Armande Background

8/2/2019 Armande Background

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It was the summer of 1962 and Paris was a haven for free-thinking liberal idealists, two such individuals

happened to be the parents of Armande Chevalier. Gifted with his father's brilliant mind and his

mother's classic beauty and the backing of two wealthy and well respected French families, Armande

was fated to achieve great things. As with all familial cycles, there comes a time in a child's life when he

rebels against the strictures of his upbringing. Though he couldn't put words to it at the time, the boy

longed for structure and solidarity within their liberal home. When the day came that he finally voicedhis opinion, admonishing their loose lifestyle, they simply smiled and called him an individual. He

realized then that arguing with them was a lost cause and chose to place his attention toward his own

future.

His years in study were those of ease and fond memories, for he was both popular with friends, girls,

and teachers alike. Though he participated in few sports, fencing being the exception, he did join

various school clubs and organizations. That along with excellent marks in school gave him a well

rounded education. Moreover, and though he hated to admit it, his family's background helped him

obtain a place within the halls of cole Normale Suprieure; a university unrivaled within Europe and

located conveniently within the city he held so dear. It was the year 1980 and he could have easily

received a scholarship upon entry, though due to the wealth of his family, he was immediately

disqualified; thus, having to continue to rely upon his parents. He longed to unhinge those bindings they

held upon him so dearly and so he chose to pursue a master's degree in business.

Before he knew it, four years had passed and his undergraduate education had come to an end. He still

had fond memories of fencing with the lads, he was not the best mind you, but intimidation and proper

posture can go a long way to unsettling your opponent. He remembered the day he became presidentof the student council and also the night he lost his virginity to one of the teacher's assistants, a woman

well experienced in the art of lovemaking, if not love itself. For, you see, it was love, or the loss thereof

that brought him to Louis Fortier.

It began that very summer, each day of which is etched within his memory, never to be lost. It was the

summer he met Blaise De La Fontaine. A youthful American girl of 18 years, though originally of french

descent, she was set on spending her summer in the land of her roots; "experiencing some culture," she

had said when we first met under the Eiffel Tower. She had a sharp mind, a witty humor, and the body

of a goddess. I do admit that it was easy to fall in love with such a girl. As the days grew on, and my

adoration of her increased, I began to feel a peculiar sadness. I dreaded the day that summer would

end and we would have to part. We both knew it would happen, though neither would speak it aloud.

Our summer of deep embrace was coming to a close and we both must return to reality; to the hard

world of obligation and sacrifice. The night before she left, we spoke hollow oaths of love and of futures

entwined and then sealed that love as I deflowered her in a passionate embrace; though we would be

thousands of miles apart she would never forget the man who had had her first.


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Each day following her departure from my life, I became more hollow, sullen, and depressed. By New

Years I found myself staring out from atop the Eiffel tower, where we had first met. I held a bottle of

champagne in one hand and a knife in the other. I longed to throw myself from the height and end this

misery inside myself... instead I slit my wrist, just to feel the pain, to make it more palpable. What I feltwas lightheaded and dizzy due to the alcohol and loss of blood. It still surprised me, even today, that

though I was surrounded by throngs of people, not a soul noticed me... except Louis... Louis Fortier... the

vampire.

He came to me that night and his words mesmerized, tantalized, and terrorized me; before I knew it, we

were in some dark alley. I remember looking up as he loomed over me, blood dripping from his lips as

he continued to gorge himself upon my blood. I remember little of the following nights except that I

came to him night after night as he had commanded of me. Each night he would give me instructions;

some menial task such as checking mail or paying bills things of this nature. Not long after that I found

myself wanting to perform the tasks for him. Perhaps this was because of the deep depressive state

I was in due to the loss of what I considered to be my soul mate, or perhaps it was something else.

Regardless, after several nights such as these the man bid me to drink of his blood, and I did such

without hesitation. We talked long into the night and have done so for many a night since. I told him of

my family, of my studies, and of the American girl. He would listen with rapt attention and then proceed

to top me in storytelling, as if it were some contest of sorts. I cared not, for his stories were those of

old and deep, passionate, and sad and I yearned to hear more, know more, of my kindred master. I had

learned that he was originally from France, though not from Paris itselfand that he had returned home

to plan something of extreme consequence in America. I had the feeling that he was also on the run

from something more powerful than himself, but I knew enough to stay my tongue.

For the next 3 years, we stayed in Paris, where I was able to finish my schooling. I joined a masonic

order at his request as he seemed adamant on grooming me for something. For those years, he

continued to tell me stories, some of which I began to understand, but as time grew on he became more

rapt in his plans and eventually called for his three mistresses all like him, though less powerful

ofcourse, but nearly as old. They helped him plan and I gleaned what information I could from them

before before America.

When he announced that he was leaving for California, my heart wept. I was being cast aside once more

by the one I cherished, my world was truly over now. He looked into my eyes and with a grin that could

calm the devils soul, he told me. Young Armande, you must know me not at all, he said playfully.

You have served me well these past 3 years and you will serve me still. I have invested much time into

your grooming. Do not assume I would waste such an investment. Pack your bags, you will be coming

to Los Angeles oh yes, I assume you know the tasks you are to perform in preparation for our

departure? I knew what must be done, taking special precautions to ensure all 4 kindred would be safe

and secure on our voyage.


