London's Camarilla Court
✠The Hall of the Veiled Crown âœ
The Court of Prince Gawain Torryngton, Malkavian, Sovereign of London
Set beneath the Tower’s Inner Ring, 1549 A.D.
In the hidden heart of London, where Roman stone gives way to Saxon ash and Tudor brick, and where the threads of myth and Masquerade entwine beneath the vaulted stones of the Old Tower, there lies a chamber known not by mortals, but whispered among the Kindred as:
The Hall of the Veiled Crown.
This is the seat of Prince Gawain Torryngton, of Clan Malkavian, once crusader, once madman, now monarch in shadow. His court is neither wholly modern nor ancient—it is a dream made manifest, memory stitched to marble.
Upon entering the Hall, one passes through a portico of whispering heraldic banners, each engraved with glyphs of the Six Traditions, and set in a ring that matches no known calendar. Some say the banners turn ever so slightly with each new moon, others say they whisper names from the past.
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✠The Chamber Itself
The chamber is circular, echoing the legend of the Round Table, and vast enough to house a feast—or a tribunal. But here no revelries occur. The air is heavy with age, hanging with the scent of wax, parchment, and ancient vitae. A ceiling of ribbed vaults arcs overhead, carved with constellations not yet named by man. Tiny star-lamps—arcane glass orbs filled with foxfire—drift in slow orbit overhead.
At the chamber’s center is a half-moon table, carved of obsidian inlaid ashwood, ringed with thirteen seats—three thrones on each flank, and a central throne raised upon a slight dais, with three normal seats at the ends, all in a crescent before the Throne of the Prince. Each seat is carved from a different wood—oak, elm, yew, petrified rowan. No seat is without physical weight. Each bears an inscription in high Latin and runes of the blooded past.
In the center the Prince's throne, is carved of blackened wych elm and set with purple glass sigils, sits Prince Gawain Torryngton, robed in rich crimson velvet, his eyes gleaming beneath a circlet of carved bone. His voice is calm and cold, like steel drawn quietly in a chapel.
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✠Works of Art and Mythic Memory
Behind the dais, covering the rear wall hangs a vast painting in golds, violets, and starlit ink—a vision of Myrddin (Merlin), arms aloft upon a stone tower, casting spells over London-as-Camelot. The battlements crowned not with banners, but sigils of Kindred Clans. The Thames winds through the scene like a sleeping dragon. Above it, stars weep silver fire as Myrddin’s words shape fate.
In alcoves along the curving walls stand three statues—more myth than monument:
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Harkin Odinson is rendered in black granite as Sir Bedivere, the Sword-Bearer, garbed in heavy Norse-Tudor plate, one arm missing, the other offering up a great blade of swirling rune-etched steel to an unseen king.
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Malkav, the broken prophet, is shown as Sir Dagonet, the mad jester-knight, his statue carved in cracked alabaster, his grin wide and eyes sorrowful. He holds a shattered mirror in one hand, and a small child’s doll in the other.
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Prince Gawain is shown in mirror-polished bronze as Sir Gawain himself, sword lowered, head bowed, eyes gazing not at victory but at a distant horizon. Ivy is found twined at his statue’s feet—placed there by ghouls, spirits, or Kindred who remember too much.
Upon the opposite wall hangs a massive painting of a purple-skinned Troll warrior—towering, noble, and fierce—clad in Roman commander’s armor, bearing a large shield with a blazing sun symbol. His name is not inscribed, but the frame reads, “He who held the line when the Legions fled.”
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✠The Armory of Memory
Along the eastern wall, beneath pointed arches and behind thin panes of blood-red glass, rests the Collection of Arms—an assemblage of suits of armor and weapons dating from Rome’s earliest outposts in Britannia to the iron-forged plate of Tudor knights. Each piece bears a tale:
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A legionnaire’s helmet, dented where fangs struck.
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A Norman sword split down its center by lightning, still humming.
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A crossbow of Spanish steel, rumored to have slain a Baali priest.
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A Tudor captain’s cuirass, still stained with Garou blood from the Battle of the Marshes.
Each relic pulses faintly in the aura of Kindred's memory.
Within this chamber—a half-throne room, half-dream Prince Gawain holds his court. Here the Kindred of London kneel, debate, confess, and sometimes vanish. Here the past and future blur, and Camelot lives again—not in light, but in shadow, cloaked in blood and prophecy.
And above it all, carved into the keystone arch in ancient Latin:
"Venit Regnum Sub Rosa — The Kingdom Comes Beneath the Rose."
Prince
Gawain Torryngton
A knight in life, a prophet in undeath, Sir Gawain Torryngton is equal parts chivalric legend and whispering storm. He rode with Richard the Lionheart, they say—but only in dreams. His armor is polished, his manners impeccable, but his gaze sees through time like stained glass. To some, he is a noble visionary. To others, a dangerous madman.
Gawain speaks in riddles, laws woven with symbols and stories. He rules not with cruelty, but with the cold certainty of someone who has already seen the outcome—and will allow no one to deviate from the path. He is respected. Feared. And, increasingly, worshipped by a few.
Keeper of Elysium
Duke Franco Jovian Savoy
Once ruler of London, now its coldest shadow. Savoy has reasserted himself with dignity, guarding the ancient Roman halls beneath the city with all the gravitas of a corpse crowned in gold. As Keeper of Elysium, he ensures that Kindred speak, scheme, and suffer in peace. His word carries weight—still.
Sheriff
Andrew de Moray
The warrior-king of the north was reborn in fangs and fury. Once slain at Falkirk, now returned to mete justice in the streets of London. His sword is his judgment; his past, his shame. De Moray keeps order as only a warrior can: directly, efficiently, and without apology.
Master of Revels
Selene du Marais
French courtesan and curator of dreams. Her salons are stage and snare alike, and she molds the city's culture like wax. She sees beauty in chaos—and finds Gawain’s reign inspiring. Her loyalty is artistic, not political… which makes her all the more dangerous.
Magister Occultum
Duke Ambrose Locke
Cast from Vienna for forbidden workings, Ambrose now guides the Court’s mystical affairs. He and Gawain speak in codes and circles, as if sharing a language no one else hears. Locke claims something ancient slumbers beneath the Thames—older than Rome, older than Cain.
Warden of the Shroud
Jarl Móði Harkinson
A pagan revenant from the forests of the north, Móði was once a berserker priest, chosen by spirits and beasts. He now protects the liminal spaces of the city: graveyards, wild groves, and forgotten ruins. Cloaked in furs, antlers, and silence, Móði speaks with animals more than Kindred. Some say he communes with the spirits of those buried beneath London—and that he doesn’t always return from the conversations whole.
Spymaster
Mother Silque
The quiet terror beneath the city. Mother Silque trades in information, secrets, and blackmail, and her domain runs deeper than any crypt. Her reports arrive before the events occur. No one knows her true age. She rarely leaves the sewers, but when she does, Princes lower their eyes.
Seneschal
Duke Alexander Veldon
The prince’s political ballast, Veldon is a rising star of the Camarilla—razor-sharp, calculating, and disciplined. While others flinch at Gawain’s eccentricity, Veldon sees opportunity. He interprets the Prince’s visions into policy and power. Some wonder whether he serves Gawain… or simply uses him.
