins rolling down the street to be devoured by swarms of small children. He took one step forward, towards the mountain, and began a journey which would span centuries. NOVEMBER 18TH, 1218. KAYSERI VALLEY, CAPPADOCIA. Jaden clutched the thick rags around himself as he walked like an automaton towards the mountain. The wind swirled around him as if it were alive, playfully making its way inside his thin clothing, blissfully unaware of the frigid pain it caused. Jaden did not notice, so intent was he on reaching the very thing he'd always dreamed of, that spiritual goal that had kept him going for so long. Hours passed, the size of the mountain growing minutely, still miles to go before the base could be reached - and the sun had set long ago. The night grew colder and Jaden wrapped his thin clothes around himself for what little warmth they could provide. He reached the base of the mountain as the sun was rising on the nineteenth of November, the snowcapped peak once more made brilliant by the rising sun. Throughout the day Jaden continued, walking steadily in delirium. He was ignorant of his own exhaustion, thoughts of hellish Kayseri pushing him from behind, dreams of the peaceful and tranquil Mount Erciyes pulling him forwards. He never rested, never ate, never gave thought to the freezing temperatures stealing life-giving heat from his veins. It was mid afternoon when his body could take no more abuse, when dreams and fanciful delusions of grandeur fell away like water on glass and Jaden collapsed from exhaustion and hypothermia onto the snow. * * * * * I listen, for there is little more I can do. I have stopped struggling, for the bonds that hold me are infinite in strength when compared to my own. Besides, I reason, should I escape, surely whatever demons brought me here would serve to prevent me from departing. Jaden Gutte lurks in the darkness, somewhere, invisible to me. I can hear him, thick, brown cloak he wears rustling faintly as he walks. Swish. Swish. I imagine waves, and find myself drowning in daydream, my mind already seeking escape from here into delusion and hallucination. I snap myself back to reality, and concentrate on my pain. I refuse to walk down that path. I am not yet ready for insanity. Eons have passed since Jaden last spoke, and for one paralyzing moment I fear he has left me to die a long, painful death of thirst in the blackness - a thought which is even more terrifying than his unnerving presence. I hear the whipping of his cloak, again, closer to me, his voice deafening even as it whispers. "Shhhhh," he coos, the mockery of comforting compassion meant for my ears betrayed by the dark chuckle crawling beneath. "Almost eight hundred years ago, my pet Giovanni, was I rescued from the slopes of the mountain and taken into the Erciyes Temple. I was .. tended to .. by those who would make me as I am today. "The gift of immortality, the dark secrets of death unlocked for me to see as Allanderra stole my blood and gave me hers." I had heard the whispered hints of dark secrets, of course, from cousins and uncles. They couldn't be true. Oh, please God, they couldn't be true. No one ever told me it went this deep, this far. Please. Let this be a nightmare. Let me wake up. I have school in the morning. Vampires don't exist. They don't exist. This is a nightmare. A nightmare. A nightmare. Flashbacks to an overprotective father, leaving family gathering early, subtly keeping me away from the Family when the Meetings started. Why? A cold finger strokes my cheek, the dark cackle causing me to sob in terror. "Do you know, Nichelle Giovanni? Do you know the name Augustus?" My breathing is fast, shallow, my chest bouncing with the effort of sucking in air. I hyperventilate, gaping like a fish thrust onto land. I don't know the name. I don't know that name. No one told me that name. "Allanderra was my Sire, Nichelle, and Constancia before her, through Japheth and Ashur Himself. I do not know why I was chosen, what force brought me to that temple. As my flesh grew pale and my eyes grew sunken, I would smile for I knew it was all worth it. Oh, yes," he whispered, closer, almost lustfully. "All worth it, if only for this moment." * * * * * Caine was the first vampire, cursed by God to spend eternity in darkness for killing his brother. From him stemmed Enoch, Jirad and Zillah of the Second Generation who, in tandem, created the Third Generation, the dreaded Antediluvians from whom all vampires would follow. Ashur would lead those who would come to be known as the Cappadocians, necromantic vampires cursed with the ghastly pallor and sunken eyes of corpses. Japheth and Lameth were his childer, of the Fourth Generation of Cappadocians, created over seven thousand years ago. The line continued as these and other Methuselahs created the Fifth Generation, of whom Constancia was a member. Jaden Gutte's grandsire, Constancia was matron of the Erciyes Temple and Embraced Allanderra there as one of her acolytes as the second millennium dawned. Lameth, Ashur's childe, became the most powerful sorcerer to exist and sought to escape the bonds of his sire by the early Middle Ages. He manipulated a powerful necromancer, Augustus Giovanni, so that the necromancer would "make himself attractive" to Ashur as a new childe. This worked and Augustus eventually did scheme against his sire as the manipulative Lameth had hoped. Giovanni's great betrayal, where Augustus and his childer hunted and destroyed the remaining Cappadocians, was less than two centuries away when Allanderra Embraced Jaden Gutte with Constancia's blessing. As the years progressed, Jaden Gutte studied within the Erciyes Temple, never once leaving its walls even as Constancia and other Cappadocians came and went. He gazed with wonder upon those vampires who counted their ages by millennia and harbored a secret yet powerful love for Constancia, a love which he knew would never be realized. To distract himself from her presence, he buried himself in necromantic lore, voraciously devouring books and arcane knowledge even as Ashur Himself graced the halls of Erciyes Temple with His presence. Augustus Giovanni accompanied Him. Constancia watched the warlock carefully, her swirling perceptions peering deeply into his thoughts and his soul. The man hid things well and nothing of his plans could be gathered, even with Constancia's powerful Sight. A mystical glimpse into the future arrived as the warning, the only warning Constancia would ever receive of the disaster to befall. Her vision fogged...

