of the First Estate have secret clients in that covenant, who repay Invictus largesse with inside information. Such a relationship is quite dangerous for the client, since none of the covenants suffer traitors gladly. It’s not entirely safe for the patron, either: she invites retribution, which for some covenants may include dire curses straight from the Old Testament or the blackest corners of legend. The Invictus also spy on each other, of course, and try to recruit secret clients among the hangers-on of their rivals.

• Oaths: For a great boon, or a pledge of largesse indefinitely continued, a vampire might accept a long-term oath to an Invictus. (See p. 178 for more about oaths and their roles in the First Estate.)

A Covenant of Clients and Patrons

Everyone in the First Estate can become a patron to someone else. Nearly every member is a client to someone else.

When Kindred think of the Invictus patronage system, they usually think of its mighty elders — the vampires who own corporations and politicians, claim high office in the Kindred’s governance and rule the night from their brooding mansions and gleaming skyscrapers. The First Estate lets all its members get in on the action, though. In fact, the First Estate demands this, if a neonate wants to gain any respect in the covenant.

In the Invictus, even a neonate can control impressive financial or political assets carried over from life; such assets are important reasons for selecting childer. Therefore, even a neonate may wield enough power to cultivate less fortunate vampires as clients. Neonates in other covenants (or unaligned) may feel reluctant to ask the great lords of the Invictus for help. A fellow neonate seems safer. These neonates or unaligned forget that the nice Kindred who seems so understanding, who shares their desire to stay free from the Masters of the Night, fully intends to become a Master of the Night herself.

The Invictus recognizes that its younger members are well placed to recruit clients in other covenants. So what if these unwary clients are mere neonates themselves? In another hundred years or so, they can gain great power in their own covenants — with Invictus help, binding them to the First Estate’s interests.

A neonate may lack anything other Kindred want

— but even without money or political influence, she has great power compared to mortals. For one thing, she has Disciplines, enabling her to perform amazing feats. Does a mortal client have trouble convincing a potential investor in his business? His “friend” can swing the deal using Dominate or Majesty. Animalism, Auspex and Obfuscate all have their uses in ferreting out secrets a mortal might wish to know. Nightmare can warn away a mortal’s enemies; if warning fails,

the physical Disciplines can deliver a less subtle rebuke. A neonate’s Disciplines may be feeble compared to an elder’s, but to a mortal she can seem like a miracle worker. Though she’d better not seem too miraculous, for the sake of the Masquerade . . . .

Any vampire also has the blood itself and its power to transform a mortal into a ghoul. This is the cruelest sort of patronage. The blood offers immortality to humans — but delivers slavery. Nevertheless, some mortals would trade their freedom for the bounty of a vampire’s veins. A desperate mortal might also serve an undead patron in hopes the blood can save a loved one’s life.

Over the decades, a diligent Invictus can cultivate such minor clients and exploit them to increase her own wealth and power. By the time she’s an ancilla, she can offer greater largesse to a wider range of potential clients. She might recruit a number of neonates as permanent clients. Older clients, now ancillae themselves, may now be bound to her by oaths, blackmail or sheer dependence on her aid.

The Invictus member also has enough power for the First Estate’s elders to cultivate her as a client. By serving their interests, she may win more power for herself. For instance, her patron might help her claim some minor office such as Harpy, Whip or Master of an Elysium. Her connection to mightier Kindred itself becomes a resource she can offer to her own clients. As the lower nobility of the Invictus, ancillae serve as all-purpose middlemen for the covenant.

The covenant’s elders form the apex of the patronage system. Their financial, political and supernatural resources are so great they can give a client almost anything, either by themselves or using their minions. On top of that, an elder might possess some high office in Kindred society, which allows her to achieve many goals by her mere command. An Invictus elder’s list of clients can include ancillae in the First Estate (and probably other covenants as well) and a variety of mortals in business, government, the civil service, crime, academia or any other field that catches her interest. Other elders owe her favors, too. Her clients in the First Estate have clients of their own, extending her web of influence even further. A powerful and respected elder in the covenant may be able to mobilize dozens of Kindred if she wants, and her reach in the mortal world defies calculation.

Honor, Respect and Reputation

The patronage system would fall apart without trust between its participants. Clients must trust that their patrons will grant the favors they promise. Patrons must trust their clients to show loyalty and perform services in return. Both sides must believe that betraying trust

will bring swift retribution. Modern mortals have all the machinery of law and government to enforce their contracts; the undead, alas, cannot take the Daeva Primogen to court for breaking his promise to award hunting rights at the latest rave.

