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Take a look aroundI believe in hand-me-downsthe treasures that we foundWhen we were brand new
Now that we're old and wornA little ripped and tornOne day we'll be re-born-Foo Fighters "End Over End"
Now that we're old and wornA little ripped and tornOne day we'll be re-born-Foo Fighters "End Over End"
San Augustin Masquerade
San Augustin Masquerade
Welcome to San Augustin, oldest city in North America – built on the remains of the Timucuan Village of Seloy, and dating back nearly 4,000 years. First discovered by Europeans in 1513, when Don Juan Ponce de Leon first set foot in the land of La Florida in search of the mythical Fountain of Youth.
In the 500 years since, San Augustin has grown into a small metropolis. The Oldest City, the First Coast, the Capital of Florida, San Augustin is the tourist destination for the wealthy elite of the 19th Century onward, and eventually served as the hub of centralized capitalism in the Southern United States.
Here we find an unusual mix of Old-World charm and Big City Dreams – where 16th-Century Coquina architecture cuts a swath through 21st-Century Steel & Glass. Horse-drawn carriages still carry visitors to San Augustin along the romanticized bayfront, and high-tech trams shuttle tourists through tours of the Ancient City, while high in the skyscrapers above, corporate jockeys vie for power.
San Augustin is a collage of old and new – a clash of charm and efficiency; and the home of its own fair share of supernatural monsters. For high in the penthouses of the Spanish Quarter, and holed up in the ancient stone edifices from days long gone – San Augustin’s true rulers stalk the night, govern their domains, and wrestle for power and prestige in a City uniquely suited for the American Kindred. At least, they used to (?).
"Not a single star shone in the sky - shunned by the bright lights of the Old City - jealous of the full moon. They've turned their twinkling faces away from us."
Lance smacked Matt upside his head. "Shut the fuck up, Doormatt." He was right though. It was kind of dark. Even the moon was hidden behind the shadow of the Earth.
"My name is Doug," Doormatt protested, rubbing the back of his head. "I keep telling you."
"You name is whatever Breeze says your name is, Doormatt. Now come on." Lance sat down on the sea wall and kicked off the old stone, vaulting himself across to the dock. He turned around and held up a guiding hand.
Doormatt climbed down the sea wall and pinched off of it, leaping across the water - somehow effectively making the leap without anything resembling even the merest hint of style. His running shoes came down hard on the dock with two loud thuds.
"Shut up, you two," Envy didn't even bother getting down. She lept across the gap with a lithe grace lost to both of her companions. Her footsteps on the dock were barely a whispered scratch. "Where are we supposed to be going," she asked, but her attention was drawn away - always off in the distance somewhere. She seemed to delight in some strange music - also lost to her companions. Perhaps it was the silent song that fueled her elegance.
Lance's leering gaze lingered just a bit too long, before his eyes darted up to see if she'd noticed. When he was satisfied that she hadn't, he looked away, motioning to the other end of the dock. "This way," he said.
"What are we even doing out here," Doormatt asked, eyeing the water cautiously. There were rumors that some sort of monster lurked in the Massacre Bay, and he'd never really been all that keen on the ocean before all this blood and supernatural nonsense that comes with being a vampire.
"We're after the stuff," Lance said. "Breeze wants the stuff." He stopped short at the end of the dock. "The guy with the stuff said to meet him here." He motioned annoyingly at the empty dock.
There was no one to meet. "Here we are."
Doormatt looked around incredulous. "I don't see the guy with the stuff," he said. "Is there a boat?"
"How the fuck should I-" Lance started. He was cut off by Envy, half dancing to that invisible tune in her head.
"He's coming," she drawled the last word out into a long tease and a promise. Maybe a threat.
"Shut up," Lance said. Both he and Doormatt were looking around. There were no boats coming. Both kindred leaped back as a wet hulk of a creature burst up from out of the bay, drenching them both - and the dock - in seawater. It landed with a moist thunk, then rose to its natural height and looked them over.
"Gah," Lance barked. "It's the hideous Fish-Man!" He was chuckling. The creature standing before them did indeed look like some kind of human-fish hybrid.
