Posted by Eveshka and moved from old forum:

Decades had passed since Julius and Eveshka had wandered out of the deserts of Turkey and settled down in Touraine. Julius ran his school for talented mages. Eveshka ruled her domain with a delicate finger that all knew belied an iron fist. The iron fist rarely appeared and thus, Touraine flourished. For decades, peace reigned throughout Julius and Eve's domain. Kindred and Kine alike seemed almost to work in harmony together. Vampires the world over viewed her fairy tale kingdom as a de jour Elyisum. Even the Brujah grudgingly conceded that her realm resembled the harmony they claimed existed in their Ancient Carthage.

For all of her success as a Prince, or rather as a Comtesse as she styled herself, loneliness again began to creep into the fiery Toreador's existence. After the first 50 years of peace and continued consciousness, Eveshka was growing tired. She needed a deep torpor. And so, she spoke at length about it with Julius, her soulmate, and she expressed her feelings. Montcalm would rule in her place and would yield the throne back to her when she arose in one hundred years time. After a night devoted to nothing but romantic and passionate lovemaking Eveshka was driven to Chenonceau where her sister Rhiannon was already slumbering, as was Morathi. Eveshka dressed in a gossamer gown, reminiscent of a burial shroud, and lay down in her crypt, deep within the northern pylon of the chateau. Julius kissed her forehead and watched with a degree of sadness as the Blush of Health crept from her face. His beloved Firebird was falling into Torpor. The little oil lamp that hanged from the ceiling above the bed chamber flickered to life of its own accord. With that Julius smiled, brushed her raven hair one last time, and then left.

He popped in to see her every so often.

As Eveshka slumbered away in silence and stillness, lit only by the solitary candle flame, the world outside changed. It did not grow more decadent, it just grew more busy. Colder. As it changed, Julius feared the day when his beloved Firebird would awake. How would she react?

And so time passed. And then Eveshka's eyes opened. With a great effort she sat up and shook off years of dust. Rhiannon's bed was empty, as was Morathi's. Eveshka was alone in the crypt. She closed her eyes and reached out to Julius.... and felt nothing.

Posted by Evil Eveshka and moved from old forum:

What has happened little Evey? Has your idiot wizard gone and turned off the lights? What the fuck is it with you and wizards? As if going through life with that complete fucktard Brian Braddock for several hundred years wasn't bad enough, you go and link yourself to another one. and a TREMERE at that. God, you were SO much better when you were doing chicks. Yeah baby, drinking nectar right from the peach itself. God that was SOOOOoo sexy. Rhiannon, she was an awesome lay. Ayane was great, Doria was a bit too proper but still had a great cunt. Leila? Nah, not much there. Jade was ok, too timid. Hasina, Yasmin, Renee Delacroix, Renee LaTroue, Vintage Wines, Lady Keeli, Evil Seeaira. God, so many women, so much pussy. Why on EARTH did you choose monogamy? But forget those little pissants, THE... ABSOLUTE..... fucking.... BEST...... Oh god. Khemintiri. Just thinking about that makes me cream Go out there Eve, get the masses to worship at your Altar of Sex, Lust, and Hedonistic Delight. You were the reigning Queen of all that Sparkled. Be that again. Please, for me? Think of all that we could do together little Evey.

Posted by Eveshka and moved from the old forum:

Eveshka shook the voice out of her head. What an appalling feeling bunch of thoughts to have go through one's mind upon waking after God knows how many years. Eveshka swung her feet off the bed and stood up. She moved very shakily into the center of the chamber. Eve looked down at her hands. They looked all whithered, the muscles had atrophied. She walked over to the mirror, which seemed to have become dull over the years. Eveshka had never seen herself after a long period of torpor. There had never really BEEN a long period. Ten or so years at a time was the most she ever went. To be sure, she had skipped out on whole epochs of history during her existence, but she had always risen to feed. Quite often there was vitae stored near where she slumbered so that she would not need to leave her torpor chamber.

And so she looked into the mirror and gasped. Her hair was greyed, scraggly and dull. The skin covering her once inhumanly beautiful face was cracked and dark like old leather. Her perfect body was skeletal, breasts and hips having no form. Her eyes were the same icey blue though. She tried to concentrate on them for a moment before she closed them and looked away.

How long had she been slumbering? She had no idea. Julius had obviously not come looking for her in quite some time. Had he been destroyed? Had he moved on? Had they all moved on?

Eveshka found her supply of vitae in the armoire. She drank two flasks of it down in seconds. The sensation of regeneration was instant. Her insides began to tingle. She knew it could take weeks to regain her beauty however. At least she would now have the strength to feed.

She moved to the exit and worked the combination like door knob. The wall moved out and slid to the side to reveal a dusty passageway leading upwards in a spiral. Her internal clock told her that it was night time. Up the stairs she went until she came to a slab of stone. Panic rose in her breast. There should have been a door there leading into the chateaux' kitchen, not a horizontal slab across the stairwell. She looked around and found a very dusty package laying on a broken step. She picked it up and opened it. Inside the package, more of a bag made of velvet that used to be a vivid purple, was a scroll and a quickly scribbled note.

