Most of them are old at least years old, as they predate the formation of the Sabbat , of low generation and rule small domains almost exclusively in Eastern Europe. The majority of Tzimisce elders met Final Death when the clan joined the Sabbat, but a fair number escaped their vindictive progeny. Securing their demesnes against the ravages of the Sabbat, these vampires continued to exist much as they had for centuries, albeit more warily. Though some refer to these Tzimisce as the "Old Clan", that is a misnomer. These hoary vampires have little use for sect, clan, or other ties.
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So say the Old Clan. The Eldest gave the Clan Vicissitude in order to separate the wheat from the chaff by design; through the ease it provides, the perfect tool weakens the skill of the artist and the art. The Tzimisce have grown brittle, pathetic, homogenous, uncreative, unsophisticated, and inferior.
Their obsessive, crippling addiction to Vicissitude stunts their growth in diminishment of the Clan. The fools cannot see to grasp their birthright, for fear of dropping the bottle. According to Old Clan lore, before Enoch was swept from the firmament by the wrath the Deluge wrought, the Eldest, in his wandering, found a well. Around the well he found a city in veneration to entities who, like he, enshrouded themselves in the bowels of the earth, possessed of a horrific grace rivaling his own.
He educated them, and was in turn enlightened. Infused with this new wisdom, the Old Clan guided by the Eldest bored deeply into the heart of the Carpathians; there the Eldest caged, bound, and tamed the demon Kupala, crucifying the spirit to the Clan and shackling it to his will.
Cleverly, by intent of the Eldest, the demon found purchase in the Antediluvian and spread itself through his blood — only the Old Clan was spared the indignity. Applying the awareness gleaned from dissecting the plucked fruit from the Qlippothic tree to elevate their crafts, careful never to imbibe the bitter juice it offered, inevitably their studies crossed paths with the Molochim, and the two entwined like lovers long lost.
In the eyes of the Old Clan, their kinsmen have not the clarity of vision to see the lesson of the master, adrift in bowed supplication to the manipulations of his pet, Kupala. They are not his students; they are his art, blind to their true purpose, and unworthy of his teachings.
The Tzimisce are the seeds of Caine the farmer planted in the Earth, and each Tzimisce must carve themselves into their land, individually. Over the course of millennia, the Old Clan has silently borne witness to the single greatest failing of their decadent, Vicissitude-laden Clansmen: hypocrisy.
For all their pontificated cawing about evolution, they cannot adapt. Their desperate clinging to staid pantomime, ceremony, and the tradition of the Voivodate nearly destroyed them in their war with the Tremere.
Following that, their antiquated values found no shelter from the modernizing world around them. The superstitious fear they had erected their kingdoms upon were walls made of sand when faced with the wonders of the steam engine, the telephone, and the computer. Thrust out by an inferno of irony they could not contain, the Tzimisce are now the ones naked, hiding, and afraid of the kine. Relations between Tzimisce are inadvertently held together by a loose confederation of independent Eastern European Old Clan Tzimisce adhering to the Tradition of Hospitality in an effort to combine their forces to form the Oradea League in opposition to the Sabbat.
The Old Clan pity the main Clan, recognizing them as vessels of the Eldest and not individuals in their own right — speaking at them, rather than to them in meetings, regarding any interactions as a means of direct communication with the Eldest. Many would see their lack of respect for established bureaucracies as shortsighted, ego-driven, and stemming from an impractical nature with no appreciation for structure. Quite the opposite is true; their lack of care in contrived hierarchies is an arrogance derived out of inability to see anything for them to respect.
Titles are words: calling a duck a chicken does not grant it the ability to cluck. The Old Clan, in essence, is above such concerns. Leaders lead because it is intrinsic to their being, it is what they do, and it is no more a matter of choice than instinct. Stereotypes Bahari: The dissonance in the gravitas of your comprehension does not mean it is not so.
Any fool can know, and those who know, do. The point is to understand. Those that understand, teach. Harbingers of Skulls: Gratitude is the key to unlocking all doors. Nergali: We know who controls the Ivory Tower. A sewer drain rejects nothing and accepts everything. Always bite the hand that feeds you and extend it to the other.
Jump to: navigation , search The symbol of Clan Tzimisce. Their signature Discipline is Vicissitude, the power to shape flesh and bone like clay, which these Fiends use on themselves as much as their unwilling victims. Their history stretches back to the early days of eastern Europe, when their Antediluvian and namesake made a pact with a powerful demon known as Kupala, freeing it from its earthen prison in exchange for magical knowledge. Fiends make use of furniture made from living in most cases, still living human slaves and can merge multiple creatures together to create engines of war such as the dreaded vozhd.
Edit The Chinese name can mean "motivates to seal off hope". They are based on the clan of the same name from Vampire: The Masquerade , they hail from Transylvania, in fact Dracula is a member of their clan. While their sadistic habits are carried into the Vampire Sphere storyline, the members of this clan are quite a step away from the forms displayed in Vampire; the Masquerade save Yi Sai himself. Their reputation as a cruel and sadistic clan results in many other clans simply avoiding them, as their experiments are inhumane, twisted and cruel. They push the limits of the Vampire form, their dabbing with Vicissitude , the art of crafting flesh and bone, results in many of the clan barely looking human.
Old Clan Tzimisce
We become whatever we need to be. We alone have that option. Indeed, I made myself, and so will you. And so does every butterfly that seek release from its lumpish pupa purgatory. The other clans - they are so myopically complacent.