The Camerilla

The theater was sparsely occupied by approximately 17 individuals, an elder and his sheriff. This encompassed all 19 members of the Camerilla who resided in New York at this time. The theater, a small gilded movie house with long red drapery and golden pillars was host to a plentiful number of silent films, but tonight the walls muffled the rambling and often anger laced connotations of one man who stood before the make shift podium which sat on top of an old converted Broadway stage.

“This isn’t a laughing matter,” he continued. “What is here is something to behold, we have too many in our ranks to be ignored and if this continues the Black Hand will easily and quickly find us out!” The man looked like a beggar, but no one treated him as such. The floor recognized William ‘Bill’ Makeshift, the representation of the Gangrel clan.
“The Setites are in the shadows, the Geovanni in the finances, and we are holding our asses in one hand and our balls in the other!” He shouted flinging the papers around that he was holding tightly in his left hand. “Do you know what this censes says?” he shakes it violently in front of him, “It says that Gangrel packs outnumber any one except the Brujah by more than two to one. The boats herd newcomers through every day. Each day there are at least two new Kindred on our shores. And what’s worse? There is NO place to go! Least they be enslaved muscle to the Giovanni, or brought down by Setite Snuff!”
Bill was a hard man to listen to. His voice was so pronounced and strong it made one cringe. It had a strength that was powerful enough to make the Brujah stand at attention as it rocked your bones with each emphasized and calculated point. However, he wasn’t one to be believed easily as he is the only one to claim a Methusilah in New York had come to town at the Eve of WWI. His credibility shattered, many of his own followers looked away. But now that a new world was coalescing at America’s front door they were forced to listen. His words uttered from the deep recesses of everyone’s mind with truth, and everyone knew it but no one dared mention it.

Willreich, a high ranking seat holder at another city held the podium. He listened only to allow Bill an opportunity to vent so he hopefully wouldn’t interrupt him further. “The resources in this town are further outnumbered five fold by the Sabbat,” he poignantly interjects. “Making our presence known is too much of a risk even now. No one told these newcomers that we would protect them, they arrived at their own risk.” He emphasized with a widened glare peering down at Bill. “Once they are off the boat they are as any Kindred in this state, on their own.” He pushes the words out with an increased direction towards Bill as he turns in disgust.

“Says the whuppin’ boy! If you can’t protect the city the Camerillas place is for nothing more than atop the Tower of Babel. But you lash out not against god but the Black Hand. And they can strike you down, they will strike you down, and you will be the victim of nothing more than the idle chatter of whelps mocking the child’s strength at which you cling onto this island of potential with.” He pauses a moment to gather his composure and stands tall and proud, a mocking stance against the Ventrue he stood before. “Cock-a-doodle, limp like a noodle,” Bill taunts with his flipped wrist bouncing in tune with his chant stating it over and over again.

Willreich stood there allowing his emotions to stir in his mouth as he tamed them with the clenching of his teeth and lips making sure he kept his composure. After a few repetitive incantations on Bills behalf, Willreich interjected, “BILL!” with a shout and a distinct lack of verbal bravado that his assailant was able to muster so easily. “Keep this relevant to the point, and most of all keep your composure about you.” His instruction was short, but to the expectant crowd Bill must sometimes be kept in line. His ability to stave off the animal qualities of the Gangrel clan was strong, but age brought about a dementia that was perhaps evident in his previous life became manifest in a stronger dimension by his embrace.

Bill searched the stages edge for his next thought, or finding his place as if he was reading the events written only for him on the stages floor. Instead of saying another word he placed the papers neatly on the stages edge and walked to the corner of the first row fromping in its cushioned chair.

Willreich stares at the podium for a moment and gathers his words for his statement. After a moment he takes a deep breath and begins, “our financier recognizes that this state, this city has potential. This potential is important to you, me, and those of us who aren’t interested. She believes that there is more here than one can simply see, there must be someone here who has their fingers, their reigns in the workings of this cities institutions. We must remember that it is a priority to keep an eye, ear, or mind on the subject or the Bishop will storm through our doors and take with them no prisoners. Only our defeat, their victory. This is a slow, cautious battle. This is a chess game of a million and one pieces, and none of us should be so foolish to take the war into our own hands. The bastions of this new city are the rabble of the old, and we would best remember that. There is no one we have found yet that suggests an ally, or an aid, there is no haven than what we have. Look to your neighbor sitting here with you, look to her, see what she is able to give you. Do you feel confident that the Sabbat are simply a wart needing to be cut off? No, you see us, bickering, and complaining about things we have no control over.” He takes a pause from these words and looks into himself for more to finish with. “Bill, it is by no ones right that we allow our kind to fall by the murderous hands of others. I can only promise that I will take my Sherriff to the docks and allow him to seek out newcomers and find shelter for them before it is too late, and any of the willing are encouraged to join such a task.”