"They are coming my love, my Goddess. I cannot defend you anymore. I cannot hold them off, and I cannot seem to wake you, your exhaustion must have been too great. I am sealing the chamber behind me in hopes that they will not find you. Please believe me, my Beloved, I did all that I could. I never abandoned you. I never stopped loving you. Please forgive me, for I cannot forgive myself. Please Evey, please believe that I did what I thought was right for us all.

Your Loving Julius"

She unrolled the parchment to find a Scroll of Mist Form. So this was how Julius had intended her to get out. She did not have the strength to use use a psychic projection to have a look around. All she had was the scroll. She would just have to trust that Julius knew what he was doing. Holding the scroll in her shaking hands she started to speak the words of power written upon it. It fluttered to the ground as she became a greenish tinged mist and began to move upwards between the tiny cracks in the stone slab.....

All was black when the luminescent green vapor made its way to the surface. The vapor formed into the gaunt and distorted shape that Eveshka had become. She did not even have enough vitae in her body to form blood tears. The land around Chenonceau, once one of the most celebrated chateaux in all of France, if not Europe, was devestated. She stood on a low mound; all that remained of the northern most pylon of the grand gallery over the Cher.

The Cher. Good Lord, how it had changed. Once a picturesque river bordered by lush forests, vineyards, and farm fields, it was now a polluted ditch that had large chunks of machinery buried in the ages old afluvia of past floods, altered drainage basins, and Lord knows what else. She could make out the jetty where once her boatmen would pick her upfor moonlight cruises. It was a rough horseshoe shape of stone forming a rought harbor into which the gentle waters of the Cher lapped. There used to be arbors upon which grapevines grew. There used to be trellises upon which roses were grafted. Now there was nothing. Only decay and destruction. It was as if she were walking in a nightmare.

To her it was living a nightmare. The once beautiful and mighty Comtesse de Touraine, Toreador Goddess, appeared to be the sole survivor in a barren wasteland. How would she exist with nothing to feed on? How would she exist without beauty? She reached out with all of her power and felt absolutely nothing, not even her beloved Measha. Nothing. She could not tell what time of year it was, nor could she tell how far along the night had progressed.

As she used a scroll prepared by Julius to get out of her chamber, had no vitae in her to use any powers to get back in, she was trapped. The only thing Eve could do was find a new haven. She decided to head north towards what was once the town of Chenonceaux. As she walked down the remains of the ventral drive into the chateau she passed through where her forest used to be. She could see the outer canal that surrounded the grounds. Where there was once sharp Cannes stone sloping sharply into placid waters that were disturbed only by the passing of a swan or the gentle ringlets of a falling leaf landing in the water, there was now a rather undefined and rounded linear depression running perpendicular to the old road. The canal was completely over grown, the once mighty walls reduced to rubble and buried under decades of detritus.

Chenonceaux itself was a series of mounds that Eve quickly deduced was all that was left of the foundations of the buildings. She crossed over the low rise of the remains of the SNCF rails that ran off to Tours heading to her left, and Amboise heading to her right. Emotions started to rise in her as panic and fear were awakened in her breast. There was nothing left of her beloved domain. What had happened? First things first however, she needed to find a temporary haven where she could sort things out and make her way to Tours. She knew that a certain tavern, L'Auberge, had a particularly deep wine cellar dug right into the limestone. She went to where it once stood and poked around. She found what looked like a burrow in the ground and sure enough there it was. The dark mouth of the cellar opened before her and she descended into it.

Inisde the cellar she found, to her surprise, the remains of wine bottles, broken furniture, a long unused firepit, what looked like rusty assault rifles of some sort, a stock pile of canned goods, and four skeletons dressed in tattered military like uniforms. There was absolutely no skin or muscle material on them, the bones were completely bare. This place, she decided, would protect her from the Sun's rays. It did not seem to her as if she was in danger from anything else as she could not sense any organic life or unlife for miles around. She only hoped that a brief nap would energize her enough to continue on.

After hours of sitting down in the darkness, Eveshka came to the conclusion that slumber would not take her. For whatever reason, there did not seem to be a dawn approaching. Very carefully she made her way up to the surface again. The sky had the same coloration to it, an unearthly bluish grey made up of nothing but clouds that were illuminated by the occasional streaks of lightening racing across the heavens.

Having nothing else to do, Eveshka resigned herself to a slow trek to Tours. Perhaps something of her old life survived.


