[i:5c8a32963e]"Herr Fallen."[/i:5c8a32963e] Said Julius. The SS Officer snapped stiffly to attention. [i:5c8a32963e]"Please have a car brought around. I need to travel. You will drive and I will think."[/i:5c8a32963e] Gerhardt responded with a typically teutonic bow, clicking his heels before turning smartly to discharge his orders.

Julius, who knew the historic origins of all Gerhardt's affectations waited a moment. [i:5c8a32963e]"The years weigh heavily upon me."[/i:5c8a32963e] He began, his own private soliloquy to an empty audience. [i:5c8a32963e]"And all the homelands I have known are but shadows in the distant past. I am master of time, yet the greatest victim of that cruel mistress. Immortal, with eternity ahead, in which to contemplate the eternity behind. All our yesterdays, wrote that man. A man I knew well, once. Now, my yesterdays alone are enough to fill a thousand such works. Bring on tomorrow and damn it all."[/i:5c8a32963e]

-----

[i:5c8a32963e]"Drive me through Pskov, then head for Odessa."[/i:5c8a32963e] Instructed Julius. Gerhardt nodded curtly and began to drive.

Things had changed so in the years. The memories of Pskov from his recent visit were now overlaid with visions from his past. A past that, at least in this portion he shared with Eveshka, his Boyarina. His wife. He himself had died in the battle. Julius repeated that thought to himself. He had died. In fact, he was probably the foremost expert on death on the planet. He could, if he chose, speak volumes about the best and worst ways to die. Death and repeated deaths, over and over. As much as he knew about living, so he knew about dying, as he had, once, near a frozen lake, whilst his wife saved those of his people as could be safely borne away. Enough of Pskov, with it bloodstained fields and watery graves. [i:5c8a32963e]"Drive faster, Gerhardt."[/i:5c8a32963e] Commanded Julius.

And finally Odessa. Two reasons for coming there. The first, a simple one. So very few places he could be, where he had not been before. Odessa was one of those. No haunting memories to deal with. No changes to assimilate. He could be himself, for a time, whilst he learned to deal with the bonds of his new existance. The second, equally simple, in another way. Odessa was a fine resort. Bars, clubs, pretty girls. Julius truly could be himself, live the playboy lifestyle to remind himself of his identity. Live life, if just for a little while, before the crowding and demanding world cried once again for his attention.

The Tear of Allah had docked in the harbor of New York almost 3 hours ago, its cargo from Iraq, was being unloaded by a dozen of rain battered workers. Containers filled with barrels of unrefined oil had been lifted off the ship and been placed on the docks. No one who cared about the few containers filled with crates full of ancient art treasures of the old Babylonian empire. No one who knew that one of those crates served as a vehicle for an undead Child of Haqim.

Faisal removed the lid of his improvised coffin from the inside and flexed and extended the muscles of his trained limbs a few times before silently climbing out of the crate.
He had three nights to complete his mission, three nights before the ship would depart, filled with humanitarian aid and it would take another 8 days before it would dock again in the Gulf of Persia, in the harbor of Umm Qasr.

There were 26 minutes left before the retainers that operated the local safe house would pick him up and provide him with shelter for the duration of his stay. It had been an honor for him to be chosen for this mission. No doubt his master had been pleased by the results of his previous accomplishments, to pick him again. Honor or not, Faisal would do as he was told to serve his clan, no matter what.

The assamite made a final check of the hidden blades in his clothings and fully reassured, he opened the container and hastened for the entrance of the pier. After a journey of passive lying about in a crate, it felt good to be in the open air again, even if the rain had soaked his clothes in a matter of seconds. Twenty minutes before the pick up, now was a good time to feed and try to fill up on blood again, after all there was no way to tell when it might come in handy, the rain however made it so that there weren?t too many people just walking around. Going about looking for prey would be too cumbersome and time intensive. Faisal would have to trust that everything was going as planned and wait for the hospitality of the locals and so far there were no signs of trouble.

The black minivan arrived precisely on time. The backdoor slid open and a man wearing a long cloth and a fez stepped out of the vehicle. Ali ibn-Amrad, Faisal knew, and the person behind the wheel was Tansu Bekir, according to the information he had been given. Faisal walked towards the van, sent a short nod in the direction of Ali and placed himself in the backseat. Ali soon followed him and closed the door behind him.

[i:311e291206]How was your journey, sir? We know your master Rhamaan isn?t known for his comfortable transport.[/i:311e291206]

A test, Faisal knew and he smiled by himself, Rhamaan had been disposed of nearly a decade ago. But it was true, his transport services were horrible.

[i:311e291206]The transport got me here alright. But, Rhamaan, I think he had a career change some years ago.[/i:311e291206]

Ali seemed to be satisfied with the answer and the occupants of the van continued their journey in silence to its destination, an Ethiopian restaurant located at the border of the Bronx.

After Faisal had drunk enough blood to accomplish his mission, he went over the information the Ali and Tansu had provided him with. The mark had arrived earlier in the week and now occupied a shabby apartment by himself, not so far from where the Tear of Allah was located. The reason of his arrival was somewhat unclear, but he was known to have a somewhat random migration pattern. From the other in formation in the file Faisal could tell the mission would be a hard one, but that was why his master had chosen him, he reminded himself. He would complete the mission or be destroyed trying. Faisal rubbed his lower torso around the area of his spleen.

Even though his mission was not to assassinate Mundug, but merely to invite him for a rendez-vous with his master Hassan, Faisal had been warned that it was very unlikely that the native kindred would simply accept the invitation and follow him quietly to Iraq. As a matter of fact, odds were that a meeting with Mundug would not result in any words being spoken at all, at least if the reports he had received about him were correct.

Faisal knew that unlike the Children of Haqim, who prouded themselves of years of training in perfecting their fighting abilities, the gangrel fought with a savage fury of raw strength and rage that often proved to be just as effective. Mundug had been responsible for the final death of more than one assamite so far, not to say he had once destroyed a whole group of fida'i. Faisal did not hope for a warm welcome.

[i:f57368642e]"For all we know it says FUCK YOU."[/i:f57368642e] Gabriel tucked the pages written in unfamiliar characters back into the folder and stored it safely away in the seemingly infinate folds of his overcoat.

