The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

They gathered by the Throne. The final Lord had fallen, and now they stood triumphant. It had taken such a long time to reach this final point. Many had died for this Cause; others were cast into oblivion, and some even vanished completely.



The Throne was large and archaic. It was made of some ancient tree that had only managed to sprout a few others like it. The location of this particular type of tree now is of no consequence, as it no longer exists within this world. Stronger than steel, and harder than oak, this tree was one of a kind. Its bark was tainted with the blood of an ancient culture made extinct by a ruthless Lord; the same Lord that now lay dead on the cobbled stone floor that comprised the Throne Room. Slaughtered for the mere creation of this tree, the culture had indeed been a beautiful one.



The Throne, which stood eight feet tall, was black and polished. The horrible black bark had been sanded with rock and decorated with human skulls. The back piece was as straight as an arrow, but was covered in plush red velvet that stretched down into the seat. A large knothole lay in the arm piece where the Lord would place his cup of vitae. The same cup still lingered there, as if expecting to be lifted by the Lord again and swallowed in a drought as the normal case had been.



Though sanded and smooth, the bark still lined the chair up and down, creating an elongated feeling to the Throne that was intended to intimidate any hostage or enemy captured. A red light shone down onto the Throne from the stained glass window directly above that depicted the return of the Antediluvians and their wrath against their Childer.

The Lord reveled in the thought of the return of his “brothers,” as he considered himself an Antediluvian. Indeed this Lord had been ancient, but never an Antediluvian.



The cobbled stone floor was smooth, save for the areas where the grout held together the stones. Grayish-black in color, the stones looked as if they could envelope any light that glinted on their surface. The ruined body of the Lord was strewn across this floor. The Lord’s countenance wretched in pain and hatred, as the Lord had never before been defeated or suffered such pain or torment.



Radiant and defiant, the new Master of this Palace of the Sabbat eyed the bleeding mass of the Lord’s body as his blood oozed into the stones which drank up the blood as if that had been what they had wanted to do all along. The new Master of this Palace of the Sabbat strode confidently and with a strut over this corpse that had really been no match at all, and marched toward his new seat.



Long had the new Master of the Palace waited for this moment. It seemed like eons ago that he had hatched the idea to conquer the Sabbat. To smite the Lord and drink up the vitae and claim all that had been the Lord’s. Only within the past few months had it all come together and with a gleeful shimmer in his eye, he had watched it all unfold. He was wicked with the plans he created. At each turn he expected the outcome and was never surprised by the events that had taken place. Each moment leading up to this had been carefully and painstakingly choreographed and every aspect taken into consideration, even the most minute of details.

At seven foot five and weighing over five hundred pounds of hardened muscle, the new Master’s heavy footfalls echoed around the chamber that housed the Throne Room. The gates, which had been in the new Master’s way from entering the Throne Room, had been torn asunder by the mere presence of the new Master. They had been enchanted, but this meant nothing to one such as him.



He had large black-feathered wings that when opened, spread out more than double his height and could be used as both weapon and shield. However, the new Master loved to use his wings for other purposes that brought him pleasure, and others discontent.



The blood read silk shirt opened at the neck and revealed his hairless hard white-gray chest. The shirt would appear to brighten up a little depending on which angle he stood at, or darken down. The matching black silk trousers, tediously made smooth and creased in the front and back, glided with each step he took. The black trousers never seemed to change color, such as his shirt did, but instead seduced the eyes towards them and the powerful leg muscles that forwarded his progression. The last piece of his dress was topped up by simple black leather slip-on business shoes. Shined to such a fine finish, they captured everything and reflected it back in such detail that if one were to focus on them, they could see the pot marks on their face or the small and indistinguishable crack in the plaster of a wall.



The long dark blue mane of hair that he loved so much flowed down over his shoulders and gave him the appearance of nobility. He carried himself as if he were a king, and that all others should pay tribute to him. The sheen of his hair was supernatural in effect, and it bounced slightly with each heavy foot that came crashing down onto the cobbled floor.



The smirk on his countenance said it all. Half a smile, and with fangs showing, nothing was as pleasing to him now as the sight of the Throne so close to him. His golden eyes took in the entire décor, and he relished in his triumph as much as he despised weakness.



Two steps left.

One step left.



