((Always upping the ante, huh? Superb man! As always :)

Leathery membranes vibrated to the subtle flow of the air currents as Lady Cyrilynn spread her wings wide and began a gliding descent. The ruins of an ancient city, once again exposed to the gaze of mankind and mother nature alike, resided like a sad, bleak headstone to a bygone kingdom on the shore of a receding sea. What was left, was nothing more than rubble and ancient history, yet one man, or, in this case, one immortal had felt compelled to visit it once again and had drawn his handmaiden in his wake.

The harpy's enhanced eyesight could make out the figure of two people below and while she was far enough away to only see their general figures in the noontide gloom, her fading bond assured her that the one she sought was one of them. It left her with the begging question of whom the second one could be? It certainly wasn't food, for Julius shook violently within the sheltering press of the other's arms. No, that wasn't quite it. If she was not mistaken, by the body language she'd learned an eternity ago, he was crying!

She felt the frission of envy that it wasn't her that soothed and rocked him. Or pushed the unkempt hair from his face and wiped away the tears. For an instant, something swelled blackly in her breast and she almost screamed a challenge to the rival for his attentions. It was the release of her master's personage, the quick, light pat on the shoulder and the unhurried departure that aborted her intended dive and brought her gliding in to a perfect landing in a ghost of a street, not ten yards from the unheeding magus. And left her battling foreign emotions.

When she'd gained enough control, she walked forward and laid a proprietary hand in the same spot her antagonist had and glanced, quickly, at the retreating figure before sweeping her gaze over bisque, rust and xanthous stone remains. [i:aaa58eeaef]"Who is that, Julius?"[/i:aaa58eeaef] she queried calmly enough. Several seconds of wind swept silence passed and Cyrilynn was sure he wasn't going to answer her. When he finally spoke it was nearly toneless.

[i:aaa58eeaef]"That was my father."[/i:aaa58eeaef]

The Tzimisce's eyes widened in total shock, then tried to locate the retreating form but no one was there, for as far as her perception could reach! He'd vanished, although she didn't know how he'd done it. It wasn't important, anyway, Julius was her first priority. She swung around in front of him, prepared to demand her release from his servitude, when words failed at the sight of the creature that stood unmoving before her. He was, indeed, a shattered god.

He wasn't completely healed, despite his recent bloodbath, and she'd yet to forgive him for his rapacious carelessness. She [b:aaa58eeaef]knew[/b:aaa58eeaef] he wasn't keeping himself fed properly because he was beginning to show signs of gauntness and pallor that denoted the hunger rising. His hands bore evidence of recent abuse with open, weeping cuts and scrapes, yet he'd done nothing to seal them to prevent the loss of precious fluids.

The clothing was tattered, torn and stained, barely hanging on his frame, his hair was disordered and dusty. Yet, there was an eerie calm on his face, that belied the scene she'd witnessed on her approach. It was then she knew he was yet mad, still needed her presence, and she pursed her lips bitterly as she accepted that her duties were to be resumed.

She watched as a ruby drop landed in the thirsty soil, unheeded, and followed a trail of similar ones to the wall he'd been repairing. Her eyes flicked back to stare into the distant gaze of the once reknowned ancient and her own tears welled up with anquish at her beloved domitor.

[i:aaa58eeaef]"Oh, Julius!"[/i:aaa58eeaef] she sighed, [i:aaa58eeaef]"what am I going to do with you?"[/i:aaa58eeaef]

Julius ignored her question, as she'd known he would. It was a rhetorical one, anyway, but at least he'd answered her question regarding his father, even if he'd piqued her curiosity. She scanned him quickly for any obvious signs of serious injuries but saw only that his health had been neglected. It was hard to tell how badly, at the moment. [i:772974a331]"Julius? How are you feeling? Are you ok?"[/i:772974a331] She stared into his eyes, willing him to really [b:772974a331]look[/b:772974a331] at her, to see who she was. [i:772974a331]"Have you fed yet?"[/i:772974a331]

A negligent shrug was all the reply he was willing to give, as the blank look was accompanied by a slight shake of the head, a negative she suspected, but to which question, she was unsure. Frowning with deep worry, her teeth tore into her own wrist before going down on one knee and offering up the welling liquid, hoping the smell of blood would produce the desired reaction in him.

He glanced down once, then turned his head away and she was suddenly dismayed. Surely he wasn't refusing [b:772974a331]all[/b:772974a331] sustenance?! Or... was she simply not worthy enough? Her hand dropped away, after a minute or so, and she licked the wound closed, making sure to waste no more of the precious fluid. Her undead heart ached with the rejection.

The lonely silence stretched and her thoughts wound round and round themselves. Finally, she dared to peer up into that expressionless face and pose another question, [i:772974a331]"Julius, do you know who I am?"[/i:772974a331] Perhaps that was the reason for his refusal, he just wasn't sure of her intentions. Vampires didn't live long on trust.

His eyes flicked downward to her, then slid past her barriers, to pierce what some would have called her soul. Cyrilynn couldn't look away and she was aware, in that instant, that he knew more about her than she would have wished him to, despite her servitude to his bond, and not because of it.

[i:772974a331]"You are who you have always been."[/i:772974a331]

This was not the answer she needed. It was cryptic at best, ambiguous at the least and she needed to know how unstable he truly was. If she would have to spend the rest of her worthless existence caring for a March Hare. [i:772974a331]"Say my name, Julius."[/i:772974a331] There was a touch of desperation in that request.

With a grace that belied his stone-like posture, he knelt in the sand and grabbed at something there. Then he stood and held out his hand towards her as his fingers uncurled to reveal a small scorpion. Although the symbolism wasn't lost on her, it was a perplexity that she'd yet to see any of the creatures abounding in this area. It was not... yet... dry enough to sustain them comfortably.

Cyrilynn shook her head in absolute denial, [i:772974a331]"No, no. I have not been [b:772974a331]that[/b:772974a331] since the day you paid my commission. Say it. Say the name you know you should use. Please?"[/i:772974a331] The last word was spoken softly, as reasoning calm gave way to a plea.

