atherine Neva Duchesne was born in May of 1721 to wealthy shipping baron Stephan Duchesne, in Bayonne, France. Cat, with a shock of coppery red hair and brilliant green eyes, and her sister Gwyneth who was honey blonde with eyes of crystal blue, were born a year apart with Cat being the elder child. Their mother Gwendolyn had Cat's looks, while Gwyneth inherited Stephan's. Cat and Gwyn's governess was a stout Norweigian lady who always called Catherine, Catja. So when Cat achieved the age of 18, much to the chagrin of her father, she called herself Catja and scowled at anyone who called her otherwise. Stephan, anxious to get his obnoxious daughters out of his hair, sent them to a private boarding school in Paris. After two years at school Catja met a dashing young scot named Jayson Galloway. Jayson was so taken by this Catja Duchesne that he wanted to bring her back to Scotland and marry her. Catja was delighted and told her family that she'd met a Scottish Lord and was to be his bride. Her parents weren't happy at her choice, but consented anyway. Gwyneth gave her sister her warmest blessings, but couldn't leave school to go to Scotland with her. Away from her sister for the first time, Catja was very saddened, and made Gwyn promise that she'd visit as soon as she could.
Scotland was a cold, dreary place for Catja for winter had come. Determined not to ruin things for Jayson she stayed strong and stuck out the worst of the cold weather. The reception from his family was equally as chilly, for like her parents, his parents had had other plans for their son, heir to the family fortune. Jayson refused to give her up or send her home. Catja graciously attended to Jayson's needs whenever they were in the presence of his family, proving that she was the doting wife-to-be. The beautiful gifts from Catja's family helped as well. Such as, an elaborate and grand stained glass window to display in the Galloway chapel, four elegant white horses to pull the marriage couch, and cases of fine wine from the family vineyards.
By the spring, Lord and Lady Galloway had softened just like the frost. It was to be a May wedding so there was much to prepare. Catja's family arrived in mid April, much to the happiness of Catja who'd been writing them letters daily since she'd left Paris. Reunited with her sister at last, Catja made Gwyneth her maid of honor. Stephan became fast friends with Jayson's father, and while the women organized the wedding they would go hunting. It was a grand affair with nothing left to be desired. After the day long gala event Catja and Jayson were chauffered off to their new home, Galloway Hall. Catja was in her glory as Lady of the Hall, and given carte blanche as to how she wanted it decorated. Many months later Catja received word that Jayson had been wounded in battle. Since he insisted on being the captain of his knights, Jayson was always in danger. Battered and broken, the battle was won but at a cost for Jayson returned limping home with only half of his knights. Determined not to be widowed and left alone, Catja vowed to train secretively to be a knight and to someday follow Jayson into combat.
The knights balked at the idea, but decided that whatever the lady wanted to do she'd do no matter what. With the help of Hawthorn, one of Jayson's best friends, she began her training. Unknown to Jayson, who was still recuperating, she became a skilled archer, swordswoman, and rider under Thorn's tutilage.
Eventually Jayson recovered from his injuries, and was ready to resume his duty as captain. One afternoon at a joust demonstration, he noticed Catja excuse herself early in order to "Wish the knights luck." Before he could say that she could do so "..from her seat." she'd already ducked into the competitors tent. He soon shrugged it off, thinking she'd return shortly. Hawthorn was there to meet her, a deep scowl on his face, forbidding her to enter the tilt contest because of the danger involved.
Catja mearly laughed as she stepped behind the screen to undress, "Who are you to 'forbid' me." she said. "Now help me get into my armour."
Catja steps out from behind the screen in her old squire breeches and fawn colored doublet, and Hawthorn begrudgingly agrees.
"Only on one condition," he says, as he hands her a helmet. "That I be your opponent." Catja is fitted into her armour, and as she pushes down the visor on her helmet she nods. She's helped up onto her horse, and handed her shield and lance. Hawthorn is armoured and mounted as well at the opposite end of the arena. As the trumpets sound, Jayson leans forward in his seat to watch the joust, wishing that Neva were by his side to watch with him. The competitors are anounced as "Sir Hawthorn vs Panther". Jayson frowns, not recognizing Panther but hoping he's a worthy opponent to his friend. The flag is dropped and the battle begins. Thorn swallows the lump in his throat, determined to give Catja a fair fight but to leave her unscathed. The horses charge toward eachother, fiercely determined to topple their opponents rider by brute force if the prowess of their rider should wain. A battle cry erupts from the crowd as the riders near the center. With a clanging of wood against metal, Catja's lance strikes Thorn's shield, denting it and setting him off balance. The crowd cheers as the riders regroup for another rush. On the second thrust, Thorn slows his pace and prepares to take a dive from his horse to end the joust. Catja charges and strikes his shield with her lance and knocks him forcefully to the ground before he can dive. Catja winces as she hears the crunch of metal and the cursing as he hits the dirt. The crowd roars and the trumpets sound announcing the end of the joust. Jayson applauds and whistles, eager to meet this Panther who has unseated the great Hawthorn so easily. Jayson ushers the unknown rider forward, and bids him kneel before him.
