Had you walked with us on the roads of Paris in the old days, you’d have heard of many men. And yet the night-crawlers cared only about one: Arnaud Demeure. The one who could fulfill your one true wish. If walking in the shadows of a dark alley at midnight, you met one of ours and asked, “What news do you bring, brother?” They would respond, “Have you heard of Arnaud Demeure?” And if by the witching hour, while hunting for a prey, you talked with those who spy and refer, they would tell you, “Arnaud Demeure…” So, when dark gave in to the light, as you rushed to escape the sun, you’d think: what’s my true wish, Arnaud Demeure? Imagine if that man invited you to his castle. Imagine any wish granted if it is true. Some say the hardest thing for us is dying. Others say it’s staying human as time passes by. But we are like you. We want something, we don’t know what it is, and never get it. For you it’s years, for us it’s centuries. Now, you understand why that night, when I received his invite, against any logic, I accepted.
When Arnaud Demeure hosts a party, no immortal refuses his invitation. Yet in the ways of Magick, a party can be the ritual to end the world, and seven guests the sacrifices needed to perform it. But they may also be the only ones who can stop it.