Anastasz Zagreb, the Tremere Justicar, was 136 years old. Young for a Justicar. As he stood upon the prow of his boat, just yards from the stone walls of Chateau Chenonceau, he realized he would likely never see his 137th birthday. The great Camarilla Warlord Kharsh, an 800 year old killing machine, had just had his heart ripped out and his body cast like kindling into the fire raging in Chenonceau’s gallery. Still, Zagreb would not flee. The destruction of the Anathema was too important, the risk to the world to great, to let this opportunity, however slim and dangerous, slip by.

Zagreb began casting a spell. From the corner of his eye he could see Lucinde’s boat speeding up river towards the chateau. Above him, above the roof of the chateau, Kemintiri hung, floating in the night sky; her eyes fixed on the rapidly approaching Ventrue Justicar. Zagreb had this one opportunity. As he cast his spell he prayed to a god he no longer worshipped for victory, even at the cost of his own existence. He felt the tingling power of the magic rush through him and like a drug its sensation was overwhelming – suddenly he was powerful – nay, he [i:5fe2470e19]was[/i:5fe2470e19] power incarnate. He reached his hands up towards the Setite and opened his mouth as if to feed.

Above him, Kemintiri suddenly felt the pull of Zagreb’s sorcery. Her blood, freshly taken from Kharsh’s heart, which in turn had been taken from the many tourists below and his own soldiers, now swelled her long dead veins and arteries. Suddenly, the capillaries in her right arm opened and her blood began to flow through the air towards Zagreb’s waiting mouth. In the dark, Kemintiri just smiled.

Below, Zagreb kept at his spell. In a crimson flash, Kemintiri’s blood streamed into his mouth and it was liquid fire. Zagreb screamed as the ancient’s vitae burned him with an ecstasy he had never before experienced. It took all of Zagreb’s training, all of his discipline and all of his will power to maintain as Kemintiri’s blood burned him from the inside out. Shocked at the power of her vitae and at the apparent success of his sorcery, Zagreb poured everything he had into the spell. Visions of diablerizing the ancient Setite flashed through his mind. His blood would be stronger, his wizardry more powerful. He would become the greatest Justicar the Tremere had ever known. Indeed, he could become a Pontifex, his sorcery would surely surpass that of Julius Darrant’s, or even Meerlinda’s, or the renegade Goratrix. Indeed, with Kemintiri’s blood, he could rule the Tremere. He [i:5fe2470e19]would[/i:5fe2470e19] rule the Tremere. Indeed, he would rule the entire Camarilla – but why stop there – with blood such as this, he would be a [i:5fe2470e19]god[/i:5fe2470e19] and he would rule the [i:5fe2470e19]world[/i:5fe2470e19] as Cain had done so long ago.

As suddenly as it started the blood stopped.

Zagreb brought himself back from his visions of grandeur and concentrated on his spell. It had been dispelled. For a moment he was confused. How could that be? The only way would be counter magic. She had counter-magic?

And then it hit him. Like a bolt of lightning out of the sky. She was 3000 years old. She was an ancient sorcerer before the Tremere clan ever even [i:5fe2470e19]existed[/i:5fe2470e19]. The blood that he had tasted, that gave him such delusions of power was [i:5fe2470e19]hers[/i:5fe2470e19] and so was the power – he had been a fool to think otherwise.

Looking up he saw that she was looking down upon him smiling. In his mind, he heard her voice.

[i:5fe2470e19]Did you enjoy that wizard? Would you care to enjoy it again? Would you care to enjoy it for all eternity? Shall I make those dreams of yours a reality?[/i:5fe2470e19]

Zagreb stared up at her, stunned and motionless. She was offering him a place at her side. Indeed, was she not really offering him god-hood? With her blood in him, and his sorcery, it would be as he had seen just a moment ago. But he would be her slave. Nay. With the power of that blood and the rituals he knew he could throw off her bond when he was done with her, diablerize her, steal her power and …..

Prayers are strange things. One never knows when or how they will be answered. For Anastasz Zagreb, his prayer to a god he no longer worshipped was answered with a moment of clarity in his most desperate moment of un-life. Even as Kemintiri worked her seduction upon the Tremere Justicar, a force more powerful gave Zagreb the ultimate gift – the gift of truth. For one split second, the impenetrable and all consuming cloud in Zagreb’s mind which Kemintiri and her blood had created was lifted. To follow her was damnation. He would be her slave and nothing more, like so many others had before him.

