[Clan] Hécata

[Pagliacci]

Sí, es Jack Dawson, es descendiente directo del Barón Samedi. Aunque no es Sabbat, ayudó a una manada. También hay Samedi en posiciones destacados de la Camarilla, como el arconte Lithrac.

https://whitewolf.fandom.com/wiki/Jack_Dawson

A mí los Giovanni me gustan, disfruto introduciendo el crimen organizado en las partidas, pero creo que como antagonistas me gustan más. El otro día leí que la maniobra de los neonatos Giovanni de buscar aliados en familias rivales era posiblemente una referencia al golpe que dieron Lucky Luciano y otros jóvenes italianos con ayuda de sus enemigos irlandeses y judíos para hacerse con el control y crear el Sindicato del Crimen en los años de la Ley Seca.

Es decir, el que los jóvenes Giovanni liquiden a los antiguos con ayuda de Heraldos y Samedi lo comparaban con el funcionamiento de la Mafia. Me pareció una referencia interesante.

[Alexander Weiss]

En Factor Kaos aparece otro Samedi con una posición destacada en el Sabbat: Jorge de la Muerte, aunque fue Abrazado en Haití.

Y en el Diario de la Yihad de Beckett se atribuye en uno de sus capítulos la creación de la línea de sangre a una Anciana Matusalén que duerme en el Caribe.

[Pagliacci]

En Factor Kaos aparece otro Samedi con una posición destacada en el Sabbat: Jorge de la Muerte, aunque fue Abrazado en Haití.

Y en el Diario de la Yihad de Beckett se atribuye en uno de sus capítulos la creación de la línea de sangre a una Anciana Matusalén que duerme en el Caribe.

En el juego de cartas Vampire the Eternal Struggle revelan que es Trogloditya del Libro de clan de Edad Oscura. Supongo que será relativamente canónico hasta que salga publicado. El número blanco sobre círculo rojo es la potencia de sangre.

[Casemir]

A mí los Giovanni me gustan, disfruto introduciendo el crimen organizado en las partidas, pero creo que como antagonistas me gustan más.

A mí me disgusta bastante el empeño en mezclar los Giovanni con la mafia. No estaba en el concepto original, y lo metió Achilli. Lo considero bastante racista.

Los Giovanni son una familia prestigiosa de las élites económicas mundiales. A su lado la mafia es plebe. Pueden tener tentáculos para conseguir seguridad, influencia, y fuerza de combate, pero la identificación que se hizo a posteriori, y que quedó en el imaginario de los fans, es absurda.

[Pagliacci]

Es una idea bastante racista y, además, históricamente absurda. La mafia italiana nunca tuvo una gran presencia en las regiones del norte de Italia. Pero bueno, a mí me gusta meter el crimen organizado, sea como Giovanni o no, en otras partidas lo he asociado a los Ventrue. En V5, desplazando a los Giovanni, pero manteniendo el concepto de crimen organizado en los Hécata y los Heraldos, lo desvinculan de las raíces italianas.

[Voivoda]

Opino exactamente igual que vosotros, pero me llama la atención cómo ha ido evolucionando nuestra percepción con el paso del tiempo (o al menos la mía). Yo en los 90 ni me planteaba estos debates y ahora veo el tufillo racista a distancia. Es una evolución para bien, al menos.

[Pagliacci]

Yo creo que han hecho una buena jugada manteniendo ese componente de crimen organizado, familia independiente u organización criminal como algo extensible a todos los Hécata. Y al haber ocupado los Heraldos el puesto central, que no se puede decir que sean de ningún sitio en concreto, no están estigmatizando a los italianos. Le han quitado el origen racial a los nigromantes mafiosos de V5.

[Pagliacci]

Un truculento relato publicado sobre los Hécata.

UNA CENA EN FAMILIA MÁS

Spoiler

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Just Another Family Dinner

By Eddy Webb

Moonlight pours through the stained-glass windows of a remodeled Gothic church, and in its basement, the dead dine with family. From a small table off in the corner, I watch a thin, almost emaciated woman with steel hair and pale eyes stand from one end of a ridiculously long table. Anja Giovanni raises her wine glass of treated blood to the assembled. I swirl around the thickening blood in my own glass, half-listening to her speech. Something about gathering the Clan of Death, embarking on new beginnings, the usual horseshit. I tune in just as I sense she’s wrapping up. “For we are all Hecata, now. We are all family.”

She nods to the Japanese man at the other end of the table, who also stands up. Hiromitsu Asano has a twig pinned to a jacket that’s worth more than I make in a year. He thanks her and raises his glass in return. Everyone else raises their glass, too. The whole room smells like a hospital dump: nothing but coppery blood and dead bodies. The gazillions of flower place-settings just add a layer of fragrant death over everything.

The fat, sweaty-looking man in a rumpled suit sitting next to me has been trying to catch my eye for half an hour now. Clearly annoyed that I didn’t raise my glass for the toast, he reaches over and taps his glass against mine. “There. Now you’re being social.”