From then on, a doomsday clock wound down in the vampire's mind, counting away the thirty years that remained. Thirty years to plan a course of action. Thirty years to stop what would come to be known as the Giovanni Purge. Augustus Giovanni was protected by the sorcerer Lameth and the Antediluvian Ashur, a fortress even Japheth could not penetrate. Ashur would not listen to Constancia's words, this she knew, for visions - even those as vivid as this one - were unpredictable, random and open to interpretation. Slowly, quietly, she spread the word to those she trusted, gathering vampires who sought freedom to the Erciyes Temple. The years passed, Constancia perfecting what she believed to be the only solution, the only means of escape. The clock wound down. MARCH 13TH, 1443, ERCIYES TEMPLE, MOUNT ERCIYES, CAPPADOCIA Jaden Gutte followed his sire, Allanderra, into the secret antechamber of the Temple. There, hundreds of loyal Cappadocians had gathered, all clad in simple brown robes and awaiting the arrival of Constancia The door slammed and the matron entered, clad in a flowing green dress and bedecked in rich jewelry. In one hand, she clutched a single white skull. In the other, a small velvet pouch. Silently, she strode into the center of the room and untied the pouch, finally looking up at those gathered. "Betrayal," Constancia began, holding the small pouch into the air, "is what we have to look forward to. Ashur Himself has been led astray by Lameth, his sorcerous childe, and the black necromancer he Embraced but four centuries ago. "In one year, Augustus Giovanni will commit the dreadful crime of Amaranth on Ashur, stealing from Him His very soul and proceeding to hunt down all of the Antediluvian's childer, including ourselves." The reaction from those gathered was one of deathly silence, so disciplined by their rigorous studies never to betray emotion. They trusted Constancia, for she was wise. Overturning the pouch, Constancia allowed the bone dust contained within to sprinkle out, elongating and spreading as it fell through the air to form a perfect circle on the ground before of her. "Ingressus In Mortis," Constancia announced, holding the skull before her, eyes towards the circle on the ground. A faint shard of blue light flickered into being behind each gaping eye. "We will flee, for that is all we can do," Constancia said, addressing the congregation. "We will join with the spirits of those who have departed this world, yet bring our bodies with us so we might return to wreak our revenge on Augustus Giovanni." "Ingressus In Mortis," Constancia repeated, a mantra which translates into english as 'enter into death'. The skull's eyes flashed blinding blue, the circle of bone dust glowing a similar color as if resonating with the light. "By the power of darkness, by the spirits of those who went before us, Ingressus In Mortis." The circle of bone dust leapt into the air, suddenly solid and blazing with blue fire, spinning swiftly. "Ingressus In Mortis," Constancia screamed, throwing the skull through the circle of bone. The ensuing howl of hurricane wind was deafening, the swirling potency of the gateway extinguishing candles and torches and bathing everyone in chilling, blue radiance. The circle was shimmering and transparent, and through it Jaden could see the opposite side of the room and those Cappadocians that stood there. However, everything appeared centuries older - the walls were cracked and chipped and stained, and the single torch visible through the circle was extinguished and nearly tumbling from its rusted wall sconce. The vampires were skeletal, clad in robes so tattered it was a wonder they remained on the body. Jaden was witnessing the touch of Oblivion for the first time, something with which he would become well \ accustomed over the following centuries. The wind increased in potency, the howling of Specters and Wraiths curdling even vampiric blood as Jaden was suddenly airborne alongside other Cappadocians who found themselves in the same frightening state. They swirled around the room like corks caught in a whirlpool, the blazing circle throbbing as if hungrily seeking sustenance. One by one, the vampires were pulled into the Shadowlands through the rift, Constancia being the last to cross over the Shroud. Crying out in agony, she was unable to properly close the portal, unable to guarantee a way out in the future. It slammed shut, and the chamber was quiet once more. * * * * * Augustus Giovanni. Augustus Giovanni. 