• Published 26th Jan 2015
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Outsider's Game: Night King - Bluecho



MLP/Vampire: The Masquerade Crossover. A lost denizen of the World of Darkness wakes in a World of Light.

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11 - Lamb In The Wolf Den

Ch. 11 - Lamb In The Wolf Den


March 1955

Kneel.

He was already dropping to one knee before he realized what he was doing. “Ugh!” Dougal said, slipping down. He clutched at his leg and tried to rise, but could not. One foot was firmly planted on the ground.

The childe looked up at his sire.

With both knees.

He tried to resist. But he saw those eyes. Saw an absolute authority in them.

Dougal sank lower, to both knees. His body shook all over.

Antonio smiled. “That,” he said, waving his hand absentmindedly, staring still into Dougal's eyes, “is the second art I gave to you. The power to Dominate.” He stroked his beard. Behind him lay the crumbling pile of marble that had previously been a fine and well-crafted statue. All that remained of the first demonstration. “When you have met the eyes of another, you may command them. And they will obey, as you've just experienced.” He beckoned at Dougal. “Now rise. Let's see you do it.”

As Dougal rose to his feet, Antonio clapped his hands.

The chamber door opened, an an old servant shuffled in. “Master,” the man sighed, standing absolutely straight.

Dougal studied the manservant. The bushy white mustache and wrinkles were to be expected. But he noted the many scars upon his face, including a prominent one across his eye, which was milky white. The man had his attention completely upon the elder vampire.

“My childe,” Antonio said, gesturing to Dougal. “He is learning. Try – as hard as you can – not to do what he tells you.”

“Uh...of course,” the man said, a single bead of sweat rolling down his cheek. Servant turned to childe. “Master Dempsey?”

Dougal looked the man in the eyes. They were so tired.

His sire shuffled up behind him, placing his hands on the fledgling's shoulders. “Right in the eyes, that's a good boy. Order him to do whatever you like. Exercise your will. Make the order clear and concise. Above all else...” Antonio squeezed firmly, making Dougal nearly wince. “...know that when you speak, it is an order that must be obeyed.”

Dougal gulped, studying the manservant. Saw him blink, eyebrows dropping just a moment in trepidation.

Finally, Dougal croaked out, “Dance.

The manservant's eyes widened in surprise. Then he grimaced. He gritted his teeth, but his shoulders buckled and swayed.

Just like that, the old man began to shuffle back and forth, hopping from one foot to the other. “Uuhh...” he groaned, hips swaying. They popped audibly, the man wincing. It was a slow, creaky, pathetic display. But he danced.

“...uh...you can stop now,” Dougal said, raising a hand. He was as relieved as the servant was when he stopped.

“Again,” Antonio said, stepping back.

“Yes master,” the man said, rubbing his back. He looked back at Dougal.

Dougal paused. He turned on his sire, meeting his eyes. “Die!

Antonio blinked, then laughed. “Ha ha ha!” he chuckled, and began clapping.

Dougal frowned in shock.

Antonio smiled. “Nice try,” he said. Then he stepped forward and punched Dougal in the gut.

“Gah!” Dougal said, doubling over. Clutching his belly, he staggered back, nearly walking into the manservant. Dougal gasped, and looked up at his sire.

“Yes, that was a nice try. I like a childe who seizes an opportunity.” Antonio grinned maliciously at the fledgling. “Three problems, however. First, one of greater will than your own can resist your commands. Victor here understands his place, but my will is far harder than yours.

“Second, Dominate cannot be used to simply order someone to die,” Antonio said. “They cannot be made to do anything with certain chance of killing them. Self preservation is too strong to subvert so easily. They can be made to undertake a task that is suicidally risky, such as to attack a clearly stronger opponent. But they cannot be made to slit their own throats, let alone to drop dead on the spot.

“And thirdly...” Antonio walked up to Dougal and grabbed the front of his shirt, lifting up. Their faces met close up, Dougal's contorted in terror and frustration. Antonio smiled, their eyes meeting. “...you cannot Dominate one closer to Caine than you are. Period. I am your sire, so I am automatically stronger in blood than you. Understand?”

Dougal nodded, and the elder let his go. Her staggered away, biting his lip. He looked up at the manservant, who seemed intent on remaining out of the matter entirely.

“You may go, Victor,” Antonio said.

“Thank you sir,” said the mortal, bowing deeply. He shuffled away, rubbing his hip. The doors he shut behind him.

“You'll practice more on your next vessel,” Antonio said, walking to the set of two chairs facing each other. “Sit.”

Dougal complied, taking the seat opposite. Rubbing his sore belly, he looked at his sire. But he didn't meet his eyes.

“I see you avert your eyes,” Antonio said, smiling. “Good. Just as other clans have enhanced strength, so too do other clans possess the mind bending powers we do. So be careful whose eyes you meet, boy.”

He raised his hand, into a fist. “But there is one discipline denied the other, lesser children of Caine. A power unique to Clan Lasombra. It is not merely a gift. It is our legacy, and your deathright.” His fingers opened, palm raised upwards.

The lights overhead flickered. The shadows all around the room quivered, then began to dance. Finally, the darkness broke off of the surfaces of the walls, the floor, the ceiling, even from Antonio's body. They broke away into lines of smoke that whipped through the air.