((OOC: The following is taken from a conversation I had with Lady C about this storyline, it might explain what is going on......... [i:a59737ce40] Well, as far as my story goes, I sorta envision this as being centuries after either a huge war among mortals, or after the Jyhad went nuts and openly destroyed the place. Some of the destruction is from julius. I don't know if Julius is toast or not. depends on what Stef wants to do. A great evil walks the earth now, unchecked. Perhaps Gehenna has actually occured, but I'm hoping that some of the old school vampires pop back up for a last hurrah. As this is probably 400 years in the future, i can make it Eveshka's last stand. She will die for good and for all time here and I'll still be able to use her in stories that take place in the present time. Rather convenient actually.
and I'm thinking that this would be open only to really powerful, vampires. The devestation will pretty much encompasse the world. There is no sunrise, no seasons, no weather, no nothing. It's as if the world was wiped clean by the wrath of god. my ideal list of people would include Eve, Tromador, Porter, Euryon, Mundug, Sorenti, and some others who may have survived somehow, like Lady C, Gabe, and anyone else who could feasibly fit the bill. [/i:a59737ce40] So anyhoo, that's the bare bones of my thread. If anyone wishes to join they may, if they find it too unapproachable, that's fine too. ))

The grotto of Shal Ka Mense was largely unchanged from the events of four hundred years ago. Torch flames now danced and cavorted from crude sconces, supplying the cave with a low, smoke ridden light. Upon the ancient slab a body once again lay, horribly mutilated and unrecognizeable, a chalice held upon it's burned breast.

The cultists filed into the cavern, to worship at the feet of the Maimed God and to feel his power infuse them. Chanting in low tones, they eagerly awaited their priestess and the ritual of blood which would follow.

The torches flickered in the breeze as the cave darkened, their wan flames all but quenched by the arriving shadows. Lines of darkness coiled and writhed about the worshippers, slowly coalescing as their chanting reached a frenzied crescendo.

Then she stood before them, stark and given of an imperious beauty. Her face spoke of benevolent love to those who obeyed and dire consequences to those who would stray from the path. It was time for the ritual to begin.

The Priestess turned to the Maimed God and bowed, before taking the chalice from it's chest. A blood chalice, made of living flesh and sculpted bone. It quivered in her hands, as if in anticipation of the meal that was to come. A flick of the knife at her belt drained a little vitae from the Maimed God into the dread cup and she held it high before the worshippers, who now queued to add their own contributions to it's fleshy bowl.

Now all shared in a blood communion, each taking a share of the power of the Maimed God into them. As was fitting, the Priestess took the larger share and no small amount was saved for the God itself. Replacing the half full cup on it's chest, the remaining vitae seem to drain into the body of the God.

With an extravagant gesture, the Priestess gave the faithful their due reward. Waves of ecstasy flowed through the room, the worshippers falling to the floor, closed eyelids flickering in the blissful blessing of the Maimed God.

Ceremonies concluded, the congregation filed out from the cave one more.

Lady Cyrilynn turn to the broken body and inspected it. The vitae had healed a little more of the terrible wounds, but still it was too little, too late. [i:8feefc32f0]"Wake up Julius."[/i:8feefc32f0] She whispered. [i:8feefc32f0]"Please wake up..."[/i:8feefc32f0]

[b:fc3a4e2397][u:fc3a4e2397]Somewhere in Switzerland[/u:fc3a4e2397][/b:fc3a4e2397]

The Inconnu Enclave had survived untouched. The ancient protections which hid it from eyes both mortal and kindred had protected it from the ravages of past events. The small nuclear generator in the basement kept corridors lit, computers humming, libraries air conditioned. More importantly, right now, it kept vitae stocks refrigerated. The location had always been remote, under current circumstances it could only be considered isolated.

Isolation was a word which applied particularly well to the lone kindred who wandered the brightly lit rooms. He had sortied with the rest of the Order to preserve their species, so far though, he alone had returned. If any others had survived, he hadn't heard. Soon he would return to the world and see if the quest had succeeded. Surely there were survivors. The idea that George, the mad methusalah was the only remaining kindred was simply too much to bear. Even with the constant company of the myriad voices in his head, a simple fact could not be denied.

Tromador was lonely.

[i:793121c7d9]"Wake up Julius."[/i:793121c7d9] She whispered. [i:793121c7d9]"Please wake up....."[/i:793121c7d9]

Her hands clenched on the stone slab and she closed her eyes, [i:793121c7d9]"I'm so tired......"[/i:793121c7d9] A blood tear coursed down the smooth cheek and a long ribbon-like tongue darted out from between pale lips to sweep up the precious fluid. She got so little of it these days that it would be a crime to waste it in futile pleas. There was a whisper of soft soled sandals and the swish of course cloth behind her. A rush of a pulse and the thunder of a heartbeat. She trembled on the edge. Always the edge of hunger.

[i:793121c7d9]"Mistress?"[/i:793121c7d9] Kalen's voice held a tremor of fear at disturbing her communion with the God. There were times, in the past, when such actions would rouse her to immediate ire and the punishment was swift and severe. But lately, she'd been more occupied, somehow distant, and he hoped that she'd be lenient on him when she heard what he had to report. He swallowed hard when he saw her skin ripple and she turned stone-grey eyes on him.