1444. April 12th. The Giovanni Purge. These facts roll around in my head as I try to make sense of them in the darkness, try futilely to understand what this monster is claiming my ancestor did. Nothing makes sense. Vampires? I had heard the rumors, all of them, but they were just stories and if they were true, why didn't someone I trusted explain it to me? I no longer knew who to trust. "You can never imagine the agony we were forced to endure, Giovanni," Jaden Gutte says, his voice icy and venomous in infinite hatred. "Locked in the formless hell of the afterlife, trapped in the Tempest and bearing witness to horrors meant only for those who had died and deemed unworthy of transcendence. All because of you, Nichelle." I don't hear him move, but when the voice speaks again, it is on the opposite side of my body. "I will help you imagine it, Nichelle. Do not worry - you will understand agony before this night is through." I feel heat behind me, and a solid red glow floods the room with infinitely dim light. The heat grows, the source of the light moving to my cheek. Oh, please no.. * * * * * The Cappadocians never learned what went wrong during the ritual, a fact which haunts Constancia even to this day. Perhaps the Oblivion tainted bodies of vampires were never meant for the Shadowlands, acting as a magnet to eternal Oblivion and the Tempest which surrounds it. Borne on haunting winds, taunted by Wraiths, the Cappadocians of the Erciyes Temple attracted Specters by the dozens, all to happy to rip apart the very monsters who once sought to control them. Harrowings only for the skinless? SOMETIME, SOMEWHERE IN THE TEMPEST Hands. Everywhere. Grasping, pulling, gnawing, ripping, tugging, crushing, twisting, tearing, scuttling over Jaden like spiders born of incredible strength, more than he could count, everywhere at once, everywhere at once. The Tempest roared around him, twilight gray revealing only that whatever spirits plagued him were completely invisible. There was a jarring sensation, then a slide, then the muffled sound those of today might recognize as that of a depth charge going off deep underwater. Light. Heat. Pain. Jaden was screaming even before he knew what was happening, his mind expanding to attempt to recall what the sun looked like, for that was what lurked above him, blazing downwards in all of its glory, blackening the vampire's skin and whirling him into Rotschrek. 'Why don't I DIE?' Jaden thought, the only thought that managed to break through the pain induced haze. 'Why don't I DIE? I'm supposed to DIE! Please, let me DIE!' The sun, merciless and hateful, burning and bright. A field. High noon. A cloudless day. Nowhere to turn, nowhere to go where the sun could not find him. A hiss, followed by a solid whoosh. Now fire. Sun, fire, everywhere. The field was burning, demonic tendrils of red flame running down the dry husks of corn like water, leaping from stalk to stalk to stalk to Jaden, devouring Jaden's body even as the sun beat down on it. The sun should have moved as the hours dragged by, but it remained fixed as if there not to provide light or life, but pain and fear. Never did the Specter who formed this twisted psychodrama dare to allow Jaden to grow used to the searing pain, and every moment was as bad - worse - than the first. The hours dragged by like days, madness sneaking up on the Cappadocian, slinking through the burning grass, stalking its prey. Blackness closed in, finally, mercifully, drawing Jaden away from the first of three Harrowings. The winds of the Tempest swirled. * * * * * "Many of us regret the loss of the sun, Nichelle Giovanni. Many of us spend hours in darkness imagining its soothing warmth." Another silence, the flaming brand growing closer. "I stopped longing for the sun after that day, never to yearn for it again. "Oh, Nichelle. You will yearn for the cool darkness before I am done with you." I whimpered as the brand drew closer. Sizzle. Crack. The smell of burnt flesh filled the air. I screamed, Jaden laughed. * * * * * SOMETIME, SOMEWHERE IN THE TEMPEST Hands. Everywhere. Grasping, pulling, gnawing, ripping, tugging, crushing, twisting, tearing, scuttling over Jaden like spiders born of incredible strength, more than he could count, everywhere at once, everywhere at once. The Tempest roared around him, twilight gray revealing only that whatever spirits plagued him were completely invisible. There was a jarring sensation, then a slide, then the muffled sound those of today might recognize as that of a depth charge going off deep underwater. The stillness. Complete, utter