So, reputation matters a great deal to the Invictus. The mortal world codifies reputation as credit reports, criminal records (or their lack), resumés and other documents. The Kindred use older terms such as honor and face. No vampire can ever completely trust another, but the First Estate consciously tries to discourage treachery among its members.

My Word Is My Bond

Willful and blatant betrayal of trust can wreck a Kindred’s standing in the First Estate, or at least make any business more difficult. A vampire who welshes on one deal might default on others, too, so any agreement becomes riskier. Other Kindred demand greater rewards to compensate for that risk. Where once a Kindred’s mere word was surety enough in a deal, other Invictus now demand payment in advance, oaths backed by supernatural sanctions or even ghouls and childer held hostage. A trusted Invictus might satisfy his clients with minor favors such as hunting rights at a porno theater, a few dozen shares in a decent mutual fund or 15 minutes with a Primogen Councilor. A distrusted member might need to offer hunting rights in his entire domain, a thousand shares of blue-chip stock and half an hour with the Prince. The betrayer must also fulfill many pledges before the Invictus trusts him again, for the undead have long memories indeed.

Lesser breaches of trust don’t cause such catastrophic loss of prestige. Most Invictus are rational enough to accept that, sometimes, Kindred fail through circumstances beyond their control. If you promise to deliver a certain cargo and the supplier flakes out or some nutter from Belial’s Brood burns down your warehouse, it isn’t your fault.

Except it is. Why didn’t you pick a more reliable supplier? Why didn’t you invest in some guards? Why didn’t you find a replacement cargo before the delivery date? Any failure, for any reason, shows the limitations of your power, your foresight and your determination to see things done. Potential clients and patrons wonder if they could do better by making a deal with someone else.

As a result, members of the First Estate treat every promise seriously. Even a promise to show up at a certain time becomes an implicit test of your abilities and honor: being late shows you didn’t plan or you didn’t care. Whereas modern mortals might brush off being half an hour late to a meeting, the lords of the night see an insult or incompetence.

two chapter

chapter two

For this reason, canny Invictus members don’t give their word lightly. Invictus members sometimes seem pompous and lawyerly to other Kindred, insisting on spelling out every agreement in detail — with weaselly escape clauses like “as it please the Prince.” (The Carthians particularly enjoy pointing out the First Estate’s evasions.) Invictus members do this because they don’t want to be trapped in a commitment they cannot fulfill.

When Invictus do give their word, they can make amazing efforts to keep their promises. Childer and other new recruits hear stories of Invictus who overcame incredible obstacles to fulfill a pledge. Elders tell of the neonate who ran through sunlight and burned to ash to deliver his sire’s reply to the Prince before a sunset deadline, and the Knight who fought a pack of werewolves because they came between him and a flower he’d promised his lady. On a less romantic level, Invictus businessmen may squander 10 times what a damaged cargo is worth to replace it, or a First Estate political operative might call in a dozen favors to protect a neonate client’s haven from demolition. Invictus think the cost matters less than the reputation they gain. The mighty see a potential client they can trust to fulfill their commands; the lowly see a potential patron they can trust to take care of them.

Conflicting Duties

When members of the First Estate achieve some office in Kindred society, they approach their job with zeal. After all, they accepted a pledge to perform certain duties. The Invictus expects them to keep that pledge; they would lose face if they did not.

That’s not a problem when the Invictus dominates Kindred society and governance. For instance, conflicts of interest seldom arise for an Invictus assistant to an Invictus Priscus in a city where most of the clan belongs to the Invictus. Office-holders may face awkward choices when the First Estate lacks such dominance. That Invictus assistant, for instance, has two responsibilities: as a helper to her Priscus, she has a duty to look after her clan’s interests, but as a member of the First Estate, she should look out for the covenant’s interests. If most of her clan belongs to other covenants, her duties may conflict — and the Invictus will not let her off the hook by saying, “Hang your clanmates; you work for us.” If she undercuts her Priscus and her clan, it wouldn’t matter what benefits she brought to the First Estate. She’d still develop a reputation as a weasel no one should trust. The covenant’s leaders might reward her with money, hunting privileges or other tangible rewards, but not with prestige and honor.

Fine Words, False Hearts

Of course, not all Invictus keep their honor pure or demand high standards from the rest of their covenant.