He turned himself, took hold of the armrests, and seated himself on the Throne. The Throne had only been sat on by one individual, and that individual now lay not more that fifteen feet away, drowning in a pool of black blood. The Lord’s face was turned toward the Throne, and the face seemed to take on a look of horror as another sat in the Lord’s place. But that was not so, the Lord’s spirit had left the body when the final and real death took the Lord.



Sitting back and reveling in the surprising comfort of the most ancient piece of furniture he had ever laid eyes on, the new Master let out a small chuckle that slowly turned into a roaring and hoarse laugh of delight. He knew that what he had done would create shock waves throughout the known world. Well, the dark world. That soon he and his menagerie would become targets of assassinations and futile attempts to de-throne him. He could only smile at the thought of the coming battles. But for now, he wanted to relive this one.



His brow furrowed and he peered off into the dark corridor as he heard a resonating clicking sound approaching him. Instantly he knew who it was, and his grin broadened.



With a stride that seemed placed, as if this being walking toward the Throne Room had already thought of every step to take and carefully placed the steps according to previous planning, this being entered the Throne. The new Master of the Palace did not move, but only nodded and continued to grin maliciously. “Shadrack,” the new Master whispered.



The being kneeled onto its left knee, placed both hands eloquently onto its right knee, and bowed its head on top of its hands in reverence of its lord. The new Master let a long and foul laugh escape him. This creature, however, had not been part of his plan, but had worked out for him in such a way that the entirety of it all could be realized sooner. The Master started, “Shadrack, my Son…”





~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~THE BEGINNING~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Paris, France 1467



Gabriel sat in the corner. His eye bruised and his legs stinging from the whipping he had received from his father Jean. Gabriel was twelve years old now, and in a few years he’d “be a man. It was time that he stopped acting like a child.” Those were the words that were ringing inside Gabriel’s head that his father had been screaming while he punched, whipped, and degraded his only son.



Jean worked for the local blacksmith, and was neither talented nor dull-witted about his job. He could create sturdy metal, but nothing worth a king’s attention. Gabriel’s mother worked in the small shack that was called their home. She cleaned and cooked the food, whenever they had it.



She was a cruel woman. She would throw scalding hot water at Gabriel, and sometimes hit him with the pan if she missed. Jean would never attempt to stop her, saying that when Gabriel becomes a man, she’d stop. Today’s lesson, “never again will I see you with those hooligan buffoons that you call friends. Stealing this or pulling this prank or that. They shall end up in the L’Habit de Woe and you shall be there next to them, less you become a man.”



Every day it was the same thing. Every day when Gabriel would go to play with his friends he’d have some new bruise, some new tiny scar. However, Gabriel accepted this because he did not know any better. He knew that he was going to be his father when he grew older.

Already his father had begun apprenticing him to the master blacksmith, who by all accounts was a nice older gentleman. Gabriel had progressed quickly in skill, and was told that within a few years he would pass the talent of his own father. Gabriel, however, knew that if he let those words slip, his father would break his hands and keep him from metallurgy for the rest of his life.



Always dirty from the shenanigans he and his friends got into, his scraggly black hair was down to his shoulders and always tangled. The girls in town would laugh at him and his friends, but they didn’t care. They’d pick up rocks and start throwing them at the girls and hissing at them. Girls weren’t on their minds’ now, the apple pie that old Madame Velouche had baked that was sitting in her kitchen window preoccupied them.



“Alright Mon Amis, here’s the plan,” Francois whispered to the four of them, “Madame V is in her kitchen right now. If we try to steal the pie, she’ll see us and we’ll be done for. However, if one of us were to knock on her door and hold her attention for a moment, the rest of us could grab the pie, and we all could enjoy it later after it has cooled.” They all nodded in agreement.

Francois was the oldest of them. He was always coming up with good plans that would guarantee their success. If ever there was a failing at anything they stole, or any prank pulled, it was with one of the other three, and not Francois.



So with that, the four children rose to their feet and stood there for a moment and scanned the immediate area. Their quick eyes darted around looking for anything that would resemble “straws.” A few scattered sticks lay strewn about, obviously having fallen off the tree that they were hiding behind. Francois and Gabriel started picking up the sticks they lay on the grassy soil, going around the tree in one direction. Thierre and Noelle started mocking them, but going the other direction around the tree.