stillness. The minutes ticked by. Nothing. The hours ticked by. Nothing but silence and darkness. The days ticked by, agonizingly slowly. Jaden remained locked in a formless, soundless, sightless, invisible hell. Days became Weeks. Weeks became Months. Months became Years. Nothing. Insanity, born of boredom and claustrophobia, tickled the back of Jaden's mind like tiny fingers, daring a single chuckle to escape and snowball into a mad cackle that would never end. Years compounded upon Years. Decades. Centuries. Nothing. * * * * * "The spirits were playing, Nichelle. "They'd taken me into a hell I'd never envisioned, for even the most horrible perception of hell lacks boredom. "I wish I were patient enough to show you real boredom, Nichelle, for it is the most horrible torture ever invented, ever envisioned, timeless and eternal as the centuries fall like grains of sand. "Horrible, because it has an end, just as you grow accustomed to it. "An end that is shocking, jarring and enough to snap minds like dry twigs." Sizzle. Crack. Scream. Laugh. * * * * * SOMETIME, SOMEWHERE IN THE TEMPEST A sound. The First Thing in what felt like thousands of years, a foreign noise for which Jaden's ears needed to relearn how to function. "Jaden?" A whisper. A language. His name? He couldn't be sure. "Jaden? I found you." Who? Allanderra? No - dead. Constancia? "They're coming, Jaden. Stand." Yes. Constancia. Rescuing him. Does he want to leave? "Jaden." Yes. He wants to leave. He stands. Legs working for the first time, bringing him to his feet in the darkness. Light. Through his eyelids. He opens them, having forgotten to before. Images swirl across his retina, seeking interpretation by a brain which has been left without sight for centuries. Memories return, comparisons are made. Yes, Constancia is before him. Smiling, wearing the same green dress she was wearing that night. Where? Ahh, the antechamber. The site of the ritual. Skull and circle of bone but dust on the ground. All a dream? No. Real. But how? "Jaden? Look at me." He turned, lips gaping to form words which would not come. Beautiful, she was - even with sunken eyes and skin of ghastly pallor. His love for her returned, flexing emotional muscles that had atrophied over the imagined centuries in isolation. "I.." Jaden began, tongue suddenly unresponsive. "Yes. Take your time." Throb - her dress. It moved. Over her stomach, rippling like something was underneath. Jaden stared at it, transfixed, words forgotten. "Jaden? Look at me." Eyes rose, taking in her face, bony fingers reaching out to brush Jaden's cheek. Her lips part. Yes. Beautiful. "Kiss me, Jaden." Jaden leaned forward, forbidden love finally his for the taking. His lips barely touched hers as her fingers touched his cheek.. and spread. Spread. Fell apart, dissolved into a hundred.. somethings.. which covered his cheek and scattered over his body. Opening his eyes, Jaden recoiled as Constancia's mouth opened, spiders and ants and cockroaches flowing out, scuttling over each other in their haste to reach him. A gasp, mouth opening to admit the insects, sliding inside and boldly crawling down his throat. He stumbled backwards, thrashing once as muscles suddenly returned to his control with the onset of panic, Constancia's dress flowing and convulsing as hundreds.. thousands.. millions emerged from sleeves and legs, ripping through her skin which had become but a paper shell, converging over Jaden. The first bite, on his cheek, was the signal for the feasting to begin. Stinging and biting, inside and outside, the body of his mentor now nothing more than a throbbing green dress, roiling with the bodies of hundreds of insects still contained inside. Thrashing and convulsing, frenzied scratching drawing blood, longing for the sun or the stillness.. anything but this. They kept coming, never dying, even the most potent Rotschreck driven pound having no effect. "Please.." Jaden screamed, the last of his sanity draining away like water down the drain. Covering him like a cloak, Jaden lived through his own death at the hands of billions of flesh hungry insects, clumsily hacking away at his flesh. The sudden, powerful sound of rushing wind was the last thing Jaden heard as he was returned to the Tempest. * * * * * "You don't look well, Giovanni. "Was it the story? Or the branding? "Do you fear death? You should. Do not listen to the priests or the bishops or the monks, Giovanni. Death is Oblivion, a shadow of this world during which the slightest misstep brings about the Harrowing. "Those