[i:a7d4627707] The time is set before Poe and Gabriel have met. The Gangrel, Poe, has heard tales, which he took to be more urban legend than fact, of a Toreador Methuselah/Elder of unsurpassed beauty and grace who was nie on unparalleled in her ability to use a sword. Facts indicate that she was reigning prince of a small but flourishing region in France called Touraine and that her main Haven was outside the city of Tours. The myths that accompanied her were as numerous as the stars in the night sky. He had heard that she was a sorceress, a harlot, an assassin, a complete flake, a musician and artist, but above all, a reknowned breaker of hearts to whom men and women had given their souls. All of these were true to some degree. He had also heard that on her best days, the Comtesse Eveshka de Touraine, was a gracious and warm hostess, but on her worst days she'd rip out one's heart just for sport and that was if one were lucky. Thus Poe made his treck down to Touraine to meet this mercurial Toreador..... [/i:a7d4627707]

The Morgan Aero 8 made it’s mercurial path towards the city of Tours. The silvered, classic line of the car wove through the lines of intermittent, erratic traffic with considerable ease. It was plain to see that there were faster cars travelling, but few had the same visual flair. The Aero combined something of the 1930’s lines with modern curves, and it’s powerful engine bolstered it’s almost arrogant sway on the tarmac.

Poe had left the Auvergne that evening, the region once dominated by tales of his Maestro’s misdeeds, quickly disappearing as abruptly as the hills of the Gevaudan had swallowed the Keep he had once, briefly shared with Denneval. He thought of his master’s warnings before he had left with a confident whirl of his suit jacket, wrapping it around one shoulder.

[i:b3d78ac240]“Be careful, boy. The Firebird is not one to be trifled with...”

“Of course not. Fire and trifle don’t mix.”

“Don’t be too flippant, Marneus. You may resemble her friend...your father...but Maestro Eveshka will not know you...as I do.”

“I understand, Suzerain. I’ll just charm her.”[/i:b3d78ac240] He toyed with his beard, smiling.

[i:b3d78ac240]“I’m good at charming.”[/i:b3d78ac240]

The ancient, Denneval simply groaned. The action would have looked more at home on the face of an old Jewish gentleman declaring “Oy Oy!”.

[i:b3d78ac240]“Do not say you weren’t warned when she gives you a new scar. [b:b3d78ac240]If[/b:b3d78ac240] you even get to see her.”[/i:b3d78ac240]

Poe had grinned at his Maestro’s goodbye and made his way to the waiting car in the old courtyard.

Three hours later, in the heart of night’s reign, he was pulling off the TGV line and following the road onto the rue Nationale. He circled into the city around 4AM, passing nonchalantly through the cathedral district. He wasn’t here to take in the sights...tourism would have to wait.

The car grumbled loudly with dissent as he took it up to the castle that was his destination.

The structure looked like something the Brother’s Grimm would have envied. It was a sprawling, almost Disney-ian, monument to more flamboyant times. The perfect home for a fairy princess, Poe groaned.

He parked the car on the vast gravel courtyard, hopping out before walking with his suitcase towards the Castle doors. He rapped sharply on the old wood with the disguised pommel of Talion.

The door didn’t open. But the intercom hidden in a knot on the wood answered his knock.

[i:b3d78ac240]“Oui? Can I help you?”

“Yes you can. I’m here to see Lady Eveshka.”

“Ahh...well you are in the wrong address?....there is noone of that name here....goodnight.”

“I know she’s here. I need to see her, and now.”

“Well you best be prepared for disappointment.”

“Eh? What did you...?”[/i:b3d78ac240]

The intercom went silent.

He proceeded to pound the door with Talion’s pommel, shouting at the invisible intercom.

[i:b3d78ac240]“Do you know who I am? I am the rightful Heir to the Throne of Gevaudan. Son of Denneval, once Duhamel! And I demand to see the Firebird at once!”[/i:b3d78ac240]

No answer.

He waited for about ten minutes listening. But no reply was given.

Feeling more than a little embarrassed he tapped on the door again, gently this time.

[i:b3d78ac240]“Please?”[/i:b3d78ac240]

The door clicked as though a massive door brace was lifted. Swinging open to let him enter.

The hall was empty, save for the standard medieval fare, albeit with humourous touches here and there. Two suits of armour in a compromising position for example....

oh....and a large marbled desk, behind which sat a petite little blonde girl.