[i:772974a331]"Which of you should I name?"[/i:772974a331]

Maybe it was too much, too soon, to be expected. Another sigh accepted her defeat and she wearily supplied her own answers, [i:772974a331]"Cyrilynn, master, I am Lady Cyrilynn, your bond servant."[/i:772974a331] She gently gathered his hand into her own, mindful of the still weeping injuries and pressed it to her forehead. [i:772974a331]"Come with me and we will talk some more."[/i:772974a331]

Arising, she towed him unresistingly to the other side of his newly build wall, away from the eddies of sand and wind, to sit cross-legged beside her as she shortened, then folded her wings at her back, to provide a cushion from the rough stone.

[i:772974a331]"Why are you here, master? What are you trying to do?"[/i:772974a331] She couldn't fathom what had brought him to this desolate place, this ancient city of shadows and memories. Nestling his palm on her furred knee, she reached down and began the process of licking it clean and sealing it against loss, hoping his answer would help her find some common ground with the ailing Tremere.

[i:772974a331]"Rebuilding the past. Making circles. Futile. It's all gone now."[/i:772974a331]

He removed his hand from her grasp and waved it to encompass all they could see. He did not return it to her and easily evaded her attempts to reclaim it. She desisted. Not being one to sit and contemplate the future in quietude, she took the next logical step and queried, [i:772974a331]"Alright then, what are your next plans? How may I serve you?"[/i:772974a331] Even rebuilding a city for ghosts was better than the eternal boredom of doing nothing.

[i:772974a331]"Mend, Atone, Rebuild."[/i:772974a331] He swept a look around at the fallen walls. [i:772974a331]"Not this."[/i:772974a331]

The Tzimisce's face wrinkled in puzzlement, [i:772974a331]"Then what, Magus? Rebuild the world?"[/i:772974a331] The look that turned on her froze her in place and she wished she'd never uttered those words. Deep down in the depths, where the blood bond burned its brightest, all she could think of doing was to help Julius set the world to rights. It was the fitting thing to do. She just wasn't sure how.

A gust of breath and she tried to tell him, to inform him of the impossibility of what he was asking, [i:772974a331]"Master, it can't be done. The humans are dying and not many of the Kindred are left. Those that have survived are paying a great price to do so."[/i:772974a331] She gave way to disgruntlement with a quick glower, [i:772974a331]"Before you tore through my carefully husbanded flock, I thought I might have a chance of reseeding my little corner of the world."[/i:772974a331] Cyrilynn stared back down at the ground and was wearied to the bone, [i:772974a331]"But all of that is gone now and I haven't the strength to start again."[/i:772974a331]

That admission tore open a flood-gate of longing and desire. Knowing it was a futile thing, she still couldn't help herself as she moistened what seemed to be dry lips before launching into her request. [i:772974a331]"Julius. Julius... I'm so tired... please... let me..."[/i:772974a331] She wasn't expecting the way he chose to grant her entreaty.

The Shattered God brushed aside the tattered remains of his shirt and ran a finger across his chest, opening a wound of the richest vitae she'd seen or smelled since they'd found Caine's blood. She gaped in total astonishment and wondered at this miracle. Maybe this is what came of sharing all that blood with him all those years she'd fed him? Or, maybe it was just something she had no explanation for.

Regardless, he reached for her with a firm touch and drew her, as unresisting as he had been previously, onto his lap. The long hunger she'd endured weakened any resolve to refuse what he so dearly needed himself and, with the touch of a father's guidance, he pressed her lips to the ultimate of feasts and all will fled.

Each tinest drop that passed her lips might have been an insignificant nothing to whatever it was Julius had become, but like a concentrated energy bar to the stricken handmaiden it filled her as though every previous time she had ever fed in her entire unlife was simply an appetizer to this main course. Strength and vitality coursed through withered and overtaxed veins, degenerating limbs and body swelled to their former proportions and a bloom of total health cascaded over her. She closed her eyes in unadulterated bliss, feeling like she'd come home to where she belonged.

An undetermined amount of time saw her finally sated and she released the grip she'd inadvertantly plastered onto his shoulders. Sitting up dizzily, she licked at an escaping ruby droplet, savoring it as it melted into her tongue. All to soon gone. Grey eyes turned silvery and huge, she stammered her awe at the honor he'd given her, [i:772974a331]"Julius... I... I'm not sure what to say now. What to do."[/i:772974a331] There was a flash of disappointment, like she had forgotten what it was she was going to ask. She carefully moved away from his embrace and sat, ramrod stiff, on the dirt floor, facing him, [i:772974a331]"Master, tell me what you would have of me."[/i:772974a331]

[i:772974a331]"The time is not set. We wait. Hunt."[/i:772974a331]

Joyful at having something to please him with, she stood, [i:772974a331]"As you command, my lord. I will hunt for us both and, if you will await me here, I will return with prey,"[/i:772974a331] She pivoted on her toes and with a short running leap, took to the air again and was soon gone to normal sight. Julius remained where she'd left him, sitting against the wall, his wound gone, smiling a little as he stared into the distance once more.

It was only an hour or two later that the harpy returned to the still seated mage, towing two enthralled humans behind her on a rope. A male and a female, obviously heavy with child, carrying various necessities. The Tzimisce herself was burdened with even more items. Enough to begin the task of shelter and comfort, even if most of it was intended for the kine.

He who had been Julius and later the Maimed God surveyed the pair, led along like sheep, herdbeasts. The slight sorrow in his eyes filled Cyrilynn's heart with anguish.

[i:13690549a1]"No circles. I told you. It's all done. Why do you being bring the children of Seth?"[/i:13690549a1]

A picture of shock and pain painted itself upon Cyrilynn's face. [i:13690549a1]"But ... Master ... They"[/i:13690549a1] She paused, then gulped for air, [i:13690549a1]""I intended for them to be our Adam and Eve. The mother and father of human kinds rebirth. See!!?? She already proves herself fertile."[/i:13690549a1]

[i:13690549a1]"The father's father has many grandchildren, dear childe."[/i:13690549a1]

The hurt in her eyes changed to puzzlement. [i:13690549a1]"I'm sorry, Julius, I... don't understand. Do you prefer them as food?"[/i:13690549a1]

[i:13690549a1]"This is the First City. In this place, all dwelt together in peace. It's time is done. You cannot circle to the beginning. What would you have of me?"[/i:13690549a1]

Puzzlement led to confusion. [i:13690549a1]""Explain to me, master. Tell me what you wish, what I am to do. If I have done wrong, instruct me. I am not Tremere that I can read your mind and know, instantly, what you would have of me."[/i:13690549a1] Confusion led to to subservience as she fell to her knees, eyes downcast.