torturous dramas played themselves out over the course of three hundred years, Nichelle. Three hundred years of hell, finally to escape into the Shadowlands after experiencing death at the hands of the Specters. "I see you seek the conclusion to this story, then. Sizzle. Crack. Scream. Laugh. * * * * * One by one, the newly named Harbingers of Skulls found themselves at the merciless hands of the Specters, witnessing horrors never before seen by the living, willpower and sanity tested at every turn. Three trials were set forth for each Harbinger, as if Harrowings were predestined by some omnipotent being. Each suffered through three - no more, no less. Most lasted through one, and many endured two. The third was the most trying, for emotional figments of life across the Shroud were twisted and perverted by the Specters, transforming comforting memories of life in the skinlands into grizzly nightmares. First as a trickle, the Harbingers of Skulls emerged from the whirling winds of the Tempest forever changed. The touch of Oblivion had taken their corpselike bodies and twisted them even further, drawing skin ever tighter. No longer were the former Cappadocians mere corpses, but skeletons wearing a mockery of skin as one would wear a thin layer of clothing, barely hiding their true forms beneath. Constancia was first, and she led the Harbingers deep into Mount Erciyes, far away from the wraithly population of Kayseri. Sentinels were sent out to watch for the emergence of new Harbingers, putting down like rabid dogs those whose minds had snapped under the onslaught of the Specters. APRIL 19TH, 1791, MOUNT ERCIYES, SHADOWLANDS Jaden Gutte tumbled out of the swirling Tempest into a bank of snow, forever changed by the Harrowings he'd endured. Stumbling to his feet, wrapping the cloak around him even as he was unaffected by the cold, he stared at the sky with shrivelled, raisin eyes, now the very monster Nichelle Giovanni would have the pleasure of meeting two hundred years hence. Nothing but rolling, black clouds, the ominous sound of whirling wind always audible on some other plane of existance, the terrifying Tempest taunting him with its nightmarish denizens. A rustle behind him, another Harbinger come to bring him to the new Temple. * * * * * My face is fire, a burning mass of agony as Jaden Gutte's brand trails a crackling, sizzling path across it. I can only imagine the gruesome scarring, the horrific life of perfect ugliness I will always have to endure, should I survive the night. The cackle has never stopped, even as he speaks, causing me to wonder if I'm imagining it. I can see nothing, for my eyes have been.. melted?.. by the brand, iris and pupil punctured and boiled away until I am certain I look just like him. I've cursed the names of my parents and those of my grandparents, those who knew these secrets and yet never told me, made me endure a torture I didn't deserve. "Giovanni, you think your trials have come to an end? We still have two hundred years about which to chat, and my servants have been so looking forward to playing with you. "The Temple into which I was brought is invisible to those on this side of the Shroud for it was built on the other side - it is still there, Giovanni, for the Wraiths to plunder and the Specters to invade. "For two hundred years we studied, all the while knowing that if anyone could free us from our hell it would be Constancia. Tomes and books and candles were all I knew for two hundred years, until the matron finally stumbled upon the first of many secrets we would use to free ourselves." His head descended and I could somehow sense his breathless lips but inches from my forehead. I was proven correct in my assumption when he spoke. "Secrets we will make all of your traitorous family wish we'd never discovered." * * * * * Constancia departed the Harbingers of Skulls in the summer of 1936, promising to complete her knowledge after unearthing the hidden vaults of necromantic knowledge contained in the remains of Cappadocia. The Harbingers of Skulls were left alone, spending the next fifty years dreaming of the world on the other side of the Shroud. It wasn't until the dawning of the third millenium was at hand that the Harbingers of Skulls once again heard from their savior. DECEMBER 14TH, 1995, MOUNT ERCIYES, SHADOWLANDS A cry, hoarse and unnerving, filled the Temple and brought the entire population of Harbingers of Skulls swiftly, converging wraithlike upon the one who had risen the alarm. In the newly created antechamber, a