Her voice blew cool across his senses and he quickly fell to his knees in obeyance as the rapture of it nearly took him over. [i:793121c7d9]"Lady, I bring news. Sad news. The congregation is dwindling and it is becoming harder to find enough supplicants. We [b:793121c7d9]must[/b:793121c7d9] seek farther afield, Divine One!"[/i:793121c7d9] He lowered his eyes to the dirt floor as her exquisitely dainty feet approached him.

She cupped his cheek in a chilled palm and he leaned into it. [i:793121c7d9]"I know, my pet. I have thought long and hard about this and I can see that the village below us can no longer supply our God with what he now needs. I've..."[/i:793121c7d9] the pause shocked him because she'd never sounded so hesitant before, [i:793121c7d9]"I've had dreams, visions Kalen. The god stirs!! I have felt his touch, a breath of his voice. We need more blood for our Maimed One."[/i:793121c7d9]

Her hand left his face and he was, at once, bereft, until she placed it on his shoulder. [i:793121c7d9]"Send out the most faithful of our herd, unto the nearest towns. Do not dwell on the tenets of our faith, my disciple, but instead, use whatever means it takes to bring them here. The God and I will do the rest. Have no doubts."[/i:793121c7d9]

She raised him to his feet as he stammered his gratitude for the honor she gave his recommendation and for giving him charge of this important mission. She smiled at him and leaned in, bestowing the Kiss of Ecstasy upon his throat. Too soon, altogether too soon, she let him go and stepped away from his writhing body as it sank, once again, to the cave's floor. And fought the rising tide of frenzy. It was [b:793121c7d9]NEVER[/b:793121c7d9] enough!

Eveshka arose when she was ready and, on unsteady legs, made her way towards Tours. Following the SNCF rails she wandered past Valencay, once reputed for its white wines and homes built into the limestone rock face of the valley. Now it was nothing more than an overgrown pile of rubble.

Several hours later she came to St. Pierre de Corps. Here were the first remnants of civilization. The Gare Atlantique seemed almost recognizable, at least the rough outline of it. Here was also the first lifeform she encountered. Small unidentifiable rodents scurried about the wreckage. Eveshka scooped up one and then another and another and drank them dry. She wiped out the entire colony of rodents before she felt a little bit of strength return to her.

A boom echoed overhead. Turning her eyes skywards she watched what looked like a lightening storm rage across the heavens turning the ground into bright day. While the countryside was illuminated, she could see the old railroad bed arc off to the northwest towards Tours and the end of the line at Gare Vinci. Further, she could see the spires of St. Gatiens rising recklessly off in the distance.

As she arrived into the city proper, she saw that all was not destroyed. The remains of buildings, with substantial amounts of them intact or at least comparatively so, stood along the broken roadway. Oddly enough, as she headed deeper into the old Gallo-Roman section, the destruction seemed less intense. She suspected she knew why. She walked up past the Abbee de Ste. Marie and discovered that the ancient Roman road was completely intact, as were the sidewalls that once bounded in the amphitheater, and then the posh residences of princes and kings. She stood in the square behind the nave of St. Gatien and looked at her inner city palace. It was cracked, moldering, and stood derelict to be sure, but it still stood. She looked up at the cathedral and saw that the twin spires had been completely sheered off about 3/4 of the way up. The surviving stone work appeared scorched but smooth, as if the top had been melted away, not blown up.

Eveshka walked like a ghost from the past into her old palace. Visions of the place in its glory flashed before her eyes only to be vanquished by the harsh reality of decaying wood, burnt tapestries, demolished cornices, and the inhuman scream from the horrid deaths of an untold number of souls. She stooped over and covered her face with her once creamy white hands. The skin now cracking and flaking off as her joints creaked, and clawlike nails clacked against the hard leathery skin of her face. This time the blood tears fell.

After a moment or two of mourning for her Empire, Eveshka moved to her former receiving chamber to the fireplace that still remained intact. With a shaky hand, she pulled release mechanism, disguised in the andirons. The ground shook slightly as the sound of stone scraping on stone filled the room and the inside of the fireplace sank away to reveal stairs leading down and into the tunnel leading to the cathedral.

This passageway existed since before the era of the Hundred Years War. St. Gatien's was a Sanctuary Church. Eveshka's palace was once the home of the Arch-Bishop of Tours. He of all people needed a direct route to safety. Eveshka used it as a store room for vitae and other supplies. She could only hope that it was still intact after all these years.

It was...

**********************************************************
Three weeks later, Eveshka, more or less restored to at least somewhat of her former splendor, sat in an old Empire chair next to a candle, reading the notes that Julius had taken. It described at least some, if not most of, the events that happened during her slumber. It seemed that for nearly eighty some odd years all had been well until a pupil of Julius' felt he had outgrown the burgeoning school and attempted to wrest control of it, and the House of Darrant from Julius. Normally, Julius would have put down a power struggle with ease, but this one seemed to draw its power from someplace else.

