VLM – Libro Del Clan Tzimisce. Clan Toreador ..!!:’xLrt!1Jl1 t::I:!> “”UU;.o;al1 L ~~I’1! l~fmii1ct p:lir:l d clan en ~1I 1[1~;llL.,hd, hac jl!.”nd. ~ reterencia.. r:~ M~IIt. Juguetes – Rol y Estrategia – Juegos de Rol: Vampiro la mascarada el libro del clan tzimisce (la factoria ideas lf mundo de tinieblas). Compra, venta y. Juguetes – Rol y Estrategia – Juegos de Rol: Libro del clan tzimisce – guia vampiro – la mascarada. Compra, venta y subastas de Juegos de Rol en.

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Para aqueles q sabem reparar, pode se notar o tximisce aqui de grandes figuras do WOD como KupalaLambachVelya I am old, and the one who lies in a shriveled lump at my feet was older still.

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My dead heart thrums in na unceasing crescendo, suffusing my battle-desiccated frame with the spoils of vegeance. Well I understand why c,an campires old called this moemtn the Amaranth, for a wild red flower blossoms within me. I can scarcely force myself to concetrate on this record, for the essence of my vanquished sire howls and hammers, within my veins.

Sect schism, centuries of hate – all stand forgotten. I am she; she is I. We are Tzimisce, and it is of the clan that I shall write, now, while panoramas of dead centuries and places long forgotten and beings long dust flutter like months in my skull. So the Way of Caine dictates. My innermost being purrs in contentment as I gaze from atop this aerie upon the frowning forests and brooding crags and sullen brooks of my line’s ancestral home.

Though we dlan wandered far, setting roots in this soil and that, it is in these lands, called by kine the Carpathians, that lubro eldest seeds of our line sprouted. The kine have long placed their cradles of civilization in the sun-blasted south – in the Great Rift Valley, between the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers, amid the mud of the Nile Delta. But Tzimisce are not kine, and our civilization is not that of kine. We arose in the north – amid these misty glens and wild, pine-shrouded crags, I am ceratin, was our progenitor Embraced.

The Tzimisce Antediluvian was greatest of all vampires, greater even than Caine, for he alone among those first childer had a special gift: It was this unique admixture of Caine’s gift and his own that fostered our great Metamorphosis: He did not dwell in Caine’s cities, but returned to the lands beside his beloved Danube, there to establish his demense.

The others grew envious of him and his gift. Seeing his bond with the soil of his land, and imaging that soil gave him and his progeny their jealousy spoke of foul pacts and things called Souleaters. But know that these things are merest myths and lies and worse than lies. Libto Ancient himself is but lkbro distant myth even in my sire’s ealiest memories – although I saw him as he died We existed and hunted and wore our spells among the early Phyriges, Illyrians, Thracians, Avars, Wends and other inhabitants of those places the kine call the Baltics, the Balkans, and Russia.

That strain called Slavs quickly came to worship and fear us, calling us koldun – “wizards. But we did not dwell among the kine, nor we congregate ourselves. No, we stayed apart, each to his own wilderness demense. The boundaries of our lands we marked with the bones and skulls and sinew of our victims, for it was death to trespass save by invitation. We were not the only haunters of the dark. Out line came into conflict with a most malevolent being possibly a vampire, possibly otherwise known to this night as the Baba Yaga, a cannibal sorceress.

The Baba Yaga and her servitors some say demons, others childer stalked by night among the quaking kine and would suffer no others to do likewise. Nearly as bad as the Baba yaga were the great sable werewolves, taimisce self-proclaimed “Shadow Lords,” that prowled the mountains and vales.


White Wolf Vampire The Masquerade Clanbook – Tzimisce (Revised Edition) SC VG+ | eBay

Though they sought each other’s throuts as much tzlmisce those of their foes, they bore no love for our breed. I have heard rumors that a few prodigals among the ancient line rejectd the way of Metamorphosis, deeming it an avenue to damnation. These few called themselves the “Pure Clan” or the “Old Clan,” depending on the translation, and ever after strove against us. Our worst foes, however, were the vampires of other lines, they would not keep to their ranges, as we kept to ours, but bedeviled us always, seeking tha lands and magic and kine that had been ours since tiem immemorial.

But we knew secret megics and were mighty in war. We crafted szlachta of all shapes and sizes and sent them throughout Europe to harry our foes, and rightly did the kine fear ogres and goblins and night-things. We clann great vozhd in the Thracian wastes and sent them to smite our vampire enemies, and rightly did the Hellenes speak of their gods being assailed by hundred-handed giants.

The southern vampires could not withstand us. We sent them howling back to their peninsulas. Bitter was their rancor, long was their remembrance.

Because we would not allow them our lands, they coveted them all the more, as is the vampire’s way. And because we were content where we were, we failed to heed when citystates became republics and then empires. Trajan’s legions cut a bloody swath into our territory, and to this night a part of our realm bears the hateful name “Romania. The Lasombra in particular seemed the very incarnations of Chernobog – greedy gods of darkness intent on devouring all.