spinning circle of blue light had formed, radiating outwards with consuming swiftness and bringing with it the first glimpse of the real world any of the Harbingers of Skulls had seen in centuries. Maintaining composure, they watched, transfixed, as the portal widened to reveal a rolling plain bathed in moonlight, Constancia standing in the midst of it. With a smile - made eternal by her lack of lips - she beckoned the Harbingers of Skulls through. Finally, they were free, in a world so far removed from the one they'd left that the Giovanni Purge was but a distant memory, only the oldest and rarest of vampires even recalling its occurance. One by one the Harbingers of Skulls emerged from the Shadowlands, bowing in worshipful thanks to Constancia. When the last of one hundred and eight had emerged, Constancia gestured and the portal closed. "Betrayal," Constancia announced, in a voice loud enough that it echoed off the surrounding peaks. "Betrayal is why we are here, why we are strangers to a world we once owned, why we are cursed with skeletal forms and why we were forced to endure such torture." The whisper of leaves was all that greeted Constancia's words, the Harbingers of Skulls having learned to appreciate silence after living so long across the Shroud. "Vengeance," Constancia continued, taking a step forward and raising her hands. "Vengeance is what we are here for, what will drive us to hunt down the last of the Giovanni until the treacherous family is no more." Silence from the congregation. "Come forward, and flay the skin from your faces to solidify your purpose. Come forward, and don the masks which will serve as symbols of your anonymity - never let another know of our past, never let the Cappadocians be remembered lest the Giovanni return to complete their Purge. Come forward, and I will tell you where you will go, alone, to carry out our purpose." At some unspoken signal, the Harbingers of Skulls knew their leader's speech had come to an end and they stepped forward in perfect synchronization. Jaden Gutte was the first to follow out the woman's instructions, ripping the skin from his face to reveal the skull beneath and donning one of three masks offered to him. Telepathically, Constancia filled Jaden's mind with the information he would have need of - all that had occured over the past six hundred years, the clans, the feud between Sabbat and Camarilla, the Giovanni and the location of the city in which Jaden Gutte would begin his.. work. "A fortress of Sabbat power," Constancia finished out loud. "Madrid, Spain." * * * * * My sanity has reached breaking point and I am now little more than a cowering, sobbing shell. I do not hear his words, yet this does not matter to him for he speaks them regardless. "Moncada, Nichelle. The Archbishop of Madrid - powerful, evil, yet foolishly hungry for more power. For ten years I remained there, a source of careful advice with my eternal desire for vengeance coloring every word I spoke." Again, that dark chuckle I'd come to despise so greatly. "The consistory, influenced by others of the Harbingers of Skulls, chose me as the new millenium dawned.. my services to Moncada had not gone unnoticed and I was made Priscus." A shudder, the table rocking as Jaden Gutte leans over it. "I stayed in Spain for a century, weathering the Third World War by Moncada's side until a missive from Constancia herself directed me to the New World. To the hub of corruption and social decay, Nichelle. To the city where Giovanni influence is everywhere. "Oh, my pet Giovanni. I am here, now, on this street, locked in this cemetary. The Sabbat welcomed us, for we were strong and they were fickle. As a vehicle of vengeance, the Sword of Caine is admirable. As for it's intended purpose... the Sabbat is a laughingstock." I was delirious with the pain, my mind frantically seeking escape even as my body lay bound to the table. I could hear the rustling in the darkness, so many bodies, the demons under this vampire's sway moving once again to my side. "The night draws to an end, Giovanni. Can you feel the sun rise? I can feel the sun rise, and hear the roar of the Tempest even as I wait on this side of the Shroud. Do you wish to experience the Tempest, Giovanni?" In no condition to answer, I just lay there, face throbbing dully with the pain of the searing brand. The rustling drew closer. Hands. Everywhere. Grasping, pulling, gnawing, ripping, tugging, crushing, twisting, tearing, shredding, digging, slashing, snapping, dragging, squeezing, squishing, eviscerating...

