By JW McCormack (bela229559@aol.com)
The bloodline that calls itself Klatka is, as far as any know, recent in origin, having been born in a mix of Slavic magicks and gene splicing. The experiment was begun at 11:00pm on the seventh day of the sixth month in a private but expensive laboratory located on the billboard-studded wastelands of Belladonna, Tennessee. Here, twelve skilled Progenitors and four Progenitors turned Tzimisce vampires gathered under the direction of Docktor Spektor, an ancient Tzimisce koldun who, through careful use of his disciplines and tricks of the blood, held the Technomancers in thrall. The project, Codenamed "Project: Klatka", was designed as an effort to create a race of vampire that could survive independent of blood. Unfortunately, it succeeded. When it was over, four men lay dead, their DNA horribly twisted, reshaped, transformed, and combined. The result was Azzo, an immortal clone born of four varied minds in the form of a sixteen-year old boy. Specktor clasped his hands together and stepped towards his creation, but as he did so, felt a shadow of hopelessness wash over him. Within seconds, the archfiend's hopes, dreams, loves, and ambitions shriveled away and within seconds he aged a year for each one that he had cheated death. Transformed to his rightful age of one-thousand-three-hundred-eighty-seven, the good Docktor became a pile of dust on the laboratory floor. The others soon met a similar fate, the vampires aging before the eyes of the mortal mages, who committed suicide rather than live in a black, hopeless world. Here was a vampire sustained not by blood, but by hopes and dreams, growing stronger with each being he sapped of the will to live. Exploring the vast libraries of the laboratory, Azzo learned of Shakespeare, Jung, Emerson, Niezich, Twain, Crowley, Einstein, Ghandi, Confucius, and of Jesus Christ. More importantly, he learned what he was and what he could become.
After months of solitary contemplation, Azzo caught the next Greyhound Bus to New Orleans. Here, he walked the Cajun streets, sucking away the last hopes of the drunken and the poverty-stricken. A year later, when the goth scene emerged, Azzo fell in love. He fell in love with these pale boys, with their black lipstick, cheap metal ankhs, badly died hair, and "fuck the world" philosophies. When he had been born, it had been easy for Azzo to suck the hopes from even a powerful being like Specktor, but now it was getting harder and harder to break through the barriers of willpower. A group of young mortals with their wills already weak was just the break he needed. Whenever one of these "goth bands" performed in concert, Azzo was there, draining the wills of the blood dolls and vampire-wannabes that swayed to the music. Soon this was not enough. Azzo knew that being a bystander would never be enough for him, so he became a musician, luring dreary-eyed teenagers in Bauhaus T-shirts to the clubs where the scents of smoke and absinthe mingled in the air. As he played on stage, the audience submitted to him and to the lyrics of his songs that preached "Love is dead, Death is absolution, Hope is strife, The blood is the life!" He provided the audience with the fantasy they wanted and he drank of them all, sometimes as many as twenty at once. And there would always be more. Stripped of their hope, the suicide rate soon doubled in New Orleans.
The Klatka has grown to include all the members of Azzo's band (Whores For Vlad). These are: Azzo (lead singer), Sioux (guitars), Kent Westdollar (more guitars), Barneby (bass), Van Helsing (drums), and a drum machine named Mr. Peabody. Besides these, the band has begun to leave one childe in each city they tour in. The Klatka have a truly unique method of creating childer: they will allow their "victim" to commit suicide, then feed the dead mortal stolen hope, therefore willing him back to life. It can, however, be used for healing and may even be transmitted to other members of the bloodline, via touch, for that purpose. Certain members of the bloodline prefer to feed via sexual intercourse, but this is not required. Most members were recruited from the ranks of teenage goths and most still look this part.
As previously mentioned, most Klatka look the stereotypical Goth part, better to lull in the sheep. They are almost always young and intellectual, like Azzo himself.
Rather than a blood pool, the Klatka use Willpower for all functions normally applied to the blood pool, which is used for more or less the same functions. This has one exception: Hope cannot be used to increase physical attributes. Use of their unique discipline, Satori, is required to feed and for this reason, all members of the Klatka must spend one of their three discipline points on it. Mental attributes are often primary, though this varies from individual to individual. All other attributes can vary greatly.
Baali: Satanists? Neat! Where do I sign?
Brujah: So angry. So confused. So idealistic. So tasty. Dashed hopes are truly divine.
Followers of Set: Lovely friends who always know where the best parties are. Good drugs and good sex, but they have this idea that you owe them for everything. Now why would I pay up when I can just suck up all their dreams and watch them crumble into dust? Really, which would you prefer?
Gangrel: As far as the blood-drinkers go, they're damn boring, the lot of them. It wouldn't be so bad if they'd just get off their furry asses and did something!
Giovanni: I love these fuckers! You're filthy rich, you own a piece of every major corporation, so what do you do? Why you spend all you're free time digging away in crypts and talking to corpses of course!
Lasombra: We use them, they use us. We have an understanding more or less.
Malkavian: I wish all the blood-drinkers were this cool. I met one that had successfully convinced the Chicago club scene that he was Jesus Christ! And the guy was black!
Nosferatu: Yummy. Guess being ugly as fuck doesn't do wonders for the hope factor.
Ravnos: Hey! Where'd my silver Ankh go? Godammit!
Samedi: Our closest allies among the blood-drinkers. They understand the beauty of death and they know that some people just have to die.
Toreador: Ah, the degenerates. These fallen angels are our main prey among the blood-drinkers and yet they continue to invite us to all their parties. Pitiful.
Tremere: If they weren't so dusty and boring, we'd probably be friends.
Tzimisce: (see Assamite)
Caitiff: A light snack. Too bad, the poor bastards are kinda like us.
Hollow Ones: Our best buddies. Unless we get reeeaaal hungry.
Sluagh: Wow! I wish I could do that! Now if only they'd speak up.
Brotherhood of Salvation: Neither of us have any use for ghouls, but these bastards get so violent if they see you screw with a mortal. High and mighty assholes, all. Kill 'em on sight.
Camarilla: Humans and blood-drinkers living in peace? Go work for Hallmark, asshole.
Sabbat: These are what vampires are supposed to be. I like 'em, but as a whole they're pretty damn stupid.