Or so the story goes, The Triumph of The Kindred happened in 2081. It wasn't any one event, though in the first years, everyone was eager to take credit for it. For us, then, the petty differences between Sabbat and Camarilla and Anarch had died away. The humans were as divided as ever, but civilization still progressed so that we, the self-styled lords of the Earth, could live ever-more comfortably. Our triumph was one of spirit; we could exist and feed freely (still not openly) but without the constant fear of another Inquisition. For a few years it was a paradise, but if the eldest of us needed any further proof we were the damned, when the world became ours, the world began to die.
It started with a chill in the air. It was against the science of the time and some of the last, best parts of humankind looked into it. As a whole, we were more worried about that curiosity leading back to us. With a few brief meetings about researching the matter ourselves, those curious few kine were given a satisfactory answer and trotted back to their virtual pens to keep researching the next phase in creature comforts and everyday convenience. The kine started wearing coats and our best minds never got past the entertaining foreplay of politicking to turn their full attention to it.