Julius stared outwards for what seemed an eternity. Long enough for Cyrilynn to lift her eyes and look at the broken mage and wonder what could be happening inside his tortured mind.

[i:13690549a1]"You wish to create a place for these children?"[/i:13690549a1]

She nodded slowly, [i:13690549a1]"Yes, I do."[/i:13690549a1] She glanced at her pets, scrubbed at her face in an attempt to set thoughts straight. [i:13690549a1]"I had considered that they might also be of use in the rebuilding of the city."[/i:13690549a1] She nodded towards the unfinished wall.

Julius pulled himself to his feet. [i:13690549a1]"The children of Seth must be free to choose their fate."[/i:13690549a1]

The look on Cyrilynn's face was one of utter shock, as her voice became a wail of misery. [i:13690549a1]"Are you saying to let them go? To release them? But, Julius what will we feed upon"[/i:13690549a1]

[i:13690549a1]"I told you. This is place of peace. You cannot enslave the children of Seth."[/i:13690549a1]

The tzimisce dropped her face into her hands, almost weeping, shaking with pent up frustration and denial. Finally, with a slump of her shoulders she turned to the pair, removed the rope and released them from her domination. The two humans, stood, confused for a moment, then frozen to the spot in fear. Cyrilynn turned away, refusing to look at Julius.

[i:13690549a1]"This one would grant you a safe place to bring up your children."[/i:13690549a1] Announced Julius. Then in a gentler tone. [i:13690549a1]"Be not afraid, none shall harm you here. This is the First City where all dwell in peace."[/i:13690549a1]

The mage closed his eyes for a moment, then a wind began, bringing dust from the ground, and whirling the rocks into the air, a maelstrom tornado with the four, two kindred and two kine, in it's quiet centre. The kine clung to each other, fearfully. Cyrilynn edged closer to Julius.

Abruptly the wind subsided. In place of foundations or piles of rocks, stout stone buildings now stood. Strong doors and glass windows, with curtains hanging behind them. A village square, with a well. Just about everything, in fact, that one might want for the best possible comfort in a post apocalyptic world.

Julius turned to the couple. [i:13690549a1]"A place is prepared for you. Go, or stay, as you choose."[/i:13690549a1]

The pair looked at the ragtag collection of possessions that had accompanied them from the collection of scrap which had served as their village, then looked at the finely mortared stone before them. Saying nothing they scampered to one of the houses and locked themselves in.

Julius just stood, looking at Cyrilynn.

With a look of horror and betrayal, Cyrilynn voiced the one thought in her mind, [i:13690549a1]"Is it your wish, my master, that I deny myself the where withal to exist? To drink?"[/i:13690549a1] Her face softened to utter despair. [i:13690549a1]"If so, I will go now and prepare my final resting place."[/i:13690549a1]

Julius sighed and looked sadly at his thrall. [i:13690549a1]"The kiss is a moment of ecstasy for kine. So it was in this place so long ago. Maybe they have forgotten. Maybe you will remind them."[/i:13690549a1] So saying he turned his back on her heading for a dwelling himself.

[b:a222fa31a3]Wren slammed on his brakes, leaving black skids across cracked and broken ashphalt as he nearly spun out, his hands moving frantically as he spun the wheel to correct the potentially catastrophic course that his momentary surprise at the scream had caused. He sighed as he shifted the car into park and took a deep breath.

[i:a222fa31a3]"I must be a bit jumpy,"[/i:a222fa31a3] he said to himself as he shook his head, [i:a222fa31a3]"driving since the model T, and a little thing like that nearly sends me off the road.... what else could go wrong?"[/i:a222fa31a3] he finished crossly, then sighed in frustration as it then decided to get worse. It decided to rain.

Normally, rain is not a problem. In fact, having originally been born in the deserts of persia during the crusades, he would normally look upon rain as a sign of good fortune, a blessing from god. However, god's blessings did not come down in the form of a complete and total torrential downpour that threatened to completely obscure vision.

Windshield wipers turned on, as did headlights, even as the unsettling gleam of two red dots became visible within the car. Even so, Wren found himself having difficulty driving, forced to take it relatively slow as he turned, heading in the direction of Touraine. It wasn't that he expected oncoming cars, it was more that he didn't want the ancient wreck of a tractor trailer to suddenly appear by odd twist of fate, and have no time to stop.

It would be just his luck to meet final death after all these centuries by means of being decapitated in a horrible automobile accident.

He sighed, and let the freeway pass by, and within a few uneventful hours, arrived in what had once been Touraine, (unbeknownst to him, only moments after George and Eveshka had left) then slowed, trying to remember where the school had been, now that the surface was devastated. Finally coming to a stop, he got out and started looking around, searching for some kind of landmark.

He literally stepped in it.

The current of water on his foot told him that he was literally stepping in Nyoko's fountain, still functioning in spite of the passage of time and the damage the war had inflicted upon it, the basin was long since gone, but that left the fountain's water still moving on the surface in a way the rain could not match. Conjuring up a mental image of the place, Wren headed towards what had once been the lab that Haven frequented, and began to dig.

In the final years of his life, Haven had worked on a number of projects, not the least of which had been a very secure underground facility for private experimentation beneath the school. When Wren found it at last, he gave a sharp tug on the large metal trap door that led down to it.

It didn't budge.

Blood burned in his veins as his muscles hardened and sinews gained new vigor, and, with an agonized groan of rusted metal, the door finally came open. The first thing he noticed, was that the passage down was utterly devoid of light, as though the hand of god himself, had come down, and taken it from this place forever.

