Bohemian Rhapsody

Whispers

from the East: The Troupe of Thorns and Flame

By the spring of 1552, rumors have begun to roll in with the tide from the continent—low murmurs shared between sailors on the docks of Dover, secretive whispers passed in alley taverns of Bristol, and notes tucked into Kindred couriers’ cloaks in London. The source of the excitement? A troupe of traveling performers from the heart of Bohemia, calling themselves The Thorns and the Flame.

Said to have emerged from the deep forests and old stone roads of the Bohemian lands sometime after Epiphany, this band of dancers, actors, musicians, and poets has been leaving wonder and unease in equal measure in every hamlet, town, and court they pass through. Their performances are nothing short of otherworldly—light that dances without flame, music that seems to echo in the soul, plays that cause even the most jaded nobles to weep openly or laugh until they collapse. They perform in abandoned ruins and forest glades, in noble gardens and peasant barns, never twice in the same place. They do not ask for coin, only that those who witness their art remember them—and tell the tale.

Descriptions vary, but all accounts speak of striking figures, dressed in strange garments woven from silver thread and dark velvet, with masks made from carved bone, twisted horn, or crystal. A woman who weeps tears of song. A man who dances upon air as if the wind were his stage. A youth who recites verse so powerful that it bends memory itself. Some say there are only six of them, others insist it is a band of thirteen. A few swear the number changes from town to town, as if the troupe itself were a living thing, growing and shedding pieces of itself with each performance.

Among the supernatural folk—the Prodigals—theories abound. Some believe they are Changelings of the Autumn Courts, fleeing from a great betrayal. Others whisper of Kindred Elders of the Toreador clan, playing a long and subtle game against the Ventrue-dominated courts of central Europe. A few suspect they may be something older still: spirits made flesh, or echoes of forgotten gods who found their voice once more in art.

Whatever their nature, one fact is now undeniable: The Order of Gabriel has taken notice.

Word comes from Marseille that an elite cell of the Order, recently returned from the cleansing fires of Avignon, has been dispatched to intercept the troupe. They bear with them chains forged in sanctified iron, relics meant to bind or banish the unnatural, and a silence so complete it is said birds fall dead from the sky when they approach.

The Order’s pursuit, however, is slowed by the troupe’s ephemeral trail. Every performance leaves echoes, not footprints. A field of roses that bloom out of season. A burnt-out barn where a fresco of dancing figures smolders on the rafters, though no fire has touched the wood. Witnesses speak in tongues or lose their voices entirely. It is said it will take at least until the second week of April before the Order can so much as find their true path.

Some believe the troupe is heading west—toward the Holy Roman lands, or perhaps even to the sea, to England herself.

And so the question spreads across the shadowed networks of Kindred, Changelings, Garou, and Mages alike:Who are the Thorns and the Flame—and will their next show be their last… or the first of a revelation long prophesied?

Watch the horizon.Listen for the music.They come when hearts ache and wonder fades.And they leave only truth behind.