[i:f57368642e]"Hmm...possible, yet unlikely."[/i:f57368642e] Cyrilynn noted, the rythmic tap of her heels on pavement creating a natural beat for the duo to stride to. Their hotel came into view, and Gabriel couldn't have been happier. The walk had cost him more time than he had allotted. The window washers fortunate and timely death had caused quite an uproar, and it was decided that while the driver waited out the traffic in the car, the two of them would make the short walk back to their accomodations.

Without living muscles to fatigue, the walk had been far from strenuous. The limitations on time could be accounted for and even remedied, but something a bit less predictable drew the wary Ventrue's attention. The vague, yet present, feeling of being watched. Each shuffle of a man's work boot, or clang of the steel gratings being drawn over closing store windows drew his immediate stare.

But, apprehensive as he was, they reached the hotel's grand front doors unmolested, and arrived at his room intact. The luggage was precisely as they left it, the trunks upon the bed and the sacred katana of his Sire resting safely in it's sheath, propped against the closet door. Draping his coat over the coat tree, he went about switching on the lights.

By the time he felt secure of their surroundings, both by sight and auspex, the insatiable Tzimisce was wetting the appetite of her mind by peering over the file's pictures. The now mentally fatigued Ventrue joined her at the table and began scowering the fuzzy crime scene photo's for any obvious clues.

[i:f57368642e]"Well...until that moron get back and translates this, we're up a creek without a..."[/i:f57368642e]

[i:f57368642e]"Wait."[/i:f57368642e] Cyrilynn cut him off.

[i:f57368642e]"What? You see something?"[/i:f57368642e] Gabriel asked curiously, lending a closer eye to the photographs. The Tzimisce's stern gray eyes were not upon the papers however, but directed towards the window.

[i:f57368642e]"I don't [b:f57368642e]see[/b:f57368642e] anything..."[/i:f57368642e] she whispered. Finally, the reluctant Ventrue rose from his chair, his eyes flickering in the lamplight from the katana, to the window, and back again...

Morathi after returning to Eveshka's 'hiding spot' and spotting the mortal Eveshka with Trish had paused and watched quietly, remembering the battle with the ancient she still thought of as Michelle and how Eveshka did not wish to become another puppet decided to let her love choose the path she would walk, she had time she would let Eve enjoy the now.....

Many nights later, Morathi was not proving hard to find in Orleans, in her mortal identity of the singer Lucilla Troy, she had taken on the role of Susanna in a production of Mozart's 'The Marriage of Figaro' staged at l'Université d'Orléans.

[url]http://www.easternopera.co.uk/marriageoffigaro.htm[/url]

It had been a long time since she had ever sung anything by Mozart, not since she had assisted Eveshka with a production of the 'Magic Flute' in fact and she was feeling nostalgic. Although it was not her intention, she may as well have fired a flare to advertise her location to her mentor and now lover...

The event had been well advertised and as dusk approached and the audience started to arrive, Eveshka was able to overhear a concerned stagehand talking to the director, the singer playing Countess Almaviva had apparently been struck down by an unexpected case of food poisoning and the alternate was late, the director was being faced with the very real consideration that the night's events may have to be cancelled if the Countess' role could not be filled...

______________________
((OOC: It seems Eve and Mora often get on well when they are singing and the spell will still mask Eve if she steps in... ))

Orleans Part I.

Eve found it rather easy to "persuade" the director to give her a try at the role. Like a moth drawn to light, Eveshka could not resist the pull of the spotlight. In this case, it might very well turn out to be a bug zapper to which she was being drawn. However, this was not the stage upon which Eveshka was accustomed to performing. In her "day" she was the prima diva of the Metropolitan Opera in NY, or the Opera in Paris, or Rome, or any other major European city. But, some spotlight, was better than no spotlight. Morathi was shocked when Eve stepped out as the Countess.

Lucilla Troy was well known for the purity of her sound and the color of her voice. Yet she vastly failed in comparison to Eveshka in full stride. Morathi's shock turned to delight as Eve mesmerized the audience with her siren's song. Mora looked out at the audience and saw with her aura perception that every single person in the audience was in her grasp in some way or other.

Morathi's delight turned to horror when she thought about what was happening. The glamour may disguise Eveshka visually but the glamour could not disguise the power that was emanating from her right now. There were Toreador in the audience. Many of these same ones were in the pub in Chenonceaux looking for a trace of the renegade Eveshka. Their suspiscions would be aroused at this inhuman performance. [i:51acd3da8a]"Eve, you vain fool," [/i:51acd3da8a] thought Morathi. She knew that her mentor had blown her own cover.

[i:4fbab7e611] After the show [/i:4fbab7e611]

A light knock came at Eve's dressing room as Trish flitted about the room still ecstatic from the performance. Morathi came in followed by Montcalm carrying a long and thin cloth wrapped package. "That was a phenomenal performance my Prince," said Montcalm with a bow. "But also very imprudent."

Eve looked back at him in her mirror. "What do you mean?"

Morathi sat down on the counter next to Eve and looked at her sternly. "The audience had many Toreadors in it. Many of them looking for you. Someone tipped them off that you were alive and back in Touraine. Orleanaise is only one province over. We are not in the Middle Ages anymore, Eve."

"I KNOW we're not in the Middle Ages anymore, Thank you Morathi," said Eve bitterly. But the truth was, she knew they were right. She had blown her own cover. "I will be ok," said Eve. Montcalm walked forwards and placed the wrapped parcel on the counter with a clank. Eve unwrapped it to find her Dread Rapier and main gauche. "You will need this Comtesse," said Montcalm. "I must return to Tours." He turned and left. Morathi and Eve talked a bit more while Trish inspected the weapons. Their matte black finish had a few dings in it here and there. They looked razor sharp. She foolishly touched her finger to the blade and cut it. "OW!," she shrieked and fell to the ground cowering in terror. "Owwow, make it stop, please," she babbled through tears of fear.

In a flash Eve was at her side with her arm around her. "Shh," she consoled Trish. "It'll pass. It'll pass. It is a magical property of my blades. They cause fear in their victim. Next time you will know better than to play with things that seem ordinary." She rocked Trish back and forth. After a few moments Trish seemed to come out of the state of fear. "I don't understand what happened."

"It's hard to explain," said Eve tenderly.

"More like, none of your business," said Morathi with a sharp tone. Eve flashed her eyes angrily at Mora. Mora merely shrugged and turned her attention to her nails.