“No.” he said. He was not even aware he said it until after the words left his mouth. Then he said it again. “No.” And he said it again, this time his voice raising “NO” and again, even louder “NO!”

Anastasz Zagreb would not be Kemintiri’s slave. Her voice came to his mind again.

[i:5fe2470e19]So be it wizard.[/i:5fe2470e19]

And with that, Kemintiri cast her own spell and Zagreb’s boat exploded into flames, engulfing the Tremere wizard and his archons in the fireball. Zagreb screamed and leaped into the river, his burning arms flailing in the dark. Some of his archons followed, while others perished in the initial blast. Such was the power of Kemintiri’s wrath.

Kemintiri did not smile. The Tremere should have fallen to her tricks but he resisted her. She was not amused. With Kharsh destroyed and Zagreb burned and sinking in the river, she turned her attention now to the last remaining enemy, Lucinde, her old lover, who even now shot across the dark waters in her boat to meet her fate, whatever it might be…..

(( And all this after Mora promised not to bring any C4 when she last visited Eve's home. It looks like the jinx that cataclysmic damage often soon occurs to buildings Mora has recently visited is still in effect.....

Oh well was not her fault this time I'm sure... I hear miracles can be perfomed by restorers and the Toreador must know a few, or even have the original artist among their numbers.....

On a side note I've been a little busy preparing for a job interview on Friday, but I will post soon after ))

Trabzon, Turkey - Julius Darrant's Penthouse Suite


At last, Gabriel stretched his now aching muscles. For nearly three straight nights he had sat motionless in front of the plasma screen television that made up the centerpiece of the penthouse's living area. Even the elegant down cushions of the couch could not avert the dull pains that crept into Gabriel's muscles as he stood from what had been nearly his 60th hour of watching war coverage.

The assault on Iraq was picking up now with a blinding pace. The dispatched correspondents could not move quickly enough to cover the entire campaign, and it was clear that most of them were a bit bewildered at the way things were sorting themselves out. They stood amidst the desert sands repeating the same scant facts they had and every so often offering their own pointless opinions. Basking in their role as "heroes", Gabriel supposed.

As he shuffled across the shag carpet, Gabriel shut off the television. The wide flat screen glowed slightly even as it crackled to rest, the images of the bright skies of Iraq temporarily burnt into it's screen. Julius had gone through considerable expense to have the spacious suite decorated as magnificently as possible. The authentic Italian furniture that served as the room's décor was in stark contrast to the relatively cheap imitation pieces Gabriel had made note of in the other areas of the hotel.

The various pillows and cushions that were strewn about the room in a distinctly middle-eastern style, were new and showed no sign of use before their visitors arrived. Unfortunately, the staff had fully stocked the refrigerator with an assortment of fruits, soft drinks, and imported alcohol, leaving little room for the group's precious cache of vitae. The fridge had been emptied however, and the trio had made themselves at home in a brief span of time.

Morathi was content to spend most of her nights (and a fair portion of her days, Gabriel noted) down at the docks, where the ship she had been conducting lay docked. She returned occasionally to feed to take a break from the countless hours of data analysis. But for the most part she was reserved and quiet around Gabriel, who on his part did very little effort to make further conversation, as intriguing as she may have been.

For all the money Julius had spent on their accommodations, he confined himself to a small study that sat off the main living room. For three nights now, he hid behind the ornate oak double doors studying the scroll fragment, struggling to decipher it's meaning. He emerged once every so often to feed, or to retrieve some random object from one of his suitcases.

Gabriel had already contact Tyler and set the ghoul about the task of phoning and writing his various associates in the area in the somewhat futile hope of digging up information on the shadowy "Ali" and "Saladin" Julius had mentioned in Cairo. With little to go on, the prospect of receiving any significant information was improbable.

Now bored even by Cainite standards, Gabriel crept carefully towards the double doors, where he could barely make out Julius' muffled voice. He opened the doors and slipped in, keeping one hand on the doorknob.