Jaden Gutte's Stats

Physical		Social		Mental
Strength Dexterity Stamina	3 3 4	Charisma Manipulation Appearance	3 4 0	Perception Intelligence Wits	5 4 4

Talents

Skills

Knowledges

Alertness Dodge Empathy Intimidation Subterfuge	2 2 2 5 3

Diplomacy Interrogation Intrigue Sense-Deception	2 4 3 3

Etiquette Melee Stealth	1 3 4

Misdirection Research Torture	2 3 4

Investigation Linguistics Medicine Occult	3 1 2 5

Camarilla Lore Giovanni Lore Harbinger Lore Kindred Lore Sabbat Lore Wraith Lore Deadlands Lore	3 2 4 4 4 4 4

Backgrounds

Influence
Resources
Retainers
Sabbat Status
Elder Status

4
2
4
5
3

Disciplines

Auspex
Fortitude
Necromancy
��Mortuus Path
��Ash Path
��Bone Path
��Sepulchre Path
Thaumaturgy
��Spirit Thaumaturgy

3
1
5
5
4
3
2
4
4

Sabbat Virtues

Callousness
Instincts
Morale

2
3
5

Merits

Flaws

Eat Food
Medium
Occult Library

1
2
2

Conspicuous Consumption
Touch of Frost
Eerie Presence

-4
-1
-2

Pools

Path of Death and the Soul
Willpower
Blood Pool
Generation
Health

8
10
20
7
7

Conclusion

Unfortunately, Nichelle Giovanni was one lucky, albeit isolated case of Jaden Gutte's hatred - the rest of you will not be let off so easily. Centuries of agony will never be balanced by one night of torture followed by eternal rest. Misery and terror are Jaden's weapons, and insanity his goal. Giovanni, watch the shadows as your empires crumble and wonder if the Shroud will open and draw you in. Heed the soft sound of footfalls in the darkness and fear the cold fingers of revenge around your neck. Beware your own magic, for the true masters of the world beyond have returned to regain that which was taken from them..

Jaden Gutte - Harbinger of Skulls

Introduction

Jaden Gutte's Background

Jaden Gutte's Stats

Conclusion