I take a sip of the blood. “Didn’t come here to be social.”

“Tough.” He shoves a hand out to me. “Tony Ambrose. Of the Puttanesca.”

I sigh and take it. It feels clammy and soft, like a fish a day past its sell-by date. “Maria. Of the Pisanob, I guess.”

He raises an eyebrow at that. “Pisanob? Ain’t many of yours around anymore.”

I bite back yet another profanity and close my eyes.

I watched the flames lick the sides of my sire’s haven. I didn’t get the call fast enough, I didn’t drive fast enough, I wasn’t fast enough to stop it. I fell to my knees, tears rolling down my face. And all I could hear in my head was him chiding me, like he did during my first ceremony lessons.

“Don’t cry, little Maria,” he would say. I could remember how he always smelled of sandalwood and copper. “Death comes to us all, even the immortals. One day I, too, shall cross the Shroud and join both those we have lost and those we have enslaved. You can’t become a necromancer if you cry over every single death.”

I wiped my arm across my eyes, and blood smeared on my sleeve. In the corner of my eye I could see a man who was also watching the blaze. He put his cell phone away and got back into his large sedan. He was a fat, sweaty man in a rumpled suit. He didn’t look at me as he drove away.

“Hey, you listening to me?” Tony’s voice cuts through my reverie. “I asked you what happened to all of youse.”

I open my eyes and turn to stare at him — the first time I’ve looked at him all evening. “Most of us were murdered.” He leans back from my gaze, and I imagine what it would feel like to rip his throat out with my teeth.

I feel a hand touch my shoulder, gently. “Leave him be,” she says. “It’s not nice to play with your food.”

I turn back to look at her. Berlin smiles at me, like she always does when she knows I’m about to punch someone. Her green eyes twinkle with mischief, like they always do. We’ve only been seeing each other for a few weeks, but she’s always telling me that I’ve gotten under her skin, in the best possible way. I nod, and she drops her hand to my knee. Her fingers feel cool through my stockings as she points to the head table. “Besides, Mora the Death Seer is up to something.”

I follow the line of her finger, and see a delicate person dressed in a draping black sweater stand up. Their back is to our table, and they speak softly, but their voice carries through the room. They talk about Augustus Giovanni’s plans to murder the Cappadocians, and how they’ve killed many Giovanni in retaliation. They just manage to avoid making it sound like a boast or a threat before they offer their condolences to Asano for his losses. He murmurs something nice in return.

Berlin clicks her tongue against her teeth. “Damn, Mora must have practiced that apology for a week. Imagine having to kiss Giovanni ass after everything done to them.”

I take a sip from the glass before pointing it at Berlin’s face. “You’re just mad they’re not kissing your Giovanni ass.”

“Damn straight,” she laughs. “My ass is much nicer than his.”

“Nice ass,” I said, as I watched her walk down the hallway.

She looked over her shoulder and smiled. “You know it. Have we met?”

I shook my head and walked to her as she turned around. “Maria Ibarra. A cousin.”

“Berlin Giovanni.” I clasped her hand as she looked me up and down. “A cousin, huh? Not a kissing cousin by chance?”

“Kissing? No.” I leaned over and put my lips next to her ear. “I’m thinking of something much, much better.”

She shivered then. The same shiver she had later, tied down to the bed, when she was begging for my tongue.

I smile, but I’m not looking at her. Instead I’m watching as Asano walks over to Mora, who’s pulled a cylinder wrapped in pale blue silk out of the folds of their sweater. The two vampires are going through some tiresome ritual where Mora offers the gift and Asano refuses it, then he pulls out a small wooden box from his jacket and the roles are reversed as the two of them go through it all over again.

The man sitting across the table from me sighs and turns back to face us. The moonlight from the stained glass glints off the polished ebony of his mask. “I have always found these pleasantries to be tiresome. They detract from my studies.” He carefully adjusts his tattered brown robes around his frail form, and carefully lifts the edge of his mask up so that he can sip from his wine glass.

“I’m surprised this pulled you away from your studies, Zebadiah.” Berlin has reluctantly pulled her hand off my knee and leans forward on the table, her elbows resting on either side of the barren plate in front of her. “I figured you would still be in mourning for the loss of your childe, Elias.”

Zebadiah carefully pulls the mask back over his face. “We are the Clan of Death. To mourn those that have died seems… pointless.”

Tony has, unfortunately, decided to join in the conversation. “Pointless? Don’t know about that, Zeb. If I—”

“Zebadiah.”

Tony is distracted by the sudden interruption. “Huh?”

The cool, flat voice comes from the mask again, faintly muffled and hollow. “My name is Zebadiah. Not ‘Zeb’.”

“Sure, that’s what I said. Zebadiah. And if I had a childe that was tore up like that, I wouldn’t be mourning. I’d be out hunting the bastard that did it.”

“Would you? I suppose that makes a degree of sense. But I am simply… what is the word?”

Berlin leans back again. “Upset?”

Tony knocks back the rest of his glass. “Fucking furious, more like.”