"Julius" he said delicately, not wanting to interrupt the Tremere any more than he had to. The room itself appeared to be in the shape of a small octagon, three of it's sides being consumed by massive bay windows overlooking downtown Trabzon. Scores of documents, folders, and books rose in shaky columns on all sides of him, regularly interspersed with countless sheets of computer paper. On the far side of the room, kneeling atop a simple fold-up chair, Julius hunched over his laptop, and pounded away laboriously at it's keys, apparently too engrossed in his research to note Gabriel's entrance.

Gabriel edged closer, moving to the very rim of the desk, where an eerie skull sat, it's eyes glowing luminously.

"Grah, Redeemer? There's no mention of the Redeemer in the... Um...eh?" Julius glanced up momentarily. Despite his state of perpetual youth, Gabriel could see the fatigue building behind his eyes. Apparently even Tremere grew tired of laborious research without rest. Gabriel was simply pleased to escape the non-stop barrage of military analysts and political pundits he had been subjected to for the past several days.

"How's the research going? Any new developments in the translation?" Gabriel offered.

"Well, I would surmise," Julius said, taking an unnecessary breath to implicate the gravity of what he was about deliver, "we are dealing with ancient versions of commonly known names, in fact I'm trying to get the scroll carbon dated, so that we can have some link to the author's nomenclature."

"Perhaps I can be of some assistance. My company has donated no trivial amount to several State Universities throughout the States. I'm sure I could put their laboratories to use with no small amount of discretion."

The skull brightened considerably and began to speak in a tinny, flat voice: Analysis Complete.

Julius took a moment to decrypt the results before looking back towards Gabriel.

"I don't want this scroll getting into the wrong hands." He registered the look of disappointment on Gabriel's face and nodded slightly. "But perhaps your contacts can be of a more general use. I get you some names of things you can get them to look up for us."

Gabriel nodded absently, now staring out the window at the nightlife unfolding in the streets below. With the scroll in the coterie's possession, they were fairly restricted in their activities as they were almost certainly on several groups most wanted lists.

"You're bored to death aren't you?" Julius observed. "I must offer my apologies as a host. This is awfully dry research. Not your cup of tea I would have thought."

"Well...to be honest I am somewhat of a history buff, I maintained the Cascadian archives in Kindred history and affairs for some time...but I'm afraid with your expertise in this area, I'd be little assistance." The Ventrue announced proudly, puffing out his chest a bit as he did so.

"Well great, what do you know about world geography in oh say....4000 BC?" Julius sat back in his chair and removed his laptop, placing on the desk next to the odd skull artifact. Gabriel was instantly deflated, his chest caving in as he gave way.

"Very little I'm afraid." He confessed. Julius did not seem to take victory in the reply. He more the two interacted, the more Gabriel began to realize Julius was not out to get him at every turn, but genuinely sought his assistance.

"Me neither," he admitted, turning back to his laptop, "That's the problem. We are dealing with events happening on that timescale. The only civilization was in Mesopotamia, or the only one of note. And as you can imagine, they don't have too many world maps of that era. But this is why I want to know when the scroll was written, that way I can place the names in a less ancient context."

From the next room, the television hummed back to life, and Morathi's familiar form could be seen strutting away towards the fridge. The now familiar dunes of Iraq were on display once more with a flock of tank and infantry traversing them at great speeds. Smoke sauntered up from craters in the distance, the pummeled occupants of the city nowhere to be seen.

"I hope Hassan is okay..." Julius pondered quietly, perhaps not having meant to state his thoughts out loud.

"Hassan?" Gabriel asked.

"Hassan Ibn Sabbah. An Assamite..." he let the word draw out a bit, smiling as he did so. "...friend of mine."

"An Assamite friend?" Gabriel said, a bit surprised that such an aristocratic character as Julius would interact with a murderer.

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend. He's unusual...perhaps."

A brief silence befell the room, as both Kindred seemed temporarily to be content but to watch the beautiful nightlife scurry about to a backdrop of explosions emitting from the television.

"I met him during my search for Salah Al-Hudin, or Saladin as he is more commonly known." Julius offered as an explanation at last. Gabriel merely nodded, having been acquainted with scant few Assamites, but having already deduced several similarities between those precious few he had known.

"If he's anything like the few Assamites I've had the pleas...oppurtunity to know, he's laying low." The name Saladin slowly began to eat away at Gabriel'mind. He recalled Julius' mention of him in Cairo. "Saladin, isn't that one of the names..."

Julius nodded.

"I must confess, I thought it might be sort of a red herring at the time." He paused. "I was trying to get rid of you."