A moment later the door knocked again. "Yes?" asked Eve (in French of course). "May I enter?" asked a female voice. A voice Eve instantly recognized. "Of course," answered Eve.

The door swung open and in walked the voluptuous figure of Marie Katherine. She had a pleasant smile on her face. "You were wonderful as always Lucilla," said Marie. Lucilla smiled and nodded her thanks. "But you," said Marie turning towards Eve, who had been introduced that night as Veronique Fassard. "You were astounding. I do not believe I have ever heard such a performance. At least not in years."

"Thank you," said Eve/Veronique putting on the simple countrygirl persona.

"Who was your instructor? I knew of only one such woman to have ever done that to an audience," said Marie. "I am wondering if it was she who taught you."

"I was taught by, Ekaterina," started Veronique only to be cut off by Marie.

"Balanskaya. Yes, I knew her well," she smiled. "Have you seen her lately?"

"No," answered Veronique. "I'm afraid I've not seen in her in nearly a year."

"Pity," said Marie. "I'm anxious for new from her. We were quite close you see." Lucilla looked on with growing apprehension. Trish merely listened. She was having the time of her life and had no clue whatsoever that something was wrong. "Well, would you like to go for a bite?" asked Marie. Veronique looked up at Lucilla who merely raised an eyebrow.
"I would love to," said Veronique.

Cyrilynn arose, her eyes still glued to the night view through the window's pane, and began scooping all the displayed photos and reports back into their original folder. Her mind knew exactly where each piece was and communicated it to her fingers without the necessary visuals, so it only took seconds for her to have the packet complete. Gabriel, in the meanwhile, had moved to a spot somewhere about mid-room.

Still in the act of processing her external danger signals, the Tzimisce pondered the deja vu feeling that kept washing over her. The sense of breathless anticipation........the heightened excitement...........the coiled readiness that wound tighter and tighter until...............abruptly she screamed, [b:46394ebc1d]"ASSASSIN"[/b:46394ebc1d]

The window burst inward, spraying large and small shards of glass as black-clad men shimmered into view, dropping what was obviously obfuscate powers. A sharp, sibilant hiss from three scimitars leaving their scabards indicated that these men were here for more serious business and [b:46394ebc1d]not[/b:46394ebc1d] tea and biscuits. Two of them split away and headed for the one-armed man and the remaining one made a beeline for his female companion.

Startled for the first time in her life, at the position of being the victim instead of the attacker, Cyrilynn watched as her assailant reached the table, snatched the robbery report from her frozen hands and called out to the other two in a quick burst of sound before streaking for the door to the corridor. The one that Gabe had, unknowingly, managed to position himself in front of.

The older woman made to chase after him, intent on re-acquiring their hard earned prize [b:46394ebc1d]and[/b:46394ebc1d] furious with herself that she'd become so lax as to allow them to get the drop on her. Only to come up short at an arm thrown about her upper chest and a sword held to her throat, the keen edge slicing a narrow furrow in her vulnerable neck. The sharp sting of the cut sent a prickle of heightened awareness to her system and her senses sharpened instantly, excitement flooding her system.

Across the room, Gabriel had been caught up in the warning from his associate and the subsequent startling appearance of their invaders. [i:46394ebc1d]"Assamites!"[/i:46394ebc1d] he breathed to the room at large, then grinned ferally. A pair of them plunged toward him and he involuntarily stepped backward, coming up against the door to the suite. He glimpsed the coat rack with it's burdens to his right and, like all good Ventrue in a tight position, his mind processed all avenues of escape and chose the best one available.

Grabbing his own overcoat and, using it much like a bullfighter does, he whipped the edges outward and fortuitiously ensnared the head and sword of the closest enemy, who fell back to regroup. The second man had veered sharply at a call from another of them and, with a touch of celerity, had vaulted over the table that the two partners had been using, only to pin Cyrilynn from behind. The third man was running full tilt in his direction, no doubt wanting to use the exit that the elder Ventrue guarded, their precious folder clutched in his hand.

The next move on Gabriel's part was purely instinctive as he grabbed the coat rack one-handed and, wielding the upturned spikes like a many-tined pitchfork, stepped back and thrust it into the man's side as he came abreast of him. Backed by the considerable ramming force of a well-trained Kindred, this had the effect of blasting the poor hireling into the nearby corner, smashing his head into the wall and effectively putting him out of the fight for the moment. The Ventrue looked to Cyrilynn's plight..

Lady Cyrilynn had arrived back at the hotel in much the same way as she had originally arrived, that of a 54 yr. old tourist. Shifting slowly in a moving crowd of people as they ambled along took almost no time at all, and so she had returned in her "natural" form. Which is why the Assamite who imprisioned her between his arm and his sword, severely underesitimated her. Nor had he reckoned on the training she had had as a child.

In a move counter to what was expected, the Tzimisce, a lascivious grin spreading across her countenance that her captor couldn't see, snuggled back into his embrace with a drunken-sounding giggle. She reached up and insinuated a hand directly beneath the armpit and triggered the changes she'd already begun setting up. Instantly, a long black spike issued from the back of her hand and speared upward into tensed muscles and bone, causing the hand enveloping the weapon's hilt to release its hold.

The wickedly curving blade clattered to the floor amidst the screams of the poor wretch as more spines sprouted out of the vampiress's spine straight into his torso. A particularily longer one emerging from her tailbone to punch the groin area the older woman's short stature was matched to. Cyrilynn wasn't adverse to a little bump-and-grind, as she laughed in sheer delight.

Her opponent now taken care of, she allowed him to slide off of her much thickened quills with a slurpping sound, to crumple in a red mass of hamburger-like chest and genitalia at her feet. His shrill cries had ended at the same time that his head hit the floor with a resounding [b:46394ebc1d]"THWACK"[/b:46394ebc1d]. One down, two more to go. The Tzimisce continued with her changes, chintinous plates emerging to cover highly vulnerable spots as she burned blood to protect herself.

An unnatural calm had Gabriel filing the scene he'd just witnessed away in his mind for future perusal against this dark and unpredicatble creature he'd been saddled with. Julius had much to answer for in this, even if she [b:46394ebc1d]was[/b:46394ebc1d] blood bonded to the Tremere. The least the wizard could have done was to have told him what to expect. Instead, he'd forced him to learn it all on his own!