He - he was naked, and definitely a "he" - had that wall-eyed Innsmouth look, with bruised, deep set eyes, and a mouth that seemed to stretch almost from one overlong ear to the other. His skin had a grey-green hue and there were flaps of flesh where there shouldn't be, almost like fins.
"Fuck you," the creature said, pulling the large San Agustin High book bag from over his shoulder. He held it at his side. "You got the coin," he said. His voice was so normal that it was weird. He sounded like a bank teller or a convenience store clerk, not a fish-faced, twice-damned creature of the night. Lance was laughing again.
Doormatt punched him in the shoulder, but he knew that was how Lance dealt with his nerves. He pulled the ancient Spanish coin from his jacket pocket and handed it over, trying like hell not to touch the rotting, green hands.
That made the fish-man chuckle. He turned the coin over in his webbed fingers. "This is Breeze?" he said, indicating the smear of blood across the coin's face. When Doormatt nodded as he backed away, the creature said, "you tell her I'll be cashing this in soon."
Lance was doused in seawater again, when the creature cannonballed back into the murky water. "Dammit," he cursed, trying to shake himself off, wiping the sea water from his face.
Envy turned away from them and started toward the Marina. She took a long draw on her vape pen, then said to the air, "he's gone now."
"No shit, Sherlock," Lance said, but he snatched the bag from Doormatt's hands and started after her.
"Is it in there?" Doormatt skipped and fell into step with the older kindred. "What is it, anyway?"
"How the fuck should I know," Lance said, snatching Envy's vape pen from her hand and drawing in a deep breath. "Breeze said get the bag. We have the bag. Let's get back to the club.
Lance smacked Matt upside his head. "Shut the fuck up, Doormatt." He was right though. It was kind of dark. Even the moon was hidden behind the shadow of the Earth.
"My name is Doug," Doormatt protested, rubbing the back of his head. "I keep telling you."
"You name is whatever Breeze says your name is, Doormatt. Now come on." Lance sat down on the sea wall and kicked off the old stone, vaulting himself across to the dock. He turned around and held up a guiding hand.
Doormatt climbed down the sea wall and pinched off of it, leaping across the water - somehow effectively making the leap without anything resembling even the merest hint of style. His running shoes came down hard on the dock with two loud thuds.
"Shut up, you two," Envy didn't even bother getting down. She lept across the gap with a lithe grace lost to both of her companions. Her footsteps on the dock were barely a whispered scratch. "Where are we supposed to be going," she asked, but her attention was drawn away - always off in the distance somewhere. She seemed to delight in some strange music - also lost to her companions. Perhaps it was the silent song that fueled her elegance.
Lance's leering gaze lingered just a bit too long, before his eyes darted up to see if she'd noticed. When he was satisfied that she hadn't, he looked away, motioning to the other end of the dock. "This way," he said.
"What are we even doing out here," Doormatt asked, eyeing the water cautiously. There were rumors that some sort of monster lurked in the Massacre Bay, and he'd never really been all that keen on the ocean before all this blood and supernatural nonsense that comes with being a vampire.
"We're after the stuff," Lance said. "Breeze wants the stuff." He stopped short at the end of the dock. "The guy with the stuff said to meet him here." He motioned annoyingly at the empty dock.
There was no one to meet. "Here we are."
Doormatt looked around incredulous. "I don't see the guy with the stuff," he said. "Is there a boat?"
"How the fuck should I-" Lance started. He was cut off by Envy, half dancing to that invisible tune in her head.
"He's coming," she drawled the last word out into a long tease and a promise. Maybe a threat.
"Shut up," Lance said. Both he and Doormatt were looking around. There were no boats coming. Both kindred leaped back as a wet hulk of a creature burst up from out of the bay, drenching them both - and the dock - in seawater. It landed with a moist thunk, then rose to its natural height and looked them over.
"Gah," Lance barked. "It's the hideous Fish-Man!" He was chuckling. The creature standing before them did indeed look like some kind of human-fish hybrid.