"Well it might have worked, had immediate events not occurred, thus drawing our more imminent partnership."

"As it stands, I know there are Assamite factions interested in the scroll and what it pertains to. Salah could be one of them. I had hoped you would eliminate him from my enquiries, so to speak."

"Have you spoken to this Hassan on the matter?"

"Not recently. The last contact I had with Hassan's people was when he sent Faisal to help Morathi spring me from Abetorius' clutches." Julius seemed to lose himself in thought for a moment. "Then of course...there is Ali."

"Another red herring?" Gabriel asked off handedly.

"I have no idea...this was some time ago, when I was in charge of Great Britain. I had set up shop in York and was running Clan Tremere from there." He said, slowly plucking the events from his memory as if recounting them as they happened. "An Assamite snuck into my house, like he didn't trip the alarm..." the Tremere seemed to be genuinely enraged by this thought which he punctuated with, "thought quietus and obfuscate would get past me...IN MY OWN HOUSE!" he declared with a frightful slam on the desk that threatened to rattle the skull from it's resting place.

"I chained him up on a slab in the sun room and...interviewed him."

The images Gabriel had experienced in Julius' foyer in York began to make their way back into his mind. He could feel the slice of the knife, and the cold heartless touch of the stone table. Julius' twisted smile hovering over him.

"He wasn't in a talkative mood. I remember he said 'Ali will...'. As he said it, he seemed to become possessed with some greater power. The power mocked me, making all the usual stupid threats and finally as it left the body of this Assamite, fried his brain, beyond my ability to either fix, or to pull knowledge from."

"So we really know nothing about this Ali other than he associates with Assamites?" Gabriel deduced, eager to move on from the horrendous memory.

"Well, the Assamite was highly skilled, an Elder, and powerful. I suspect this Ali would be an Assamite as well and judging by my intruders apparent age, it would place Ali around the age of a Methusaleh." Julius shrugged off the memories and returned to his laptop. "Hassan might know."

"Why not contact him then?"

"He's not the type to keep a mobile phone... especially as there is no coverage in Iraq. I suppose a sat-phone would work, but he hasn't got one of those either. Someone would have to go there and talk to him personally."

"Perhaps you could send an apprentice?" Gabriel offered once more, intent on prodding Julius towards a conclusion.

"Whilst I did manage to negotiate a truce between Clan Tremere and Clan Assamite in Hassan's territory, I'll be damned if I'm sending an apprentice out there. Likely the apprentice would get killed, but more to the point, I'm not telling them about this stuff."

"What then?" Gabriel asked. Julius looked intently at him for a moment, his chilly collected eyes running over the Ventrue's face.

"Well I'm not sure, what do YOU suggest?" he asked, not saying what they both were obviously considering.

Gabriel glanced back for a moment at the 24 hour war coverage that played on the flat screen. The grainy image of Baghdad in night-vision was interrupted only by the frequent flash of explosions.

"Alright, I'll go." Gabriel said at last. Julius seemed a bit taken aback by his willingness.

"Are you sure? It's not entirely the safest place to be at this moment."

"Yes you're right Julius, I feel entirely safer cooped up here with that blasted scroll. Not to mention the fact that it's being sought by Assamite Methusalehs and God knows what else."

"Well, if you want to see him, fine. I would suggest avoiding chasing after Ali however. He's more than likely pretty powerful." Julius said.

"I've no intention on chasing after anyone." Gabriel retorted.

"And you might want to avoid mentioning anything about scrolls. Hassan is my friend, but that doesn't mean I trust him."

"You'd be a fool to trust any Assamite." Gabriel said at last. Julius shrugged.

"I take people as they find them Gabriel. It's served me well so far." He looked up at Gabriel with obvious point.

Now it was Gabriel's turn to shrug.

"Well that's a matter that's up to you Julius. If I'm to find this Hassan I'll need his last known whereabouts, as well as any haunts he generally inhabits."

"When I met him it was in the ruins of Persepolis...but I would imagine he's gone to ground."

Gabriel nodded and walked back towards the living room to begin preparation to leave, his mind swimming with the task ahead.

"Gabriel.." Julius called after him. The Ventrue turned to see the magician with a slightly disgusted look crossing his face. "Try not come back smelling of camels okay?"

