Wren sighed, staring around at the vast expanse of ocean that lay before him. [i:394b01f074]"That explains the water in my crypt,"[/i:394b01f074] he said to himself, hands in his pockets as he began walking, heading towards what he assumed would be the main European landmass. Of course, he paid no mind to the fact that the blue liquid around him was getting deeper very quickly, and within a few moments, he was already neck deep.

Within a few moments more, he was completely submerged. For the second, he was glad of his condition, as under the ocean, nature had produced beauty of a kind that surpassed anything a Toreador might see upon the wall of a gallery. In the places where the ocean was, the world was largely untouched by the devastation that Julius and the Magess had unleashed in their war. In fact, it thrived even more strongly now than it had in the years before.

Coral grew in shades of reds, pinks, and blues about him, wrapped around cars and forming reef systems that had been left unspoiled by man, and in these reefs, was an abundance of fish that had been nearly unheard of just before everything civilized had come crashing down, the way nature had bounced back beneath the waves was truly remarkable.

It gave him some small hope for mankind.

On the other hand, time didn't seem to pass that he noticed while walking beneath the waves, the pressure of the water around him becoming greater and greater, though he felt little of it physically, though he stopped to occasionally equalize his eardrums in order to prevent them from blowing out. Still, time did pass, and after what seemed an age, he began to notice himself weakening, and the intense feeling of hunger that only a kindred could know.

It was perhaps then, fortunate that the sharks were hungry too. It was even more fortunate that he looked like a large and easy meal to them. It was far less fortunate that four hundred years of evolution had made them into even more efficient eating machines, many of them surviving centuries, especially in light of the large food source, the fact that they grew until they died, and a lifespan that no one really knew the truth of.

Afterall, sharks in captivity died far earlier than what their natural lives dictated. Sharks in captivity, died after about thirty years.

It was therefore, no surprise to Wren, when the first of the colossal great whites bore down on him, and without even the tiniest moment of pause, opened its mouth to bite him in half. Wren, out of his element, did the last thing the shark would have expected, and indeed, the last thing any person in his right mind would have done... he jumped straight into the brute's gaping jaws, swimming down its throat, claws extending as he swam.

Deadly talons, sharp enough to carve steel with the most casual swipe of a hand, dug into the brute's insides, causing the great beast to arch in the water where it swam, and once the momentum of the internal assailant had halted, fangs bit into the flesh there, drinking deeply of the lifeblood, using it to replenish what the long journey had taken from him.

Minutes passed as the brute stopped thrashing, and finally, bereft of the life force that flowed through its veins, expired. A few moments, and there was an explosion from the side of the brute as Wren literally tore his way from its flesh, only to discover that he was under attack by more of them, the miniscule amounts of blood on him making him the target of a frenzy perhaps worse than anything experienced by a vampire. His fist lashed out and across a shark's nose, causing it to recoil from him as he spent a tiny fraction of what lay within his stomach. And in so doing, he became a blur of activity, all of his muscles suddenly in overdrive as he swam away from the monstrous creatures, leaving them to feast upon their fallen comrade.

A day after the combat with the massive sharks, soaked black hair emerged from the water on the french shore, followed by a face, then a trim, lean body with hands in pockets, and Wren, looking around, began to observe his surroundings. By the look of the ruined city, he stood in one of the more well to do ports from his day, although he had forgotten the name of the place.

No matter, it had everything he needed.

Kicking through the wreckage, he methodically hunted, not for the sake of his stomach, but for something else. When he suddenly vanished from sight, tripping and stumbling his way down ruined ashphalt to land squarely on his face, he knew he had been successful. Not a pleasant method of finding an underground parking garage perhaps, but definitely reliable.

Glowing red eyes suddenly appeared in the darkness as he looked around, noting that a number of these models were still in good condition, the anti-rust treatments that had been applied to them, and the anti-wear treatments applied to the tires, had left these cars in particularly good condition.

Still, the one in the best condition, a very late model Camaro designed for even the roughest of hot rod drivers, wasn't going to start, and Wren knew it, so he popped the hood, and sighed. The rodents had been hard at work on this engine, but Wren, in typical fashion, began to move from car to car finding what he wanted.

From the trunk of one, a fresh oil filter and several gallons of syntec, sealed away from the ravages of time, kept from going acidic by an airtight container. From the engine of another, a battery, and several hoses. Yet another, some wiring the car needed. Still another car had transmission fluid, preserved in the same way as the other oil, and another an industrial coolant for the radiator.

Attaching hoses and making them fit proved to be more difficult than Wren first anticipated, requiring him to delicately use taloned hands to reshape several hookups on the engine, and then, without a further thought, he gently dug the tips of his claws into several bolts, and with said leverage, unscrewed them to drain the various oil pans, even as he poured some small amount of fresh oil through to push out any of the old oil that might still linger, for he knew that after oil sat a long time, it became acidic, and as such, could destroy an engine from the inside out.

