Preserved Memories
Records are not trustworthy, and neither are memories. They can be mistaken, altered by malevolent forces. Libraries can be burned, and even the dead can be slain. But it is, presumably, a little less likely for our records and my own recollection to both be lost, or be mistaken in the same manner.
I am Jacqueline of clan Ventrue, and this is my story, as far as I know. I recall many origins, for I have drank many lives. But the one most likely to be my own, most likely to be accurate, goes like this:
I was a scholar, after a fashion, in the city of Eleste. I asked people questions - opinions of various changes in society, stories from unusual professions... and wrote about what I’d learned.
Vampires, in those days, dwelt among the living, and acted in secrecy. So the public knew little about them - there wasn’t even confirmation that they existed. It occurred to me that this was worth investigating. Such beings would likely have interesting stories, if I could find them, and know much that was unknown to me.
I took Renata for a charlatan, at first — lesser nobility pretending at the greater existence of an Exalt. I asked for proof, and the evidence she provided was... impressive. Perhaps I had impressed her, as well, for she said that she would answer certain questions about the existence of a vampire. But there was more I wished to know, and much she told me that I could not help but doubt.
“Will you trust nothing, unless you witness it yourself?” said Renata.
A year from that day, we agreed, we would meet again, once Renata had sought Lord Kaine’s permission, returned home from the mountains, to finish loose ends among the living. Eight months from that day, the Star of Oblivion shone upon Eleste.
I do not recall how I came to bear a Helix, but I wore it, then, with... not pride, for pride is too human an emotion, but with the metallic comfort of a key in a lock.
It had been mandated by an avatar of the Star of Oblivion that records must be kept of all activities, and we compiled gladly. Fragments of these tapes and documents were placed in dungeons, and hidden around the city.
I was assigned to record the activities of the Synod of Military Intelligence. It is improbable that any of what I recorded was of any importance, however.
To maintain secrecy while still adhering to the rule that all activities must be recorded, the Synod of Military Intelligence and his retinue were - I am told - aided by at least six false Synods of Military Intelligence, dedicated to conducting skillfully acted meetings about carefully fabricated reports regarding entirely fictitious operations. I had honed my logical skills navigating the maze that Eleste had become by its riddle-bearing street signs, but still couldn’t decipher whether mine was the real Synod or not.
You may think this sounds impractical. If so, you don’t grasp the mindset of the Starchildren.
Even in times of desperation, an ordinary civilization spends much of its resources catering to mortal desires — privacy, food, sleep, hospitalizing soldiers who could be more easily replaced, maintaining the ordinary structure of society rather than one optimized for the purpose at hand.
Illuminated by the Star of Oblivion, we saw no need to waste effort on such pointless concerns of mortals. We were therefore free to waste it on the pointless concerns of an otherworldly power instead. Thus, the documents, the labyrinths, the strange machines...
Illuminated by the Star of Oblivion, Eleste became a horror of art and artifice. Though the questions I asked, the answers I transcribed, probably were lies, they were crafted with devotion, a piece in a puzzle grander than I could fully comprehend in one existence - and I do not mean the brief candle of a lifetime, but a Cainite’s span.
There was a treaty, I’m told - a deal stuck, between the High Queen of the Camarilla, and the Star of Oblivion Herself. The terms, I know not; but Lady Renata was permitted to bring me to Nosgoth and Embrace me as a vampire, freeing me from my Helix. For this, I owe her gratitude twice, if not more. The Star of Oblivion is a beautiful abomination, but it is, perhaps, best not to fly too close to a star. Better to keep company with mere immortals.
There are as many interesting stories among the Camarilla as I recall hoping for, and many interesting individuals. Still, over these centuries, I’ve not entirely forgotten the works of the Star in my home city, though I do not entirely remember them.There may be something there not ruined in the end of the War, and though sane minds cannot fully appreciate what we Starchildren made, I think that my friends and I might be able to appreciate it more than most.
Therefore, I plan to take a sabbatical from my roles in Nosgoth. Renata and I are planning an expedition into the wilderness, to find what we can in the ruins of Eleste. I do not know if we will return, nor what we will find.
Thus, I enter this statement in the Archive, and this vial of my own blood in the Sanguine Vault, so that I may not be forgotten, for as long as the Star shines upon Nosgoth.