Gabriel nearly laughed aloud at the odd request but managed to sputter out.

"You have a problem with camels?" The Ventrue unleashed his laughter at last, and it seemed to echo the room long after he had left.

When Julius Darrant was alone once more he sat contemplating the addition his situation. If Gabriel could be trusted and if Hassan would be willing to deal with the uncouth Ventrue, perhaps he might glean some useful information from this venture. Sighing, he sat back and summoned forth a bit of blood magic. The ritual, as trivial as it was, put his in contact with Eveshka, who sat thousands of miles away.

"Eveshka...I've translated the scroll."











[/b]

Eveshka sat in the back of a limousine as it rolled from Gare Montparnasse up towards St. Germain, and Prince Renee Delacroix' court. She looked down at a Bateau Mouche as she crossed over the Alexandre III Bridge. A voice whispered in her ear, "I've translated the scroll." A small smile curled the corners of her mouth upwards as she continued to gaze silently out the window.

((OOC: Hello all, for those of you (if any) waiting for the end of the battle, I am getting to it and I apologize for the delay. I got distracted with RL. I will try and get it posted tonight or tomorrow morning. Thanks for your patience!!))

Julius had to admit he was out of his depth. With the help of his skull and his generally encyclopaedic knowledge he had managed to translate the scroll, but no amount of linguistic skill could provide him with the geography of a world lost in time and lost beneath the waters of the Black Sea.

Lamech, he surmised was likely the place Morathi had found. The dream they had all experienced was too coincidental. According to the biblical records, however, Lamech was a person, not a place. Haer'us... could that be Horus? If so, the Serpent was almost certainly Set himself. Who was the Redeemer and who the Deliverer?

The only thing that stood out to Julius was Cush. An ancient name for Nubia, now Sudan. Indeed, as Egypt had once been Khem, so had Sudan been Cush, or rather, Kush. Something was wrong though, "East and then North along the great Sea" Na'anna had travelled from Cush to Lamech. If Cush was indeed modern Sudan, the geography didn't match up. To further complicate matters, the end of the scroll spoke of the New Kingdom. That surely referred to Egypt.

The final riddle was the worst of all. The splinter itself. Unto Lamech it has gone. Lamech the person or Lamech the place? Furthermore, the text started speaking of Nanna, rather than Na'anna. The same person? Or two distinct individuals.

It seemed to Julius that this scroll, this fragment, was likely composed of copies of two earlier texts. The first part, speaking of Na'anna and Cush dating to an earlier time than the second part, which spoke of the New Kingdom and Nanna. Both parts encyphered by the same scribe and placed onto the single sheet.

The real dilemma then, was which scholars would be able to glean more understanding, than Julius' limited efforts and furthermore, which scholars could he trust?

((NB: This author belatedly realised that the New Kingdom is, in fact, a modern name applied to a period of Egyptian history and thus likely nothing whatever to do with the Kingdom mentioned in the scroll. On reflection, however, it seems highly amusing for Julius to have made such an elementary schoolboy error, so it can stick ;))

Eveshka waited in the cloistre for the priest. She wore a shapeless, floor length, cloak of shimmering black silk. The hood was pulled up so that the only bit of skin visible was a milky white jaw line, and lips painted black. The ancient priest came hobbling towards her. This was a very unusual thing for him: to be summoned from his bed by a troubled girl in this day and age. He saw the black draped figure standing in a beam of moonlight coming through the octagonal window in the Cloistre of the Cathedrale de Notre Dame, in Paris. Something about the figure troubled him, he sensed something amiss. But, being a seasoned man of the cloth, he continued on, his arthrititic bones rebelling the whole time.

"How may I help you, child," asked the Father Guillot, with his heavy Gascon accent.

"I need help, Father Guillot," said Eveshka in a soft voice dripping with the fears of a young mortal woman. Father Guillot's eyebrows raised slightly as if the voice were something from his past. And it was.

"Come, sit here, my child," said the Priest, hobbling over to a stone bench to take a seat. With a grunt, the priest settled himself down. Eveshka softly sat next to him, her face still enshrowded. "What is troubling you, child," asked the Priest.

"I need to know that my soul is saved," said Eveshka.

The priest looked at Eveshka, trying to get a glimpse of her face. Eve turned her head slightly so that he could not see her. "Well, my child," began the priest. "That is an important question, and quite worthy of being roused from sleep."