The Lasombra progenitor himself, ever reckless and delighting in war, accompanied the armies and wrought terrible destruction upon our herds. In our rage we cursed him with great doom, ad our curse tzimice bear bitter fruit in later nights. Other magics we wove as well – great maledictions against south-sprawling Rome and its vampires. Through spells of discord and woe, we turned Rome’s Oibro against each other.

Ventrue warred with passed, but we were patient and did not forget. When savages of the north – the Goths, Vandals and Huns – and stirred them to war. Barbarian roared through Rome’s streets, and the Tiber ran red with the vitae of the once-proud invaders.

Thus was our clan avenged. The years that followed have been dubbed the Dark Age, and so they were – but are vampires not creatures of the darl? Rome’s proud hegemony disintegrated into a patchwork of wattle huts and crude stockades.

,ibro walked the night as we would, openly tearing apart peasants’hovels and drinking them dry or abuducting them for later use. Even so-called “invaders” – Huns, Magyars, Bulgars and the like – drifted flan our lands as plankton through the whale’s teeth. Our needs thus assuaged, we turned our attention to our destiny. For kine, and for vampires who depended on the civilization of the kine, the Dark Ages were a time of chaos and ignorance; for Tzimisce, they were a golden age of progress and experimentation.

Some among our number, seeing domed Byzantium sprouting like a fungus in Rome’s rotting cadaver, went south to stem its growth. Here the clan strove against those who could become Inconnu and preyed on their Orthodox dupes. Against tzimiscs powerful foes, subversion of the pawns proved more pragmatic than outright battle, as the iconoclast squabble well demonstrated.

If the kine only realized what so many of those pallid, distended icons before which they grovel actually depict But who can expect aught from the kine? Our wiser northern brethren saw the threat posed by Charlemagne and his Ventrue ticks. We decided to create our own vassals.

Taking suitable specimens from the seventh sons of promising indigenous kine tzimisve, we bred the first revenant families. They proved of great use to us, for they allowed our shadow to extend over the hearts of the kine even at midday. Once, centuries ago, when I was younger, and the vitae ran less turgidly through my veins, and the things of the world seemed less transitory and ephemeral, I knew that which the Toreador call “love.


Afterward, the revenants sent one of their number, a lissome little succubus of 13, to my chambers. The feel of her flesh in my arms and the scent of my enemy’s flesh on her breath sent me into wild throes of passion.

Yet in my ardor I grew heedless of her delicacy, and she did not survive our encounter. To preserve my memory of her always, I fashioned a pair of gloves from her skin, and, so that her soul might stay near me, I tanned them with her brains. I wea them to this night. Our battle for control of Eastern Europe ended in great triumph when we tricked our werewolf enemies into making war on the Baba Yaga. The Lupines slew the hag and her minions, but were themselves decimated, and thus our clan ruled the night unopposed.

The next year, in the reckoning of the Nailed Kine-God, our revenant pets whipped the Slavs into a frenzy of revolt against the Teutonic invaders, and the incursions of the Ventrue were halted.

Indeed, we advanced our frontiers in retaliation, and the villagers of Bavaria and the Brocken learned what it meant to dread the dark. Well, you have seen the movies, yes? Even today the kine speak in shuddersome whispers of nighted Transylvania. The Ventrue, the Lasombra, the Toreador boast of their power – but who has bequeathed a centuries-old legacy of fear? While our brethren sprawled in caves and huts by day, and crouched amid thornbushes by night in search of wayward goatherds and milkmaids, we dwelt proud and unafraid in our castles.

Though our estates were ostensibly ruled by our seneschals, the serfs and peasants well knew whom – or what – they served. By day we lay in our sepulchers and dreamed; at nightfall we rose and went amid the empty crossroads and forest tracks. And though our passage was silent, the kine felt it deep in the marrow, and they huddled on their pallets and hung their ridiculous garlic cloves and wove their warding signs and uttered their useless prayers in hopes that the vampyrs would not come for them that night.

Yes, for a time we were every bit as majestic as Stoke’s scrawling or Lugosi’s powder-pated mockery suggests.

The others dub us “Fiends,” and so we were – Princes of the Monsters. A miasmic dread hung over the kine, and soon the eldest Tzimisce did not even need to leave their enclaves to hunt.

The kine, fearful of retribution, willingly sent a fraction of their swains and maidens into the spider’s lair. And this would prove the elders’ undoing, for the line grew taimisce. Seated in their dining halls, sating themselves without a finger’s motion, they brooded over past slights and reminisced over past victories. But most of all they forgot.

So lethargic they became that even the minimal tasks of rulership and study became onerous. Rather than turn over all of their responsibilities to revenants, the elders procreated in record numbers.

Ventrue by Gherbod Fleming

Soon the lands were overrun with ravenous childer. Brood warred on brood for this or that village, at this or that elder’s whim. Inevitably, Domain was violated, and this has always been our greatest provocation. Enraged elders sent the young to do battle in their stead.

Fiefdoms fell and vampires burned to ash. Yet the young endured this willingly, for elders had bound them in chains of blood stronger than iron.