. . . For time has imprisoned us
in the order of our years,
in the discipline of our ways,
and in the passing of momentary stillness
we can see our chaos in motion
Our chaos in motion
We can see our chaos in motion,
view our chaos in motion. . . ("In The Kingdom of the Blind the One-eyed are Kings", by Dead Can Dance)

London
April, 1675

Sitting behind the majestic mahogany desk that served as a subtle reminder of the wealth he controlled and the power he wielded, he leaned further back into the shadows that helped protect his secret. Their secret. In the dining room, Camilla and the others feasted on carefully prepared delicacies that only vaguely provided the pleasure of food. He would join them shortly, taking his place at the table and settling into the comfortable silence that this little family of his allowed him.

But first he had to tend to the matter at hand.

The quiet weight of his stare began to stifle breath. Neither cool nor welcoming. Not damning, nor pardoning. Just...seeing...he watched as the man across the desk, sitting in the full-soft light of oil lamps and candles that bathed the room in a deceptively warm glow, swallowed hard and then shifted in his seat.

Once. Twice. A throat was cleared. "I am sorry, sir. But you see, the property is not for sale. I did press your case, sir. However, the...family is unwilling to... you have to understand, there are some things beyond price..." The voice trailed off. Nervous, thin hands fussed with cuffs.

Silence. The slightest hint of a smile. Then a movement, so quick that it might never have happened. After a few blissfully painful moments the nervous hands stilled and a single drop of blood, deep red against white linen, fell onto a ruffled collar.

Eyes, on the verge of dimming, looked up into the weighty stare that said more than the next words to be spoken.

"What I understand, is that this is the second property you've secured for your own holdings rather than negotiate the deal I sent you to make... It's too bad, really, but you have to understand that I simply cannot tolerate being cheated. Beaten, yes. But, cheated? Never. Not to worry, though, I'm sure your family will be happy to sell the properties to me--at whatever price I name--once they realize that you've left them...nothing."

With a slow, final blink a question gurgled in the back of the dying man's throat.

His smile broadened as he saw the realization dawn. "Yes...nothing. For the last few weeks, while you've cheated me out of the property I sent you to acquire, I have acquired control of every business you once held interest in. If you had lived, you would have found this out in time. But, it's better this way? Don't you think? This way, you don't have to see your family fall into ruin."

Life slipped away, the physical remains limp in a chair before a majestic mahogany desk. Viktor straightened his jacket and went to join the dinner party at the other end of the house.

Born in the late 12th Century Netherlands, Viktor left his rural family and scratched a living out of scut work in the small towns that began to develop across the countryside. A sturdy, stoic lad he made his way to early Bruges and found work in the area's fledgling trade economy. By the time he had reached his teens he was known to local merchants and seafarers, alike. From a poor, indifferent family, Viktor learned to fend for himself and developed a sense of not-quite desperate insecurity when it came to home and hearth.

One day his fortunes changed for the better when he happened to running an errand, delivering papers to a local merchant, an older man with a quiet voice and trembling hands, being threatened by a stranger. Slipping quietly into the shop, Viktor listened long enough to determine that the merchant was in trouble; without hesitating, the young dock-runner stepped in and made it clear that the stranger was unwelcome. He backed it up with a glimpse of his fishing knife. The grateful merchant brought Viktor into the shop and began teaching him the trade.

Viktor took to the work easily. Soon it was clear that he was as shrewd as he was hardworking. Over the next decade he helped the old merchant grow his business. Viktor learned to dress and act like a well-monied merchant. He lived well and as he grew the merchant’s fortune he also grew his own. But he was never free from the insecurity that had driven him in his youth. His wealth brought him no real comfort. And the fishing knife he had once used to drive away a threatening stranger was never out of reach.

Over the years the merchant, who had several daughters but no sons, began to turn his business over to Viktor with the understanding that Viktor would make sure that the man’s family was always cared for. Viktor understood what it meant that the old man would entrust his family’s finances to him, but never sought to arrange a marriage between Viktor and one of his daughters: Viktor was a desirable business ally, but not suitable as a son-in-law. Viktor saw the same judgments in the eyes of the other merchants--the rising class whose money bought them entry and succor. It made him lonely. It made him bitter. It made him subtly, but brilliantly, brutal.

It was in Bruges, in the early 13th century, that Viktor crossed paths with Saskia. She was beautiful, clever, and hungry. Hungry for more than just the warm blood of a handsome man in his late-prime. Hungry for the security that came with wealth.