"What say you on this victorious occasion Panther?" he asks.
Catja tilts her visor up and lifts her face with a smile, "I think you should congratulate your lady on a job well done."
Jayson gasps with surprise and chuckles heartily, "You ? How? Who taught you?"
Catja turns and points to Hawthorn, who is being helped off the field. "Your friend there, he taught me all that he knows." Jayson shakes his head and reaches for her hand to help her up onto the platform. Jayson then turns to the crowd, and as Catja removes her helmet and lets her braid fall.
He announces, "Today's winner is none other than our lady Catja Galloway!"
The crowd cheers and whistles in approval, and Jayson lifts her arm in victory. As Jayson escorts her back to the tent to remove her armour, he takes her aside and forces her up against the side of a wagon.
"What the HELL did you think you were doing?!", he bellows. "You could have been killed!"
Catja forces his hands off her shoulders and scowls in response,"I won didn't I?" And then she ducks into the tent to get her armour removed. Jayson follows, positive that this discussion isn't over. Catja's behind the screen being helped out of her armour when he enters. "I know you're angry Jayson," she says,"But I felt helpless and alone when you went off into battle without me."
Jayson paces back and forth waiting for her to emerge. "The battlefield is no place for a woman, Cat, there are dozens of other knights to fight beside me. You should stay here and wait for me to return."
Catja sighs and steps around the screen, tying the laces at her bodice, "I cannot sit and wait for you Jayson, not knowing if you'll return alive. Each time you go out there I brace myself for the awful news. And after you returned last time, beaten and bruised, it broke my heart. If you won't let me go with you, then why won't you stay home and let Hawthorn captain your army for you."
Jayson shakes his head, cupping her face gently in his hands. "No, I must captain my own army my darling. But I couldn't bear to see you struck down in battle. So please Cat, stay home. I need you here to welcome me home."
They embrace as Catja begins to weep. "All right my love, I'll stay home. But if the Hall is attacked, know that I'll defend it at your side."
Jayson nods and kisses her forehead. "Aye, my little Panther. I'm sure you will." ....
Two years pass by with little event. On the day before their third wedding anniversary Jayson and his knights embark on the big game hunt, which had become a family tradition in honor of the upcoming anniversary feast. Catja had gone along on the previous two expeditions, enjoying the thrill of the hunt, but on this occasion she was much happier to stay at the Hall for she was seven months pregnant with their first child. There was much preparation for the feast on the following day. The cook lightheartedly shewed Catja away from the hot ovens, boiling pots and so forth saying that she needed her rest and need not worry herself.
Catja was restless, so she stopped by the chapel to pray for Jayson's safe return. As evening fell, there was still no sign of the hunting party. Catja paced the front hall, growing ever anxious as the skyline over the far hill turned red, indigo and then to black. Where are they?? Jayson should have been home hours ago.
Did they run themselves into a swamp, chasing after a stag? Did they venture too far and have to make camp for the night? Come back to me darling, living without you would surely be the death of me. Shortly after midnight the first real sign of trouble appeared. Some of the horses from the hunting party returned; scratched, bruised, and riderless. Catja was awakened from a fitful sleep by the shouts of alarm coming from the stables. Immediately a search party was formed, but they were forced to wait until morning to start the search.
When first light came the search party set out with heavy hearts. Catja insisted on riding with them. The longer she stayed home worrying, the more saddened she became. Being there to follow her husband's route with the search party offered her some hope. The forest suddenly grew more dense the closer they came to the Galloway property line. If the hunting party were anywhere they'd be here where the game was most likely to hide. The trampled path wasn't difficult to follow, so it was evident that Jayson and his knights had come this way. Before long, the trees and underbrush were becoming too thick to ride through. The searchers came across the small clearing where the hunters had tethered their horses and made camp. The ashes in the fire pit were cold, and the slashed tether ropes hanging from the trees suggested foul play.
A short distance away they came upon a grisly discovery. Armour was hastily scattered along a trampled footpath, as if the owner was desperate to be free of it. Hawthorn was found at the base of a great oak, half naked, heavily bruised and viciously beheaded. Oddly there was little blood, save for a few droplets shed on his undershirt. Catja collapsed in shock, clutching her belly, convinced such a horrid sight just couldn't be real. Her attendants helped her back to the clearing and made her sit down until she was no longer in danger of fainting. A thorough search of the area yielded few other clues. Jayson was still missing. They turned back toward home, following a different route, hoping to still find Jayson alive. Catja rode in the wagon with Hawthorn's body, not trusting herself to sit upright in a saddle. As dusk approached Jayson's grey horse was spotted in the distance, wandering listlessly, bleeding from many wounds. Catja's newfound hope quickly turned to dread as it collapsed and died before they could reach it. The once noble steed was wounded with what looked to be claw marks from some wild animal. Following it's erratic path, of blood and trampled underbrush, back into the forest the search party came upon Jayson. His body was found hung upside down in a tree over a long dead bonfire.
Scratched in the dirt next to the ashes was, "The child is mine."
Catja, at the edge of the clearing, strained to see over the heads of her attendants.