Fortunately, between anti-corrosion treatments and the fact that the oil simply hadn't moved, the engine hadn't taken any real damage so far, and only the oil pan showed any wear at all from it, and that was nearly nothing.

Not long after, several rats, out hunting for food, were most disturbed when part of the ground fell away nearby. They were even more disturbed, when moments later, the roar of an engine preceded the camaro, a shade of unfaded midnight blue, as it erupted from the underground parking garage, and turned down the ruined roadway, dodging various bits of age old rubble.

With several cans of gas taken from the garage, a few extra batteries (the vehicle had barely started, and had taken some clever wire work to get batteries together and start the machine to charging the first one) and two spares in what passed for the trunk, Wren was as happy as he could be, considering the circumstances.

He nearly went off the road as he heard Julius's painful cry of sorrow from nearly a world away.

Eveshka and Khemintiri both regarded Tromador. At first nothing changed. Eveshka looked around her and saw only a grande salle with flickering candles, gilded cornices, parquette flooring, and tapestries on the walls. Then, one by one, these things began to wither away. First she noticed paint peeling. Then she noticed what looked like dry rot on the moldings and the draperies. Soon, her pristine world of shimmering crystal and candlelight was melting, colors running together and bleeding into pools of blackness that seeped into the parched ground.

"Stop," whispered Eveshka with a hint of terror in her voice. "This is not real."

"Correct," said Tromador. "It is not real."

She looked over at Khemintiri who held her tongue for the moment. Khemintiri too seemed to have been effected by the transformation.

Tromador made a broad sweeping gesture with his hands saying, "This is what is real. The scorched heavens, the parched earth, destruction all around."

He had a sad but maniacal look in his eyes. Suddenly Khemintiri lashed out at him with the speed of an asp. Tromador flew right through the wall that had appeared again, for Eve, as Khemintiri fought to reestablish her hold over the Toreador. To Eveshka it looked as if Trom had smashed through brick. She screamed and took a couple of steps forwards towards the gaping whole in the wall but then stopped after hearing an admonishing hiss from Khem. She turned around to look at Khemintiri and saw that her beautiful face was now deformed with snake like eyes, slits for a nose, and a thin mouth from which a forked tongue flicked out.

"It is not Khemintiri," cried Tromador as he ran up to where the wall used to be. His time in the Inconnu had been well served, he spit blood out at the snakelike apparition which recoiled. Eveshka brandished her Dred Rapier and turned to face the form. With an eerie laugh the form disappeared.

"I don't think that would have been much use, Evey," said Trom pointing to the sword in her hand. She looked down and saw that she was holding nothing but a blunted stick. She threw it into the corner and looked back at Tromador.

"Why did I have to survive to see this?" she asked and then walked away without a word and walked over to the ruined gate leading up to her former palace and sat on the steps with her head in her hands.

Tromador opened his mouth as if to speak. "I believe she meant to ask that rhetorically," said M with a smirk.

Tromador walked over to her and oddly enough, his imaginary friends stood still. He sat down next to her. He tentatively put an arm around her. Such displays of emotion had not been practiced in centuries. It felt uncomfortable.

"Am I still beautiful at least?" asked Eveshka looking up at him.

((truly incredible...all of it.

This was all Julius' fault, Cyrilynn fumed, as yet another prey eluded her grasp by diving into shelter and forcing her to abort her stoop. It was the third such miss in the last fifteen [b:ff8b0c540c]frustrating[/b:ff8b0c540c] minutes since she'd actively started her hunt for blood prey. The evening shadows, made many by the ever-present cloud cover, had deepened and she was more tired than she cared to admit to herself. If she didn't know better, she'd have sworn the little group of younglings were playing a game with her!

Deriving immense pleasure from her quasi-freedom, the harpy had given a great deal of thought to abandoning the crippled mage to his own devices. She'd even gone so far as to attempt to veer off course..... and had suffered for it with burgeoning fears that left her weakened and wretched with dread, that he would perish without her protection. Wasted blood, wasted sweat, wasted tears and, most of all, wasted time.

With a shriek of building rage against her blood shackles, she banked and circled, searching for one more target just as the prey broke cover. Heading for the next sanctuary, the boy ran like a jack rabbit and the thrill of the chase found an outlet for her anger and loss. This time, she could see in the lengthening gloom the haven he sought, and rose on the gentle wind, then folded her wings, extended her talons and dove for his exposed neck. No more Ms. Merciful Chickenhawk!!