The Ventrue's inattention and inner musings nearly cost him his unlife, as a movement to his left had him swaying away from the sweep of a blade, losing his makeshift quarterstaff in the process. However, he didn't come off scot free as the keen edge caught him across the apex of his already sundered arm. Although the score bit deep, with pain slashing across thought and blood erupting to drench shirt and emptied sleeve, it wasn't enough to impair the elder's next reflexive move. For the forced retreat had finally put him within La Magra's reach.

Stumbling backwards in a parody of feigned pain and dizziness, he brought his back up against closet's portal with his hand wraping around the handle of his sire's katana. Bracing the heel of his foot against the sheath, he pulled to draw the relic from it's grasp. Unfortunately, this cost him another hit, but one he gladly took, as the Assamite swung at his exposed backside in his retreat. Another gash opened up in the well-padded portion of his buttocks, ruining an excellent pair of custom-made trousers. [b:46394ebc1d]NOW![/b:46394ebc1d] he was pissed!!

With scarecly a sound as it left it's haven, La Magra came alive as Gabriel swung into battle. Never mind that it was as a one-armed antagonist. Yes, his opponent was an Assamite ancillae, yes, he was the elite of his kind and, yes, he was more than a mortal could ever be. But he had yet to come to blows with a Kindred elder who wielded such an unusual tool.

The assassin came at him again, with his sword in a purling of maneuvers that had strobes of light glinting like those on a Christmas tree. Yet for every cut and stab, the Ventrue and his extension were there before him with a parry or a block. Soon enough, Gabe was pressing his own attack, having partially learned the killer's own style of swordplay. The clash of steel on steel was loud in the small room.

The ending was a surprise to both of them as Sorenti's childe and La Magra found and utiliized the one weak opening of their adversary. Gabriel knew it was a matter of time before one of them wore down. Given his two wounds and the lack of time to seal them closed, he was the most likely candidate. Which left him a desperate try when the enemy least expected it.

Slowly bringing each blow downward, and causing his rival to follow suit, he then did what he'd planned as soon as the man's torso and head followed along to bring him forward just enough. With a jab upward as the swordsman swung downward, anticipating the move that never came, the elder Kindred's keen edge pierced the eye and slid cleanly into the brain.

As the now dead assailant continued his gravity challenged path to the carpet, Gabriel saw Cyrilynn's grandmotherly face come into view embedded in a troglodyte physique. Her lips split into a warped smile of an even more inhuman aspect at his victory as she was made aware that he needed no rescuing from her! They both turned to see to the last man crumpled in the corner, only to find the aforementioned section of the room, still occupied.

Gabriel strode over to inspect their added bonus, going down on one knee to do so, only to snort in disgust. Lady Luck had frowned on them by their possible data source having unintentionally broken his own neck! At least that section of the room had been spared the blood bath! Cyrilynn, standing alongside of her colleague noticed the two areas of spreading stains, as the Ventrue stood on suddenly wobbling legs. [i:46394ebc1d]"I think we need to see to your wounds, Sir Seneschal"[/i:46394ebc1d]

The weather hadn't improved since last night, rain was falling without interruption. Faisal traveled under the streets of New York through the vast network of the MTA subway system. Just like all other cars, Faisal?s was packed with people trying to avoid the bad weather, but by the time he reached his destination, the train was almost empty. The harbor was not a neighborhood you would want to hang out in during your free time, Faisal had already noticed the previous night.

The short trip from the metro station to the phone booth across Mundug?s apartment was long enough to soak Faisal's robes that now almost seemed to stick to his skin. There was barely any light on the street, there was no visible light coming from Mundug's apartment. The only sources that lit the street was the light coming from an all-night Pakistani operated grocery store and the red glow coming from a flickering neon light attached to a sign hanging from a narrow, shabby looking building. The sign simply read 'Bar', as if there was no need to conceive a fancy or semi-original name for the establishment. Knowing the kind of patrons that frequented the place, there probably wasn't, Faisal concluded.

Seeing that the street was empty, the assamite quickly crossed the street and hid in the shadows of the alley next to Mundug's apartment building. Images of the blueprints that Tansu had shown him flashed through Faisal?s mind. The apartment had only 3 rooms, one of them was reachable by the emergency stairs that hung 4 feet above Faisal's head.
Without making a sound, Faisal placed his foot on the wall and thrusted his body upward, landing on the ladder that he scaled in almost the same fluid movement. The assamite waited a moment to see if there was any reaction from the inside, but not noticing anything he pulled open the window, entered and slid it close behind him. Quickly he stepped away from the window opening and reached for the interior pocket of his tunic, pulling out the manila envelope with the invitation from his master. He held the envelope against the door that separated the room he had used to enter from what he had recognized as the dayroom, and punched one of his small blades through it.

The whole operation had taken him less than a minute and as fast as he had entered he left. Faisal had just closed the window behind him, when he, standing on the ladder, saw his mark leaving the grocery store and what was more Mundug seemed to see him, standing on the ladder. Not waiting to see what he would do, Faisal dropped himself from the ladder and as fast as he could with the aid of his blood, ran away from Mundug.

The gangrel didn't waste any time either and started the pursuit, dropping the paper bag with groceries on the floor. A carton of milk he had bought burst open under the pressure and painted the sidewalk white.

Faisal raced through the desolated streets, closely followed by Mundug. He realized that he found himself in the native's hunting ground, no doubt the gangrel knew the area a lot better than he did. Faisal's burned through the vitae he had taken the previous day to increase his speed even more. Buildings, cars, and streetlights were a blur as he passed by them, but Mundug kept up with him. If only he could shake him for just a moment, he could use his powers to blend in with the darkness and disappear. Mundug, however had fixed his eyes on him and was determined not to let him escape. City block after city block passed as the two kindred blurred through the empty streets. Mundug slowly but steadily started to gain on the assamite and one of his hands started to reach for the tomahawk under his coat.

Faisal could barely dodge a taxi that had seemingly showed up from nowhere and that small delay was all the Chinook had needed. The axe hurled through the air and planted itself in the assamite's shoulder. A small fountain of blood erupted from the wound. Mundug had drawn first blood and although Faisal had removed the axe and started to heal the wound, the lost blood and the blood he spent healing could very well mean a disadvantage he would not come back from.