Finally, the shadowy smoke traveled to the elder's hand, meeting and mixing over his palm. Lines like ink trailing in, coalescing and shifting. They formed a sphere dark as night. A rolling ball of obsidian, as if the old vampire had ripped a hole in world and held it.

Antonio smiled, utterly unconcerned. He merely stared at his childe. “Darkness itself is our eternal ally. The greatest boon I can offer you. Our crowning glory. Obtenebration.”

Dougal stared at it, too terrified to move or speak.


Present

“...Stop here.”

The carriage ground to a halt.

“Uh...Princess Luna?” Twilight asked, looking out the window. Neon lights bathed the street crimson and gold, advertising a quaint drinking establishment called the Withered Willow. “Why are we stopping here?”

Luna gazed out the window at the bar, hearing the low beat of music coming from inside. Her eyes traveled to the vampire. Then to Twilight. “Despite my earlier hopes, this simply can't wait,” she said. She opened the door. “We're going in.”

In the seat across from her, Dougal cocked and eyebrow, then shrugged, following.



The bar was bustling, packed by weekend revelers. Dozens of ponies – and a table of rowdy minotaurs – filled the air with discordant noise. Bitter barking, chipper chatting, slurred soliloquies. The clatter of mugs and sloshing of cider – and harder drinks besides. An apparent somnambulist teetered back and forth at the bar, the tending stallion attempting in vain to pierce the haze of sleep and convince the guest to depart. A rousing bar ballad started up in the back, propagated by tipsy office workers that held together on their hind legs and swayed in step with the brass band in the corner.

Dougal surveyed the scene from behind the princesses. It reminded him of the bars back home, where inhibitions fled and loose women – and men too – permitted dark strangers to venture close and nibble at their necks. How often no one noticed the drawing of blood, or the patrons left giddy and unconscious at their tables or on the dance floor.

An excitable mare in uniform hopped up and addressed the party. “Welcome to The Withered Willow! I think we might have a table in-OH MY GOSH PRINCESS LUNA!”

Luna did her best to smile, but she was hardly in the mood. “Yes, can I...?”

“And Princess Twilight Sparkle too!” The waitress jumped up and down, giddy with excitement. “This is a huge honor!”

“Nice to meet you,” Twilight said.

“And...who's your...friend...?” the mare said, looking back to Dougal.

Dougal merely looked away, taking in the (suddenly very interesting) impromptu line dance the tipplers were engaged in.

“Miss, if you please,” Luna said, stepping forward. “My party have need of your storeroom. May we use it?” She wasn't smiling.

“...uh...I don't...” The waitress scratched her head, ears going flat. “I'll have to ask the owner. Give me one second.”

The mare made her way to the bar, ducking around the sleepwalker and speaking to the bartender. She pointed to the Princesses, which drew the stallion's attention. His eyes grew wide. The two spoke for a minute, the bartender growing increasingly concerned.

Finally, the mare returned. “Owner says it's okay if it's for royalty...but what exactly do you need it for?”

“Talking.” Luna walked forward, letting the mare lead their party through the crowded establishment. With every table they approached, the patrons ceased talking. Then, when the party had passed, conversations erupted anew.

Finally, the waitress led them into a small hallway, past a pair of restrooms. At the end of the hall, next to the back exit, was a door marked Employees Only.

“Here it is!” the mare said, gesturing to the door. “Will you be needing anything, your highnesses?”

“I need nothing, but thank you,” Luna said, nodding politely to the mare. She pushed open the door and filed in.

Dougal ducked his head to fit under the low entryway. “I will require no refreshments, thank you.” He smiled at the mare with shut eyes, though in his wake the mare was left disconcerted.

“Um, I could go for a glass of cider, if it's not too much trouble,” said Twilight, grinning forcefully in response to the mare's disquiet.

“Oh...uh, right away, Princess!” the mare said, tension fading. “I know your guards are on duty, but I'll get them some water.”

One of the guards muttered thanks, then the two took their place guarding the door.

The keeper found a spot next to a cabinet to stand. His brushed his fingers over a crate. “So, your highness,” said Dougal, “you wished to talk. What are we talking about?” He flashed her a smile.

“What was that back there?” Luna said, glaring at the vampire intently.

“Mr. Dempsey,” asked Twilight, looking back and forth between the lunar diarch and the undead, “did you make that...extrusion of darkness? The one that saved that child?”

“...yes.” Dougal clasped his hands together in front of him. “It's unfortunate I had to do that, it frightened the crowd so. But...I couldn't very well allow the boy to fall to his death. No?”

“You have control over shadows?” Luna said.

“Yes.”

“And you were going to mention this when?”

“I was scarcely interested in using the power of Obtenebration in the first place,” Dougal said, raising his hand. “It is a costly discipline, fueled by blood, and has no purpose in the mundane existence I wish to lead. Ergo, I didn't think it worth mentioning.”

“You also failed to mention your mind control ability,” Luna said, frowning deeply. “That is two powers – disturbing, dangerous powers – that you kept from us. What else have you been hiding?”

Dougal coughed. “Well...”