Born in the 11th Century into the Scandinavia of Viking lore , Saskia had been ushered across the divide between mortal and immortal by an ambitious, but careless sire. Brought into a coven that hovered on the edge of financial ruin, Saskia watched her family of immortals squander the resources they brought with them from their mortal lives and ignore the threats that came with not-quite-poverty. In an era of instability and unrest, she longed for the security that coin and class could have provided. While the others recklessly careened from place to place without thought for the future, Saskia studied and planned. She chose her prey for their pocketbooks as well as for their blood. She learned to pick the pockets of the ones she tasted but did not kill. She learned to kill only after she had acquired vault keys and deeds. But Saskia was hindered, by societal norms that said women should not have, build, or manage wealth. She needed someone who could do business unchallenged, who could help grow her holdings.

In the 1100's her coven moved to Bruges, hoping for richer pickings and a fresh start in the fledgling town. While the others picked off merchants and nobles, settling for wallets and jewels in the moment. Saskia lurked in the shadows, watching the merchants doing business--listening and learning. She spent many nights outside a small storefront, where silk merchants struck deals during the day and one trader worked into the late evening, night after night, reviewing papers, checking inventory, and walking the docks talking to captains about their cargoes, their trade routes, and their plans. He dressed like a wealthy merchant, carried himself like a fighter, and changed his manner to fit the moment--a rasping purr as he bent over the hand of a wealthy dowager, a throaty curse as he downed a drink with sailors at the dockside tavern, and an ice-laced lace as he turned a verbal knife.

For months she watched him, coming and going on he plied his trade and built his wealth and reputation. And then, just one night after she had taken a suite of rooms over a not-so-run-down cafe in a not-quite-respectable part of town and two nights after she had slipped away from her coven’s makeshift home just two alleys over, Saskia made the first bold move toward starting her own coven and ensuring the wealth and comfort she had always craved. She seized the merchant as he walked the docks, laughing as this fishing knife opened her flesh and freeing her vampire’s blood--making it that much easier to accomplish her goal.

Without preview or seduction, Viktor was ushered into the world of the immortals. Never at home in the mortal world that his wealth should have opened for him, Viktor quickly realized that being immortal was not that much different. He would spend his mortal years moving among mortals, shrewd and handsome, an immortal outsider; just as he had spent his mortal years moving among them--shrewd, handsome and permanently on the outside. The challenges of doing business during the early centuries when dawn drove him to sleep and daylight threatened, sharpened his mind and his will. And he learned to take pleasure in the ways in which his immortality set him apart. Watching with quiet satisfaction as those who had judged him wanting met their end and were returned to the earth.

Working with Saskia,Viktor became a master of saving, investing, and hiding money. With each generation, each turn of the economic tide, they re-learned how to thrive. Viktor's merchant beginnings a gave them their foundation; his friendly dealings with sea captains from many regions made arranging transport and travel manageable. They learned the value of documents, and so Saskia added scribes and lawyers to their immortal family. They learned the value of banking and Saskia ushered a banker into their ranks. With each addition, they taught and learned. Growing their knowledge and skills along with their wealth.

Moving among European cities, staying ahead of religious wars and political coups, they hid wealth across the continent. Saskia was a strong leader, with an even stronger vision. The group of immortals that grew around her shared a commitment to each other, but beyond that they shared a commitment to growing their common fortunes. No one was brought into their circle who did not serve a vital purpose. No one remained in their circle if he could not change with the times and continue to serve a purpose. Known as Coven Tyche, this band of merchants, bankers, and thieves, lived by a simple rule: Flourish or perish.

Over the centuries, Coven Tyche made its fortunes across the continents--reaching London in the 1600's and making its way to the New World with the rise of the British colonies. By the 1800's the coven was firmly established in Boston and New York. Known among their kind as savvy, successful, and discrete, the coven began to serve as bankers and brokers for other vampires. With each decade the coven's wealth and influence grew.

The 1900's saw Coven Tyche going the way of the new nation. Still operating out of the Eastern seaboard, but moving West with the nation’s prosperity, Coven Tyche established holdings in major cities from Chicago to San Francisco. By the end of the century, the coven had holdings in most major cities, spanning a variety of financial arenas: banking, real estate, and investment in a variety of technology and information-related businesses.

The 1900's saw a change in the coven's leadership. Saskia, who had ushered its members into the fold and controlled the coven with a gently-dominating hand, met her death shortly after the coven arrived in Seattle in the 1920's. Her death is a mystery, one that haunts the coven still. She was found--body dismembered and reduced to ash--outside the coven house one evening. The coven could only be sure it was her by the trinkets and papers found among the ash.

In the wake of Saskia's death, Viktor took over her role as coven leader and rose, by virtue of age and influence, to the top of the city's vampire hierarchy. He has reigned as the Vampire's Master of the City for nearly 50 years.

While Viktor shoulders the obligations of overseeing vampire society in Seattle, Coven Tyche continues to live in comfort, enjoying but not flaunting their communal wealth. Conservative by nature, the Coven chooses to remain discreet--members still seek to move quietly among humans and other supernaturals. Of course, discretion has its limits and, when necessary, the coven is more than willing to put its considerable resources into play to protect one of their own.