The pupil was "expelled" and was placed into magical shackles and sealed within a print of Abrecht Durer's woodcut [i:fc9e70f52a] The Martyrdom of St. John [/i:fc9e70f52a]. Apart from the fact that Eveshka would not awaken, nor could she BE awakened, everything seemed to return to normal. Very quickly, Julius realized that this was only on the surface. The quiet was the mere lull before the storm erupted.

The imprisoned student was once a mortal mage named Joel who had fallen in with a rather bad crowd. He had taken to practicing black magic, rather than magic as a holistic entity. He shunned the balances of ordered wizardry and opted for anarchy in his newly found crusade to rid the world of vampires and vampirism. He thought he was indeed doing the will of God. Rather, he was unwittingly doing the will of the forces of darkness and despair. On his own, he was not a match for Julius and his pupils. However, he had come to the attention of someone older and more powerful than he. During Joel's "apprenticeship," he felt compelled to go to Tunisia for further study. On a vast plateau overlooking the Gulf of Sidre, he learned his trade. In the prcoess, he became the unknowing disciple of a preternatural power bent on earthly conquest. His tutor was an antedeluvian buried deep beneath the plateauin the ruined crypt of what had once been the city of Carthage. This was Troile, and he was struggling to awaken.

One by one, catastrophes wreaked havoc upon the earth. Tsunamis, volcanic eruptions, meteor showers, earthquakes of unheard of strength, famines, wars, and all manners of horrid things. Then came that last battle where the fate of the earth would be decided: The United States had long been turned to dust; England had more or sunk beneath the waves, at least metaphorically; the continental European Union led by the Germans and the French, the new Roman Empire as it were, stood against the menace from the East. The Jyhad ceased to be as did both the Sabbat and the Camarilla. The Cainites of the West came to realize that there was more at stake than mere hunting grounds and nonsense about the Masquearde. Lasombra fought alongside Ventrue against the strangers from the East.

From what Eveshka could deduce, it seems that pockets of civilization survived long enough to become monuments to the past. Sections of vampiric holdings still stood across the globe, but only in very isolated areas. It seemed as if the war raged for nearly a century. Finally, Julius squared off against one of the Kindred of the East, a magess of some sort. In the battle, the magess destroyed Chenonceau and by all accounts Eveshka. Julius flew into a towering rage and focused all of his efforts on finding the magess and destroying her, regardless of the consequences. Psychic blast followed psychic blast as the two lashed out at each other from half a world away, burning everything in between. Julius concentrated and lashed out one last time, incinerating billions in a single second. The wall of fire lashed forth from atop the St. Gatien's Cathedral. All but a small protected section would be wiped clean. At least that was the plan. From that exhertion, Julius fell to the slate roof beneath him and was semi-conscious. LAdy Cyrillin was present at his side and began to spirit him away. He regained consciousness long enough to command her to take him to Chenonceau. Upon finding that she still slumbered, he wrote the note to EVe that she found upon waking up.

Eveshka looked up from the tome and closed it. The book she held now, was written to tell her of what had happened. Apparently, the Kindred of the East were not all destroyed, nor was Troile. They chased Julius and LAdy Cyrillin away someplace. A pupil of Julius' volunteered to return to the city palace and leae it there for Eveshka to find if she ever woke up.

Eveshka looked at the crumpled and decayed form on the floor beneath him. He made it back safely and fell into a torpor. She knelt down and touched his head. The man looked completely mummified. He would have to be brought back. She had to know. Where was Julius headed? Had he survived?

[i:dfb1646d3a]"We are gathered here, tonight, to witness the ecstasy and the agony. Two souls who have come before the Maimed God. One,"[/i:dfb1646d3a] an elegant hand waved at a bowed, naked male held lightly at the wrists by bracketing female acolytes, [i:dfb1646d3a]"seeks admittance to our fold. The other,"[/i:dfb1646d3a] this time, the naked figure was female. Two male acolytes held her on her knees, the shivering body rattling the shackles joining her wrists.[i:dfb1646d3a]"a repentant. Both, in their own way, seek to serve He-Who-Is-Shattered."[/i:dfb1646d3a]

The high priestess moved sinuously down from the raised platform, approaching the two before her. Both faces held a touch of awe, overshadowed by a taint of fear and no small amount of dread in the woman's. Cyrilynn's reputation as a lethal protector of her congregation, and her abilities as a healer, imparted a semi-divine status to her and it was not unknown for some to tremble at the sound of her name. Many also whispered of the dark forces she wielded from magic bestowed upon her by the diety they all worshipped.

The regal figure stopped before the supplicant and reaching down to raise his chin with two fingers, brought his gaze up to hers. Easily dominating the mind, she stood him to his full height. His eyes locked to hers as she ran her palms over his chest, assessing the age and health of him while imparting a concentrated rush of rapture, directly into his brain.

She lapped her tongue against him, tasting his essence, seeking the closest major vein, as his eyes glazed over and his head tipped back. She sank her fangs deep, yet only took enough for the spells she would have to weave, trusting to replenish that in the ceremony of blood, still to come Reluctantly, she closed the holes, leaving behind the rose mark of a worshipper in a blood stain on the surface and released her mental hold on him. His attendants caught him as he reeled backwards into their waiting arms. [i:dfb1646d3a]"Attend him, as you've been instructed. The Kiss will leave him sensitive for some time."[/i:dfb1646d3a] she admonished them as they bore him away.