Mundug was right behind him now, only a few yards and he would no doubt be torn to shreds by the gangrel's sharp talons. In a desperate attempt to regain some distance, Faisal dove over the small wall on his left and rolled over the moist grass till he landed back on his feet. The attempt seemed to have worked, Mundug, not expecting the sudden change in direction, lost precious moments of time and then, to Faisal's surprise, Mundug seemed to have stopped his pursuit. The exhausted assamite threw the axe in Mundug's direction and hid behind one of the great tombstones of the small graveyard he found himself in. Looking up, he found himself sitting in the shadow of a small christian church.

Burial ground, Mundug would not set foot on it. Instead, he picked up his axe and started walking back to his apartment.

Nothing wrong with having a little money to spread around. Julius had installed himself firmly at the top of the ladder of Odessa society. Where he had spirited the trappings of civilised behaviour from was anyone's guess. All knew though, that the speedboat in the marina belonged to the strange gentleman who had arrived so recently, as did the luxury yacht that dwarfed it. The local police would give a cheery wave to this eccentric philanthropist as he sped by in his Ferrari, paying no heed whatever to local traffic laws. Nightclub queues would part, to admit Julius, ever in the company of his odd German minder. Once inside, there was never a shortage of stimulating company, attracted by the suave manners, smooth moves and occasional baffling magic tricks.

Life was one long party. Life was good.

How he had missed it before, was a minor mystery. In the excitement of finally letting go of all responsibility, he had simply passed it by, time and time again. Now though, Julius had found the casino.

[img:d52b62b429]http://www.mort.level5.net/casino-gabriella5.jpg[/img:d52b62b429]

Julius looked. Julius smiled. Julius laughed out loud. He had to have it and there was only one way for a man such as him to achieve his aim. Julius sauntered in, clad in his best suit, the tie at his neck knotted into an immaculate bow and accompanied, of course, by the ubiquitous Gerhardt. [i:d52b62b429]"Time to take them to the cleaners."[/i:d52b62b429] Julius whispered to his smiling sidekick.

Something about the cards that night. Julius had quickly picked out the baccarat table and sent Gerhardt to organize some brandy. The wizard got quietly drunk, as he manipulated the deck to provide him with a succession of naturals, wins and ties upon which to bet. His stack of chips grew. Croupiers ran nervous fingers around their collars. Bouncers took predatory steps in his direction, only to be warded back by the imposing presence of the former SS officer.

Silence fell about the casino. All play upon the other tables had ceased and the clientele now clustered about the bacarrat table, like vultures waiting to pounce. The owner stood frowning behind the dealer, watching like a hawk for the slightest hint of foul play on the part of the playboy magus.

[i:d52b62b429]"Sir."[/i:d52b62b429] Said the owner after getting once again stiffed for an enormous sum. [i:d52b62b429]"The house can no longer cover your bets."[/i:d52b62b429]

Julius gestured expansively about the building. [i:d52b62b429]"I think it can, sir."[/i:d52b62b429] He replied. [i:d52b62b429]"The house will definately cover this bet."[/i:d52b62b429]

On any other night, the owner would have had the good sense to cut his losses and run. Tonight though, the smiling, impudent face of this foreign upstart made his blood boil. How dare this interloper take over the town and then attempt to ruin him. How could he have known he was being manipulated, that the Magus' grin hid the power to squash his will like a bug. Instructions were given, a safe was opened and the title deeds of the casino appeared upon the table next to Julius obscene pile of chips.

Julius smiled. [i:d52b62b429]"Deal."[/i:d52b62b429] He said. The four cards were dealt. Julius smiled again and turned over his king and nine. Another natural. As the fainting owner was carried away, the crowd gave a mighty cheer for their newly adopted hero.

[i:d52b62b429]"It's not for me, you understand."[/i:d52b62b429] Julius said to Gerhardt. [i:d52b62b429]"It's the perfect present for a friend of mine... The Casino Gabriela."[/i:d52b62b429] Julius chuckled.

[img:d52b62b429]http://www.mort.level5.net/casino-gabriella6.jpg[/img:d52b62b429]

---

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With Gabriel leaning heavily on her arm, Lady Cyrilynn steered him across the room and had him perch on the edge of bed, all the while managing to keep from gouging him] with her lethal extrusions. A quick assessment noted the two major wounds and a score of minor cuts and bruises she doubted he was aware of. What concerned her the most was the amount of blood soaking his clothing. A glance to his face showed shock and a kind of lethargy closing in on him rapidly, now that the battle was over.

The noise of the Ventrue's suite door opening up without the due courtesy of a presaging knock, had the vampiress slewing around, a hiss of challenge issuring from her lips. Their erstwhile driver/translator stepped warily into the room, scanning it for his employer, knowing his presence was not only expected but commanded. He took several steps into the room before the full impact of the scene hit. His attention captured by her warning, his eyes came to rest upon the Tzimisce's hideous form and a small whimper escaped his mouth, eyes going white as they rolled up into his head. Then, like wax on a melting candle, he slid into a compact puddle on the saturated carpeting.

With a snort of total pique, Cyrilynn strode to the door and locked it securely, then blurred back into her "natural" form before heading towards the connecting portals between their rented lodgings to change. She glanced back once at the slouching form of her partner, who stared straight at the fallen Greek servant. She entered her bedroom and found fresh garments for herself, dropping the now disgusting mess of blood encrusted clothing into the bathrub for a later, more discreet removal. Rummaging in the special compartment of her own customized luggage, she removed a tepid blood bag and swallowed it down as quickly as she could. She preferred a more chilled temperature.

Hurrying back to the battle scene, she found her partner much as she'd left him. About to approach, she heard a buzzing noise from the hallway. Moving to the entrance, she already suspected it's cause and began planning on how to avert a disaster. Putting on a suitably apologetic look she removed the lock and opened the panel wide enough to slip through, closing it quietly behind her.

Lady Cyrilynn found people milling up and down the hall, most talking in muted whispers, almost all of which stopped at her appearance. Peering nearsightedly at the now gathering throng, she cleared her throat and called out in her native language. [i:2d7cc8d875]"Does anyone here speak both English [b:2d7cc8d875]and[/b:2d7cc8d875] Greek?"[/i:2d7cc8d875] She furrowed her brow in anxiety and her efforts were rewarded by a voice coming just down the hallway behind the bodies bunched in front of her. They parted to allow a lovely young assistant manager through.

