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Salubri Antitribu: A view from their progenitors

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by: Azazel

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archived article from Sanguinus Curae

 

Once, once we were a great clan. We stood amongst Caine's most beloved, receiving his praise with our actions. Some of us healed the sick; some of us smote the wicked. But, alas those days are gone, torn from us by the mistake of our father, and acts of a wretched few. But, as with all things, it is never as clear as one would like it to be. When Tremere betrayed us and swallowed the soul of Saulot inside his body, he then sent his spawn to assail us, to get our allies to rise against us as though we were the enemy. They struck us, the Warriors caste, as hard as they could, and we fell, much to my chagrin, we fell.

The healers escaped, hidden by princes and paupers alike, as they saw the benefit of their talents, and left us, us who clove demonic flesh from horrid bone before a honeyed word could reach their undead ear, they left us to the wolves.

But, we were anything if not resourceful. We bore the healers no malice (better that some survive than all be slain) but we too had options available. The Ventrue and the Brujah, and all the others who believed the Tremere's lies, or at least did not believe our truths, sent us away or had us killed, but still, we survived. Some of us traveled to the lands to the east, as our father before us had, others to the lands of the Laibon, others to the Cappadocians, who feared that they too might meet such an event as us, still others attempted to cross the great sea to the west, in the hopes of refuge.

So, we escaped and we hid, hid as though we were the guilty ones, and time drew ever forward. The old practices, such as the ban on those of tenth generation that dictated they could not embrace, fell to the necessity of survival. The Ventrue, the Brujah, and those who had turned their back on us, along with the barbarous Tremere, formed their "Camarilla", and the world drew ever forward, while we waited for the signs.

The remainder of us taught the younger few the practices of brother Samiel's code, and they learned it well. They cried for vengeance, and, though we elders agreed with them, we could only tell them, "Soon my childer, very soon."

We watched as the healers fell to so few in number that you could count them on both hands and still hold a sword. We watched as a fledgling practice, the "diablerie" of one's sire, became their hallowed rite. We watched as our childers' thirst for vengeance transmuted the clan's weakness itself, from that of benevolent warriors who would help all in need, to raging fury who could feed only of battle impassioned blood. And finally, the time came.

The signs appeared, the world grew darker and we knew the end was near, so we loosed our wrathful spawn upon the horrified world. They joined with the "Sabbat", who are fools to say the least, but they opposed the Tremere spawned alliance, and that is enough. Our Cappadocian allies have returned; just as us, they did not all fall to the fangs of treachery, though they now call themselves 'Harbinger of Skulls'.

Our childer strike with the angry vengeance of Samiel himself. Their 'leader' and 'eldest', as far as the Sabbat knows, one of my great-great-grandchilder, Adonai, was the spirit of a warrior, born and bled. Someday the Tremere will fall; it is inevitable. And on that day, we will stand victorious, our fallen brethren avenged at last. Until that day, woe to the Tremere and their allies, and woe to those foolish enough to oppose us. We are Salubri, we are the Warriors caste, and though we are called Antitribu, we are just as much our clan as our healer brethren.

 

archived article from Sanguinus Curae

 

 

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