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™
By Roger William Barnes, Ty Bjarnason, Adriano Bompani,
Brian David Gibson, Misha James Handman, David Michael Hubbard,
Paul Alexander Scokel, Sean Smith, Zachary Thomas Tyler,
Randy Ulch and Ray Fawkes
Credits
Authors:
Roger William Barnes, Ty Bjarnason,
Adriano Bompani, Ray Fawkes, Brian David Gibson,
Misha James Handman, David Michael Hubbard, Paul
Alexander Scokel, Sean Smith, Zachary Thomas Tyler,
Randy Ulch
Creative Director:
Rich Thomas
Production Manager:
matt milberger
Developer:
Ray Fawkes
Line Developer:
Will Hindmarch
Lead Submission Jury:
Kelley Barnes-Herman, Ray
Fawkes, Will Hindmarch and Rich Thomas
Editor:
Scribendi.com
Art Direction & Layout:
Craig S Grant
Interior Art:
Patrick Ballestros, Avery Butterworth,
Matt Hughes, Ron Lemen, Adrian Majkrzak, Cathy
Wilkins
Front Cover Art:
Todd Lockwood
Blame
Mexcellence:
Oscar Garza
Once and Future Justin:
Justin Achilli
Associate Tallest Little Person:
Zachary Walters
Icelander Housing Officer:
Pétur Ö. Þórarinsson
Too Many E-Mails That No One Cares About:
Will
Hindmarch and John Chambers
Everything Bad That Happens to John Chambers’
Phone:
John Chambers
© 2007 White Wolf, Inc. All rights reserved. Reproduction without
the written permission of the publisher is expressly forbidden, except for
the purposes of reviews, and for blank character sheets, which may be
reproduced for personal use only. White Wolf, Vampire and World of
Darkness are registered trademarks of White Wolf, Inc. All rights reserved.
Vampire the Requiem, Storytelling System and Bloodlines the Chosen are
trademarks of White Wolf, Inc. All rights reserved. All characters, names,
places and text herein are copyrighted by White Wolf, Inc.
The mention of or reference to any company or product in these pages
is not a challenge to the trademark or copyright concerned.
This book uses the supernatural for settings, characters and themes. All mystical and supernatural elements are fiction
and intended for entertainment purposes only. This book contains mature content. Reader discretion is advised.
PRINTED IN CANADA.
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bloodlines: the chosen
bloodlines: the chosen
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Table of Contents
Prologue: Down in the Dark 4
Introduction
California Xiao
85
10
Tianpàn Xiao
95
Agonistes
16
Yagnatia
105
Baddacelli
26
Appendix A:
115
Bloodlines in the Danse Macabre
Appendix B:
Duchagne
36
125
Noctuku
46
Bloodlines in the Story
Appendix C:
Rötgrafen
56
129
Sample Bloodline Chronicles
Index of Bloodlines
Sangiovanni
65
139
Taifa
75
Prologue:
Down in the Dark
By Ray Fawkes
I don’t know where I am. There is something dripping nearby, liquid
into liquid, marking time. It’s so dark in here I can’t see nothing. I
think the sound of the drops is coming from somewhere off to my
left, but there is a crazy loud echo in here, and I can’t be sure. My
hands are pinned under some kind of heavy weight, feels like a block
of metal. If I were alive, it’d hurt to stay in this position, crouched
like this, arms back. Reminds me of some of the times I’d be under a
pile-up when I was alive, you know, all bent out of shape with a 300-
pound defensive tackle on me trying to grind my face into the field
and wreck my throwing arm all at once.
But I’m not alive.
I think I been down here for maybe three or four days. They won’t
let me sleep, the ones who brought me here. Every time I pass out, they
come at me with bells or sirens or screams, shaking me awake. Some-
times they touch a piece of wood to my bare chest and give it a tap, you
know, really give me the signal. Sometimes they leave a television on,
and it sounds like it’s stuck between stations, real loud. I can’t escape.
I roar and thrash and turn on the Fear, I mean really amp it up, but my
arms are locked down and I just can’t move, not really. When they first
put me here, I kicked like a bas-
tard, and I felt somebody’s bones
crack under my heel. Nobody’s
touched me since, which I guess
shows that they got some brains.
The hunger churns my guts, but
I don’t feed, clamping my mouth
shut whenever they drip their hot
blood on my face. I know better.
They’re trying to break me. My
name is Abbott of Nosferatu. I’m
a Hound in service to the Prince
“We are, we are.
