Court of Blood
Shadow over Boston
May 17th 1763 was an uneventful day by most standards. Peace had settled in the city of Boston after seven hard years of war, and the world seemed open to the colonists of Boston. New trade opportunities, fresh land out west, and a new era in the sun seemed all but inevitable in the colonies. The midday hours were filled with people milling around, going about their business. One man in particular rushed about urgent business. In his hand was red leather envelope, sealed with black wax. The man was tall and lanky, not unlike the character of Ichabod Crane who would begin to appear in the American Mythos a few decades from then. He glided through the crowd with the experience of one who had done this several times before.
The man approached a larger townhouse, stepping up to it's door before slipping the Envelope beneath it, as he had done at several houses that day. His task completed, the man decided it best he go for an ale at a tavern. He had found it the best way to relax his head after doing his employers bidding. Stepping away from the townhouse, the man strode back on to the street and made his way towards the nearest alehouse. Stepping into an alley to skip some of the busier sections of the colonial port, the man did not notice the shadowy figure hiding behind a stack of crates.
A leg extended, and the man found himself falling to the ground. Before he could catch himself, a powerful hand clamped down on his mouth, as a second set of hands tied his hands behind his back. The hand was removed and instead the delivery man found himself suddenly gagged. A carriage pulled in front of the alley on the other end. The shadowy man and his compatriot shoved the delivery man into carriage, nodding to the driver. The driver took off, leaving the two other men to disappear into the crowd...
Lev Vasyutin,
That Night
The false bookshelf that concealed Lev's sleeping alcove creaked open. He had always been a heavy sleeper, both in life and in death. The vampire stretched, prepared for a night of relaxed reading. He had recently obtained several books in his native russian that he was quite eager to pick up, and he had naught to do that evening but peruse them. Selecting two of them from another shelf, he carried them under his arm into his sitting room, placing them on an end table. Realizing that he was not alone in the room, Lev turned around to greet his intruder.
He instantly recognized the face behind him, and dropped to his knee in respect. Achille Genovese was a being who commanded respect. Though not quite as old or as powerful as other Governors throughout the world, the Red Mist of Siracuse had a unique air of majesty that allowed him to seemingly bend power to his will. He was an old ally of Lev, the pair having been put into contact by Lev's Domina when he first set out on his own. In typically confusing Vampiric genealogical fashion, Lev was technically Achille's uncle. It did not take a genius to figure out the lesser of the two beings however.
Lev said in his typical soft tones, speaking in English "My Governor, to what do I owe this honor? I had thought you were in Philadelphia."
Achille smiled and said "Ah, you just can't trust a letter to be delivered these days. I had sent one to you a few weeks ago but it must have gotten lost. I am beggining my selection of the Quaestor of Boston. I figured it's time some other cities besides my own had a semblance of civilization. We shall gather tonight so that I may officially begin my process."
"Where, might I ask?"
"Why here of course." Lev would have felt his blood run cold if it wasn't already ice. "Oh, don't worry mio zio. I have handled refreshments and invitations. You need not be so worried that I would stoop to such low levels to remove you. Grandmother would never forgive me. Now get dressed, Our guests will be arriving soon." Lev nodded and stood, before rushing off to his closet room to get dressed. Passing by the dining hall on his way, he saw it set in a particularly macabre fashoin. A group of nine or so mortals were tied to the chairs and gagged. Two servants of the Governor stood watch over the meals, ensuring none made a run for it. A few butchered limbs were set in the middle of the table for those among the coming guests who still liked to chew their food. Lev made note of it in his head before continuing to the closet, and selecting his finest clothes for the party. Though the outfit had not been in style for nearly 50 years, no one had told Lev, nor was it truely outside of style for his kind yet. Lev then went to the entry hall, preparing to greet his guests.