[i:b3d78ac240]“Hello. Can I help you?”

“Yes...yes you can. My name is Marneus Poe. Can you tell my Aunt that I’m here to see her?”

“Your Aunt, you say?”

“Yes. Lady Eveshka Shuvolov...”[/i:b3d78ac240]

The girl looked at him strangely.

Eve was walking down a corridor from a fencing pitch wearing a suitably tight fitting white jumpsuit. She carried with her a saber and a mask. Accompanying her was her Seneschal, Montcalm, the two had evidently been sparring. They happened to be walking past the main entranceway where Poe stood asking a befuddled looking pretty blond Toreador girl if he could see his "aunt."

Eveshka immediately picked up, from her receptionist's aura, that she was confused as to what to do. Although she was wearing fencing attire, she still managed, with the aid of a touch of presence, to appear larger than life and more beautiful than any human had a right to be. She and Montcalm turned and walked into the reception area.

"You seek Lady Shuvolov?" asked Eveshka imperiously, yet with a hint of a seductive tone. "You have found her."

[i:9cd9887655]“You have found her.”[/i:9cd9887655]

The voice was hypnotic. It wasn’t the dominating tone of his master, but it held a curious lilt that captivated however briefly, his senses.

He had to remind himself that she was his “aunt”.

He turned, fastening his suit jacket with a degree of sovereignty.

[i:9cd9887655]“Aunt Eveshka! I’m so glad you could see me!”[/i:9cd9887655]

Eveshka looked at him. She studied the line of his face, the jut of his bearded chin, the sharpness of his eyes. The collection of lines and curves seemed familiar....

She scanned his Aura finding the same confusion of thought. He smiled, clearly feeling her “scan”.

He looked, a little....nay alot. And felt alot like her beloved Porter! Yes he stood a little leaner, and moved with more grace. But underneath the curiously blonde hair, and the leonine facade there was definitely something of her old friend.

[i:9cd9887655]“Who. Are you?”

“You don’t recognise me? Forgive me, of course you don’t.”[/i:9cd9887655]

He stood, arms tucked behind his back, exposing his chest to a superior.

[i:9cd9887655]“My name is Marneus Poe. Childe of Denneval. Son of Porter.”[/i:9cd9887655]

At that he relaxed, evidently proud of his lineage.

She wanted to call him a liar. She wanted to take him outside and beat the truth from him. But she couldn’t. It was written all over his face.

[i:9cd9887655]“Porter....had a son?”[/i:9cd9887655] The words sang out in perfect chorus with Montcalm’s.

The girl, stupefied, merely blinked.

Poe grinned with a warming mischief, [i:9cd9887655]“Sort of.”[/i:9cd9887655]

"So what brings you here Son of Porter?" asked Eveshka, motioning Poe to follow her and Montcalm. The two elder vampires looked at each other a moment, each with a raised eyebrow. Poe followed along.

Over the next few nights, Poe and Eveshka met and chatted. It seemed that Poe wished to be schooled in swordplay. Of all the requests that Eveshka has every heard, she had never gotten that one before. So, they began.

((to be continued, bloody time constraints)

[i:3193022be6] In the main ballroom of Chateau d'Usse... [/i:3193022be6]

Poe stood in the middle of the room with his drawn schiavona in his hand. He wore shiny black Adidas exercise gear that did much to show off his physique. Aross from him, about 15 feet away, stood Eveshka, wearing a neoprene cat suit, her usual attire when she knew things were going to get rough. Her raven hair was pulled back in a pony tail and was held firm by an ornate silver clasp.

Poe shifted his wait from side to side. It was clear that he was a bit uncomfortable about what was about to happen. Eveshka smiled at him, hoping to calm him. It had the opposite effect actually. How could something so beautiful be so dangerous at the same time?

"Are we to fight to the death now Aunt Eve?" he asked with what he thought was a roguish smirk.

"That is precisely what we are going to do," she answered plainly. When his eyebrow went up she said, "Or rather, that is what you are going to try and do. You may not use any blood disciplines other than healing. I will be restricted by the same rules. I will not use celerity or presence or any thaumaturgical powers."

"Thaumaturgy?" he asked. "That's not possible, you are Toreador."

"You'd be surprised," she answered with a soft laugh.