Wren sighed, and, his eyes gleaming red, he stepped forward, and dropped through a wave of bitter cold, and after what seemed an eternity, landed with the solid thump of flesh on metal. It was at this point that Wren sighed, and sitting up, gave his leg, twisted at an unnatural angle, a sharp jerk, sliding bone back in place with a sickening crunch, then expending the mental effort and vitae to seal over the fracture.

[i:a222fa31a3]"He really didn't want anyone in here, did he?"[/i:a222fa31a3] Wren said softly, observing his surroundings before knocking on the surface he had landed on, and, finding it hollow, extended a talon, and dug it into the metal, angling it so that after he had carved the perfect circle, he could easily replace the metal in order to keep the rain from coming in and flooding the place.

The laboratory itself, smelled of musty air, ash, and, unsurprisingly, electricity. Looking around, Wren sighed, wondering not for the first time why he was here, afterall, Haven, the man who had requested he make this trip, was several hundred years dead, and though Wren fervently believed in keeping his word, he often wondered about Haven's level of sanity.

But, now that he was here, Wren could only follow through with the request, and, remembering diagrams left for him as though they were in his face only yesterday, he began pulling switches. The first switch, and there was the sudden roar and then hum as the small nuclear generator within the place switched on, one light after another blinking into existence.

Checking the computers, he was amazed as one of them spoke with Haven's voice. Moments later, Wren realized it was a goodbye of sorts, on Haven and Cassie's behalf. They had known. More lights turned on, and Wren realized that this place was a repository of information like none he had ever seen, aside from old, perfectly preserved books stacked in seemingly unending rows, there was also stacks upon stacks of what turned out to be, on closer examination, compact disks still in serviceable condition. Closer examination told him that some was music, while the vast majority of it was data.

More lights turned on, and his lips curled into an almost half smile.[/b:a222fa31a3]

Eveshka and Tromador came to rest in what used to be St. Ulyanovsburg in the Soviet Socialist Collective. Russia had succumed to the wonders of totalitarianism yet again, in the mid 22nd century, this time it was run by Toreador and Ishtarites. Evidently Eveshka's childer flourished in her absence. They promoted art, beauty, and wholesale genocide of the untalented. How they had surplanted the indigenous Tzimisce and Sabbat nasties is still up to conjecture. Some say that one of Eveshka's Daughters had perfected Mask of a Thousand Faces and actually morphed into the perfect likeness of her Mother. The legend goes that she managed to seduce a Garou headman with her beauty. That is just conjecture though. It is known, however, that the Garou were instrumental in eradicating the Tzimisce.

"This is your legacy," said a stonefaced Tromador waving his hand in a sweeping gesture towards the mostly ruined buildings. Some were still quite beautiful in places.

Anyways, Russia again went totalitarian and went through a fit of city renaming. Moscow would always be Moscow, but everything else changed for the most part. St. Petersburg went back to Leningrad, but a Toreador didn't think it was a pretty name and thought that Lenin's real last name was more poetic sounding. Thus it was rebaptized St. Ulyanovsburg. Tsarskoe Selo, the huge palace complex outside St. Petes/Ulyanovs was renamed Pushkingrad.

Eve merely rolled her eyes and shrugged.

There were some humans living there waiting for the gods to return. Gods that lived on blood. Eveshka and Tromador walked into the substantial remains of the former Cathedral of the Assumption and saw a huge portrait of the Goddess herself.

"Oh my God," said Eve in a low disbelieving voice looking up at her own likeness.

"Yes, that's what they thought. But then again, the Masquerade had long been broken by that point. Disregarded is more the word."

And so the two stayed there for a while and began to cultivate their herd. The mortals were more than happy to offer themselves up to the Mother Goddess who had indeed arrived just as the prophecies foretold, albeit, she had showed up two hundred years late to save their civilization, but then again, these primitives barely knew how to wipe themselves, so the telling of time was a complete mystery.

One day as Eveshka stood in the cupola of Katherine the Great's former palace, she sent out a psychic projection. She had long since returned to her former self. Beautiful, not that it really mattered to anyone anymore, and powerful. Her spirit soared across scorched landscapes, over the remains of forests of petrified trees, over mountains, over plains, over sludgelike seas. She felt something. She knew he was out there. She felt him getting stronger and stronger.

"Julius," she said, as her soul finally found his someplace far off to the south west. She brought her hands up to her face and began to cry, her sobs mixed with laughter and joy. She felt him, but could not tell if he felt her presence there.

The internal knowledge that the sun was setting through the constant overhead of grey clouds did nothing to disturb the Tzimisce's contemplation of her grave. She sat at it's edge, shoulders trembling with fear, betrayal, confusion and sheer physical depletion. Her taloned hands gripping the edge as if to keep herself from falling into the hole she'd just finished digging. Nothing made sense any more; [b:17ab535ffa]HE[/b:17ab535ffa] didn't make sense!!

Ever since Julius had forbidden her her new cattle and turned his back on her with enigmatic questions and answers, she'd fought to find a small island of sense in a sea of chaotic thoughts. She'd spent hours away from the tiny little town he'd created, brooding from the masts of the ancient abandoned ships, those that weren't occupied, that is. Turning his words, this way and that, hoping to find some clue she'd missed.

She understood the "[i:17ab535ffa]children of Seth[/i:17ab535ffa]" to mean humans but... "[i:17ab535ffa]free to choose their fate[/i:17ab535ffa]"? There wasn't a fate for them, only extinction. And, unfortunately, that meant the same for Kindred as well. Because if the humans died, who (or what) would supply the remaining vampires with vitae? And what did he mean by circles and fathers and grandchildren? She rubbed at a brow gone slick with tiny beads of ruby sweat and licked at her hand to prevent further loss. Then grimaced at the sour flavor.

And that was another thing to lay at the Tremere's door! Ever since she'd fed from him, [b:17ab535ffa]none[/b:17ab535ffa] of her blood donors had tasted right!! Each one had bourne the acridness of bitter aloe to her tongue and she'd spat the first two away in disgust. Remembered hunger forced her to take enough from the others to quiet the faint stirings of her own beast. But it wasn't enough and she'd begun to avoid feedings. [i:17ab535ffa]"Curses on you, Julius!!"[/i:17ab535ffa], she'd raged. A single tear escaped unnoticed down her cheek.