“Dammit, I want the truth!” Luna barked, stamping her hoof.

But, Dougal thought, can you handle the truth? He sighed, shaking his head. “Very well,” he said, “I have been less than forthcoming. Allow me to start again.” He spread his hands out in front of him, grinning affably. “My name is Dougal Dempsey. I'm a Lasombra and a Sabbat.”

The keeper saw just enough of the Princess's expression change before he was slammed hard into the wall.

“FOUL VILLAIN! DECEIVING DEMON!” Luna bellowed with the full might of the Royal Canterlot Voice. “I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN THY TRUE NATURE!”

“Princess! Stop!” Twilight cried, pressing herself against Luna's side.

“Gah!” Dougal grunted, pressed against cold walls by the pressure of a navy blue aura. “W-what? I don't-”

Wham.

“Oof!” Dougal said, slammed again and held against the wall. The entire room shook. Cans fell to the floor with a clatter.

“Twilight Sparkle,” Luna said, not taking her glowing eyes off the vampire. “Thou heard what this foul villain said! You bloodsucking fiend! You are allied directly with King Sombra!”

Grunting, grasping at the plaster he was pressed to, Dougal choked out, “...ack...w-who?” His feet dangled, kicking, one pant leg torn. Exposing corpse white flesh and oil black ink.

“Do not play play us for a fool, Dougal Dempsey!” Luna barked moving in close and jutting into the vampire's face. “Thou just said as much! Thou said the name of King Sombra.”

“...La...sombra...”

“What?” Luna said.

“What?” Twilight said, standing still, unsure of how to handle the escalated situation.

“I...I s-said 'Lasombra', not 'King Sombra',” Dougal said weakly, hand reaching to his chest and clutching at it. “'Lasombra' is my Clan. Who is this King you speak of? I do not...know...him...”

Luna studied his face. Finally she stepped back, cutting off the aura.

“Ack!” Dougal cried, falling to his hands and knees. “Shit.”

“Thou...you...really claim no knowledge of King Sombra?” Luna said. “You have studied Equestrian history.”

“Cultural history...b-broad strokes...” Dougal said, trying to stand up. “Technology. Law. Business. Metaphysics and biology. I can't be expected to know everything. And the farther you go back, the more your books sound like legend and folk tales than actual historical accounts.”

“...yeah...they do that, don't they?” Twilight said, looking at the floor and scratching her neck. “I was always pressing Princess Celestia to help me create an authoritative account of Equestria's history. Make it a lot easier to handle inexplicably hidden threats from long ago.”

“Who are we talking about?” Dougal said, climbing to one knee, leaning against the wall.

“King Sombra,” Luna said, “a unicorn who dabbled in the blackest sorcery. A thousand years ago, he used his dark magic to conquer and enslave the Crystal Empire. It was only by luck that my sister and I sealed his threat, and only recently that the efforts of Princess Cadence and Twilight Sparkle and her friends that he was destroyed permanently.”

“...oh...” Dougal looked to Twilight Sparkle. The young royal just became much more interesting. “The Crystal Empire...I've only heard vaguely of it, and the books made no mention of it.”

“The empire was sealed along with Sombra,” Luna said, “some part of his vindictive revenge. It only reappeared recently, with the release of Sombra himself. You...truly know nothing of this?”

“Heh heh,” Dougal said, putting his weight on his knee. “I told you, your highness. I am not of this world, completely foreign. What I can say...” He hauled himself to his feet, leaning hard against the wall. “...is that I've seen enough coincidences in my time here between your world and mine that the similar naming is, at best, thematic only. I have nothing to do with him.”

“Then your powers of...'Obtenebration'?”

“Some vampiric powers are shared among the many descendents of Caine,” Dougal said, “but others are native to and jealously guarded by single Clans alone.” Standing up straight, Dougal adjusted his coat. Finally, he held out a hand, palm up. A ball of dancing shadows erupted in his hand, a small bundle of smoke-like darkness. “For the vampires of Lasombra, ours is Obtenebration, the ability to manipulate shadows. A talent passed down through our line since our Clan's progenitor.”

“Wooo!” Twilight whistled, staring at the ball with not an ounce of fear. Rather, she studied it intensely, already forming theories and questions.

Luna gulped, but stood firm. “Before, you said you were of Clan Ventrue,” she said. “That was a lie?”

“It was. I apologize.” Dougal, curious at the younger Princess's interest, manipulated the shadows into little figures, and set them dancing on his palm. “It was a safety precaution. I did not know if other...Kindred had or would appear in this world, and wished to hide my true nature. The Lasombra are feared and distrusted, because of the shadows we command. That...and because most of us are...not good people.”

“Because of your power?”

“It is not a power that is inherently evil, though it looks...and probably is unnatural,” Dougal said. “I like to think that the only evil a user of elemental darkness finds in it is what his brings there himself. Nothing requires a Lasombra to use their powers in any more vile a way as a vampire uses any power. It's just...my clan in general sees the question of corruption and answers in the affirmative. They embrace what they feel to be our superiority over mortals, and treat them...poorly.”

“That is not reassuring,” Luna said.

“No, it isn't.”

“Though you've given me little reason to suppose 'Kindred' are nice, as a rule,” said Luna.