Don’t deny us.
We will make
you strong.
We will make
you proud.”
of the city. I won’t be broken. My
Kindred will find me, and I’ll visit
some serious fury on these sons
of bitches, these vampire freaks,
and the Court of the Prince will
name me a hero. I repeat it again
and again, keeping myself sane.
I can hold out. They can’t get to
me. I won’t be broken.
A bell clangs, painfully loud
and close to my ear. I jump,
wrenching my shoulder. The
sound stops abruptly, and a low
voice speaks near me, real raspy.
“Abbott. Drink the Vitae. Join
with us. Claim the power of your
blood and stand with us.”
I turn my head away from the
sound. A whisper responds from
the other side, the side that I now
face. “Don’t turn away from us,
Abbott. We are your family.”
“Nah,” I say, trying to play it
cool. “Nah, I don’t think you
are.” They got the Fear, too, and
it’s hitting me hard, but I keep
it together.
The voice comes closer. “We
are, we are. Don’t deny us. We
will make you strong. We will
make you proud.”
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bloodlines: the chosen
bloodlines: the chosen
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I lunge forward, feeling the
snap and pop in my shoulders
even as my forehead strikes slick,
cold stone. The whispering voice
chuckles, somewhere off in an-
other direction. I thought he was
right there, but - he must be fast.
He must be real fast.
Shit. I shouldn’ta done that.
Now the frustration is boiling
up in me, racing straight for the
thinking parts of my brain, shut-
ting them down. I try to tamp it
back, but it comes up in a flood,
flashing through my mind. I want
to kill these freaks, just rip them
apart. They’re still laughing, and
I’m thinking about wrenching
their limbs from the sockets and
maybe getting a couple of fingers
into their mouths and ripping off
their jaws the way I did to that
one guy once and everything goes
red. Always did have a problem
with anger, I guess.
•••
The Prince had a problem.
There were signs of feeding in
one of the subway tunnels near
the end of the East-West line.
One of the Kindred smelled and
saw the traces of blood on the
tracks and told us. The transit
lines are off limits, have been
ever since the ’70s. Someone
new was in town — someone who
didn’t know the rules.
I got sent to check it out. This
kind of thing happened every so
often, some new lick bellying into
town hoping to pick up a little bit
of blood without being noticed,
you know, figuring he could live
free and get away without paying
tribute. I always got sent around
to check it out because I’m strong
and willing to do the work. It was
a good gig for me, better than
nothing. Crack a few heads every
so often, drag a poacher in front
of the Court so the powers that
be can make an example of him,
and I get grounds of my own and
a little respect. I usually didn’t
have to kill nobody, but Kindred
talk anyway.
So I went down into the station
after hours to make sure that I
didn’t have to worry about none of the living getting in the way or
maybe seeing something they shouldn’t. Couldn’t see nothing from
the platform, but then again I don’t got the Sight, so it makes sense I
was gonna have to wander in a bit. Brought a flashlight just in case,
but I didn’t exactly want to make a big bright target of myself to any-
one who happened to be there. I just jumped right down and started
walking. It’s not like I’m scared of the dark. I’m usually what people
are scared of.
Sure enough, I got maybe 30, 40 feet in, and I smelled it. Blood. Old
blood, dry, but still enough to perk up the Beast. I crouched down
and touched the rail. I lifted up my fingers, feeling the grit on them,
trying to have a look in the dark. Suddenly I got the twitch, the way I
always did when some lick I didn’t know was nearby. My back was up
right away, but I didn’t really have time to move.
Next thing I knew, there was something slapped on my face, and
somebody grabbed hold of one of my arms. I stood up fast, lifting him
off his feet and cracking him like a whip. By the time I heard him hit the
wall, there were at least two others on me. Maybe three, I don’t know.
They were pulling me down, one blowing some kind of air horn in my
ear and it hurt like a bitch, and suddenly I was thinking of those fans I
always saw in the stands, back in the day, blowing their horns and paint
all over their faces. Their hands were all over me, strong, dragging me
down, and they slapped some kinda hood over my face and were pushing
my nose into the track, and of course I flipped out, so after that I don’t
remember nothing except waking up in this room in the dark.
•••
So now I wake up again and that television is on, blasting at full vol-
ume. I can hear the static, and what sounds like a Spanish game show
“Abbott, we need you.
Come to us.
Stay with us.
We have blood for you.
Take as much as
you want.
Just ask.”
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