[i:17ab535ffa]"Mistress?"[/i:17ab535ffa]

At first, Cyrilynn ignored the soft query. It was bad enough that her master had laden her with tasks she couldn't perform but to have her own solitude disturbed by his new "interest" was sort of the last straw. And she was all too aware that they were taboo to touch so putting them in their place was out of the question. And that was another reason she'd avoided the New Enoch as much as she could.

Granted that the mage had pretty much left her to her own devices but he'd turned his focus on them. At first it was a tentative question or two, on their part. Within a couple of days, he was spending time with them, explaining how to irrigate, when and what to sow, encouraging them to bring in others who needed a safe haven. It hadn't taken long for another, then three, then a baker's dozen. There was the beginnings of a thriving center and all of it at Julius' whim.

[i:17ab535ffa]"Mistress? Please? The Guardian says you must feed."[/i:17ab535ffa]

The handmaiden snorted, why should she? [b:17ab535ffa]HE[/b:17ab535ffa] certainly hadn't fed! At least, not that she'd seen. Nor had he suffered from the lack of it, either!! [b:17ab535ffa]He[/b:17ab535ffa] looked pretty much as he had the day she'd found him here. Neither plump nor gaunt. Simply human-like. How did he do it? Had he truly found Golconda? Was that his goal? If so, he was going to abandon her to a rather ugly end for he'd yet to release her from her bond. Come to think of it, there was something she had intended to ask him, about her bond. But her mind drifted away from the thought with an growing weakness.

Cyrilynn tried to stand up, in preparation to launch herself away from the pests that plagued her existence, but found herself stumbling with dizziness. She became aware that it had been too long since the last infusion of blood. Much too long. Strong arms reached out and caught at her, keeping her from plunging her face into the loosened dirt and fouling her wings. Surprise plastered itself across her face as she found herself looking into the concerned countenances of the two kine she'd first brought to this place.

[i:17ab535ffa]"I offer my blood, so that you may continue."[/i:17ab535ffa]

The harpy looked down to the proferred wrist, with it's fluttering pulse and then back up into the pregnant woman's eyes. [i:17ab535ffa]"Why?"[/i:17ab535ffa] wormed it's way out of her mouth before she could stop it. Why now? Why her? Why them? She turned her head away from the proscribed temptation and pulled away from the support, only to be brought up short by the reply.

[i:17ab535ffa]"Because without it, He-Who-Is-The-First says you will grow weak and die. If you perish, then who will protect us from dangers? Who will guide us as well as those who follow after us?"[/i:17ab535ffa]

Lady Cyrilynn watched as the female paused, panting for breath while the babe kicked violently in sympathy with the fear that tinged the woman's voice.

[i:17ab535ffa]"The great magus says that it won't hurt, that it is a pleasure, this sharing of life ."[/i:17ab535ffa]

The male spoke into the quiet that held the two nervous humans and one beleaguered Tzimisce. The harpy shrugged and turned away. [i:17ab535ffa]"No, I will not take my meal from you."[/i:17ab535ffa] A startling sigh of disappointment issued from two pairs of lips and caused Toisol's childe to turn back to them. She watched them silently, for another moment, then offered a compromise that seemed to give everyone (except her) what they wanted. [i:17ab535ffa]"I will, if the man is willing, take sustenance from him. You are soon to give birth and I am unsure if my [/i:17ab535ffa]"Kiss"[i:17ab535ffa] would bring on early labor. My master would be most displeased with me, were I to cause you to come to unnecessary harm."[/i:17ab535ffa]

The couple looked at each other and then nodded in unspoken agreement. The man moved forward and knelt on one knee but the handmaiden raised him up and turned him to face his mate. Taking gentle care of her master's possession, she put one arm around his chest, then moved his long black hair to one side, stretched his neck and bit swiftly and deeply. He had time for one quick gasp, as his eyes went wide, then he went limp in her arms. The only thing holding him on his feet was the harpy's hold across his torso. His eyes drifted downward and his lips curved upward at the corners.

Cyrilynn braced for the acrid taste but was ready to swallow enough to satisfy Julius's skewed sense of care for her. However, the flow of spiced, hot blood that rolled across her palate, like a sweet wine, shook her down to her core. It was heady enough, to be sure, but not as good as that of the ancient one. A warm feeling of contentment spread throughout her starving veins, along with the revitalizing fluid and she only drank enough to ensure that the beast would stay in retreat another day or two. She sealed the holes and then supported him until he was steady enough on his own to accompany his companion back to their sleeping quarters. He weaved like a man high on too much beer.

[i:17ab535ffa]"Please, lady, don't wait so long, next time. We will be happy to share our life with you anytime."[/i:17ab535ffa]

The woman smiled at Julius' bond-servant and lead her man away. [i:17ab535ffa]"The answer to the Julius's puzzle can't really be [b:17ab535ffa]that[/b:17ab535ffa] simple?"[/i:17ab535ffa], the bemused Cyrilynn stared at the retreating figures, [i:17ab535ffa]"Can it?"[/i:17ab535ffa]

[i:47735262b2] The remains of the Summer Palace, St. Ulyanovburg [/i:47735262b2]

Like moths drawn to the light, vampires began to arise from wherever they had hidden to ride out the conflagration. Many of them made their way to St. Ulyanovburg. All of them were over two hundred years old. Not really OLD to be sure, but still, they were out of touch with what had happened. A few of them had been old when the conflagration occured, others had been newly embraced into the waning days of the Jyhad. These poor souls, Fledglings really, were completely unequiped to meet the needs of the present day.

It seemed that all of the new arrivals had sensed something in their slumber. A strong pulling towards the world of wakefullness. Those who slumbered with other vampires realized that they had awakened together. They felt a strong pull towards the ruins of old Russia and a Goddess of Light. Yet at the same time, others felt a pull towards the ruins of South East Asia and something much much darker.