Her seductive stance changed as she swung to stand before the sinner. She tsk'd, like a mother disappointed in a small child and the smile she wore was stony in aspect, her back ramrod stiff and forbidding. [i:dfb1646d3a]"We're deeply upset with you Selona,"[/i:dfb1646d3a] Cyrilynn raised eyes to encompass the entire mass of people, many nodding as she passed over them, [i:dfb1646d3a]"you have blasphemed your Master!"[/i:dfb1646d3a] This last brought hellish lights dancing in the High Priestess's eyes as they bore down on the victim. A whimper arose from the tightly clamping throat.

Again, Lady Cyrilynn brought the body upright with domination and, taking her by the hand, led her to the altar, to stand facing her. Unlike the man, this one stared with eyes widened, pupils dialated and a body like a puppet that answered only to the ancient Tzimisce's will. When the caress was adminstered, the skin rippled as if trying to crawl away from the touch and the moaning began.

To Julius' caretaker, the body was in superb condition. Young, healthy and, above all, able to supply a goodly amount of vitae. No Kiss of Ecstasy for this one, she mused... Her lips smiled, but her storm-grey eyes remained cold as she reached out to pick up the chalice from Julius's broken body. Crooning on a dissonant note, she stroked and coaxed the living goblet to a new, elongated tubular shape, that came to a point at one end. It wriggled eagerly in her grasp. The woman began pleading and sobbing, declaring her remorse, asking for mercy.

This time, her pale and glistening tongue swept out across the bulky end of the pulsing item and left behind a red smear. At once the end split obscenely and displayed a lamprey-like opening lined with teeth. The noises from the coming sacrifice ceased abruptly, then crescendo rapidly into ear-splitting screams as the punisher touched the rose emblazoned above the breast and drew her hand downward, about the length of a forearm.

The skin split with a tearing sound, the muscle and bone spread with an erotic wetness and the heart lay exposed, beating frantically, like a bird about to burst from it's cage. Lady Cyrilynn reached in with the living flesh of the God and watched as the chalice latched onto the heart and began to suckle. The screams of agony brought a look of gratification to her face as she watched the white, pulpy mass grow plump and turn a bright crimson, before it fell into her waiting hands. Hands that trembled with hope that [b:dfb1646d3a]this[/b:dfb1646d3a] time, it would be enough.

Once again, she reached out, closing the gaping wound in the torso and releasing her prey to fall upon the floor, a much shrunken, wrinkled figure. The cries had quickly diminished to a weak keening and the once silent crowd of witnesses breathed a collective sigh, when they realized the woman would be allowed to live. The Priestess waved the woman's guards forward and also reminded them to [i:dfb1646d3a]"Attend to her, as you have been instructed. She will not be allowed to leave until I have received word from the God, regarding her future."[/i:dfb1646d3a]

She turned back to the figure reposing on it's stone bed and approached it with a beginning chant. Re-shaping the bone and flesh back to it's bowl-like contours, she began the Rite of Exultation. The adherents echoed her call as they, too, gave of themselves and took the essence of their protector into their bodies. At last the chalice reached Cyrilynn and she held it high, before draining her own portion, then placed the nearly full cup dead center of Julius's mangled corpse.

Turning, she poured a touch more power into the spell she cast about the devotees, the wave of it crested and broke about them, only to lap back as it hit the cave walls and rebounded. Gasps and panting boosted the frenzy that struck as clothing ripped and tore, as hands touched and stroked, clung to skin as if welded there. Many fell away, entangled, writhing, moaning, trying desperately to connect to as many as could be reached with every available limb or digit possible. Before long silence descended as the ripples of pleasure faded and the assembly sank into a stupor.

Cyrilynn turned away from the mass of humanity, towards her Master. She loved him, as only the blood bonded could, but she detestd him too. She hated him for making her care for him all this time. For having to create this articficial life for one wounded mage. She was tired. Mentally, emotionally, physically exhausted and she wanted respite. The long gray days might be a blessing for the undead to walk about during the day, but the rest the Kindred would normally have had was even more cursed, denied it's deepest peace.

The number of human cattle to feed the the two of them was dwindling and Lady Cyrilynn, once the vaunted Scorpion and reknowned assassin wanted nothing more than torpor. A cessation of the struggle she was compelled to linger in. [i:dfb1646d3a]"Wake up Julius."[/i:dfb1646d3a] The daily plea was made, yet again. [i:dfb1646d3a]"Please!! Wake up."[/i:dfb1646d3a] A sigh, a reiteration. [i:dfb1646d3a]"I'm so [b:dfb1646d3a]tired[/b:dfb1646d3a]!!"[/i:dfb1646d3a] The once proud Tzimsice laid her head on the flaccid hand that lay there, still and cold, as yet another healing session came to a close and [b:dfb1646d3a]prayed[/b:dfb1646d3a] she would be answered.....soon.

