My name is Amara Krieg. I was born August 31, 1923 in Düsseldorf, Germany. My father was of Romani descent. He left the caravan that was his home in pursuit of dreams of grandeur and a "normal" life. Falling in love with my mother, a citizen of Düsseldorf, also caused his departure from his family.
Times were strange back then. A great war had just subsided. The world was still in turmoil. Especially when he found out she was with child, my father decided it was time to "settle down." Not long after my birth, a man by the name of Adolf Hitler, with the aid of his Nazi Party, tried to overthrow the German government in November 1923. Dark shadows started to overcast the sky as portent of things to come. In light of this, my father made a vow to fully renounce his Romani heritage in order to keep his family safe.
Against his wishes, my grandmother tried as much as she could to still be a part of his life and my life as she would often sneak into the city. In late 1935, I remember overhearing an extremely loud argument between mother and son. News was that the Nazis passed a new law, the Nuremberg Laws, that stripped all Romani of their German citizenship. The Nazis claimed this was for "Protection of Blood and Honor." Grandmother begged my father to come with the caravan and try to flee Germany. He yelled at her to get out of his house...to not put his family in danger. All I remember after that was her leaving in tears.
For the next few years, my father lied and even went so far as to bribe the authorities to keep us from prying eyes and inquisitive tongues. In 1940, our lives started to rapidly unravel. One of the authorities that my father tried to bribe was more suspicious than gullible. My father was not aware of the surveillance we were now under. I made matters worse by running away one day to try and find my grandmother's family outside of Düsseldorf. I didn't even know I was being watched, much less followed. I don't know how, but my grandmother found me on my way to where the caravan might have been and she told me to immediately go home. She told me that there are dangers lurking in the shadows and that preparations were all but complete for them to evacuate Germany. She told me not to worry, that they would be protected. But she told me that I needed to be with my family and wished us well in remaining safe through the Kali Traš ("Black Fear"). I never saw her again.
When I returned home and entered the house, dread overcame me. My father and mother were shot dead in the main room. I've heard of these men...these Einsatzgruppen. They were Hitler's death squad and an instrumental part in the Holocaust. And because of my father's botched bribery, also quite possibly my most recent excursion, they had come to kill him and my mother because of her association with him. I also quite possibly lead these assassins to my grandmother's family. I prayed that what she said was true and that they would be able to safely make it out of Germany.
I knew that it was only a matter of time before I was next. I immediately left the house, knowing it was not safe to remain there. I had no idea where I was going. Just going away sounded like a good idea. There was a lot of ruin and rubble in the city and I picked up a long piece of metal that was almost too heavy for me to lift. It was a three foot section of rebar with a slug of concrete still on the end. If anything were to happen, I figured I'd try to be ready. Heh.
It didn't take long for the Einsatzgruppen to find me. The sun already fallen from the sky, struck down by the dark of night. The death squad that ambushed me were five strong. They commented about me being a "filthy Gypsy", "unpure Romani", and a lot of other derogatory racial slurs. Two of the men immediately jumped after me, trying to rip at my clothing, foul lust in their eyes. I screamed at the top of my lungs for help. I kept screaming over and over, but I knew no one would be listening, that no one would interfere.
Adrenaline pumped through my veins. I swung at the bastards with my impromptu weapon. I kept swinging and trying to hit them as hard as I possibly could. They did just kill my mother and father. They might be on their way to kill my grandmother. They were evil men trying to corrupt our world. In my eyes, they deserved to die.
What seemed like an eternity passed in a matter of minutes. I was tired and I really wanted to lay down. I had collapsed to my knees and had dropped my rebar. The concrete had already broken off of it. But I was too weak to lift it any longer. In a moment of clarity, I knew I was dying. Little did I know that I had a stomach wound from a bayonet that one of the death dealers managed to get in. I didn't care at that moment whether I had killed one, all, or none of them. As long as I had attempted to avenge my family, that was what mattered to me the most in my final moments.
Before blacking out, I remember seeing a man walk into the alley. He was dressed in the uniform of the Free French of the Allied Forces. I remember him extending his hand out before me, palm up, then the world was dark.
I died that night. Late November, 1940. I was only 17.
I never expected to "see the light of day" again, as it were. I woke up one night, as if waking up from a dreaded nightmare. I thought that all that had recently passed could have been just that, a bad dream. That my father and mother were still alive. That my grandmother was safe. That I was not dead.
I rolled over onto my side, as I had been lying on my back. I felt some stiffness in my body, as if I really had been in an altercation recently. My eyes made the world come into focus with a clarity I've never known before. I don't know why I had focused on the cotton clothing the figure sitting before me, but I remember for the first time being absolutely entranced by all the minute details and texture of every single weaving of the cotton in something as simple as a man's clothing. I must have been staring at his cotton shirt for at least five minutes.