Eveshka said nothing, she merely looked down at her feet.

"Do you wish to confess your sins," asked the Priest.

"My sins," asked Eve as if the question made no sense.

"Yes my child, confess your sins and receive Absolution. I presume that you are Catholic, otherwise you would not have troubled yourself to come here," said the priest in a warm and tender voice.

"I don't think I remember them all. I don't think I possible could remember them all," said Eve, her voice far away.

The priest lay his hand on her thigh in a fatherly fashion and nearly recoiled at the sensation he got even though Eveshka consciously did nothing. He felt an odd sense of power, like the awe one would get being in the presence of a great celebrity, or a powerful political figure.

The priest shook these odd thoughts away as just the fanciful musings of a sleep deprived mind. He smiled and began again, "Surely one as young as you could not have committed so many sins."

"Young..." repeated Eveshka. "I am not so young Guillaume."

The priest blinked. "I see you know my Christian name. I am afraid I am at a loss for yours," he said with a smile. "Why not begin with just that, a name."

"A name? A harlot by any other name would be just as damned, Father Guillaume," Eve said with a voice beginning to sound horse.

"My child, it is late," said Father Guillot. "If you came here to waste our time, I shall bid you goodnight." With that the aged priest struggled to stand up. Eveshka reached out one hand and gently touched him, using healing abilities to give him strength to stand with relative ease. He smiled not suspecting it came from her. "I believe the stitch in my back has finally let up." He began to hobble back down the stone floor towards the rectory.

"Can the Scarlet Whore be redeemed," asked Eveshka with a voice of ice.

The priest stopped and slowly turned. He did not expect this line of inquiry.

"An interesting question," he said. "Why not come into a more comfortable accomodation?"

He reached out his arm to her and she took it, he again felt that odd surge of power.

"Why do you hide your face, my child," he asked.

"I will reveal it when it is time," she said crypticly.

They spoke not another word until they reached the door leading to the sanctuary. This was a place she had not set foot in in some time. Once she entered this room, she knew there was no turning back. The gentle priest sat down in one of the chairs and patted the one next to him.

She crossed the threshold and passed the point of no return.

"They used to stand here. There were no chairs." said Eve in a monotone voice.

"Yes," said the priest nodding. "But that was long ago. Now then, the Scarlet Whore. That is a very interesting question. Now there are those who believe that she is preordained for damnation because the Bible says it is so. There are those that believe that nobody is beyond salvation, that there is no such thing as predestination. That dilemma caused a rather great rift in the Church some time ago."

Eveshka nodded, "You speak of the 17th century wars between the Catholic League and the Huegenots, non?"

The priest nodded. "Among other things," he said. "Now, there are those, myself among them, that believe that Christ died for all of our sins. Yours, Mine, even the Scarlet Whore's. Everyone's. All we need do is accept the gift of Salvation he has given us, follow the principles of Holy Mother Church, believe on Christ, and do good works." The priest paused trying to get some sense of whether or not Eve was getting any understanding. He saw no such signs, so he continued.

"There are those who believe that it is possible to be beyond redemption if you have blasphemed the Holy Spirit. Flew in the face of God as it were. They say that that is the only unpardonable sin. These people say that the likes of Lucifer, the angels of hell, and his minions are those who have blasphemed the Holy Spirit. Do you understand?"

Eveshka turned her head slightly towards him as if to merely say, "I am listening," and nothing more. He tilted his head sideways thinking that he recognized that flawless jawline. And he did. But he continued speaking.

"To blaspheme the Holy Spirit is not to take the Lord's name in vain or any such thing as that. It is to know the truth, believe it whole heartedly, and to still bring it forth to public ridicule and scorn. It is to have the truth in your heart, but to reject it."

She turned her head sharply towards him and opened her mouth as if to speak but could not find the right words to say.

"What is it that is troubling you my child," asked Father Guillot.

“I think I am the Scarlet Whore,” said Eve with very little emotion to her voice.

Father Guillot blinked and then smiled patiently. “You may have done a few things in your short life, my child, but surely nothing could be as bad as that.”

“My life has not been short Guillaume,” said Eve.

“How do you know my Christian name, child,” asked the priest.

“I knew you as a young man with a passion for opera,” said Eve.