"What are you going to use?" he asked. At present she was unarmed. He watched in disbelief as she sached over to an armoire and pulled out an ornate but very dainty looking swept hilt rapier. Compared to Poe's broad bladed schiavona, it looked like an elegant toy that would snap the first time it was struck.

"Allez," she said and sank into a balanced stance. Poe knew in an instant what was going on. She wished to size him up. She needed to see what he was capable of.

Poe had decent footwork and moved with a grace that was not all too common among Gangrels. He bore down on the Russian Princess executing a feint to her left side, rolling under the line of her blade and trying to get in under her guard on her right side. Eve parried it and gave ground at the same time, moving back two quick steps. Again Poe bore down on her, matching her quick steps. He tried a beat attack touching the side of her blade in an effort to make her parry what would naturally have been his logical next move: a thrust. He planned again to swing his blade under the line of hers and strike her right side with a slash. It didn't work. She did not attempt to parry his thrust, she merely took another two quick steps back. He was left stabbing and curling his blade around nothing but empty space.

He looked at her eyes trying to read something in them. He saw nothing. Just two blue lifeless orbs. He continued his attacks, she continued to give ground just beyond his reach. Once more, a second time, a third and then... Poe had tried a balustra attack, instead of taking the usual two steps involved in a thrust, he kicked out with his front foot making a loud slamming noise as it hit the floor then quickly made two more steps in the rhythm of a comedic rimshot: buhdum-pum. At the same time he thrust his blade forwards. This time however, Eve slid her back foot off to the side, shifted her weight as Poe came charging forwards, grabbed him on the wrist and pushed him even harder in the same direction so he became unbalanced. As she whirled around she snicked the back of his head with her rapier blade. Poe's mind was reeling. She could have decapitated him right then if she had so desired. The potential rashness of presenting himself on her doorstep and the brutal reality that that entailed hit him.

The fight truly began. Back and forth the combatants went. Occassionally Eve would give him a light grazing of the blade at a point where she could actually have dismembered him. He knew this. This angered him. She could see the anger building within him but kept at what she was doing.

Poe was actually quite accomplised she thought to herself. And he was quite handsome in a Hugh Jackman sort of way. He moved with very good balance, and a refined finesse. She was just unreal in her movements. Poe began to control his anger. Eve saw it and inwardly smiled. He was utterly astounded at the movements she was executing. Pinwheels, arials, pirouettes. She treated swordplay as if it were a dance. It was, after a fashion; a dance of death.

He tried everything he knew to do. Every trick, every feint. Everything. He'd have been destroyed ten times over this evening. He failed to touch her even once. Finally...

Poe whirled about in a slash aimed at her head. She moved forwards under the line of his attack, spinning in the opposite direction, but at a slightly faster rotation. Her blade grazed his forearm, the crossbar of the rapier snagged the basket of his schiavona and the inertia of the movement yanked the blade out of Poe's hand. The fight was done.

Poe healed himself, not that there was much to heal really. But he was a meticulous type. He stood up feeling slightly ashamed, slightly angry, and utterly mystified. He'd not been beaten by more powerful vampiric skills, nor by magic. He'd been bested through sheer mortal talent. He was in awe.

"You fight well, Poe," she said with sincerity.

"Not well enough apparently," he said.

"Well, there is always someone better," she responded with a shrug.

"Better than you?" he asked.

Eveshka looked down for a bit, remembering a night in the south of France with Poe's mortal father Porter and the ventrue Gabriel. She'd saved them from certain death, but not without a heavy cost. She nodded once.

"I was destroyed once," she said simply. He felt it better to not pursue that one.

"Why did you choose this as your weapon of choice?" Eve asked softly.

"I like the flexibility of it. The balance is perfect," he said.

"Not perfect," she said shaking her head and holding out her rapier blade. She picked up the schiavona and placed it on her blade, close to the rapier's crossguard. The schiavona looked steady.

"See?" asked Poe with a smile.

Eve said nothing but merely held her arm outstretched still. The blade of the schiavona began to dip, then rock back up, then dip down farther.

"The blade is too heavy for the length of the tang," she said. "That is what unbalanced you in all of your attacks."