“True.” Dougal clapped his hand closed, snuffing out the shadows.

Twilight Sparkle looked disappointed, though she began – or continued – listening closely. “Is that the only reason why you hid your true Clan? Because of distrust? Because that seems pretty horrible, being judged just because of accident of...turning, I guess?”

“Well no, there is another reason,” Dougal said. “But do you want to hear it?”

“Why would we not?” said Luna, narrowing one eye. “I said I wanted the truth.”

“Oh, because the truth isn't very nice,” said Dougal. He looked behind him, and spotted a crate. He brushed his fingers over the wood yet again. “I get the feeling you won't sleep well, knowing.”

“I can handle anything, Dempsey,” Luna said, rising to full height. “If there is some foul secret, I must know it. I want the full truth. Only then will I be able to properly judge you.”

So I'm still on trial even now, he thought. He shrugged, then sat down on the crate. “Very well, though it is a long story, and a hard one. You will want to take a seat.”

Luna and Twilight remained standing, full attention on the vampire.

He felt like a storyteller. “No? Alright.” Dougal cleared his throat, weaving his fingers together. “The Lasombra are not trusted for political reasons as well.”

Dougal crossed his legs, letting the exposed one dangle. The tattoo of the inverted, thorny ankh was displayed prominently.

“The Lasombra are the founders of the Sabbat.”


October 1956

“Dougal Dempsey?”

Dougal stood at attention. “Uh...” Then the car door shut behind him, the vehicle driving off in a hurry. “Ah!” he said, watching his last chance to back out speed away. “Um, yes! Yes I am!” He stiffly stared, frowning nervously.

A man stood near the cracked brick wall, arms crossed, eying the fledgling. He wore a dark brown long coat, tattered at the bottom edge, and his head was topped by a mop of dirty blond hair. “Right,” he said, studying Dougal with dispassionate interest. He stepped forward, brown leather boots thudding against the rain-slick concrete sidewalk. “Well met, Dougal Dempsey.” He bowed at the waist.

“...thank you?” Dougal said, looking to either side.

“This way,” the man said, turning around and opening the nearby door.

Dougal noticed as they entered the building that a cavalry saber hung at the man's belt. Saber and sheath shined in the light.

Dark and dank was the hallway, wallpaper cracked and peeling. Wooden floors creaked with every step, and the few electric light bulbs flickered and hummed overhead every few meters.

“...um...your group...lives here?” asked Dougal, silently wondering if “lives” was ever a good word in this context.

“Temporary haven,” the man said, eyes forward. “We won't stay entirely too long, before we're on the road again.”

“Then whose place is...?”

The two passed an open door. Dougal peeked inside briefly.

Saw man-sized bundles of sheets, lying in rows on the floor of a blood-splattered apartment. The sweet scent of blood wafted across his nose, mingling with the first stages of decomposition.

Dougal stared forward, doubling his pace. He caught up to the man. “So! W-what's your name?” he said, voice quivering.

“Lance,” said the man, briefly pausing to look the fledgling in the eyes. “Lance Elliot.” He continued walking, turning them around a corner. “I'll warn you now that the others have no patience for untested recruits. They won't care to learn your name. Not until you've proven yourself capable of surviving long enough that your name is worth remembering.” He thought a moment, then added, “I'm sorry.”

The fledgling almost tried asking how long that would take, but gulped, wringing his hands together. “...how many new people...um, die? If you don't mind me asking...”

The two stopped before a door. Moonlight poured in from the windows. Lance looked over his shoulder. “You have a twenty percent chance, at least, of dying in the next few nights.”

“...oh...” Dougal's shoulders sagged.

“The Ductus will explain in more detail,” Lance said, gripping the doorknob. “We're here.”

Moving through the threshold, they came into a small outdoor clearing. Checking around proved that they were actually in a walled off garden, enclosed by the apartment building that circled it like a square donut. Cramped was the space, crowded as it was by a half-dozen figures standing or sitting around.

Made all the more cramped by the mound of dirt in one corner, heaped high from the large hole being dug at that moment.

“Well, well, well,” said a man on the floor, hoisting himself to his feet. He wore a leather jacket, and a thick pair of sunglasses. “If it isn't Espinosa's baby.” He grinned, flashing fangs. “How's the old bastard doing?”

“...uh...fine,” said Dougal. He kept his arms glued to his sides. “N-nice to meet you.” He bowed at the waist.

All around, the assembled predators started laughing.

“Oh stop with that crap,” Sunglasses said, pointing at him. “Or did Lance lead you to believe we do that whole bowing shit around here? Only he does that.”

Dougal blinked, looking around self-consciously before rising to his full height again.

Lance leaned against the wall behind Dougal. He coughed for effect.

Sunglasses continued. “You wanna bow like some prig, that's your prerogative. Don't know whether that Elder daddy of yours taught you anything from this century, but here in the Sabbat we do what we want to do, when we want to do it.”

The digger in the hole clambered out of it, shovel in hand. Dougal noted the “man” looked positively hideous.

