"This is decided, finished." was the command.

Tonight Camarilla would not stay their hand.


The Baron of Hillside Cemeteries had overstepped his bounds.

Rising the dead from their mounds, the Nosferatu spies crooned.


The Cabal elders were roused, blood and things changed hands.

They would feign ignorance and divide the spoils of influence.


They came in droves, faithful dead, neonates at best.

Most with guns, eager fools, minor pawns of Jyhad.


Tonight dark roses would bloom, I wasn't the first in the line.

The mercenaries died by the tens, burned by fire, drowned by dark.


Their weapons could not really make a mark. It was my turn, duty and unlife.

As the Baron cut swathe through rabble, finally delayed by the prince's guard


I turned the ghouls into gibbering fools, and showed them how to ruin the runes.

A mage once called friend, fell to fang and claw. In disbelief of my treachery.


Morning comes, years go by. I can see the hills from here.

And I kept the vigil, I kept it well, I kept it weird.


"The soldiers of tyranny (that has a nice ring to it) are what we call the elders. These are the old dudes who've gotten their part of the pie and are now dead set against anyone else getting anything." - Musings on Book of Nod