They all converged on the other side of the tree, now in plain view of their city. Paris was, by all accounts, an old city, except to them it was new, as they were still new to this world. With the small huts that the poor of Paris called “home” lining the outer city, and then farther in where the shops and centers of the modern metropolis sat snuggly in the afternoon sunlight, the four friends considered this city the center of civilization.



Just a little farther in was the king’s castle, where their ruler sat and watched over his people from seclusion. To Gabriel, the king was a fairy tale. He’d never before seen the king or queen, and believed in his child mind that the castle was actually just some old fort and that the stories he’d here from his father about the king asking some of the other more renown blacksmiths to make suits of armor or weapons, to be some mere story about a person who may have existed a hundred years ago. Never before had he witnessed the true elegance or degradation of the royal court, and never did he expect himself to either.



As the four friends reconvened on the other side of the tree now, they carefully chose the proper sticks in order to use to draw straws. Some of the sticks were too bent to use, or carried much too little weight and would therefore break if drawn from a closed hand.



After a few moments of study, the four friends finally had the four pieces of sticks that would be their straws. Francois closed his hand around the straws and put his hands behind his back. He moved the sticks back and forth from his hands, doing his best to mix them up and give each of his friends an equal chance at coming out on top, or to be the diversion.



Whipping his hands back around to his front, he held out his left hand to his friends with the heads of the straws sticking up out of his closed fist. The other three friends had seen Francois get into fights before. Once, after a fight with a bully that was terrorizing them, Francois’s fists were bleeding. He had held the bully down and continued to pummel him until the bully stopped making noise. That day, the three friends were terrified of their best friend because that was the only time that they’d seen their friend act the way he did. His eyes had glazed over and he had started crying, and screaming at the bully at the same time, “YOU’LL NEVER TOUCH ME AGAIN! NEVER! I’LL KILL YOU! I’LL KILL YOU, YOU BASTARD!” After that, whenever one of the four friends had some sort of problem with a bully or anything of that nature, they ran immediately to Francois.



“Ok Mon Amis, here we go. Now, whoever draws the shortest straw is the one to go and keep old Madame V busy, understand?” Thierre and Noelle nodded their heads, and Gabriel just waved his hand in the manner of understanding. Thierre drew first, then Gabriel, followed lastly by Noelle. The straw that was left was left for Francois.



Gabriel cursed under his breath. He had drawn the shortest and was therefore the one that had to go. He knew what that meant. He should get the largest piece of apple pie, but he’d be getting what was left, which was normally a small amount.



They all stood, and Gabriel started to brush off a few blades of grass that had clung to him. Francois squeezed his shoulder, “Now Gabriel, you must keep her attention for only a few short moments but remember, do not just run off. If you do, she’ll know that it was you, and then follow the trail back to all of us. Ensure that whatever you talk to her about is something that you can close up the conversation in such a way as to not make you, or us, suspicious.”

Gabriel nodded his head to assure Francois, sighed, and began the march toward Madame V’s door. Stories he’d heard about the old woman flooded his child brain and he suddenly did not know what to believe. The local rumor amongst the children was that Madame V’s pies were so delicious because she would catch would-be thieves and cook them into her pies. Gabriel had dismissed the rumors, saying that they were should not be paid attention to. He’d also heard that Madame V’s husband, who had fallen in battle with some common raiders years back, had at one point been found favorable by the king. It was said that Madame V was a guest of the royal court and had the protection of the king’s knights. Living out here among the poor and lowly life of Paris, he could not see how that was true.



His steady footsteps were silent as he approached the side of the old woman’s house. Although she did live in the poor section of Paris, her house was the cleanest looking he’d ever seen. New off-white paint had been recently used, and that in itself was an interest to the locals, as no one could possibly afford paint. The wood frames of the windows also looked to be well taken care of, if not new. No one in the section where Gabriel had grown up had that sort of thing either. If their windows had broken, it could be months, even a year before it was replaced. Not to mention that the frames were not as smooth or beautiful as Madame V’s were.

Gabriel’s idea of Madame V visiting the king on a regular basis began to seep into his brain, and thus all of the other tall tales he’d heard as well. He wondered, “Will she bake me with apples, or oranges?” It was a silly thought and he did his best to shake it off.