“Now, we agreed to take you under our 'benevolent wing...” Sunglasses paused to let the others chuckle, his eyebrows dancing up and down. “...as a favor to Espinosa. Because WE wanted to. We're not like those weak fools in the Camarilla, who all do everything someone else says because he happens to have a week of seniority.”

“Yeah!” said a burly looking man from the side, pumping his fist. He leaned in from where he stood. “So don't go thinking because you're daddy's favorite, that you'll get any special treatment. You try that...” He smacked his fist into the palm of his hand, then jerked his thumb across his throat. “...and I'll beat you until you're a smear on my fist. Get it?”

“Hear hear!” someone cheered. It was the...woman-like abomination standing behind and to the side of the large gentleman.

Dougal shuddered, averting his gaze from the woman's distorted face. Instead he studied her four gangly arms, memories of that thing – that “Tzimisce” - from the night at the warehouse.

“Yes, yes, well said Barry,” said Sunglasses, clapping his hands lightly. “Name's Vick. I'm what we call the Ductus – first among equals, on account of me being the most badass.”

“Oh fuck you, Vick!” said Barry, though he was grinning like an idiot, fangs shamelessly displayed.

“And you, little lick,” said Vick, stepping forward and jutting his face into Dougal's personal space. “You aren't even Sabbat. Not yet.”

Dougal blinked, averting his eyes from the ones hidden behind tinted glass. All around him, he could feel eyes burning into his flesh. Heard the chuckles and snickers. “...I...I'm w-willing to do what it takes to fit in.”

“That's the spirit!” said Vick, spreading his arms wide. He motioned Dougal to follow. “That's what I love to hear. But words mean nothing. You've got to prove you have what it takes to roll with us. We'll be engaging in a little ritual, then head off on a...special mission.”

Dougal stepped forward. He looked around, and thought one of the people were missing. “...Mission?”

“A cutting of the teeth,” Vick said, adjusting his sunglasses. “We'll throw you at our enemies, to soften them up. Nothing personal, you understand?”

“...what?”

Lance coughed. “It will not be too many adversaries,” he said. “So take courage.”

“Yes, take courage,” Vick said, patting Dougal on the back...hard. As the fledgling winced, Vick said, “it'll just be a few blood bags. Normal human wastes of space; security guards, who just happen to have a couple guns. Nothing you can't handle now that you're dead.”

Dougal blinked, dreading the idea of murdering innocent people. “...why are we...?”

“If you live long enough, we'll tell you.” Vick stepped back, gripping the flaps of his jacket. “Live through that, and you'll be True Sabbat. Afforded all the rights due a badass vampire of the Sword of Caine.

“...but before any of that, there's still one last thing we need to do.” Vick clapped his hands together. “Creation rites!” He motioned to the large hole in the ground.

Fledgling Lasombra looked to the hole. Then he turned bewildered to the pack leader. “...what?”

Which was when the Nosferatu's shovel struck Dougal in the back of the head.


Present

“No, we're quite alright.”

The waitress, head stuck through the doorway, looked around the room. “Are you sure, Princess?”

“Yes, we very much are, thank you,” Luna said, nodding her head.

“...okay, well,” the waitress said, putting on a smile and stepping inside, a wood plate with mugs on it balanced atop her hoof, “I brought drinks. Here you are, Princess Twilight.”

“Thank you!” Twilight said, taking her mug of bubbly cider with levitation. She sipped greedily. “Mmm...yum!”

“Water, Princess Luna?”

“...yes, thank you...” Luna said, taking the glass of water.

“And uh...would you like water...sir?”

“None for me, thank you,” Dougal said, sitting comfortably on the wooden crate. He smiled.

The waitress shuddered slightly, but gave a nervous smile. “Just tell me if you need anything!”

When the door closed, Luna took a sip from her water glass and turned back to Dougal. “You were saying, Dempsey?”

“Of course,” Dougal said. He cleared his throat. “Millennia ago, the childer of Caine – the first murderer – knew only one organization: loyalty to Clan and Sire. Caine had long ago abandoned his wayward progeny, leaving the clan founders to rule theirs with varying degrees of control. For all, power was held by aged, and sought by the younger.

“Over herds of mortals, resources, and prestige, or simply for bitterness and hate, vampires waged war and hatched plots,” Dougal said. “This was and is the Jyhad, the eternal struggle. Elders born in bygone ages used their childer as agents, tools, and expendable resources in their petty rivalries and power plays. Those embraced only to be used in turn embraced and used others, jockeying for status and their own advantages. Only the eldest held any real power.

“A few hundred years ago, some resentful neonates chaffed more than ever against their servitude, and rebelled. This lead to the Anarch Revolt.”

“Does this have a point, Dougal Dempsey?” Luna asked, though she looked with puzzlement as she spied Twilight Sparkle already taking notes with rapt attention.

“Everything must be told in its proper order, Princess,” said Dougal. “The Anarch Revolt was a bloodbath. Childer rising up and slaughtering – even slaking their thirst upon – their elders. Elders fleeing, leaving their still loyal Ancillae and ghouls to die in their place. Atrocities were committed on both sides. Youngsters drunk on rage and power, the aged mad with fear at an unprecedented wave of unthinkable betrayal. The blood bond, long the sanguine means of ultimate control, found a reliable and total counter in a special Rite. And all the while, mortal institutions took notice of the parasites in their midst, and waged a campaign to purge them. The Inquisition accused people of being witches and blood-drinking monsters. Some of the ones they tried, tortured, and burned were even what they were accused of being...”