Bill sits in the chair moving in quick thrusts to scratch his nose, cross and uncross his legs, and a stock of inappropriate motions feeling the swell of emotions from his rantings only a moment ago. He faces the wall and raises his hand while an informal answer comes from his mouth. “Allright” he quickly blurts and proceeds to gnaw on his fingernails.

“If anyone has a safe house or a locale that can hold a newcomer for a day or so let us know so we can send them your way. I know there are many of us cramped for space but we need to send the newcomers on their way as soon as possible. I will send letters to other allied cities and we will move them to where they can go. However, be aware that most of these come with both ally and foe at their heals, so each kindred must be treated with caution.”

Willreich looks at his pad of paper and quickly reads from it to regain his place in these proceedings, “I do believe the Tremere representative has something to add tonight too. He looks up and addresses a finely posed individual with a Victorian robe and deep ruby tented glasses.”

“I do,” he responds with a deep mesmerizing voice that sooths its audience easily, and stands up putting his hands behind his back.

“The floor recognizes Colbert Ilari to the floor,” and ends his statement with a motion of his hand for him to continue.

“I have but a simple comment; one of ours has become quite an adept, and I am beseeching a chantry for us to continue our studies. We will be setting up several locations, but we will let it be known that the University of New York will become a permanent Haven and domain for one of ours. He will also set up shop and make sure that the area is secure for Tremere business. However, the location may be a rich source of several commodities, I ask that the rest of you and your kine stay away and leave the area be for now. As you know our locations are ever moving to stay underfoot of the Sabbat, but we will station this one as a permanent locale until I see fit to abandon it.”

“Howe many chantries will this make for you,” Willreich asks.

“We have only a handful, but this isn’t a chantry yet. Not until we can be sure that a permanent location would suit us. As it is now, it does not. Our intentions are to allow it to become one.”

“And where are your Chantries located currently?”

“Again, not something I am willing to let the Camerilla know. This is a matter we only formally introduce to you to ensure our dealing are squared. As soon as the turmoil and security of even these proceedings can be assured we will disclose these locations, but for the past century we have not had a peaceful moment with the dire absence of Camerilla law and enforcement. Perhaps in time, and once you have earned the trust of all of us could we say that we are ready. But for now, if you can understand, I will remain silent on such matters.” Ilari offers a slight bow and removes his hands from behind him to sit back in his chair motioning the end of his ‘simple’ comment.

Willright motions for an aid to pick up the papers bill had deposited and waits for them to be gathered and placed in his hand. The aid quickly obliges scampering across the old stage as his footsteps echo through the hollowed flooring with each step from the Ventrue clone that served his master. With the papers gathered he looks at them and reads various nonsensical statistics out loud for all to hear as enthusiastically as a laundry list of numbers of deaths, final deaths, and oddities. He concludes by adding, “It is unfortunate that we face not only the influx of immigrants to this land, but vagrants of our own kind, and two continuing menaces in this city. The first one, Typhoid Fever has fortunately waned, remember its lessons. Also, the habit of embracing fledglings from non-Sabbat clans that are becoming lower and lower in generation by the month. These newcomers can only bring our destruction, and those found embraced and not introduced to this council continue to bring danger to us all. I don’t have to go into details, but these individuals must be taken care of somehow. For now, I will continue to not enact final death as a punishment unless the crime is hanus to both worlds, kindred and mortal, or they were not able to adapt to the embrace. Find them, help them, or bring them to their final moments.” He lets the last few words trail off slightly looking at the podium again obviously disturbed at having to condemn any individual’s life for the acts of others. He shuffles the pages finding a specific letter and holds it up for all to see. “I hold here a transcribed letter of the church guaranteed to possess the seal of the Black Templers stating, and I quote, ‘Your concerns have been heard and I can assure you that shortly after you receive this letter a solution will have been dispatched to your cathedral,’ the address is here,” he says emotionlessly pointing to the lines of the letter. “and it goes on to say, ‘I assure you that this hunter is most proficient at killing and perusing the demons that infect your city most effectively, and is experienced as they can be with a vitality so young.’” He pauses for a moment. “If I haven’t made our intentions clear, this letter sure as hell has.” He states looking into the eyes of every individual in the room. “Take care, this meeting is adjourned, and I hope to see all of you next session.”

With that a gavel is struck against the podium.

Cammy reporting in

Reporting in.