The First Estate speaks of honor so much because the Damned have so little. Frenzy, Wassail and Rötschreck can overpower the strongest wills, leading to breaches of honor and the respect due between client and patron. Vices tempt the Damned with selfish passions. All too many Invictus decide it’s too hard actually to be honorable; it’s easier just to look honorable, and conceal your failures and treacheries.

And rank does have its privileges. The First Estate’s belief that all Kindred are not equal means that members with low Status may be judged more harshly than those who’ve accumulated great power and prestige. It isn’t fair; it isn’t supposed to be.

Shifting Blame

One common strategy is to find a scapegoat — some poor schlub you can blame for failure. “I trusted him to do his part for my plan,” goes the standard script, “and he failed my trust. I can’t keep my word because of his incompetence.” You still suffer a little loss of face for relying on someone you should not have, but most of the onus goes on the scapegoat.

Neonates are, unfortunately, excellent candidates for scapegoats. They often haven’t proven themselves through enough previous challenges. Their eagerness to make connections and gain patrons makes them take risks older Kindred know how to recognize and avoid — especially the risks of pledging their own honor to someone else’s plan.

Suppose a coterie of neonates agree to serve as couriers, making a one-night journey to return a sacred relic to a neighboring city’s Acolytes. It seems like an easy bit of errantry. They might not recognize that their cargo as a werewolf fetish, that their journey takes them across werewolf territory and that the ancilla who recruited them has an old grudge against the Acolytes and would like to see the powerful relic lost. After the neonates have publicly assured a local Circle of the Crone coven that they will see the relic safely home to its owners, the ancilla won’t take the blame if the neonates vanish without a trace. If the coterie succeeds, the ancilla looks good for recruiting them.

As the example suggests, cunning Invictus may even pre-select clients for failure. The Invictus not only have a scapegoat, they can make a conscious betrayal of trust look like someone else’s failure. Even if the neonates survive, who will the other Invictus believe: some new-fledged childer or one of their own, who has proven himself in the past? A scapegoating or frame-up might not need to be very subtle or convincing, either, if the Invictus has great power or influence over other covenant members. Sometimes the largesse of patrons, and the service of clients, consists of accepting each other’s lies and hiding each other’s shames.

Weaseling Out

Another strategy is to claim you never made a pledge in the first place. Wrap any statement in enough gauzy generalities and florid rhetoric, and you can weasel out later. You could claim you never said you would silence that nosy private eye — only that someone ought to do it. Or you never said when you would do it. Or you didn’t say you would do it personally, and your agents are on the case. A skilled Invictus rhetorician can seem to promise everything to everyone, while actually saying nothing at all. Other Invictus who see through the goo and dribble may at least admire the technique. After all, they’ve probably weaseled out of a few promises themselves.

Counterattack

As any politician knows, no one pays attention to your own failings if they’re angry about someone else. In this strategy, you don’t refute a charge of breaking a trust — you don’t even acknowledge it, because you’re too busy whipping up outrage against some other Kindred. You can accuse your accuser of having a vendetta against you, of some dark agenda (probably true among the Damned, even if it’s irrelevant to the case at hand), of disloyalty to the covenant — or, of course, of trying to throw attention onto you to cover up his own crimes and failings.

Sometimes, however, you don’t want to attack the person holding you to account. When the Prince asks you why you didn’t return the Acolyte’s relic, reviling the Prince as a traitor to the Invictus just isn’t prudent. Instead, you say how awful someone else is. For instance, you might deliver a stirring speech asking the assembled Kindred why they’re making such a fuss over Circle of the Crone property, when everyone knows those Damned Acolytes are crazed fanatics who worship foul forces from beyond and call them forth to pollute the world, and Longinus only knows what vile purpose they intended with their precious relic. The First Estate should thank you for getting rid of it!

Pre-emptive Contrition

Some Invictus think it’s best to accept blame for failure or a breach of promise — spectacularly. Revile yourself and proclaim your grief at your own incapacity. Tear your clothes. Demand punishment with fire or the lash. Offer some extravagant payment as part of your penance. If you’re lucky, your overblown contrition will embarrass your fellow Invictus into muttering that your fault wasn’t that bad, and what if someone from another covenant saw you making a scene? On the other hand, turning into a drama queen may irritate other Invictus or whet their appetite to watch your pain, leaving you worse off than before. As usual, your own power and prestige influences the audience response (and so does your dramatic technique).

Directing your fellow Invictus’ minds toward torture isn’t necessarily a bad thing, though. If you show you can take pain, at least you win back some respect for your courage — a prime aristocratic virtue.

