Elysium in St. Louis is located just inside the entrance to an enormous underground labyrinth. To be clear, only a very few rooms are under the dominion of the Prince and so are called Elysium; all other outlying rooms—and they have proven immeasurable in number—are tersely referred to as The Labyrinth. No kindred reside at Elysium.

Inconstant and Infinite

The entrance to Elysium moves around nightly. In fact, the entire labyrinth disappears at sun-up, exists nowhere during the day, and only gradually reappears at sundown. Authority has it that the walls crush anything still within them at dusk. Only one account exists of a lingering vampire surviving a day inside the “vanished” labyrinth. Her peculiar explanation contradicts what is already known, but is nevertheless widely read.

My watch is silent, and I know it is morning. Strikingly peaceful and ordered and calm, everything. The ceiling remains up, the walls still, the doors open. Rapidly do I weary, but door after door leads me only further in. There seems no limit to the variety and strangeness of some of the rooms—many are calm, yes, well-lit, some even furnished; but not uncommon are those rooms whose furnishings seem to have been built to accommodate colossi, or where it seems as though some busy gathering has only just departed, or wherein gravity has been bent sideways or cut off at the knee. There is even one room that I recognize, its design and contents mimicking to unsettling perfection a room I once called my own at boarding school, but deeply do I lack the will to wonder how or why. The Labyrinth knows I’m here? So what. I am of no consequence to it. I curl up on the bed, its mattress already familiar to my shape, its springs’ groans a familiar ugliness, and I am unsurprised to find that my pillowcase still bears the odor of: shampoo. As I succumb to the dead sleep of our kind, the last dwindling thought that occurs to me: but they stopped making that shampoo decades ago! — from Ad Infinitum by Djoramm of Clan Toreador (1991)

Finding the entrance to Elysium at any given moment is a matter of staying informed. The door to Elysium cycles randomly through a limited number of locations throughout St. Louis, mostly small houses and apartments, all under Kindred control and tightly monitored. The utmost discretion is strictly enforced.

Once its location has been established, the Entrance swiftly becomes a bustling thoroughfare of kindred activity. Kindred patrolmen, highly disciplined in Obfuscation, work around the clock to ensure that none of the crowd is ever seen or heard—and this despite the fastidiously upheld No Talking rule that applies within a certain radius of the Entrance. A strict No Parking rule is also enforced, and Kindred are urged to arrive by taxi instead (and to hire, specifically, the Gangrel-owned and operated Laclede Cab Co.) or to simply walk. Sometimes, depending on the door’s location, a St. Louis Metro station is convenient.

That this daily headache has been seamlessly well-handled for centuries is a widely celebrated, world-famous example of careful, powerful devotion to the Masqeurade.


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