New Enoch flourished as the days passed. A thriving community of kine, watched over by a strange ancient and his winged handmaiden. Visible scars upon the ancient had healed, though the state of his mind was a matter for debate. As though a deep wisdom burned within, yet was confused by the way in which he gifted it to his people. The Harpy at his side sometimes saw in a smile, or a laugh, something of the old Julius, but still his words were riddles, where an answer would lead only to further questions. She was, finally, learning that the answers often were staring her in the face. It wasn't the individual questions that were the problem, it was the subject of the lesson. Finally, though, it was starting to dawn upon her, that perhaps the point was to fit her for a new world where the old rules no longer had any meaning.

As for the ancient, now that his new city was established, it was time to turn his attention to other things. Apart from himself and Cyrilynn, no other kindred had arrived, this he thought strange. Even though the Father had said that things could not circle to the beginning, surely such a settlement would have attracted as many predators as prey. Still, he could sense something in the air. He could feel two presences. The first, bestial, as if lost to the most animal of it's nature, following, closing him down, like he himself were the prey.

The second was gentler, calling to him, touching his mind in a place he had long since locked away. It stirred memories of a time ... before. Memories he dare not unlock, for fear of the consequences. Memories locked so tightly, that he had no comprehension of the reasons for their suppression. Persistent, the presence reached out to him, almost as if begging for a response. Perhaps it was time to give one.

Julius stretched out with his senses, sending a vision of himself soaring to the north. Another city, devastated from the cataclysm, but with many kindred. A woman held court there, with a strange man at her side, the many who are one. She was looking at him, with tears streaming down her face. Why? Why was she crying?

From Eve's reaction, this could only be Julius. George knew she had been calling for him, but the ghostly apparition which stood before them looked at them strangely. His eyes held no spark of recognition for Eveshka, who stood weeping, praying for some sign of acknowledgment from her soul mate.

M's first reaction had been to start with his usual tricks, Evey in tears was a target he could not resist. Some rediculous prank or other had been in the offing. He would have had the satisfaction not only of upsetting Eve further, but also the delicious irony of watching Tromador having to apologise later. Whatever plans he may have had, however were put on hold. The vision of Julius seemed to look straight at M, following his movements, until the imaginary figure had scurried away deep into the depths of George's psyche, fearful and unsure. George could scarcely resist a small smile, a presence which could cow even M into submission was certainly worth of further study.

Eve was pleading with the figure, but for whatever reason he either could not or would not remember. All of his words were riddles, questions to test the patience of a saint, or the wisdom of a guru. Then, as it seemed that Eve would lose all hope, a flicker, a spark, something in demeanour of the ethereal vision before them. [i:4750526897]"Seek me to the south. In the First City. I dwell in our Father's House."[/i:4750526897] He said abruptly, before vanishing.

George went to comfort Eve. [i:4750526897]"He didn't know me, George."[/i:4750526897] She managed to get out between sobs. [i:4750526897]"At least he's alive."[/i:4750526897] Replied Tromador. [i:4750526897]"And we know where he is, it's a start."[/i:4750526897]

What it might be the start of, George was more nervous, but said nothing further, content for now simply to console Eve.

Two months had past since Julius' spectral arrival in Eveshka's and George's new kingdom. Eveshka had managed to scrape up enough raw materials and talented people (kindred and kine) to erect, of all things, a theater. It stood in the remains of the Fortress of Saints Peter and Paul. The main stage stood within a bit of a half shell and the audience sat in the open air. It actually was quite pretty in an earthy sort of way.

"Not like the days of old, but it's a start," she said with a slight smile.

She and George sat in a box surrounded by the Survivors, as they'd come to call themselves. There were many Toreador, Ventrue, Lasombra, and True Brujah, a smattering of Eveshka's Daughters of Ishtar, a skulking Nosferatu, two assamites who oddly enough (to the others at least) seemed to have the greatest [i:caf48e03aa]joie de vivre [/i:caf48e03aa]of them all. There were simply no Malkavians, not that Eveshka missed them, but they just weren't there. Apart from George, who was mad enough thank you, Eveshka was actually pleased. She could feel them out there way off in the distance, but so long as they were way out there, instead where she was, she was happy.

It was really odd how former enemy clans seemed to cooperate. Facing extinction could have that effect on people, even undead ones. One of Eveshka's greatest pastimes was playing backgammon with a Lasombra elder named Raphaelo. It seemed that the two had matched wits with each other back in the Renaissance and never new it. They were each other's shadowy nemesis for several years when Eveshka lived in Florence before she fled to Touraine.

Tonight's, or perhaps today's (it didn't really matter as the sun never permeated the inky blackness), performance was The King and I. Eveshka had directed it but not played a role. So now she sat back and watched the amateurs flit about the stage. Some of them were quite good. The skulking Nosferatu played the King. It amused everyone greatly when he would simply disappear in the middle of a scene whenever he had to sing. His voice wasn't half bad, but he did seem to have stage fright. Obfuscate, Eveshka grudgingly admitted to her flock of Toreadors and to Raphaelo, was a pretty neat way of dealing with it.

She had not forgotten about Julius. She still sent out her soul to him every day to see if he remembered. He did not. Although she saw that that awful Tzimisce woman was still with him. At least he was safe. She wished beyond hope that they could be reunited, but something told her it was not yet time. So she stayed.

A gurgling groan from the stage interupted Eveshka's daydream. One of the Siamese villagers was clutching her throat and dark undead blood was oozing from between her fingers. In a panic, the people on stage began to run this way and that. Several vampires in the audience and onstage burst into flames and turned to ash in a millisecond.

Swords were drawn among the Survivors as they faced their shadowy opponents. Spectral looking entities of vaguely human shape and glowing red eyes flashed onto the scene. Raphaelo yelled, "The Outriders are upon us! It is the same as it was at Gehenna!"

George looked on in horror at the scene below. He had seen these creatures before, during the war and had prayed never to see them again. At first they had appeared only at night, but once the sky had been darkened, their raids had come at any time and without warning. Perhaps the gathering of Kindred had been a mistake. These "outriders" had not disappeared with the end of the war, but merely bided their time. In the dark places, they had hidden, waiting for a concentration of kindred souls to lure them once again into the open.