[i:2d7cc8d875]"Perhaps, I can help, madame? You seem to know what might be the cause of the distrubance here."[/i:2d7cc8d875] The inquiry was couched in polite and defferential tones, seeming inclined to treat her as the gentille old aristocracy the Tzimisce appeared to be. Cyrilynn caused a blush to stain her features and she pasted on a suitable look of abject awkwardness. [i:2d7cc8d875]"I really [b:2d7cc8d875]must[/b:2d7cc8d875] apologize to management and guests alike for disturbing everyone so.

"You see, my son, who's not been feeling well lately, was watching one of his favorite action films and had fallen asleep. Unfortunately, he also inadvertently rolled over on the remote's volume increase button! It woke him up suddenly, and being all groggy from the medication he'd taken earlier, he couldn't find it in all the bed linens."[/i:2d7cc8d875] The older woman had begun wringing her hands.

[i:2d7cc8d875]"I....I tried to help him but I....well, it just seemed to make things worse so it took us longer to locate it."[/i:2d7cc8d875] The English woman lowered her eyes and suddenly realized what her hands had been doing. She brought them to a halt but a fine trembling set in. She pursed her lips and set about finishing the tale. [i:2d7cc8d875]"Well, to make this story short, we finally found it and shut it down but not before it had aroused the entire floor with the noises! We're dreadfully sorry for all of this."[/i:2d7cc8d875]

Lady Cyrilynn's woebegone features backed up by dewy lashes that shed a single tear, had the young staffer assuring her that no harm was truly done and that she would make sure that everyone was soothed and sent back to their rooms. Then she inquired as to whether or not the "son" required the services of a physician. The Tzimisce hastened to refuse, politely, on the grounds that it was nothing more than a simple case of indigestion, no doubt brought on by a change in water and diet. The medicine they'd purchased over the counter would suffice for now and he would probably be better for the sleep he would shortly be getting anyway.

With the hotel employee's assistance the hall was soon cleared and Lady Cyrilynn thanked the young lady, giving her hand a gentle squeeze of appreciation. Once she'd turned and walked away the older woman stepped back into the room, relocking the door to ensure their privacy from unannounced parties. The ex-Scorpion stopped by the still insensate hireling and toed him. No response. She then turned to her associate.

Gabriel hadn't moved and, as the Julius's thrall knelt down and looked into his blanked features, he hadn't gotten any better either. Heretofore, Gabriel had been nothing more than part of a team, a member on this quest for her regnant and, as such, had commanded nothing more than what expertise she had to offer and certainly no less than her obedience.

Having watched him fight with no more than the single limb he had, the coat rack and, subsequently, the katana he still held in his hand, his place in her awareness had taken on a new meaning. He was no longer just someone who gave orders and was listened to, he was someone she could respect and who could be counted on, especially in a tight spot.

Crouching down beside him and looking up into his countenance, the Tzimisce set a gentle hand to his knee, giving a small shake, not wishing to do any more damage than was already incurred. [i:2d7cc8d875]"Sir Seneschal,....Gabriel? Do you carry any of your own vitae preference with you?"[/i:2d7cc8d875] His eyes shifted to her own and held there for some seconds before looking up in the direction of his own suitcases and trunk, then he went back to looking down at the carpet.

It took several more minutes before she was able to find it and bring it back to him. It took her a bit more coaxing and a slash of the bag before he finally latched on and began drinking. She stood up and turned to the Ventrue's shoulder wound while he was so engaged but at the first touch, she found a blade at her throat again. And this time, she wouldn't be able to stop it.

[i:2d7cc8d875]"I will need to inspect the muscles for any possible damage to the previous injury, if I may please have your permission?"[/i:2d7cc8d875] Hands frozen in the act of removing the sleeve, silence stretched as she looked down into glittering eyes and the sword began to waver in his hands, piercing skin and causing small beads of blood to reappear. In his weakened state, she could have easily dominated him long enough to make him drop the sword and get the examination done.

After all, it was no different than what the Tremere wizard had done to force [b:2d7cc8d875]HER[/b:2d7cc8d875] to drink some vitae when she had been badly injured. But that would have ended what little trust, if any, already had built up between them. She waited him out and was rewarded, finally, with a single negative shake of his head. She dropped her hands slowly and backed away carefully. He went back to polishing off the vitae she'd given him earlier.

Lady Cyrilynn collected the robbery report from the corner's dead man and, brushing glass fragments off of the table, sat down and once more took out the photos and begin pouring over them for clues, waiting out her associate's recovery. She left the mess in the room and the awakening of their translator to the Seneschal. He was likely to be better at dominating and altering minds on the scale this man would need, than she was. It would give Gabriel something to do. If he couldn't erase and rewrite the man's memories, there was always her alternative. The ex-Scorpion reached into her pocket for her ever present garrotte, and stroked it, taking pleasure in the coolness of it's steel.

Eve/Veronique met Marie out front of the University. Veronique carried a guitar case with her. The two walked down towards the Loire to a little cafe frequented by the more artistic populace of Orleans. Veronique had left Trish back in the dressing room with a rather annoyed Morathi who did not particularly want to babysit a Toreador, if that was infact what Eve was, Ghoul. Mora seemed to take it in stride and let Trish follow her while it was convenient.

Veronique and Marie sat down at the "L'Oreille de Van Gogh," in a lovely setting overlooking the river. The two women spoke. Veronique could tell that Marie was truly more interested in her "teacher" than in her. Of course, the fact that Veronique WAS the teacher for whom Marie saught made her feel kind of smug. The name Ekaterina Balanskaya was the name Eveshka used as her opera singing identity. It seemed that Marie really wanted to get to Eve from all that she was saying. Veronique kept replying that she really wished she knew where Ekaterina was. While the two spoke, Eve/Veronique used her Aura Perception to gauge the motivations of Marie. She seemed excited about something. Then suddenly she her aura changed to one of fear and then anger for no apparent reason. Marie must have used her own Aura Perception and saw something strange about Eve's aura. Veronique/Eve blinked calmly as she continued to speak, all the while knowing that Marie was getting more and more enraged.

After their supper, Marie and Veronique walked down to a quai to have a more "intimate" chat.