They dutifully held her back, not letting her by. Jayson was cut down, wrapped in
a rug, and carried back to the wagon. The smell of burnt flesh sickened her, yet she pushed through the throng and pulled the rug aside. Catja gasped, turning pale, fell to her knees, and vomited in the road. Then everything went black...Hours later, feverish and lying in bed, she awakes and clutches the arm of the handmaiden who's mopping her brow. She whispers hoarsely, "Oh God, please don't tell me that was Jayson. It just couldn't be." The young girl averts her gaze, unable to look Catja in the eye, her silence confirming her fears. Catja struggles to sit up. "I must see him, take me to Jayson, I want to know for sure." The girl shakes her head and quickly leaves, tears brimming. Catja climbs out of bed on shaky legs and collapses. Shivering with waves of nausea, she tries to crawl back to bed and she blacks out once more. Hazy images appear in her delirium and she's partially aware of being helped back into bed by the strong capable arms of an old woman. She's thankful and tells her so, readily accepting the warm tea she's offered.
Catja falls into a deep restful sleep, dreaming of druid preists dancing around a fire at stonehenge. She's not frightened, but watches calmly feeling quite serene and safe. Then her dream abruptly goes bad as a cold wind blows out the fire, and a pale figure walks out of the smoke. The figure grabs one of the druids, tearing back their hood. Jayson is under the hood, and stares at the pale face with grim recognition. Catja tries to cry out but makes no sound, terrified at what's happening. A disembodied voice thunders in the dark.
"JAYSON GALLOWAY, YOU OWE ME. YOU DESTROYED MY CHILDE, AND SO I TAKE YOURS." The grim figure clutches Jayson's crotch in a pale iron fist. "I CURSE YOUR MARRIAGE BED AND WILL BE BACK TO COLLECT THE SPAWN."
Catja bolts awake from her dream in the small hours before dawn, a choked scream on her lips, her body ravaged by a severe contraction. "Oh God no! Not now, it's too early."
The old woman kneels at the foot of the bed, speaking calmly. "It's all right my child, let it come." As the contraction ebbs, a cold hand clutches her belly and she begins to hemorrhage as another cold fist tears the premature fetus from her womb.With a scream of agony, a hot flash of pain explodes in Catja's head and she passes out. As she sleeps the crone feeds of her blood and leaves her to die. By the light of day a mysterious curse is blamed for the death of the whole household. Bodies bruised and broken, devoid of blood and twisted in silent terror. The house is searched for survivors although none are found. Catja's bed is found bloodstained and fouled but empty.
Catja awakes at dusk, cold and weak, but otherwise alive. Her soiled clothing from the night before is gone, and she finds herself wearing a white funeral shroud. She blinks in the near darkness, not knowing where she is. Then suddenly the cold marble where she sits triggers a memory and she gasps. "I'm in the family crypt. Oh Dear God!"
A quiet whisper from the shadows, "Yes."
Catja jumps at the voice. "Who are you?"
"Victor Dupre."
Catja struggles to come to grips with her situation but fails, she begins to cry.
"Am I dead?""Not yet, but I'm here to give you a new life chere." Victor steps out of the shadows, a tall man dressed in a long grey overcoat, his hair inky black and falling about his handsome face in waves. "The old crone who stole your child was a vampire, a devilish sabbat creature in disguise." He steps closer, holding out a pale hand to Catja. "She left you to die a horrible death, but I wouldn't let that happen. So I brought you here."
Catja steps down off the marble dais, mesmerized by his dark eyes. He enfolds her in his arms, holding her frail form gently. "Ahh, my sweet one. You've known so much pain and suffering. I'll take that away, forever." Catja sobs against his shoulder, nodding.
Victor sweeps the hair off her shoulder, exposing her neck, with a groan he sinks his fangs into her soft flesh and drinks. Catja's whimper of surprise is muffled against his shoulder, but she's too weak to fight him. Catja goes limp in his arms and Victor carries her back to the dais. He bites his wrist and presses the wound to her lips, letting the crimson vitae spill into her mouth. Catja sleepily opens her eyes, and swallows the offering, clutching his wrist. He pulls away once she's taken a large swallow.
"Non ma chere, mustn't overdo it." He steps away from the dais, hands clasped casually behind his back.
Catja grimaces, doubled over and wracked with pain. She groans loudly, falling off the shelf and screams in agony as she hits the floor. "Aaargh, what have you done to me?!"
Victor stands and watches, seemingly unconcerned. "Your body's dying, but the pain will pass."
Catja writhes on the floor for several minutes, clawing at the marble tiles, then goes still. She sits up slowly, blinking as her keen eyes focus in the low light, the delicate flame on each candle seems to dance above the wax as if alive. "My God."
Victor smiles,"You see? Nothing to it."
Catja gets up from the floor, and walks to the door of the crypt. Breathlessly she whispers, "Show me more."
Victor smiles placing his arm around her shoulders, kissing her cheek and escorting her outdoors. "Welcome to a brand new world my Gangrel childe. You're Kindred now, and forever is yours for the taking."
Picture courtesy of the Navillus Gallery