[i:ff89f72be0]"Wake up Julius!"[/i:ff89f72be0] She whispered. [i:ff89f72be0]"Please. Wake up!"[/i:ff89f72be0] Cyrilynn sighed as she laid her head upon his cold lifeless hand. [i:ff89f72be0]"I'm so tired!"[/i:ff89f72be0] Exhaustion, starvation. The lion's share of vitae always sacrificed to her master. Slipping slowly, gently now, her body taking on an otherworldly feel,
her unlife quieting, her limbs heavy, the blessed release of torpor coming over her. Cyrilynn slept.

She stood now atop the cathedral of St. Gatien, looking from eyes which were not her own, wielding the power of her thousands of years, blind by rage, her heart ready to burst from the unbearable, unstoppable, unendurable agony.

Insane with grief and secretly praying to die in this final battle. Beyond clumsy words of Latin, or secret and guarded symbols, her true mastery bringing forth the power by sheer force of will.

The Adversary had already unleashed her cataclysm, now Cyrilynn would unleash hers, two goals only remained. The Adversary must die and she must die along with her. Let the world burn, burn away the pain, release her from the torment.

Two great arcs of power, indefinable. Not fire, not lightning, the pure essence of destruction made manifest in physical form. Lines of force stretching from pole to pole, circumnavigating towards their targets, great scythes reaping all in their path. Pain ahead of them, death in their wake.

And the chaos, the annihilation of civilisation, cities eradicated, nations flattened. Ocean to Tsunami. Rock to Earthquake. Buildings to rubble.

And the torture, the billion accusing faces, each one their own deaths head mask. Flesh melting, eyes exploding, mouths crying, nerves screaming, bones smashing.

Earth to Earth. Ashes to Ashes. Dust to Dust.

And the silence.

As nobody transmitted new news any longer, George sat watching archived news on the tri-D. It had seemed as though the brave new world had arrived with the establishment of Luna 1 in 2094. His old friend Francis had somehow managed to get himself up there. First Kindred in Space. Of course, no resupply vessels had launched in years. Luna 1 would, by now be a lifeless shell, filled with nothing but decaying corpses. Corpses and one lone kindred, by now starved into deep torpor, orbiting the earth beyond rescue, for God only knew how long.

He had been outside. To the grounds of the compound, to check the air. It had a metallic taste to it. A hint of something unclean, polluted. Almost like London in the 19th century. Global initiatives had finally made a difference, though the world had gone to the brink. Controls on greenhouse emissions and new cleaner methods of producing energy had saved mankind from it's own destructive nature. The cataclysm changed all that, the destruction reached beyond the ruined buildings and the snuffed out lives. The atmosphere was changed, the never ending grey sky, foul gasses in the air. Without the brightness of the sun, the trees had suffered, lungs of the earth coughing and choking on filth. And as for the weather...

[i:5c21db60c5]"Time to go George."[/i:5c21db60c5] Said M. [i:5c21db60c5]"You can't stay here forever."[/i:5c21db60c5]

George nodded, in complete agreement with his imaginary counterpart.

[i:5c21db60c5]"Best pack a few things then."[/i:5c21db60c5]

Epson was a bright lad.

His father, Windows, had sent him out to find something to eat. In these troubled times, humans would amaze themselves in what depths they would sink to in order to sleep on a full stomach, and the small numbered Nvidia tribe were no exception.

Epson heard the cry coming from a hollow in the dusty earth just ahead. He hoped it was an injured animal, or even a dying human. Clutching his spear in one hand he pulled his ragged clothes tighter warding off the sudden chill, and peered inside.

He was suddenly pulled inwards, screaming into the desert wind that scoured the landscape, then a sickening crunch and a wet tearing ended his shrieks.

One green eye peered out from the shadows.

The prey were decreasing rapidly. Hunting was becoming ever difficult, ambush tactics even more so. And so the now considerably ancient, terribly inhuman beast that once was Porter pulled himself from his den and headed east, following the meager tracks of the remaining herds of Man.

There is [b:7975944d61]one[/b:7975944d61] dread shared by all Tzimisce alike, be they Camarilla, Sabbat, Inconnu or Caitiff and it is the overwhelming dread of Final Death. And none more feared than that of consumation by fire.

The relentless terror of the souls, slain by Julius's magic, cascaded through Lady Cyrilynn's mind, feeding on the anguish and torment that possessed the torpored mage, echoing and re-echoing through his blood servant until she was nearly insane with it! With a shriek that rivaled the demons of hell, she was catapulted into her own reality as the final deafening silence reached it's ending.

The Maimed God's priestess pushed up and away from the altar on limbs that denied her much support, as the ghostly images in her mind slowly faded. Gathering the last remnants of her strength she stepped forward, only to be driven to her knees as the backlash of Julius' dreams struck with all the weight of a freight train.