"You, have something interesting about you, Veronique," said Marie in a sultry tone.

"Oh?" asked Veronique innocently.

"Yes," said Marie. "Tell me, did Ekaterina ever give you the "gift?"

[i:e150123fd7] "The 'Gift'?" [/i:e150123fd7] thought Eve. [i:e150123fd7] "She suspects something is up but does not know what she is truly dealing with." [/i:e150123fd7]

"Well, in a manne of speaking, she gave me many gifts," said Veronique cryptically. "To which one do you refer Marie?"

"Let's not mince words anymore young one," she said darkly and rather sharply. "I know you are either Ekaterina's ghoul or her childe. You have no aura at all."

Veronique raised an eyebrow. [i:e150123fd7]"Guess that answers THAT question," [/i:e150123fd7] she thought.

"Choose your words carefully," said Marie with anger dripping from her tongue. "I am an Archon of Clan Toreador, you do not wish to upset me. Now which are you? Her Ghoul or her Childe? Only Eveshka Semenovna could pull off a stunt like you pulled tonight. You must have learned it from her."

Eve thought a moment. Her rapier and main gauche were in the guitar case. She could probably retrieve it in a flash but Marie would surely get the attack initiative while she was fumbling with the case. Then suddenly she felt and odd sensation. It was rather like what one twin feels for another, the sort of telepathic bond shared by very close siblings, especially sisters. Veronique used her heightened senses to look behind Marie and saw someone moving lightning fast from the shadows with flaming red hair. Evidently Marie saw Veronique's eyes focus on something behind her. In a flash she spun around with a small blade drawn to face.

"RHIANNON!!" cursed Marie. "TRAITOR!!"

Eve/Veronique knew that Rhiannon was no match whatsoever for Marie in hand to hand combat. So she helped even the odds a bit in gratitude for Rhiannon making it so that she did not have to kill an Archon. As Marie assumed a fighting stance typical of a shaulin master, Eve smacked her in the back with her guitar case pushing her off balance. In the second that she was confused, Rhiannon took the opportunity to remove Marie's head from her shoulders. As her once beautiful body turned to ash and bone, Rhiannon grabbed Veronique's arm and pulled her. "Come on, I know you are some relation to Eveshka, we need to get you out of here."

"Why are you doing this," asked Veronique.

"Let's just say I have a bit of making up to do for some bad mistakes," said Rhiannon.

Morathi did not have anything against Ghouls, she had nurtured one whilst in York, had been proud to consider her potentially worthy of the embrace and then dismayed to have seen her shattered body tossed aside like a rag doll by a Black-Spiral Dancer. The experience had discouraged her from repeating the process and taking another ghoul, fortunately she had been sent Willow after her appointment to New Orleans, who had proved a devotedly loyal aide and companion...

She suspected that Trish had only barely been awakened to the secrets she and Eveshka surrounded themselves with, she patiently answered those questions she felt deserved answers and guided her away from topics that would only get a developing ghoul into trouble. There was no harm in this, She could always rewrite the ghoul's memories with a new history if needed.

They had left the university hoping to evade further unwelcome attention Eveshka's performance may have attracted. This was too late she realised as a paricularly inept Toreador by the feel of his aura attempted to follow them....

Faintly Morathi's auspex registered the passing of Marie, somewhere near...

[i:aa57f9b0c7]"Well Trish... This night may prove an education...."[/i:aa57f9b0c7]

Camly she prepared for whatever action her tailing shadow may take....

[i:1df2a917c6]Honorable Mundug,

I trust you have received this letter of mine in good order. If my servant and kindred blood Faisal has done anything to earn your anger, displeasure or either has caused you the slightest inconvenience, please accept hereby my sincerest apologies, but I ask of you to not let this matter influence you in your decision pertaining to what I will ask of you in this letter.

I would be honored to have a meeting in person with you in my humble home in the beautiful, but war plagued land of Iraq. Although your earlier deeds in the Middle East have earned you a well-deserved reputation of fierce and cunning antagonist of the assamites, which is certainly something I, together with my clansmen, deeply respect, my offer is one of peace, there will be no one of my clan in my homeland Iraq that will seek to do you or your feline animal companion harm.

The matters that I would like to discuss in private with you are highly important and as much as I can, I would like to urge you to accept my invitation as he who you thought was defeated has returned and matters of the past that may have disappeared from your mind, now reappear and are about to unfolded.

I hope my writing can convince you of the importance of a more personal conversation and I hope to greet you soon. I have ordered my servant Faisal to serve and accommodate you within the best of his capabilities throughout the duration of your journey, you will find him at the following address under the care of my loyal helpers Tansu and Ali. They will take care of the transport that has been scheduled in two nights.

Meanwhile, I am awaiting your arrival,

Hassan ibn-Sabbah[/i:1df2a917c6]


-***-

Hassan ibn-Sabbah, a name Mundug had never heard mentioned before. Clearly from the letter, he had heard of Mundug and the matters of the past, were most likely related to the adventures Mundug had had in the Middle East, his search for the rogue toreador Jerra and his confrontation with Salah al-Hudin and his minions.

Mundug had thought that that chapter had been closed and would only remain as a bad memory. After he had defeated Salah and had rescued Jerra, they had soon after disappeared from the Camarilla community in York and returned to the United States were they had kept away from the public eye. That period had ended now.

-***-

The Tear of Allah had left the port of New York two days ago and now was crossing the Atlantic, the crew unaware of the two kindred that had booked passage in one of the rusted containers that were placed on the deck.

Just like Mundug, Faisal did not speak a whole lot, which made the journey a dull experience for both of them. Now and then, the assamite had asked about Mundug?s earlier encounters with the assamites and the reason behind the sudden ending of the chase in New York. Mundug had shrugged most of those questions away and instead asked some questions of his own about how they had located him et cetera. Faisal too did not want to reveal any unnecessary information and both kindred just kept to their own for most of the time. Mundug started to regret that he had not brought Jerry with him as he surely would have appreciated his company, but he knew that the cat would have a better time in New York. Besides he had given him an important task to complete as well.

Six days later the cargo ship docked in the harbor of Umm Qasr.

Rhiannon drove Veronique back towards Tours. The Citroen zipped in to the Old Town and parked in an alley. "Come up, if you wish," said Veronique. Rhiannon followed her around the narrow lane and along the still bustling square of Place Plumereau. Even at 3AM, the nightlife still went on, even in provincial Tours.