He cleared his throat and then that's when I noticed there was actually another person in the room with me. I bolted upright immediately into a crouching position on the bed I was laying on. I then saw it was the man in the alley before I passed out. He was sitting down, but definitely seemed impressive just sitting there. His hair was long and kind of scraggly, the same with his long beard. His features were sharply angled and thin. I got the impression that he would much rather I sit back down and not be so defensive.
Moments passed. Nothing was said between us. Finally I couldn't take it any longer and said, "I thought I was dead."
He tossed his head back and laughed. His eyes even lightly teared up from laughing so hard. It took me a moment to realize that said tears appeared to be red.
I wanted to ask him if his eyes were bleeding but he seemed to know that I wanted to say something. He broke my train of thought when he finally spoke. "Heh, but you are dead."
"What hell is this then?"
"Hell is...right. But, remember, Hell is...." He paused momentarily and cocked his head slightly. "...the one place on Earth that demons like you...and like me, are heroes."
My eyes grew wide with slight fear. "What demons are we then? And how can we even be heroes if we are demons? The only demons I know are those fascists that bloody their hands in Hitler's name."
He stood up, towering over me, and walked over to me. As he stood there, he simply said, "Follow me." His tone was very commanding and I did not feel desire to object.
He led me outside into the city. The moon was climbing her way high into the starry sky. He stopped momentarily, looked around a particular area and then told me to go stand in the doorway of an abandoned beer hall. After he ensured I was in position, for whatever reason that was, he crossed the street. When he got to the other side of the street and down a few meters, I saw him start to rapidly move.
His long arm reached out and grappled a Nazi that was hiding behind a little bunker with his machine gun by the face. A few rapid punches and this man laid broken at his feet. With an unnatural quickness, he quickly decimated the remaining three Nazis that were in the same bunker. He picked up one of the cigarettes that fell off the lips of one of the Nazis, took a couple of puffs off of it, then he grabbed a discarded flask. After swishing it around, he took a couple of huge swallows off of it then poured the remainder into a box of artillery shells. He then flicked the cigarette into the box, igniting it as he walked back towards me. The box went off with a series of bangs as the rounds exploded.
I saw one of rounds hit him in his right shoulder, completely passing through, leaving a gapping hole. His body momentarily flinched from the force of the blow, but he showed no effect of actually having just been shot. I then saw as his shoulder started to knit itself back together, closing up the wound that was just there. He got back to my side and just smiled. There was a particular bloodlust in his expression, and perhaps even a bit of madness.
He looked down at his clothes and fingered the hole in his French uniform. He looked back up and laughed again. It was hard to hear anything over the box of artillery shells that were STILL going off, but I could clearly hear his laughter over the din of the noise of the shots going off. After the bullets stopped going off like popcorn kernels, there was the sound of people yelling and running down the streets toward us. I saw two Gestapo running toward us. He turned around and looked at them.
"Alright, Red, your turn." And then he shoved me toward the Nazis approaching. His shove, even though slight, caught me unaware as of how strong it was and made me stumble forward a few steps.
I wasn't sure as of what exactly to even do. I saw him move....well, faster than a normal human was capable of. And clearly his strength was superhuman. If I had already died once, what was it in the end if it were to happen again? I decided to run at them as fast as I possibly could push myself. I tried to hit the one to my right with a low blow to bring him down to my level so that I may get the opportunity to kick his face in. I don't know how then, but I succeeded and his entire head caved in around my foot. The second one stopped and dropped to one of his knees as he proceeded to empty his luger right through 6 of my 7 vital organs.
I felt something overcome me. A monster...no, a Beast inside of me, that reared its ugly head. Next I know, that guy was dead by my hands as well. But it was that Beast that killed it, not really me. The hand that finally stopped me was his steadfast hand. "That is enough...for now."
Smiling Jack, as he later introduced himself to me, taught me what it meant to be Kindred. He introduced me to several more of our kind. He told me of some of the less savory Kindred that were allied with the Axis Powers. We aided the Allied Forces, little to their knowledge into winning this second World War.
I never knew what became of my grandmother or her people. I asked Jack one day why he chose me and all he could do was laugh (whilst drinking...). After the war, he made arrangements for us to go to the United States, specifically Washington DC, for a few years before heading further south to New Orleans, Louisiana.
We were actually TOLD to go down to New Orleans by the Gypsy King. Smiling Jack seemed to know him as he was the recipient of this message. Next I know, Jack actually had a serious look across his face and we proceeded to head south.
Since then Jack has served as the Gypsy King's Sheriff. I served as the Scourge. Just recently, Jack has taken his leave to aid the Gypsy King up north in Baltimore to stave off an impending Sabbat attack. Prior to the Gypsy King's departure, he has left New Orleans in my care.
My name is Red, and I am Prince of New Orleans.
Mon Jun 01, 2009 2:30 am