He - he was naked, and definitely a "he" - had that wall-eyed Innsmouth look, with bruised, deep set eyes, and a mouth that seemed to stretch almost from one overlong ear to the other. His skin had a grey-green hue and there were flaps of flesh where there shouldn't be, almost like fins.
"Fuck you," the creature said, pulling the large San Agustin High book bag from over his shoulder. He held it at his side. "You got the coin," he said. His voice was so normal that it was weird. He sounded like a bank teller or a convenience store clerk, not a fish-faced, twice-damned creature of the night. Lance was laughing again.
Doormatt punched him in the shoulder, but he knew that was how Lance dealt with his nerves. He pulled the ancient Spanish coin from his jacket pocket and handed it over, trying like hell not to touch the rotting, green hands.
That made the fish-man chuckle. He turned the coin over in his webbed fingers. "This is Breeze?" he said, indicating the smear of blood across the coin's face. When Doormatt nodded as he backed away, the creature said, "you tell her I'll be cashing this in soon."
Lance was doused in seawater again, when the creature cannonballed back into the murky water. "Dammit," he cursed, trying to shake himself off, wiping the sea water from his face.
Envy turned away from them and started toward the Marina. She took a long draw on her vape pen, then said to the air, "he's gone now."
"No shit, Sherlock," Lance said, but he snatched the bag from Doormatt's hands and started after her.
"Is it in there?" Doormatt skipped and fell into step with the older kindred. "What is it, anyway?"
"How the fuck should I know," Lance said, snatching Envy's vape pen from her hand and drawing in a deep breath. "Breeze said get the bag. We have the bag. Let's get back to the club.
The oldest city in America is a cancer on the history of the nation. A malignant growth in the swamps of Florida. To the 30 million tourists and visitors who pass through the city each year, San Agustin is a quaint mix of old-world charm and big-city dreams. To the two million residents who call the city home, San Agustin is plagued with a homeless epidemic, and overrun by a tourist industry that seems determined to turn their once beloved city into a theme park. To the kindred of the First Coast, San Agustin is an all-you-can-eat buffet with a lock on the door and nobody knows who has the key.
Once a bastion of Camarilla Law, isolated from the rest of the world in a sea of Sabbat anarcy. San Agustin is protected from the chaos around it by proximity to the Utina and Acuoera Preserves, which house large packs of werewolves, and by the massive presence of Spirits, Faeries, and other - less well known - supernatural entities. In their time, the Sabbat waged a half-dozen campaigns against the Oldest City, but they were thwarted at every turn. In the end, comfort and complacency opened the door for the Anarchs to move in and the Camarilla lost their footing.
The metaphorical walls that protected the kindred of San Agustin from the terrors of the night were the bars that kept them trapped within. A vampire who travels to the city, and doesn't encounter the surrounding dangers, soon learns how difficult it can be to leave. Werewolves hunt the countryside surrounding the city, keeping a sharp watch for escaping vampires. And though the threat of roaming packs of Sabbat no longer seems present, the Second Inquisition has a stranglehold on much of the Florida peninsula.
And even if one would brave the dangers of the surrounding countryside, there is that Other. Kindred of San Agustin typically just don't want to leave. Those who do often find that the benign forces of the underworld are allied against them. Almost as soon as she decides to leave, a kindred will find themselves beset by the overabundance of spirits that make the city their home. And a vampire who does attempt to leave San Agustin and survives, often finds herself inexplicably drawn back to the Oldest City. Even with the advent of the beckoning, more of San Augustin's kindred have fallen to Inquisition stakes and flame than have journeyed east.
The over-arching Theme of San Agustin stories seems to be a juxtaposition of stagnation and change - old and new. The political foundation of San Agustin remained unchanged for over 400 years, until the Prince of the city just decided one night to abandon his post, and turn the keys over to lesser kindred. In the face of the Beckoning, and the absence of so many elder vampires, every Ancillae and Neonate in San Agustin is jockying for power, and it is into this meat-grinder that new kindred find themselves thrown.
And behind them...
There are older, perhaps even darker puppet masters. Woe be to the kindred who finds herself tethered to these ancient creatures.
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