Father Guillot looked at her in anger, “Mademoiselle, I am an old man who needs his rest, wherever you heard these tidbits, I assure you I am unimpressed.”

Eveshka pulled back the hood of her cloak and looked at him with her icy blue eyes. It took a moment for the priest to register that he was looking at an opera star from the early 1930s named Ekatrina Fedorovna. A girl who was supposed to have been murdered over 70 years ago. He opened his mouth in shock and then fainted. Eveshka used her panacea to heal him. She suspected that he had had a heart attack. She scooped him up in her arms and using her superhuman speed, whisked him out to the cloister and jumped the low wall. She managed to not be seen until she could somewhat revive him and dominate him. Together, the two made their way around the corner to her penthouse apartment overlooking the Seine.

[i:2fea5c7648]"Useless... Little more than a collection of children's bedtime stories...."[/i:2fea5c7648]

Morathi slammed the book she was studying closed in frustration, the ancient tome producing a fine cloud of dust at the ill treatment. A small part of Morathi quietly winced at the damage to the book her mood had caused, but a more practical side observed that the contents although priceless to a historian of ancient history were valueless to the task before her, searching for references to the artifacts her dives had recovered...

The problem was the culture she was studying was a distant memory even before the book had been originally written, thus the 'History' it contained was little more than a collection of tales filtered through generations of verbal retelling and cultural bias, any truths that had survived were liable to have been distorted beyond all recognition...

[i:2fea5c7648]"Oh well.... Time to try the more hands on approach...."[/i:2fea5c7648]

Calming her mind, Morathi carefully focussed on nothing but the artifacts she was studying, opening her mind to the glimpses of the original owner's past each item contained, from the time they were crafted up to their recovery from the dark watery depths, trying to piece together an understanding of the people that owned them, and perhaps if possible what they intended before the catacylsm that drowned their world struck them....

A part of Morathi was quietly advising caution, which was being seconded by the Wraith residing in the crystal that replaced her heart. The vision that her conversations with Julius and Gabriel indicated they had shared, had occured so soon after the artifacts had been recovered to be pure cooincidence.

Such detailed scrutiny with focussed auspex might trigger more visions, and Morathi had learnt the hard way with other artifacts in her one hundred and twenty three years of unlife that it was possible for the mind to become lost in the past if care was not taken...

__________________
[i:2fea5c7648](( Sorry I took so long to post, interviews and paperwork got me a little swamped, followed by a bout of writers block :cry: Hopefully I'm back to a more creative frame of mind now ))[/i:2fea5c7648]

[i:f8a2c0e960] The First Confession [/i:f8a2c0e960]

Father Guillot sat down in one of the plush armchairs in Eve's drawing room. Eve sat down across from him, her hood pulled back up so that he could only see her lower lip and her chin. She released him from her domination. Instantly he started looking around in alarm.

"Relax, Father Guillot," she said. "No harm will come to you here."

"How can this be?," he asked, his voice thick with tension. "You, you are dead."

Eveshka looked away so that no flesh was visible at all. "I am. And yet not."

Father Guillot reached his artheritic hand out to the hood and pulled it down to reveal a radiant but very white Ekaterina. "How.... can... this be," he asked again. "Are you an Angel," he asked and then after a pause, "Or a demon?"

"It depends on who you ask I suppose," answered Eve without any attempts at deceit.

Father Guillot looked at this inhuman creature possessed of an unearthly beauty for a few silent moments. He could sense genuine fear in her, or at least a fear she wanted him to sense.

"I could explain it to you, but it would put you in incredible danger," she said. "Let's just say, I am not the only one out there."

Father Guillot nodded. "How," he began tentatively. "How old are you?"

"The girl you watched on stage so many years ago is not the real me," said Eve. "I was born Eveshka Semenovna Shuvolov in Russia, on the 26th of July, in the Year of Our Lord 1222."

Father Guillot merely cocked an eyebrow. "Had I not seen this with my own eyes I would have scoffed at the possibility."

"What proof would you have me offer," asked Eve.

"You are telling me that you are nearly 800 years old," asked Father Guillot. "And yet you are still alive...."

"Not alive, at least not in the sense you mean," Eve said. "I exist in a shadowy world between life and death."

"What is it you want with me," asked the Priest in what Eve thought was a reasonable line of inquiry.

"I want to know whether or not I am well and truly damned," she replied.