Now only a few short steps away from speaking with Madame V, Gabriel froze. He could not move. The thoughts that were racing inside his head had numbed his feet and legs somehow. They screamed to turn and run, but his heart said forward. The miscommunication confused his brain and there he stood. Stock-still. Like a statue of old he gazed at the door of what he was so sure would be his impending doom.



Quietly at first, and then growing in pitch, he heard his friends ushering him forward. Giving him words of encouragement from behind their tree; safe and sound from the danger that was certain to destroy Gabriel. Then he was snapped out of his blank expression and statuesque stance by a small rock. It thumped into the side of his head. Gabriel began to rub the spot that was sure to be a knot on his head now and turned and looked at his friends. Francois stood smiling, tossing up and down a rock that was slightly larger than the first. He nodded his head in an upward motion, attempting to grab Gabriel’s attention away from whatever was occupying his mind, and continue the trek towards the door. Gabriel bent over, and picked up the rock. Slyly smiling, he turned quickly and hurled the rock in the direction of Francois. With a sickening thump, he hit Francois in the hand that tossed up and down the other rock. Cursing and diving for cover, Gabriel could here Francois saying that he was going to get Gabriel back for that. Gabriel laughed to himself, knowing that later he and Francois would tumble and Francois would probably win, but in the end they’d always be friends.



Noelle and Thierre knew that Gabriel was supremely excellent at striking whatever target he aimed at. Francois knew as well, but refused to admit that fact to the other three friends. Time and again Gabriel had won small contests between the three of them. Once, during a carnival that was in town, Gabriel had impressed his friends so much that the day after Francois, Noelle and Thierre all went out and managed to find everything that would be needed to make a bow and a sling for arrows. They made him the arrows and presented them to him. He never missed anything he aimed at with it.



Turning his attention back to the door, he slowly closed the gap to the dark brown door. He turned around and motioned for his friends to hurry to the side of the house and get ready to snatch up the pie as soon as Madame V answered the door. Gabriel did not want to linger here. He intended to assault the old woman with a barrage of questions about the rumors he’d heard about her, holding her attention long enough for his friends to capture the pie, and then scuttle off himself, saying that he was sorry for bothering her and that a child like himself should grow up and stop believing such nonsense.



Erecting his back, clearing his throat, and trying his best to look proud and proper, Gabriel knocked on the door. The sound of knuckles on the wooden door seemed to echo within the house. At first Gabriel thought that no one was at home; that would make his job easier. He then knocked again, now really praying that no one was home. If that were the case, he and his friends would take their treasure and have equal shares for themselves.



One more time, the sound of knuckles crashing against the door collided with the deafening background of nothing. “How incredibly lucky we are!” Gabriel’s thoughts were racing quicker than his feet were turning. He waved to his friends to grab the pie, and as they did, he was about to begin a dash toward the direction his friends hurried off to, when he heard what sound like a voice from behind him.



His broad grin dropped, and he thought for sure that he was going into the next apple pie. He turned slowly with his head bowed down, expecting to get some sort of lashing from the old hag. Not only was he going to be eaten by the old Madame V, but also if he did manage to escape uneaten, he knew that his father would whip him until he could not walk. The night before Gabriel had huddled into the corner of the hut where he lived. He had touched the bruising area underneath his right eye where now a fresh bruise could be seen. His father had said that if he caught him in any more trouble, he’d break his hands and he’d work with his mother instead, learning to be a winch instead of a blacksmith.



However, when Gabriel looked up, he saw nothing but the closed front door. Cocking his head to the left, he listened more intently. There! He heard the noise again. Almost like a small squeal from a mouse, but audible enough to be heard through the wooden door. Pushing his head against the front door, Gabriel listened again, and this time what he heard sent shock through his entire system, “he….hel...*cough*…help, please!”



It was the quietest and most heart-wrenching thing Gabriel had ever heard. Immediately he sprang into action. He tried to open the door, but it was bolted shut from the inside. “HOLD ON MADAME! I’M COMING! HOLD ON!” Again Gabriel tried the door, banging and bashing his body into it. Still, he could not get it to even budge. Looking around for some other entry, he remembered where his friends had grabbed the pie. The window was open. Surely he could lift himself up and through the window.