They entered the long creaky stairwell up to Veronique's loft overlooking the square. Morathi was there with Trish. "Oh," said Rhiannon quite simply at seeing that they were not alone. Veronique set down the guitar case and slumped into a chair.

"Been an eventful night eh hun?" asked Morathi. Rhiannon looked at her. "I know you from somewhere," she said. Morathi merely gazed at her. She had heard all the tales of Rhiannon. Some were true, others grossly exaggerated. Depending upon what side of the line you were, the exaggerations could be good or bad. "You were in York, were you not?" asked Rhiannon.

"I was," said Morathi rather simply.

Veronique went over to the guitar case and opened it, with the lid shielding its contents from Rhiannon's view.

"What do you want with Eve?" asked Veronique.

A sad expression crossed Rhiannon's face. "I heard she had met Final Death, but then later heard that she had resurfaced in Russia." She brushed her hair back. "I wished to... would like."

Veronique raised an eyebrow. "Yes?" she asked. Trish shifted uncomfortably. Morathi merely looked disinterested. Perhaps she was jealous. Perhaps she was just trying to be unimposing and not raise any of Rhiannon's hackles in case she had to zap her into oblivion.

"I would rather not say," she said finally. "It is difficult enough for me to come to terms with what happened and what she did back in Paris. I don't wish to discuss it around those I do not know."

"Then I don't want to hear anything more you have to say," said Veronique simply as she looked up at Rhiannon from the floor in front of the opened guitar case.

"Excuse ME?!?" said Rhiannon indignantly. "I just saved your ungrateful hide."

"Not really," said Veronique. "But I let yours go once, so if it's all the same to you, let's just call it even shall we?"

Rhiannon stood up in outrage. "WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE!?!?" she demanded.

Morathi rolled her eyes and swung her legs around in the couch getting ready for action. Rhiannon saw the move and looked over at her with daggers in her eyes. "Stow it, lovey. You don't want to mess me with. I was an Archon." Morathi smirked slightly. Veronique tilted her head slightly.

"And YOU," shouted Rhiannon looking at Veronique. "You must be one of my hot tempered sister's childer to be so impertinent to an Elder."

"Can it Rhia. You're a twotty little Ancilla," said Eveshka, dropping her glamour and raising the Dread Rapier and pointing it right at Rhiannon. She nearly fell backwards in shock.

"Evey?" said Rhiannon.

"Yes," said Eve. "Evey." Her icey blue eyes looked inhumanly radiant and just as inhumanly lifeless. "Speak, "sister," or I will finish the job I started in Paris last year."

"Evey, you were right," said Rhiannon lifting her hands to her face to hide tears. "You were right about everything."

Eveshka read her aura and saw that she was indeed being genuine. She would have had little to no problem seeing through a ruse. She let her sword point drop a bit. Morathi looked at Eve but said nothing.

"They were using me to get to you," said Rhiannon. "They had been all along." She looked down. "I feel so stupid." Eve set down the rapier and walked over to Rhiannon and sat down on the couch next to her.

"I know the feeling, Rhi," said Eve bringing Rhiannon's chin up so she could look into her vivid green eyes. Rhiannon was afraid to look into Eve's. She was afraid she would see hatred smouldering there, or the unbridled passion and lust that used to burn there. Instead, all she saw was tenderness and compassion. Eve held her close to her as Rhiannon melted into tears again. An odd feeling started to tingle in Eve. Perhaps she still loved Rhiannon after all that had happened? Or perhaps she just wanted to make Rhiannon feel loved and comforted so she could use her as a pawn, or for sex, or for a piece of furniture. Eve did not know precisely. Rhiannon saw only tenderness and compassion, Eve knew that. That was enough for now.

As the days passed from Spring into Summer, it became increasingly difficult for Eve to stay in France. Rhiannon seemed to be true to her word that she had renounced the Camarilla and was hellbent on making amends with Eveshka. Although this gave Eve a bit of satisfaction, and gave her yet another beautiful woman with whom to make love, she was still apprehensive about things. In addition to the Camarilla hounds throughout Anjou, Touraine, and Orleanais, having three vampires living in such proximity in a small area had begun to raise a few eyebrows among the mortal populace.

The first time that Mora, Rhiannon, and Eve all went out for a night on the town, they brought back a rather handsome young man for a menage a quatre. Although he had the time of his rather short life, it was also the last night he spent alive. The three women got a bit over zealous and drained the poor bugger in their fit of bisexual ecstacy. It seemed that the chemistry between the three of them made them all a bit kinky and a bit on the careless side. Careless and headstrong. They felt themselves invincible. In a manner of speaking they were. After a few runs-in with the Camarilla, they began killing them off one by one. At first this seemed to be great fun, but after 5 young Toreador failed to check back in with Madame Guil, and the death of the Archon Marie, they sent even MORE personnel to check on the place.

As luck would have it however, a few lasombra had also arrived in the city. They too had heard of the odd disturbances surrounding the Plumereau market square and felt that it was probably a nomadic Sabbat operative. They decided to lend a hand. In the process, the Toreador in the area discovered them, destroyed them, and blamed the whole thing on a Sabbat incursion. Perhaps Eveshka really was destroyed, they thought. Eve decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth and suggested that they head east. Eveshka would go immediately to Odessa wherein she would have a bit of a reprieve and also, she hoped, use that as a base from which she would head north looking for Julius. Morathi would stay on in Orleans and Tours attending to her Tremere duties. Rhiannon, upon whom Morathi had placed another glamour, would head north to Paris with Trish to watch the Toreador and keep them up to date on any developments.

Thus, it was in the latter half of July that Eveshka stepped off the plane at the Aerodrome of Sebastopol to begin her search for Julius. She rented a Zil for the drive across the Crimean Peninsula. She had to stop once in a small town, to wait out the daylight, before she could continue on to Odessa. She reached Odessa and installed herself in a nice hotel. Not the greatest one available, but a nice one. She left strict orders not to be disturbed during the daytime as she was "a bit of a vampire," as she explained to them. She let them know that she lived to be up all night partying and slept during the day. They smiled and nodded. So Eve, as Tatiana Krazanzkya, entered the stage of Odessa.