**********************************************

The next night, Poe and Eveshka sat in a small, comfortable room watchign a DVD of a ballet performance at the Bolshoi. At first Poe couldn't figure out what they were doing. He knew that she was trying to teach him something, but she wasn't forthcoming about why they were watching the performance. It took only a few minutes until he got it. Many of the moves she had done were just as graceful and complex as those of the dancers on the screen. Put a sword in the dancer's hands and instead of poncies you had deadly martial artists. The rest of the night and the rest of the week the two worked on foot work and transferring one's center of gravity onto another person, or, in the case of doing some of the more gymnastic looking moves, moving it up into the air. She couldn't figure out why she was doing this other than the fact that beneath the relatively refined exterior, for a Gangrel at least, she saw the rough hewn image of Porter.

[i:b9df10178a] Poe followed Eve outside into the courtyard of the chateau. She walked in silence past the gardens and to the stairs leading to the chapel. He could see that the ground outside the chapel were relatively well lit with gas lamps atop brass lamp poles. Oddly enough there was, what looked to him to be, a Mariachi band standing there waiting to play. There was a table set up about 5 feet from the band upon which were two sets of rapiers and main gauches. Eveshka crossed an open area and stood before the table and picked up a rapier and looked down it's blade. Poe stopped abruptly. On the ground was a pentagram about 10 feet in diameter lined with brick, set into the turf. [/i:b9df10178a]

"What's with the Mariachis?" asked Poe.

"They are here to provide a beat," responded Eve.

"More dancing?" he asked.

"After a fashion," she said with a hint of a wink. She picked up her main gauche and walked to an edge of the circle that was touched by a point of the pentagram. Poe shrugged, picked up his rapier and main gauche and walked over to another one, across from Eve.

"Now, this is to teach you balance, agility, and timing," said Eve.

"Are all sword fights this choreographed?" he asked.

She pursed her lips a moment. "Well, not as such, however, all swordfights will fall into a tempo of sorts that is to be broken when your opponent locks into it. You see, everyone, kindred and kine alike, need to have some sort of order. Even the most anarchic Brujah will fall into this unwittingly."

"Then why not keep it completely extemporaneous?" asked Poe.

"A master swordsman could do that, and does do that, however, it requires concentration to break the tempo and the knowledge that a tempo is in fact being set."

Poe nodded.

"Right. You see a pentacle on the ground at your feet," said Eve pointing down at it with the tip of her rapier. "You are not permitted to leave the circle, nor are you permitted to step off of a line." If you come forwards on your line, I must cross on the connecting line to the opposite side of the pentacle. I cannot side step along the circle. Side stepping on the circle is only permitted when both opponents are standing upon the circle's edge. We may not cross blades while standing on the circle edge. Thus, I may not slink around the circumference of the circle and fight you. "

"Ok, so what will they be doing?" asked Poe nodding towards the band.

"They will provide the beat of the combat. For now, we must stay within the confines of that tempo. It will be slow to begin with as you will no doubt have difficulty in fighting like this." Poe looked afronted. Eve saw this and tried to smooth his ruffled fur as it were.

"Try one or two passes at will, and you will see how awkward it is at first," she said.

Poe gave it a whirl, he assumed a classic fencing en garde position with the rapier held out before him in his right, the main gauche held out above his head in his left. He came forwards using classic fencing footwork and as Eveshka passed by him on the opposite line he moved to attack. He felt his center of gravity shift uncomfortably and he lost his balance. Poe inadvertently stepped off of the line.

"Hmm, ok, I guess you were right," he admitted grudgingly.

Eveshka looked over to the band and nodded. They started to play. It was Spanish Flamenco music, not Mexican Mariachi.

"Now then, cross your steps when moving," she said and demonstrated side stepping along the line pivoting her position as she passed Poe somewhere in the midpoint of the line. She came to a stop at the edge of the circle facing the her initial position, which Poe had in turn taken. To the beat of the music, the two slowly made their way from line to line, traveling about the pentagram. Poe quickly got the hang of it. By the time the night was ended, the two were cruising about the circle. The sound of steel on steel fell perfectly with the beat of the music.

The training was having a more profound effect on Poe than he could have hoped for.

He sat in contemplation, considering the grace Eveshka was instilling in his movements. Contrasting this with the warlike gladiatorial aspects Denneval had instructed him.

The contrasts were mystifying. He sat cross-legged, toying with Talion.