Deference

In a patronage system, clients need more than assurance of their patron’s sincerity. They also need to know their patron has the power to back up her promises. One result is that insults demand retribution. If a client sees his patron swallow some shame or insult, he has to wonder how much power the patron really has. Maybe the patron is generous of spirit, self-controlled or too wellmannered to acknowledge an insult — or maybe she can’t punish the person who gave offense. In that case, does she have the power to fulfill her commitments? Maybe the client had better hedge his bets by looking for other potential patrons, such as the person who delivered the insult. Since the First Estate lacks any outside authority to enforce its patronage system, the covenant’s members take gestures of respect and disrespect seriously, and smack down anyone who fails to show proper respect.

Obedience

Most obviously, the covenant demands strict obedience to its chains of command. Invictus members have no patience for mavericks and loose cannons. Sass your sire, and he may have your mouth sewn shut until you learn when you may open it. Blow off a command from an Inner Circle member, and you have made a dangerous enemy for the rest of your unlife — which might not be that long. The Invictus punishes failure, but not nearly so severely as it punishes willful disobedience.

The burden of obedience falls most heavily on the lower ranks of the covenant, but Invictus elders remind neonates that they, too, are lords of the night. Younger members must insist upon respect and obedience from their own juniors and minions. For instance, a neonate is as a Prince to her ghoul Retainer. She has a right to demand obedience to every command. A young domitor who shows too much forgiveness or tolerance may find herself called on the carpet by her sire — or someone even higher in the First Estate — to receive a lecture about Maintaining Proper Discipline. Failure to perform small tasks promptly may not seem important, but if small acts of disobedience do not receive immediate punishment, servants grow bolder and attempt larger acts of defiance. Every Invictus elder can tell stories about indulgent masters who ended up destroyed by their ungrateful servants.

Of course, not every senior Invictus has the right to command any service from all younger members of the covenant. The First Estate carefully notes that only the

two chapter

chapter two

Prince has authority over all Kindred. Sometimes, a neonate has the right to refuse an order. For instance, Invictus tradition holds that even an Inner Circle member has no right to ask a childe to disobey her sire.

Then again, it may be prudent to obey such powerful Kindred, whether they have the right to give an order or not.

Retribution

Like other Kindred, Invictus have many options to punish insubordination and insults. Members of the highest ranks can use their official powers to chastise Kindred who offend them. A Prince, for instance, can send the Sheriff or his Hound to teach a lesson in manners. Other influential Kindred may “borrow” such officers, at the Prince’s pleasure. Most Invictus, however, know they must deliver their own punishments. Aside from the fact that few Invictus have the right to order a “hit” (or even just a rough- ing-up), honor demands they be seen dealing with the situation themselves. They must reassure clients of their power and determination — and their enemies, even more so.

Monomacy is the ultimate recourse for an aggrieved Invictus. Not every duel is to the Final Death or torpor, of course; it’s usually enough to show that you could slay your foe. At the other extreme, an acid remark that sets other Invictus smiling is often sufficient retribution for minor social snubs. Sometimes, though, you have to hurt a Kindred who insulted you, but in such a

way you don’t risk your own unlife. Popular methods include the following:

•Destruction of Property. Now and then, buildings catch fire, gas mains explode or drug-crazed gangbangers hold their turf battle right outside and shoot the place up. Then you send your condolences to the owner who insulted you. Express concern that the same thing could happen to his haven. The message is clear.

•Threaten Mortals. Mortals are so much more fragile than Kindred. Accidents could happen so easily to a pet city councilman or corporate VP — or a mortal granddaughter. Actual murder is seldom necessary. It’s usually enough to show you can get to mortals your enemy considers important. The young mortal relative picked up after school or in a bar, and then delivered home unharmed, is a classic approach. A Mekhet tycoon in London, on the other hand, prefers origami cranes that appear in the bedrooms of his enemies’ mortal servants. For more severe offenses, though, some Invictus still go straight to shooting, maiming or “disappearing” an enemy’s mortal allies.

•Humiliation. Make your enemy look foolish. This doesn’t mean Dominating your enemy into clucking like a chicken; you will only embarrass yourself with such crude pranks. If you can Dominate him into pinning his own hand to the table with a knife or use Nightmare to make him flee the room, you assert your greater power in a way no one can ignore. Kindred without suitable Disciplines can still attempt social sabotage, such as replacing healthy young vessels at