01 / Story / Paris
A Tourist Visit
He roamed the streets of Paris on that hot summer night in 1882…
Ah, Paris! The eternal city!
He had heard so much about this city, its Prince, its power…
He had crossed half the world to visit it…
He, a member of the greatest of all clans, the clan of the sceptre, the clan of rulers, the clan of the Camarilla…
He had come from Japan. His sire had warned him about this world of faithless, lawless barbarians, a different world, a world to conquer…
Flames of pride and arrogance danced in his eyes. No one could stand against him. He, a Ventrue from the Middle Kingdom, had the strength of a 300-year-old Cainite and the might of an entire clan behind him…
Of course, he had been warned about that notorious assassin who might try to take his life over some supposed contract…
But fear was something he instilled, not something he suffered. Doubt was something he never allowed himself, unlike those gaijin, ignorant of their true potential and forever seeking recognition of their identity…
It would be easy, so easy to seize power here, so easy to shape this city…
Despite his sire's warnings, he felt a thirst for power rising within him, and his Beast already savoured the thought…
All barbarians, all pawns, insects he would crush like wheat beneath the millstone…
He had been in Paris for one night and already understood everything…
…
All at once, a vibrating whistle cut straight through his daydreams and his neck…
The ground rushed towards him as his eyes and face struck the cobbled street…
He heard a dull thud and realised his body had collapsed behind him, while his head rolled across the ground, showing him first the street, then the starry sky…
A strange smell caught in his nostrils as oblivion fell across his eyelids, the smell of mothballs and starch…
He realised a hand was lifting his severed head and turning it towards his assassin's face. His sire's words came back to him: “Beware the vampires of this world…”
As shadow fell over his eyes and the cold of death closed around his soul, for the span of a heartbeat, he heard this:
“Konnichi-wa, rice bowl, they call me Bogdan…”
Bogdan