Only this time, she was filled with an onslaught of such pleasure-pain that she howled her climax into the empty chamber as it worked it's way through her clenched body. Wave upon wave of changing, altering flesh and bone as if she were the one to have the rendering of it. Finally, dizzy and disoriented, she trembled on the void's edge as her own events scrolled past the mage's finale.

She saw again the launching of forces she could never begin to understand, despite what her master had already taught her. She witnessed the bolt that caught him unawares and slammed into the shields he'd erected. Only to eat it's way forward, like acid, to splash weakly against his chest. However diluted the force was, it was enough to spin him around as his staggering body plunged to the cathedral roof's tiles like a slab of charred meat tossed to the dogs.

Cyrilynn relived the strangle hold of his instructions, the geas he'd laid on her, as to the disposition of his body, should he live. She'd rescued the remains and spirited them to this cave, where she'd spent eons trying to heal him. Where she'd run out of options and cures and had simply become nothing more than a nursemaid to a false divinity. Forced to endure a meaningless existence.

Only this time, she saw what she'd refused to acknowledge all along when she'd taken up this burden. The battle [b:7975944d61]wasn't[/b:7975944d61] over at all. In fact, the war had barely begun. The magess still lived and she would come again.

********

Voices intruded and buzzed at her senses. She opened her eyes and tried to focus on the faces that had been drawn by her screams. [i:7975944d61]"My Lady! What's wrong? Are you hurt? Are you ill?[/i:7975944d61] She gave herself up to their ministrations as hands reached to bear her up, to soothe, to comfort, for she truly had no strength to do it herself. She would need to feed and [b:7975944d61]very[/b:7975944d61] soon. Too soon.

[i:7975944d61]"I... I saw.... visions..."[/i:7975944d61] Cyrilynn let her voice falter but the strain was quite real. [i:7975944d61]"Our God...,"[/i:7975944d61] she closed her eyes and prayed, ardently, [i:7975944d61]"he awakens!"[/i:7975944d61]

Several weeks had past since Eveshka had arrived at her city palace in Tours. She wondered how long she could take the isolation. There were times that she felt that she should summon the deeply torpored vampire but she couldn't summon the will power enough to do it. Essentially, Eveshka did not have the heart to bring the poor Toreador into this present consciousness. He was better off in limbo.

Outside the small zone of undestroyed buildings around the cathedral, Tours was a wasteland. If a newcomer had arrived here, they would not have even known that a rather lovely city had once stood on that spot. All that remained were the low, rounded mounds that were buildings. Nothing grew there but scrubby weeds. The only animal life form that she could find were those odd rodent-like things that scurried around. She resolved herself to get up and leave Tours. She would head westwards to start with. As there was no sunrise, she didn't have to worry about a haven. That, in and of itself, was rather interesting. She crossed the remains of the Loire, a rather wide marsh that followed ran in the middle of the Valley. She recognized a few 21st Century things in there as she crossed the remains of a bridge over to the north bank of the river along the old Quai Paul Bert. She saw what looked like the turret of a tank sticking out of the muck. It was weathered and rusted, but still recognizeable. She climbed off of the bridge and walked into the swamp to investigate it. This was the first hard and fast thing she could identify in the world at large.

Eveshka gingerly placed her hand on the aged metal and closed her eyes. She used her Spirit's Touch to see who had been in there and hoped that she could sense something fo what had happened to it. She got flashes of images in her mind. It seemed that this tank was, as she suspected, American. Last she knew, at the time that she went into torpor, the American Army had all but vacated its bases in Germany. After the debacles of Iraq, Afghanistan, the subsequent invasion of Iran and Syria, the world had pretty much turned its back at large on the myopic Yanks. She knew that the crowning achievement was when the American military and the Japanese went against North Korea and China in the mid 21st century. Nobody helped them. The result was the Chinese literally swallowed up Japan, took Alaska, and turned Los Angeles into coffee grounds before the Americans sued for peace.

It seems that later on, the Americans had again gotten imperialistic notions. But against whom did they fight and why? Could this have something to do with Julius and the menace from the East? She had only questions. No answers.

Onwards she walked, past Luynes, past Langais, past Cinq Mars le Pile. As she was passing the old Gallo Roman lighthouse she got a peculiar feeling, like she was being watched. Using a bit of celerity and blood strength, she vaulted to the top of the ancient stone building. From there she could see across the ruined valley. This had been her domain. It was now destroyed. She gazed across the remains of the Loire River and saw stone pilings rising up from the marshland. This would be the remains of the old TGV track as it crossed the Loire on its way to La Rochelle. That was not far from Usse: her home.

Eve decided to cross back through the marsh to see what was left of Usse. It was built beneath a bluff that could have potentially shielded it from the final blast that she assumed had destroyed Tours. As she walked up to it, she saw that most of the main chateau was destroyed. A few walls remained of it, nothing more. The chapel, however, was largely intact. Smoke was rising from a chiminy in the rectory. It seemed as if there was also light seeping out from the stained glass. Somebody was home.