By Frank Torkel (grandthief@globalone.net)
I have been a Guardian for under 200 years, and have lived for less than thirty. I was embraced by the Guardian himself, then a Caitiff, struggling to survive. His age I do not know, for after creating myself and others he left for the temple, where surely he must lie in torpor. He did tell us what we were though, and told us of our unlives. We learned his secrets for some time, and when he left us, we were Caitiff no more. We had become the Guardians of Polaris, a bloodline still unknown by the Clans. One day they will know us however, and they will fear our name.
In 1753 said my sire to us, he had stumbled upon the ruins of a lost civilization. It was his goal that day to commit the heinous act of Diablerie, and steal the vitae of an elder. Such an elder slept in those ruins, as was told to my sire by another. When my sire entered these ruins, he beheld a temple of some awe, and looking around to spot the sleeping elder, he was ambushed by the elder himself. Needless to say a great fight broke out, where only one would survive. Blood flew in all directions until only my sire still stood, and before him slumped the elder to the ground with a stake slammed through his chest. My sire then commenced with the infernal act, and soon the lifeblood of the elder was part of my sire, the power gleaming from his eyes.
Only upon getting up to leave did my sire realize that he was trapped, the great entrance to the temple having collapsed during the great struggle. My sire panicked and ran around the ruins searching for a way out. He frenzied almost immediately, but no exit could be found. Upon calming down he once more tried to find an exit, once again to no avail. For days he remained within the temple, searching in vain. Unearthing the bodies of dead humans he could find nothing that would aid him in his escape, except rotted food and a sealed urn filled with some liquid, having been buried with the dead bodies.
His blood pool low, and fearing the torpor he would undoubtedly enter, he picked up the sealed urn that contained the liquid, and in his stupor he opened and drank the substance. Remarkably it tasted like blood, a weak, thin blood, but like blood nonetheless. The pain derived from this drinking was unbearable said my sire to us, and he wished for torpor rather than feel the pain he felt.
Maybe a day or two passed, my sire said, when he felt empowered, more so than he did by committing Diablerie. Once again he approached the collapsed ruins guarding the exit, and staring at them he saw a silver aura around the largest of these rocks. But with a thought did the rocks levitate up from their spots after concentrating upon their structure. Amazed as he was he quickly fled from the temple, and his escape was only the beginning.
My sire's blood was altered forever, now a bloodline apart from that of his departed sire. Only later did he discover that the rocks of the temple contained iron ore, a substance he could now control and manipulate. This was his power, the same power taught to myself and my brothers. The temple, reconstructed by my sire, my brothers, and I, was rebuilt as a haven for those of our blood after our embrace. Here our sire sleeps to this day, and here we meet to discuss our plans for ourselves, the Guardians of Polaris.
The Camarilla: These fools have no respect for anyone outside the seven main clans. They spit upon other bloodlines as they spit upon their own Caitiff. Little do they know that we have infiltrated their ranks, and this will be their undoing.
The Sabbat: These ruffians are evil, no doubt about it. Stay away from their cities and territories unless they are contested by the Camarilla as well. When the time comes, they will be dealt with as well, for their government is no better than that of the Camarilla.
The Inconnu: Perhaps these elders know of us, perhaps not. If you ever encounter one of these guys, then either pray, or find out as much as you can.
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