The Inconnu had theorised that whatever they were, it was no product of any Gehenna event. Those ancients who had risen had slaked their thirst on the necks of any who came into range, their feeding frenzy mindless, perhaps, but not without purpose. These creatures cared not for the blood spilled upon the ground, their purpose to kill, for reasons which could not be fathomed. Killing them, in turn, was at best difficult. Normal blades and bullets seemed to pass straight through them. Enchanted weapons caused them pain, possibly even wounded them, but such arms were rare. Fire could keep them at bay for a time, but only an inferno or large explosion would stop them. In the late stages of the war, the Inconnu had developed a defence.

[i:0f435d0098]"Raphaelo! Cover our people with shadows!"[/i:0f435d0098] Yelled George, pulling something metallic from his pocket.

Raphaelo stood there for a moment stupidly, caught between fear and confusion.

[i:0f435d0098]"NOW!"[/i:0f435d0098] Screamed the former Inconnu.

The Lasombra shook his head and gathered his senses as he gathered shadows, cloaking the Kindred in darkness, as George flicked a switch on his device, hurling it in the direction of the spectral figures.

Blinding white light filled the theatre, as if for a moment the sun had broken through the blackened skies. Even within Raphaelo's cloak of shadows, the Kindred felt their skins seared by the pseudo sunlight. The spectral figures screamed, filling the air with a chilling, bloodcurdling cacophony, before dissolving into plumes of smoke, which drifted, with a disconcerting coherency away from the theatre.

[i:0f435d0098]"Nice toy!"[/i:0f435d0098] Said Raphaelo, but the look on George's face was grim.

[i:0f435d0098]"What is it, Trom?"[/i:0f435d0098] Asked Eve.

[i:0f435d0098]"It's like a grenade, one shot. I've got maybe another half dozen."[/i:0f435d0098] Said George. [i:0f435d0098]"And no way to make more. Not now - And the thing is, they'll be back. The light only cripples them. In a little while they will regenerate their bodies and return. Worse, now they know we are here, they'll be in greater numbers. We're really in trouble."[/i:0f435d0098]

All right, she thought, if the lesson is that of thinking things out, then that's what I'll do! The Harpy gave a gusty sigh, atop her mast, and bent her head to planning out the solution, much like that of plotting a mission or assassination. Only, in this case, it was not something that needed killing or gleaning. It was a living mind to be sought. She had trouble with that concept, the Scorpion had been used to slaughter.

Cyrilynn had caught glimpses of the old Julius, her master, here and there. Just enough to pin hopes on and not enough to swear that she'd really seen them!! It had occured to her that if she could just bring him a bit of his past, maybe that would joggle enough of the memories that remained to him and that would, in effect, create a miracle for her. However...

Goratrix's mirror was lost, somewhere in the past. Julius had never told her what became of him, so that wasn't available. The companions he'd known were either decimated in the blast or scattered to the four winds. She had no idea of how to reach any of them, even if she could. She didn't have the bond with them that she had with her domitor and, somehow, she'd never been taught that particular spell skill.

Hmmm... since she didn't have the means to unite them with the Tremere, perhaps she had the way to bring them to Julius's perceptions, here and now. She grinned in sharp-toothed glee and made some quick plans then went to find as many willing blood donors as she could. She was going to be burning a lot of blood. Then she waited until dusk began to fall before setting it all in motion.

It started with a silhouette of a loping man-shaped figure, much like that of Porter, that sped across a near-by ridge before it disappeared into the gloom. Julius never even acknowledged it, although she knew she'd made sure the spot could be clearly seen and some of the New Enoch villagers had even pointed at it.

The next was the hip-switching backside of the mage's former lover, Eveshka. Not as she'd been towards the end, when the war started, but back in the days of Shal-ka-Mense, when the Toreador had truly been her namesake, Firebird, with short, twitching skirts and black-topped boots. As the figure retreated before the magi's path and turned a corner, all Cyrilynn caught (as she quickly took her vantage place to see his reaction to her portrayal) was a quick blink and a buried flash before Julius simply continued onward without falter.

The last (and desperate straw) was to visit him in the dead of "[i:16b87747d3]night[/i:16b87747d3]", rousing him with Gabriel's voice and form, only to be summarily dismissed with [i:16b87747d3]"I'll attend your needs in a while, o villager, but you must learn to be patient unless my services are needed to defend those who are too weak to do so."[/i:16b87747d3] The disheartened Tzimisce fled to her accustomed perch in anger and near tears at the failure. [b:16b87747d3]And[/b:16b87747d3], she feared, probably not for the last time.

One thing that can be said of the human condition, is that people survive. Regardless of the fact that mankind was fading from the universe, they still struggled onward. New Enoch was no exception. By blending barbarism with technology, they strove to restore elements of a lost civilisation by ingenious uses of any piece of salvage or natural resource they could find.

Thus is was that the villagers had approached Cyrilynn with the news of a newly discovered mud volcano some distance from the settlement and they requested the harpy's presence against any winged predators and her keen eyesight to warn of any of the two-legged variety. Having long since given up trying to understand Julius' reasons for doing anything, she merely shrugged with puzzled acceptance when he choose to tagged along.

There was hope of finding clay good enough to shape into bowls and pots to replace damaged ones. It was also reported the caldera exuded a crude oil; a resource useful to their fuel lamps and which could be refined enough to power the emergency generator that had been hauled out of one of the hulks and restored to limited usage.

The Black Sea seabed, now uncovered, had sported a number of these natural phenomenons underwater until the world's upheaval had caused the slow draining of it's levels, exposing the seething hills of liquid earth. Since the Tzimisce had never seen one until now, it became rather anticlimactic to realize that it resembled no more than a pot of boiling sludge laced with what looked like fudge syrup. It certainly didn't smell like it! Cyrilynn decided to stay down wind of it.

Most of the villagers set about filling the clay jars and a few salvaged metal containers from the collected pools of the precious fuel, as some of the women poked and tested the cooling mud. One of them was brave enough to scoop up a handful of the warm putty-like substance with which she attempted to shape a crude verson of a small basin.