“Jealous. Yes, that’s the word. He died in such a creative way. I hope I get to experience that some night.”

The pale man never said a word when I nailed his hands to the wooden top of the table. Nor his feet. But when I pulled his mask off, he started screaming like he was on fire. “Please! Please! Give me back my face! I am Elias of the Harbingers, and you must give me back my face!”

I leaned over him and gave him a smile. I made sure he could see the blowtorch under the spoon, which had started to glow from the heat. “Here’s what I’m going to do, Elias. If you don’t answer my questions, I’m going to scoop out your eyes. If you do, you get to keep them.”

Those same eyes, dark and terrified, stared at me. “And then you’ll let me go?”

I set the blowtorch next to his hand, which was starting to ooze thick, coagulated blood. “Let’s not go crazy now. But first things first. The Harbingers are hunting down the Pisanob. Correct?”

He closed his eyes. I jammed a finger in one of them, and they snapped back open. I waved the cooling spoon in front of his face. “Correct?” I asked again.

“Yes! Yes! You know we are!”

“I do, because you tried to come after me, and you were sloppy. Honestly, I don’t know how you ancient fuckers managed to accomplish anything. But I’m not here to debate your failings as a family.” I moved onto the table surface, managing to sit right next to where his hand was nailed down. I picked up the blowtorch again and began reheating the spoon. “Next question. Who told the Putanesca where to find my sire’s haven?”

“I don’t—” The rest of his sentence was lost in the scream, as I plunged the white-hot spoon into his right eye. There was a soft pop and then a sizzling sound, as the vitreous fluid in his eye began to boil.

I gave him a minute to calm down before I spoke. “I told you, I need you to answer my questions. See, no one really gives a shit about the Pisanob except you Harbingers. And the Putanesca aren’t clever enough to hunt down one of us in our haven. But they are just dumb enough to take on a job for someone else if they think it will get them somewhere.” I slid off the table and moved to the other side, so he could see me with his remaining good eye. “I know your sire hired them. And don’t worry — he’ll get his. But I also know that you don’t get out of your crypts for a simple hit job. There was someone who arranged everything. Wasn’t there?”

He cried a bit. I slapped him in the face with the blowtorch. “Wasn’t. There.”

“Yes… yes, there was a… a Giovanni that my sire knows. Someone who wants to take out the competition in her family.”

My thoughts are interrupted as a crowd of mortals start to mill into the dinner area. They’re all dressed in white clothing, but otherwise there’s nothing linking them together. A wide variety of ages, genders, sizes, what have you. Some carry carafes of blood and start refilling glasses. Others start to carefully put food onto the places — small bones stuck into carefully sliced raw meat, also covered in blood. Tony waves off the meat and looks a little green around the gills as he looks at it. Zebadiah nods once at the server filling his plate. Berlin just stares at me with a smirk on her face as she takes a sip from her newly filled glass. I can feel her foot running up the side of my leg.

As the servers continue to fill glasses and plates, Mora is chanting a prayer. “I am the end and the beginning. Dead flesh may cover my bones, and my bones may encase an unbeating heart, yet I remain….”

I held the spoon close to Elias’ remaining eye. “Give me a name.”

He started to speak, like he wanted to negotiate. But he realized that I was going to kill him anyway. I could see his whole body relax a little, as he accepted the end.

“Berlin. Berlin Giovanni.”

Mora’s voice rises in volume. “For I am Hecata. I am the beginning and the end. I remain.”

I turned and looked into Berlin’s beautiful eyes. I wonder what they taste like.

[Ilyanova]

Una pregunta. Hay alguna situación/ uso de disciplina oblivion en concreto en el que al Hecata se le pongan los ojos totalmente negros? Como así:

https://i.ytimg.com/vi/v8ccvUwCvFs/hqdefault.jpg


En cuanto a aspecto, conservan los mismos features físicos las distintas familias (Heraldos, etc) que en la edición normal? O han suavizado algo como han hecho con los nosfes?

gracias guys

[Alexander Weiss]

Una pregunta. Hay alguna situación/ uso de disciplina oblivion en concreto en el que al Hecata se le pongan los ojos totalmente negros? Como así:

Mas bien entre los Lasombra. Se supone que los Lasombra utilizan el poder de Olvido en bruto, manipulando la sustancia del inframundo, mientras que los Hécata utilizan ceremonias y rituales refinándola en una disciplina necromántica.

Los ojos totalmente negros ya aparecían en ediciones anteriores y serían el equivalente de un poder de Obtenebración - Olvido de nivel 1.

En principio los nuevos Hécata Abrazados en las Noches Finales se van unificando, al margen del linaje del que procedan: Su Prohibición es el doloroso Beso de Lamia (su Beso no produce placer, sino dolor y no inmoviliza a sus víctimas) y su compulsión es la Obsesión por la muerte.

Las debilidades de ediciones anteriores desaparecen (el aspecto putrefacto de los Samedi, el canibalismo de los Nagaraja, etc.) aunque varios aspectos se mantiene en las Fichas de Saber.