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As I looked out the portside window of the ship, memories of Blaise fermented in me once more. I

remembered with sharp clarity the oath I had once given her, hollow as it may have seemed, that I

would find a way to one day be with her again. That day would not come for many years, but at the

least, I was on the same continent. It was 1987 and we were in L.A., the city of angels as they say;

though it was far from it more a city of lost dreams. True to his word Louis continued to groom me,

invest in me. With my education, charming manners, and my masters connections, I quickly found

myself a very unique profession that of Corporate Consultant. Rather than being tied down to any

particular company, companies would hire me as an independent contractor. I would spend a few

weeks going over their personnel records, financial records, and compare them with market trends in

those industries.

By 1992, I had several client corporations within the city proper and those surrounding, who called me

in on a regular basis to help streamline their organization. I also had transferred to the Local Masonic

lodge, eventually becoming the Worshipful Master and performing various civic displays and charities.

More than anything, it was simply a boys club where you meet contacts and make sideline business

deals, with a bit of ritualistic ceremony on the side. In the meantime, Louis and his three mistresseswere silently working their way into the city; setting up clubs here, making deals there, slowly and

quietly taking over many of the businesses important to kindred society. He had taken on two more

ghouls, though I cared for them not in the least. A homosexual barbarian and a drug induced socialite. I

had served my master well for the past 10 years, and now he adds two more.

I came to him, not long after this. It was one of my feeding nights. Besides the ecstasy I felt from the

blood, I also enjoyed all the stories he would share of his glorious past. I particularly liked hearing the

story of how he was embraced by the powerful Ventrue Night Star in 1754. I found it mind boggling that

the man had been born when America was still a colony. So I came to him this night and vented my

frustration at no longer being his sole servant that there were 3 of us now. He smiled and said, Sillyboy, I have invested so much in you and you have worked so hard for me so much that I had to take 2

servants just to replace you. Replace me, I had thought. I was being replaced, disgarded. He

continued, No boy, I am not throwing you away, you are receiving a promotion of sorts. Before I knew

it he was draining my blood, more so than he ever had before. I felt my heart slow and my eyes roll

back in my head and then and then I was kindred.

Now that I was like my Sire, a world of lore was thrown upon me. All the secrets of the Ventrue

revealed. My eyes were opened and I learned the true magnitude of the man called Louis Fortier. He

was not just a powerful kindred, he was the Baron of Hollywood and Beverly Hills. He and some of his

cohorts had overthrown the former Prince back in WWII in what was called the Anarch Movement. For

the past 50 years they had defended it against the Camarilla and Sabatt alike. I understood his distaste

for the Camarilla, though I found it oddly hypocritical that he set himself up as a Baron. From what he

told me, his rules were far less strict than those of the Camarilla, though they still abided by the

masquerade. I was more surprised that I had even thought of him in a negative fasion, I would not have

dreamt such in my time as his ghoul.


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Please do not get me wrong, though we often disagreed, I revered the man beyond belief; he was my

mentor and sire after all and he was liberal enough to allow me to rebel against him as long as it was in

private and only verbal. He always won the argument, but I was happy enough to win small points of

particulars. Though he bashed the Camarilla and Sabat to no end, I secretly longed for the structure of

such an establishment.

For twenty long years, I have remained a subject within his domain, building my own network of

resources and continuing my upward spiral in time I began to forget about the woman who started all

this. I returned to Paris each year, on the night of New Years, just to think and it was on my most

recent journey that something amazing happened. I was on the lower level of the tower, glancing

through the crowd, picking out a meal for the night, when I saw a face; older to be sure, but

unmistakable. Blaise De La Fontaine. My mind reeled, she should be in her late 40s by now, likely a

grandmother, but she appeared no more than in her mid 20s. Was it her or was my mind playing tricks

on me? I made my way to the elevator, trying desperately to get to her but when I arrived at ground

level, she was nowhere to be found within the throngs of 100,000 Parisians and tourists. My heart

ached for her, and though it was a bittersweet sadness, I was also surprised to find that my heart stillleapt for my lost lover a link to my past.

I returned to L.A. just in time to find that my sire and his compatriots were being attacked by Kuei-Jin

and the New Promise Mandarinate. Many of the eastern vampires had staged a coup and arrived in a

sudden unrelenting flash quickly swarming China Town. During all the chaos, an attempt was made

upon my sire, and without thought I stepped between the wooden shaft and my sires heart. It had

luckily only got me in the shoulder, but it was an act that my sire did not miss. I was then brutally

beaten before my sire dispatched the brigands and dragged my broken body to safety. He never did

thank me, but I could see it in his eyes that he was pleased with me and during my abnormally slow

recovery we spoke of the woman I had known the one that had brought he and I together. As a boonof sorts, he told me he would look into it. Within two months, he had exhausted his vast plethora of

contacts and allies and came to me. Armande, the woman you saw in Paris on New Years is the same

woman you knew in your youth. Though I council you not to seek her out, for she is not the same

woman you once loved. It is better she remain a pleasant memory from your mortality. My heart

leapt, Not the same you say. In what regards, It was then that he told me she was a Kindred living in

New Orleans and she was even of our clan. I was beyond elation. Not only could I see her again, but we

could be together forever.

I expressed my want in seeking her out, and like my parents before me, he was a liberal to the core. He

saw my rebellion and called it individualism though I could see in his eyes he resented me for holding a

piece of my heart for someone other than himself for wanting to leave him and his city for another

place. He eventually relented and allowed me to leave and warned me that New Orleans was a den of

stuffy Camarilla. He let me go, like a man releasing a bird from a cage. He said this would be the

hardest lesson I would ever learn, to learn to relinquish the past and embrace the future.

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Armande Background