Julius, in the meantime, had wandered closer to the center, from which was manifesting more of the unburst gas bubbles waiting to emerge from below the thick surface. He stared wonderingly at the forming domes as Cyrilynn kept a watchful eye on him, unsure of what was going on in his mind.

The shadow of wings drifted across the ground and breezed over the wondering mage. The Harpy glanced up, in surprise, and caught a jumbled impression of a 20 ft. wingspan, lion-like body and a semi-human face. It could only have meant one thing for such a creature to be here, now. Another Tzimisce had entered her and her master's territory.

She whipped around, intending to follow in the wake of this threat, snapping her wings to their fullest before launching upward on strong haunches, shrieking a battle cry. Something fouled her right wing's outstretched edge and, even though she managed to reach the height she needed, it caught her of balance and swung her around, facing downward into the disaster she'd created. That of her master, stumbling, helplessly into the heart of the dome. The harpy stooped frantically.

Time seemed to slow as Julius' body fell downward, his clothing suddenly igniting in the heat of a methane, carbon dioxide and nitrogen mix that broke apart beneath him. With a roar of thunder that reverberated outward, her domitor disappeared into a column of flame that speared upward and sent everyone scattering for their lives.

[i:8b01dbd191]"Julius! [b:8b01dbd191]NO!![/b:8b01dbd191]"[/i:8b01dbd191] Cyrilynn's involuntary howl sounded as she pulled up short and then landed wildly on shaky ground, staggering slightly. She took one step forward, wings rapidly closing as she extended one hand forward, intending to grasp and pull him to safety.

A wall of heat struck and she froze in place, rotschrek keening its way up her nerves and paralyzing her muscles. Locked in place, a mewling cry left her lips as she trembled with the need to go to the Tremere's aid, yet fighting the need to flee; and quickly. The bond between master and servant pulled sharply and burned within her mind, as another step was taken forward.

Two glowing orbs suddenly swam in the depths of the fiery column and, with the haunted cry of a damned creature, Lady Cyrilynn turned and fled in the opposite direction.

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

Anguish was an unrelenting punisher; claws sunk deep into the psyche and sharp teeth tearing away at the heart of things. It howled in sadistic glee when it discovered a forgotten vow, made long ago in Greece, an exchange of assistance for deferral of payment. What was unknown then, was how long it would be before the price was paid. That time was now. Even if it was not the tormented's choice of time and place.

The cries from the agony of it were enough to make those who heard them shudder and quickly find someplace else to be. Alone, ashamed, dishonored and demented, the victim lost all sense of self and became other to escape the harrowing. Muscles moved and sinew writhed. Bone melted and reformed. Skin thickend and grew scaly. What was once airborne, now became earthbound. And all what was left was a vast pool of blood, and a writhing mass of coils.

Flesh crisping, turning to ash, the newly healed visage once again, briefly, showing the features of the Maimed God before even that familiarity is lost to the licking flames, blood boiling to vapour, the soul ready for final release upon a scream of pain, concluded by silent words of fire, as the throat burns through and flame is all that issues from dying lips.

[size=18:88cbfe6736][b:88cbfe6736]Tick...[/b:88cbfe6736][/size:88cbfe6736]

A moment of perfect stillness, within a silence so profound one could perceive the primal urge of creation, resounding through the universe. A timeless instant locked in the interstitial spaces between seconds, twixt tick and tock. The singular instant of realisation that death has finally come to claim you.

Images flash before melting eyes, clarity of detail through distorted flesh as never seen through healthy organs.

A young mortal casts his first spell... the months of study have paid off, a door has been opened and swiftly. In less than a year the Hermetic arts have been unlocked.

Needle sharp points enter living flesh and blood is drained into an ornate glass vessel. Even as life slips away, the goblet is placed against lips. [i:88cbfe6736]"DRINK!"[/i:88cbfe6736] comes the command. A taste, a mouthful. [i:88cbfe6736]"Repeat after me, I Julius Darrant, hereby swear my everlasting loyalty to House and Clan Tremere and all its members..."[/i:88cbfe6736]

He stands in another fire, a bonfire built by the the Sabbat pack he runs with. It is a common game, a test of nerve, to jump through the flame. His arts protect him and he is unafraid.

Silken sheets cover the bodies laying intertwined in langrous post coital repose. The blonde woman, a Tremere Councillor, speaks [i:88cbfe6736]"I have plans for you, Julius. Together, we will shake our House to it's foundations."[/i:88cbfe6736]

A club in some English city named York. The seneschal he has heard, collects regnants like trophies. [i:88cbfe6736]"You expect me to drink this?"[/i:88cbfe6736] Says the man. The dark haired woman nods and there is something terribly familiar about her. [i:88cbfe6736]"Salut!"[/i:88cbfe6736] She says, downing the contents of her own goblet.

Image after image, always the same man, more and more often the dark haired woman is with him.

The man kneels before an altar, vaporous forms rise from him and resolve into the shapes of men, spirits all of similar demeanour looking at the kneeling man and the dark haired woman still at his side. Their eyes raise to instead gaze at the burning man, still trapped within the moment. He knows them and in the knowing, he knows himself.

[size=18:88cbfe6736][b:88cbfe6736]Tock...[/b:88cbfe6736][/size:88cbfe6736]

The churning roiling ball of fire crept upwards eating away at the fragile flesh enclosed within it, yet with the last drops of blood still remaining in his charred body, the magus activates a basic thaumaturgic power, to protect him from the flames.

The eruption ends and a charred lump of blackened flesh, still smoking, falls to the ground, mouth open in the continued silent scream of agony. Remains of fingers twitch and the body trembles, for it yet lives. Within the burned carcass, however, the mind exalts, for the dark haired woman yet lives.

The witch's fire burned away that which was Julius, but like the Phoenix, fire had restored him. The shell of carbonized matter in which his body must once again heal analogous to the egg of the mythical bird.

Villagers look around for their winged protectress, but she is gone. Slightly fearful, they wrap the burned body of their god and take him back with them. He is laid on a bier to await whatever must come next. Their discomfort is only added to by the golden python which slithers into his sleeping quarters, it's wedge-shaped head, the size of a warrior's shield, hovering protectively above him.