The death of the prince, a malkavian like herself, came as a bit of a surprise to Eilwen Ferch Gruffydd ap Llywelyn ap Gruffudd ap Rhys ap Ellis ap Dilwyn ap Taliesin, or Eilwen Ferch Gruffydd, as she went these days. She did not like such surprises. The prince, while annoying at times, had still been useful to have around. If nothing else, he kept the camarilla controlled. Eilwen did not have much liking for the obsessively controlling elements of that sect, but that is always better than the chaos that the Sabbat were always trying to stir up. She did not like them. Her preferred mode had always been to remain distanced from the sects. Her old Sire, whom she had not seen for centuries, taught her that was best. Of course, he was born centuries before they formed, so his opinion might have been affected by that. She personally could no longer recall much about the time before the Camarilla or the Sabbat. But then, she hadn’t even been embraced for a century before that happened. She had been but a child. Still blind to the true nature of her kind.

The whispers comforted her thoughts, speaking of how Malkav’s will would continue to be advanced even without Quentin King III. They also spoke of wrapping oak trees in cat guts and a score other things like that, but Eilwen had long known how to tune out those particular whispers. Many of her kin were quite deranged in their minds. They had their purpose, but oft were their words lacking in sense. She realized she might have to take a more active role in events. It would not serve the plan to have the camarilla, or worse, the kindred in general, lose control over Boston. As such, she pondered whether she should stop by the meeting of the Camarilla. After a few minutes of thinking, she decided that would be wise. Information is always useful to have. While her Nosferatu associate gave her good information, his price was steep at times, and multiple sources are always good to have. 

~| Thirty-seven minutes later |~

Eilwen approached the meeting place of the Camarilla. As per her habit, she wore a dark green, hooded robe, which concealed most of her features, all without restricting mobility. She did not acknowledge the guards outside the hall. She moved as if she belonged, so they did not challenge her. The fools. “No wonder he died, if guards never challenged people if they looked like they belonged.” she muttered beneath her breath. Of course, the fact that he had been felled by mere mortals had proven [i]that[/i] already. It was honest enough to be killed by one of the werewolves. They were truly vicious beasts. Real threats. Humans were cattle. Most of them could not even comprehend the idea of the supernatural existing. Fewer still knew anything useful about it. These days, more than half those who believed in the existence of her kind attributed all the wrong traits to them. Not that she minded one bit. If they were wont to use garlic as protection, then that was only convenient. Better for her food to use useless defenses than reliable ones. The chamber, when she entered, was mostly empty. She took a place along the wall near one of the exits, in a nice bit of deeper shadow. She would monitor the events, but she would not intervene without good reason.