As he was making his was around Madame V’s home, he was thinking to himself, “Why am I doing this? Surely she is just using this as a ploy to get me into her house so that she can say I stole the pie and try to eat me!” But even as he thought this, his feet and heart were reacting for him. He plunged ahead, undaunted by the impending doom he knew awaited him. “Well, if there be a Heaven, surely I will go there and meet all the Glorious Angels and God Himself, for what I’m doing is coming from my heart, not my head, and it says to help the old woman. God surely can see the justice in that and I will be judged rightly!”



Except for the fact that the rewards of Heaven were not the reason why Gabriel was now scurrying through the open window and crashing to the creaking wood floor. It was the right thing to do. “MADAME? WHERE ARE YOU?” He heard a quiet whimper coming from upstairs. He darted around the table that sat in the middle of the beautiful kitchen. Quickly he glimpsed the elegant kitchen, and swore that the old hag had to be a friend of the king, for there was no way that a poor peasant could afford such a lavish lifestyle.



Turning at the stanchion that held up the second floor and which was also being used as the beginning bullard for the railing of the steps, he listened again. There was the whimper and the quiet plea for help. Gabriel gathered up his strength, scared completely and suddenly aware that he was inside Madame V’s home. He was not certain why he had reacted the way he had. Never before in his life had he felt compelled to help another person, save his friends. Now he found himself standing at the base of Madame V’s staircase to the second floor, listening to the old woman plead and beg for help. “Well, I’m here. I may as well do something about it.”



He half sprinted, half skipped up the steps and rounded the corner of the railing and listened for which room he heard the woman crying from. Last room down the hall, left side. Quickly he closed the distance and turned the knob to the door. When he opened the door, it creaked loudly and would have woken the dead, were the dead not at eternal rest.



At first he did not know what to make of the situation he beheld. The initial shock of the bedroom also played a part in his confusion. As he stood there looking at Madame V in her bed, his eyes adjusted to the colorful brightness of the old lady’s room.



The walls were pure white, as white as the clouds. The bottom paneling of the walls was painted and had lilies on them. On the ceiling hung a chandelier that looked like it belonged in royalty’s houses, not this one. It was made of crystal and metal, and crafted together in such a way that would have made a child weep from the beauty of it, were a child not there as he was to save someone. There was a red mahogany closet set into the back right corner of the room, next to the window that looked out at the street. The light that flooded into the bedroom reflected off the surface of the well lacquered red mahogany closet and created a sheen that blinded. The light that fell into the room and hit other spots on the wooden floor warmed it and Gabriel could feel the warmth on his feet. It reminded Gabriel of the story he’d been told about vampires, suddenly. He remembered how sunlight would burn them and if they were caught in a room while the sun was rising, they’d do their very best to hide from its rays that would slowly creep down through a room.



Oddly enough, for the first moment since he crawled through the window, he was scared. Frightened of standing in the old woman’s bedroom. And after all that heroic exercise of trying to break down her door, climbing through the window, and getting up stairs in a flash to witness this strange picture.



Madame V sat on her bed, all the way back against the headboard, knees pulled up to her chest and her eyes wide in alarm. Although older people tend to lose color to their skin, she was as pale and white as the sheets that were spread across her bed. She just stared at the window. She stared at it as if it were going to come to life and try to gobble her up. “Madame? Are you alright?” Gabriel did his best to make his voice sound strong and reassuring to the old woman.



“Yes young man, now come and let me bake you into my pie,” he half expected her to say, but instead he received no response.

“Madame? I heard you from the street asking for help, and I rushed up here to save you from whatever doom I was sure you were in. If I may assist you Madame, please let me know?”

Why was he saying these words to her? He could not figure out where this sudden sense of nobility and chivalry had come from. But with it he was feeling more alive and mature than when he ever really had. Just the act of attempting to save this old woman from whatever peril that was present was exhilarating to him.



The look of her face was the only thing unnatural about all of this, really. It ignited a flame of horror in him, which had never been lit before. He was genuinely more frightened of this old woman right now than he had ever been with his father.



Slowly, her gaze drifted away from the window, and towards him. Her bottom lip began to quiver and her eyes widened. “Is she scared of me? That’s not possible. I just told her that I was here to…” Gabriel’s thoughts ended and unconsciousness took him even before he hit the floor. His eyes were closed, which was a good thing, because he would have passed out had he have seen the blood that slowly dripped down his face, past his eyes, and onto his lips.