For all the lessons she held using the rapier and main gauche, he still felt himself drawn to the heavier sword. He asked his attendant to retrieve the DVD Eveshka had loaned him, and sat watching a sequence of dances from various genres.

His mind was being expanded. Ballet, Mamba, even the quickstep. They all had something he could adopt. Be it a flick of the wrist, or a heel-spin.

He searched the catalogue of music his quarters had been supplied with, selecting something modern.

He placed the CD into the player and stood, Talion held at his side, blade tapping the polished floor.

The music lilted at first before rising. Rage Against The Machine’s “Killing in the name of” began to fill the room with calamitous din. The noise drew the attention of Eve, her own PA, and Montcalm who stood tutting scornfully.

Poe started to step around the room, sword tapping in tune to the beat. Stepping faster and faster before he launched into a pirouette, then a balestra and landing with a fleche. He spun around the room fighting unseen foes with uncharacteristic speed and fluidity. He moved with increased fervour, parrying, arcing the blade over his neck before clashing it forward into the path of an imaginary attacker.

The effect was quite startling. Poe’s body moved with cat-like suppleness, flexing and striking with every turn.

He began to slow as the music faded, spinning out into an attack as the accompaniment ended.

Poe slumbered still in the dearly evening. The sun had just about set. Eveshka had gone into his room and taken his prized Schiavona, [i:94ef61e2dd] Talion [/i:94ef61e2dd]. She had gone to the old smithy on the grounds where she had a kindred blacksmith on the payroll. His name was Yoshiki and was from Japan or some such irrelevant place. Precisely WHAT breed of Vampire he was she had no clue. He had the same odd mannerisms as that whacko Gin-Ko who had graced her court for a time. However, he knew Euryon and held the Gangrel in high esteem. That was good enough for Eve.

Yoshiki claimed to have fought in the battle of Seki-Ga Hara as mortal and had stormed Tokogawa's Castle in Kyoto with Euryon centuries ago. Supposedly he was taught by Myamoto Musashi himself. As she had no reason to doubt him, and no reason to care if he actually was lying, Yoshiki found a home at Eveshka's court. He was very good with a katana and was even better at sword making. His finest quality, at least to Eve, was that he could make immaculate Shoji screens.

Eveshka watched as Yoshiki brandished [i:94ef61e2dd]Talion [/i:94ef61e2dd] and whipped it about feeling its balance. He grunted and laid the blade down on his anvil. He unscrewed the nut in the pommel and slipped off the hilt and cross guard. He looked at it a moment and then moved over to an ornate chest. Inside were a number of jewels. He found one that was of crimson red. Eve went and looked over his shoulder.

"From Romania," Yoshiki grunted in his broken French. "Tzimisce relic."

"Romania," repeated Eve. "How appropriate." The Schiavona is a Romanian sword type, the grandchild of the Cossack sabres and the great great grandchild of the Mongolian sabre before that. Eve looked at it. A blood crystal.

She watched in awe as Yoshiki fashioned the jewel into a new pommel and fitted it to the old nut. He slid the hilt assembly and crossguard onto the tang and reattached the new pommel. He brandished the blade and found it still to be slightly front heavy. He heated it up and pounded it with his hammer. When it got hot enough he tempered the top end of the blade so that it had a cutting edge on it and in the process he made the weapon perfectly balanced.

He moved over to a cooling trough that was filled, not with water, but with the blood of a Tzimisce elder she had gotten from Julius. He plunged the blade into it and watched the blood sizzle and flame up. The blade was ready for enchanting. She wrapped it in black silk and carried it into her palace to Julius' study. He smiled and kissed her. He muttered some hermetic words over the blade and it glowed blue momentarily. He caused words in Hermetic Latin to be etched on it seemingly of their own accord.

Hours later when Poe arose he saw that his sword was gone. He began to panic and got annoyed. He stormed out of his room and out to Eve's main receiving chamber. She sat staring into a fire roaring in the huge fireplace. She stood up and walked around the chair holding a bundle in black silk. She held it out to Poe without saying a word.

"What's this?" he asked taking the bundle and unwrapping it. It was [i:94ef61e2dd] Talion [/i:94ef61e2dd]. He looked at the blade with a pang of anxiety. What the hell had the Toreador done? "What does the writing say?" he asked seeing the etching on the blade.

"Life Stealer," responded Eve. "I've taught you all I am willing to teach you, Poe."