Thus she began weaving a tale about how she came to be.

It was hard to believe, given the serenity and isolation of the ancient ruins, that only a night's ride seperated Gabriel and his small band of Iranian guides from open warfare. The long, mute journey from Iran's borders into the heart of Iraq had taken their tole on the mortal guides. Blood-bound as they were, even Gabriel's rich vitae could not overpower their desire for rest much longer.

The single canvassed truck grumbled as it approached the edge of the mountain chain they had followed for longer than he cared to remember. Procurrment of the guides themselves was not so difficult in itself, it was convincing them to use their personal truck equipped with a pitched tarp that would provide Gabriel safe haven during the scorching Iraqi days. Much to his reluctance, it had required a "courting" as such, which unfortunately had made use of the powers of vitae.

[i:4369b93c24]"Mester O'Brien! Bia bia!"[/i:4369b93c24] came the call from the cab of the truck as it came to a halt, the inertia nearly throwing Gabriel from his crudely constructed sleeping quarters in the back. He leapt from the old Toyota's flatbad to a scene of majestic wonder.

The ruins of Perselopis, the ancient Achaemenid capital, sat amidst jutting mountain peaks that shrieked from the ground like pillars of fire. As the Ventrue moved cautiously towards the cliff face, where Darius the First's palace still stood, he became acutely aware of his own infancy in comparison. Thousands of years, and still they stood, unmoveable. He doubted as though he would hold the same record.

The scant crew descended into the gaping maw of the towering citadel that stretched high into the star drenched sky, for once thankful that the surrounding conflict had stripped all Iraqi government employees from guarding the site.

The natural light grew fainter and fainter still, until at last they were enveloped in the cold, tomb-like black. The musky, stale odor of dust permeated everything and Gabriel gladly ceased to breathe and he groped his way foward in the darkness.

Stopping short, he fell to one knee, searching through his backpack for a glowstick. Aside from the distant rush of the Pulvar River some miles off, certainly inaudible to his guides, the only sounds were their own rapid, heavy heartbeats. Abrubtly, the room illuminated with blue light as the Ventrue snapped the tiny glow stick and held it forth.

They stood in the entranceway of a large, spacious, and noticeably empty room. Depictions of faded gold and silver adjourned the walls, as well as time worn engravings of people and deities.

Standing in the very place Alexander the Great had stood eons ago as he ransacked the city's treasury, Gabriel eyes a series of shifting shadows that scurried across the far side of the room...

((excuse the writing if it seems a bit stilted or slow at the moment. it's been a while since i've written and i'm still trying to regain my pace. more to come tonight :)

Julius stared, horrified, at the letter he had just received.

He had forgotten something and the letter, from an old university tutor had brought home to him just how narrow minded he had become.

Perhaps when one becomes a vessel for so much power, one forgets the sources of ultimate power. The world of kindred houses beings ranging from the merely powerful to the almost godlike. Couple that with the sphere of magic and it's easy to lose sight of the wellsprings. The Alpha's, the Omega's, beginnings and ends.

Julius' had searched documents, pored over maps, ancient and modern, yet failed to see that which was present everywhere. The single most popular historical document on the planet. Believe or disbelieve, faith or no faith, the biblical references were the best documented records of those times. Inaccurate, perhaps, wildly wrong, quite possibly, but certainly a place to seek for clues.

And clues there were in abundance. Cush, was it ancient Nubia? Yes, and more. The bible made it clear that the Gihon River, one of the four rivers of Eden flowed throughout the land of Cush. In turn, many scholars equated the Gihon with the modern Nile. This could only mean that the land of Cush, as described in the scroll related to the entirety of the Nile Valley to include areas of Sudan and Egypt.

At once Julius was on more famliar ground. Ancient Egypt and the gods thereof. Hear'us could only be Horus. Sa’eh’tukh must be Setekh, or Set, whilst it appeared that Nanna had been known by the name of D’Ju-ti. This had to be Djehuti, the ancient name for the moon god Thoth.

Also, armed with the names of some of the protagonists, the scroll sounded much like the tale of the battles between Horus and Set. According to Egyptian legend, Thoth had sheltered and mentored Horus. Was Horus the redeemer? Was he also the deliverer? Idle speculation, which would wait for another day.

The important thing was that Julius had a foothold into the meaning of the scroll. Cush was a big place, but it was a start.

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