“Ghastly...” Luna muttered, growing pale. Was senseless violence and disharmony ubiquitous, even among the mortals of the human species? “...are you trying to offend me, Dempsey?”

“All of it is true, your highness. I tell it as it happened,” Dougal said, waving a hand. “There are plenty of elders now who still remember, and would most like to forget.” He rubbed his hands together, looking at the ceiling. At the lightbulb swinging on a wire. “As for the Lasombra, they saw opportunity. Many of them, even elders, wished to move out from under the thumb of our Founder...”

“Name?”

“Hmm?”

Twilight had a pencil poised over her notepad. “Your founder's name?”

“We do not give him...It...a name...” Dougal said. “I was told it is because by that point, such a creature strong and pure in the blood and married to the shadows could no longer truly be called a man. Not even close. Neither It nor any other of the Antediluvians could approach human.”

“Antediluvians?”

“We call them that because they came from before the Flood,” Dougal said. “The great deluge thousands of years ago that swept the world clean. It is said that God flooded the world as punishment for creating so many vampiric progeny.”

“And this...Caine...didn't merit that?” Twilight asked, using the pencil to scratch her ear.

“He was already punished for his own misdeeds. Vampirism was his punishment. It is said that Caine used his own powers to curse his progeny and all descendents with their respective Clan weaknesses.”

“Weaknesses?” Luna said, ears visibly perking up.

“You have noticed my lack of reflection, no?”

“Of course,” Luna said. “It's impossible to miss. I merely assumed it to be some...quirk of your kind, and didn't mention it.”

“Quirk it is, of my Clan,” said Dougal. “All Clans have their own weaknesses, punishing their members for the faults or crimes their Antediluvians committed.” He shook his head. “But we're getting off topic...certain members of Clan Lasombra, including one of the Founder's own progeny – Grantiano – stormed It's estate while It lay torpid. They slew Its guards, and then slew It.”

“And it was a monster even by the standards of vampires?” Luna asked, covering her mouth with a hoof.

“Undoubtedly, though not as much as the Antediluvian founder of another Clan,” Dougal said, smiling. “Following our example, members of Clan Tzimisce entered the ancient home of their own Founder and slew It too. From there, the Revolt continued...but the tides turned.” He leaned back, twiddling his thumbs. “It was inevitable really. The older a vampire gets, and the closer in generation they are to Caine, the more powerful they are. In a surprising move for ones so obsessed with their own power, the Elders joined forces eventually to repel their wayward progeny. And so they did. The Revolt had born the group known as the Anarchs, and the response was the formation of the Camarilla. A sect by elders, for elders.”

“The one you told me about back on the train,” Luna said.

“Yes,” Dougal said.

“This is the first I'm hearing of this,” Twilight said.

“The truncated version is that seven Clans of thirteen joined forces, creating a loose but gentricratic government. These Clans were Ventrue, Toreador, Malkavian, Brujah, Tremere, Nosferatu, and Gangrel.”

“So...many...names...” Twilight muttered, furiously scribbling.

“And that is literally only half, plus point five,” Dougal chuckled. “Anyway, the Anarchs began to lose. Lose hard. Turns out you...ha ha...you really can't base a winning strategy on a bunch of anarchists performing raids in a slapdash fashion against an organized group older and more powerful than you.” He paused, considering the irony. “Rather than fight until ground to nothing, the Anarchs agreed to sign a peace agreement. But the agreement was at once lenient and massively one-sided. The Conventions of Thorns as it was called merely agreed that all but the gravest atrocities would be pardoned, and the Anarchs would be absorbed into the Camarilla, with everything returning to the old ways. It did nothing to address the legitimate grievances the young vampires had against the old system. The old system that gave all power and consideration to the old, because they were old. Moreover, while the nominal leaders of the Anarchs agreed to the peace, many vampires were far too bitter and far too war-hungry to agree to it.

“So when the first draft of the Convention of Thorns was passed to the Lasombra delegation, they took one look and immediately stormed out, taking the most radical elements with them. The Lasombra and the Tzimisce and the scattered members of other clans declared eternal war against the Camarilla and the Antediluvians who ruled them, albeit secretly now. Thus was born the Sabbat as an institution.”

“That was altogether a long and informative tale,” said Luna, “but what exactly does that have to do with you or perceptions of this 'Sabbat'?”

Dougal crossed his legs. “Because the Sabbat is evil.”

“Evil?”

“Very evil,” Dougal said, narrowing his eyes. “I mentioned the first night we met that the Camarilla desires to live in secret and pretend to be human.” His eyes wandered to Twilight Sparkle. “Their laws and culture emphasize the maintenance of their Humanity...that is, their rationality, morality, and sanity. All vampires are monsters with a Beast inside that compels them towards slavery to their baser urges. That and the alienation from the species proper by their nature, and the many centuries a successful vampire can expect to live, combine to lead vampires towards degeneration, and ultimately reduction to a primal animal. This is tied to moral degradation and anti-social tendencies. To avert this, and to maintain the Masquerade of secrecy that protects vampire-kind from discovery following the fires of the Inquisition, the Camarilla seeks order and the preservation of their Humanity. They pretend to be human, so human they will remain.”

