The Kindred of 1068 Europe

The Mithraic Covenant of Avalon

Bound by ancient blood and older oaths, the Mithraic Kindred are those who still hold faith with Mithras, the unseen Sun-King of the Damned. Though his presence has waned and his voice no longer thunders across the courts of night, his covenant endures — rooted deeply in the sacred soil of Avalon, which encompasses England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland.

To these Kindred, Mithras is not merely a prince but a divine sovereign — a living embodiment of conquest, order, and sacred rulership. They believe Albion was chosen, forged through Roman blood and tested by Saxon fire, to be the eternal dominion of their god-king. Even in his absence, his law remains unbroken in their hearts.

The Mithraic faction is composed largely of Ventrue and their sworn allies, though members of other clans serve within its hierarchy if they accept the strict code of loyalty, hierarchy, and martial virtue. They cling to Roman traditions of governance, maintaining structured courts, formalized ranks, and rites that echo ancient legions and mystery cults. Oaths are sacred. Betrayal is heresy. Treason is punished with ritual final death.

Now, in 1068, as foreign Kindred follow mortal conquerors across the Channel, the Mithraic faithful see invasion not merely as political upheaval but as blasphemy. Norman Cainites claim feudal right; the Covenant claims divine mandate. To them, Avalon is consecrated ground — and they are its ordained guardians.

Yet cracks have begun to show. Some whisper that if Mithras were truly eternal, he would not be silent. Others fear that faith without the living god may fracture into rival interpretations. Still, the Covenant endures — armored in tradition, sharpened by zeal, and ready to defend the Long Night of Avalon against all who would claim it.

The Conclave of the Conqueror

They came with the banners, the ships, and the mortal knights — but their true war was never fought in daylight. The Norman Invader faction of Kindred is a coalition of ambitious Cainites from across Normandy, France, Flanders, the Holy Roman lands, Iberia, and beyond, all drawn by opportunity and the promise of dominion. They followed William of Normandy not out of loyalty alone, but because conquest creates vacancy — and vacancy invites power.

Unlike the insular courts of Avalon, the Conclave is not bound by ancient Roman cults or singular devotion to a silent god. They are pragmatic, feudal, and hungry. Lasombra bishops see England as fertile ground for influence within the Church. Ventrue lords claim divine right through blood and steel. Toreador seek to reshape crude Saxon courts into refined continental salons. Even darker clans — Tzimisce warlords, Nosferatu informants, and Setite tempters — have crossed the Channel to stake their claim in the chaos.

They do not consider themselves invaders, but rightful claimants under the law of conquest. Mortal England has fallen; therefore, so too must its vampiric order. The old oaths to Mithras mean little to them. Power unguarded is power forfeit.

The Conclave operates through calculated alliance rather than shared faith. Its members swear fealty when it profits them and break it when it no longer does. Titles are earned through service to the new regime — domains granted as fiefs of blood. They bring with them continental politics: tighter hierarchies, Church entanglements, and a colder, more structured interpretation of feudal undeath.

To the Norman Kindred, Avalon is not sacred — it is strategic. Its cities, ports, monasteries, and castles are prizes to be divided among the bold. The Long Night has shifted, and they intend not merely to survive it, but to rule it.

In 1068, the war for England’s crown may be settling — but the war for its darkness has only just begun.

The Unbound of the Long Night

Not all Kindred in 1068 bend the knee to the absent god of Mithras, nor do they swear fealty to the ambitious courts that followed William of Normandy into Avalon. Some stand apart — by choice, by exile, or by necessity. These are the Unbound.

They are elder hermits dwelling in forgotten barrows of Wales, sea-roving Gangrel haunting the coasts of Ireland, Nosferatu information-brokers beneath the ruins of burned Saxon towns, and Ravnos wanderers who answer to no crown. Some are disillusioned Ventrue who see weakness in both factions. Others are Lasombra or Brujah who refused to trade one tyrant for another. A few are ancient beings whose grudges predate Rome itself, watching the current struggle with cold amusement.

The Unbound survive by subtlety and adaptability. They trade favors rather than oaths, knowledge rather than territory. Their havens lie in borderlands, monasteries, deep forests, ruined Roman villas, and windswept moors. They are courted cautiously by both major factions, for a single independent elder can tip the balance of a fragile domain.

Among them also walk the Free Ghouls — mortals who marched beneath Norman banners and drank of vampiric blood during the conquest. Once soldiers, squires, priests, or camp followers, they have tasted the power of vitae and now hunger for more. No longer bound to a single regnant, they seek patronage, proving themselves through loyalty, cunning, and ruthless ambition in hopes of earning the Embrace. Some may succeed. Others may be destroyed as liabilities. All are dangerous.

The Unbound represent possibility. They are wild cards in a divided night — mercenaries, prophets, heretics, opportunists, and visionaries. In a land split between sacred tradition and foreign conquest, they alone embody uncertainty.

And in uncertain times, uncertainty is power.

A faction to be formed later in the LARP game.

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