“I am with you thus far,” said Luna.

“Sounds sensible enough,” said Twilight.

“Indeed it probably is,” Dougal said. “A pity that the Sabbat does the exact opposite.”

The Princesses blinked, then looked at each other.

“The Sabbat do not believe in Humanity,” Dougal said, leaning forward. “They believe that they are above it. Above humans, who are seen as little more than livestock and prey, to be hunted and devoured. No more of value than as sustenance and breeding stock. The Sabbat holds as its party line that a vampire – and the Sabbat calls them 'vampires', not 'Kindred' – should not be held back by humans, or by the presumption of being human. This is reflected further in their so-called 'Paths of Enlightenment'. Alternate systems of morality supposedly designed to fit more with the vampiric condition as predators and transcendants. Apparently the practice was common before the Revolt, and many refused to adapt to the new, Humanity-centric model. Could not be bothered to act decently.”

“What kind of alternate morality systems?” Twilight asked, though she noticed how Luna looked gravely at her. “...um...”

“Perhaps I'm not being clear,” Dougal said, shaking his head. “Let me describe the Sabbat this way: it is a mob of psychotic, bloodthirsty monsters who glorify their monstrous nature. They attack innocents. They feed and kill as one might blink. The deplore humans and civilization, and have as little to do with them as possible. Only because of grudging pragmatism and self-service do they uphold the Masquerade, and then just barely. The Sabbat rolls in packs, fights against the Camarilla with suicidal zeal, and commits casual atrocities because it amuses them. They value freedom so highly that there is barely organization; they fight against each other as much as the Camarilla. And the only thing they like as much as freedom is absolute loyalty to the sect.”

The Princesses said nothing, gaping open mouthed.

“Hypocrisy, I know,” Dougal said, looking away. “But loyalty they demand, and they maintain it with a dogma and peer pressure. They wish every vampire to be like them, and deplore 'weakness'. Whether that be a meek demeanor, a focus on non-violent things, or a reluctance to take up barbarism. They would have all vampires wild and free, barking mad...or psychopathic...or coldly indifferent to suffering...or else malevolently alien.

“The Camarilla may be led by corrupt elders,” Dougal said, “but their worst pales in comparison to what a given pack will accomplish on a lark.”

“And...you are a part of this...wicked group?”

“Hmm?” Dougal said, peeking back to his audience.

Luna was scowling, shaking bodily. “You describe evil I cannot even believe,” she said, shaking her head. “Yet you describe it so easily...and you claim to be a member of this foul menagerie.” She looked to the floor, searching for the words.

Twilight Sparkle said nothing, sitting on the ground and staring in quiet, mounting horror into her mug of cider.

“You speak of the Sabbat as evil, Dougal Dempsey,” Luna continued, “So I know you understand the gravity of evil you describe, and do not like it. But then...how can you possibly claim membership? How can you call yourself a Sabbat?”

Dougal remained silent, for a moment. Then he said, “...one does not simply...leave...the Sabbat...”

“Why not?” Luna said. “And why join in the first place?”

“I didn't join the Sabbat,” said the Keeper. “I am a Lasombra. I was embraced into it, because the Lasombra ARE the Sabbat.” He rubbed his hands together. “It is possible to leave, certainly, but I would be marking myself for death. Traitors are not tolerated, and defections are responded with great and furious reprisal. One begins so weak, and options so few. For my own survival, I had to stay. I had to obey...no matter how many awful things I would have to be party to.”

Luna was breathing heavily now. Forcing back tears, perhaps. Or simply trying to stop herself from throttling him. “...this...you realize this does not help your case, correct?”

“No. It doesn't.”

“How long have you been a Sabbat?”

“...forty five years...”

“Then how are you not a monster?” Luna asked. “Forty five years, and you didn't succumb? Forty five years of pressure to give in, and become a monster, and you sit here claiming moral superiority?”

“Not superiority...”

“But you say the Sabbat is evil, the Sabbat are monsters,” said Luna, seething out forcefully. She sniffed. “What about you? Are you a monster?”

“...I don't think so...”

“How?”

Dougal fished into his pocket and pulled out the Rosary.

Twilight Sparkle, peeking her head up, stared at the beaded string and the glistening silver cross.

The keeper coiled the rosary around his fingers. “Two things,” he said. “The first...is because I...found my faith again...”


October 1956

“...yawn...sorry...speak child. The Lord and I listen.”

“Forgive me father, for I have sinned.”

Dougal hugged himself, rocking back and forth. He ought to have smelled the old wood varnish of the confession booth. All he really could smell was the pungent stench of blood. The red liquid stained his jacket.

It was the dark of night, of course. It was a miracle the priest happened to be around. The old man grunted in acknowledgment.

“It has been...it has been sixteen years...since my last confession...” Blood ran from Dougal's mouth, and from his eyes.

The confession took a very long time.

“...I am sorry...for these and all of my sins...”

The priest said nothing. Behind the grated screen, Dougal could hear the poor old man shaking.

“Father?” Dougal choked out, covering his mouth.

“...ah...” the man said. He began muttering under his breath very quickly. “...the Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside the still waters...”

“Father?”

“He restores my soul; he leads me in the paths of righteousness, for His name's sake...”

Dougal doubled over, hiding his face in his hands. “...I'm sorry, Father. I shouldn't have come here...I...I shouldn't have expected G-God to...to forgive a...a monster...

“A monster...like me...”

The old man stopped praying. “...my son...”

“Well, well, well, look what we have here.”

Footsteps from outside the booth. Dougal's cold, dead heart sank.

“...who...who is there?” said the priest in a shaky voice.

Dougal heard the other confessional door open, flooding the opposite booth with light that filtered through the grate. “Oh would you look at that?”

“What are you...ah!”

Dougal burst out the door, finding his pack all there. They too sported the stains of the night's violence. But they stood with a smile.

The priest struggled in Barry's meaty hands. “For God's sake, unhand me! This is a house of God!”

“No!” Dougal gasped, but Vick stepped in front of him.

“Oh there you are, Dougie,” Vick said, looking down at the sobbing wreck. “So this is where you ran off to.” He stepped back, shaking his head. “Tsk, tsk. You need to learn to man up, Dougie. Things are only going to get worse from here.”

“Weak Bible-thumping pansy,” Barry said, smiling malevolently over his prize. “Gonna have to teach you a lesson, aren't I?”

“No! Stop!” Dougal said, reaching his hand out. “He didn't do anything!”

The priest had his eyes shut and his hands clasped together, shaking like a leaf. “Yea, though I walk...I walk through the v-valley of death,” he whispered, “I...I will f-fear no...no evil...”

“You should fear me, old man,” Barry said, leaning close to the priest's face and blowing a cold, pungent blood breath at him.

“...for...ack...cough cough...for You are...with me...”

“I'm gonna waste him!”

“Go ahead, I won't stop you,” said Vick. The other pack members chuckled, standing back to watch it.

“I...said...”

Dougal jumped. “LEAVE HIM ALONE!”

“Wh-AH!”

The two tumbled, the priest let go during the impact.

Barry looked up from the ground. “Ah! What the he-OOF!”

Dougal began punching the Brujah. Over, and over, and over. “Aaaaaah!” he cried, fresh blood tears flowing down his face.

Some of the others made to move, but a saber whipped in front of them.

Lance looked at them, shaking his head. “This is his fight. Don't interfere.”

“I'm inclined to agree,” said Vick, crossing his arms. “Let him work his anger out.”

“...uuuuhhh...” Barry gurgled, bruised eyes rolling.

Dougal just kept hitting him, fangs barred, fists so tight his palms bled. Barry's vitae mingled with his own with every savage strike.

After another minute, Vick motioned to Lance. “Alright, alright, that's enough. Get him off.”

Lance sheathed his blade and stooped over the two, seizing Dougal in a headlock. “Enough, enough!” he muttered, dragging the enraged neonate to his feet.

“Rah! Let...go of me!”

“Calm down, Dougal,” Lance said, dragging him back to keep his off balance. “You've done enough.”

Dougal flailed towards the Brujah some more, but eventually went limp.

“Uh...fucking...bastard...” Barry struggled to his feet, clutching his face. “Piece of shit...I'll tear your head off...”

“Give it a rest, Barry,” Vick said, making towards the door. “Kid beat your ass. Get over it. Come on, we'll find you some blood bag to munch on. You'll feel good as new.” He waved to the rest. “Come on, let's leave Dougie to his pet mortal. Old fart is dead walking anyway.”

Lance let Dougal go, patting him on the back. “Are you alright?”

“...uh...fuck...” Dougal said, finally unclenching his fists. He winced as they stung. “...yeah...I'm okay.”

“Good,” Lance said, nodding. “I applaud your honor. See you later.” He left.

The priest watched as the others left, muttering his prayers. “...surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life...and I will dwell in the house of the Lord...forever...Amen...”

Dougal, eyes downcast, began walking towards the door. He was trying not to cry.

“My son.”

The neonate looked back.

Old as he was, a badly shaken, the priest rose to his feet. He wore his night gown and sleeping cap and fuzzy slippers, yet stood proudly. “My son, your...your sins are grave, and your curse graver still. But the Lord is good, and forgives all crimes, so long as you keep faith in your heart.” He searched his pocket, and fished out a rosary chain.

He hobbled forward and reached out. Taking Dougal's bloody hands, he placed the beads in them.

“As penance, perform the Hail Mary every night, and do good in this world. Fasting is also...appropriate,” said the priest, looking slightly troubled, but he nodded. “And remember the act of contrition.”

Dougal stared at the man, then nodded slowly, taking the beads.

“Go now, and sin no more.”

Dougal walked slowly away. He knew it would be impossible for him to avoid sinning again in the future. But he bowed his head, muttering, “God, I am heartily sorry for having offended you...”


Present

“...and the second,” said Dougal, looking to Princess Luna, “is because I was very, very lucky.”

“Lucky?” Luna said, cocking an eyebrow. “How so?”

Dougal smiled. “Most of my original pack died.”