The shower of crossbow quarrels, that punctured several holes in her outstretched wings, aborted her descent and forced her to backpedal quickly, even as she sealed each breach. Trivial wounds, easily mended, if annoying. Cold iron entering her right, primary wing joint was a different matter, bringing a shriek of pain from the stunned woman. It froze the limb in a rigid spread as the left arm was snapped close, hard, against her torso. The ensuing spiral plunged her face first into the unyielding soil.

Shaken into limp acceptance from a wave of ectasy, as the pain from her broken nose, impaled flesh and a couple of shattered digits gave her intense pleasure, she felt the weight of a net descend on her fallen form and effectively frustrate any plans to launch back to the sky. Harshly shouted commands, from the pilot house of the hulk that loomed over her, made her realize that the children she'd been persuing had, [b:ff8b0c540c]indeed[/b:ff8b0c540c], been leading her on a merry chase, right into a trap.

The ancient Tzimisce was certain now, that the Antediluvian's psychic cry had brought about her misfortune. Ever since he'd shrieked, and the world had trembled and slunk into hiding, the humans had become increasingly uneasy and wary. The smart ones had taken to banding for protection from unseen forces and had begun to shy at shadows. Something they'd not really been prone to, before. [b:ff8b0c540c]THIS[/b:ff8b0c540c] was the last straw and something snapped inside her mind. With a roar of triumph, her beast leaped into the breach.

Centuries of control gave Cyrilynn the speed of a thought and she leashed that fury, promising it blood and.......... more. If it would just listen to her plan. There was slow, reluctant acceptance; the reprieve temporary and she knew it. Rapidly surveying the surroundings, a hiss of satisfaction spilled from a mangled visage and, as the ebon night finally descended, so did an eerie silence.

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

The kine cautiously approached their snare with hushed tones and cocked weapons. They were sure they'd bagged what had appeared to be a large bird of sorts but, even wounded, they were aware it could yet be dangerous. Experience was a harsh teacher. Disappointment was a soft groan on an errant breeze as those closest beheld the woven web stretched across a pool of shadows and nothing to show for their efforts. Those behind shouldered their way forward to ascertain their failure and poke at the flacid strands. There was a moment when the only sound was that of the whistling wind.

At the core of that well of silence a smoky shadow stirred and then rose on a column of building darkness as human eyes sought to make out something of substance within it. It continued to grow and soldify for several minutes before opening two hellishly red eyes that speared those that faced it. With sinuous movements, like that of a hypnotising snake, it rose a few more feet then swiftly darted to the nearest man, coiling itself around his body in a lover's embrace, before turning to stare back at it's audience.

The man within it's folds stood rigid, shudders of terror rippling his frame as he found himself immoblized within the lightly held bondage. The now diamond shaped head gave a sibulent hiss as it opened needle-fanged jaws wide, holding the group in wide-eyed fascination, before turning and sinking them deep into the neck of it's victim. The quickly smothered scream that arose from the mortal was enough to shake many of them from their daze and with shouts of horror, they opened fire on the apparition that savaged their comrade.

To their dismay, the bolts only passed through the devil's spawn and, more often than not, found a home in their own comrades.

With another hiss of satisfaction, Cyrilynn's eidolon snake dropped it's meal and rose again on a column of ebony, surveying the feast before it and, with a command of encouragement, she let go the reins and joined with her creation to experience the slaughter it would indulge in. The carnage was awesome in it's scope as limbs were torn asunder and suckled dry. Bodies pounded in to pulp and swallowed whole, only to emerge at the pool's base as nothing more than bleached bones. Massive jaws that bit and tore, followed by multiple tongues that lapped up every available drop of ruby liquid.

Until there was only a deathly stillness.

With celerity and heightened senses, even those who turned and ran had had no chance of survival. The shadow-demon, that symbiosis of vampire and darkness that had only just begun to indulge it's hunger, turned it's gaze to the rusting freighter. The cattle that had dared to play games with it would in turn be ensnared within deadly black coils. Settling purposefully to the ground, it undulated towards the nearest opening and flowed furtively into the blackness of the interior. By the time the merged pair came to an engorged rest, nothing would remain but the rusting metal and furnishings. Not even the children would escape... this time.

One stone, placed on another stone, and another, and so on. A square atop a square, must leave a gap for entry, and so on to the next square. Reeds from the lake, bundled and carried, placed on the stones, sloping from the top, tied and cut. Move on to the next. Words on the breeze. Sound in the air, whispers in the mind.

[b:59c7d02aa5]"Why are you doing this?"[/b:59c7d02aa5] [i:59c7d02aa5]No need to toil ...[/i:59c7d02aa5]

Circles this time, stone circles. Around and around. Pile the stones carefully, there is no mortar. Frame for the roof and back to the lake for more reeds.

[b:59c7d02aa5]"This place had it's day long ago. It's time is done."[/b:59c7d02aa5] [i:59c7d02aa5]We remember, you and I ...[/i:59c7d02aa5]

Ignore the words, pile the stones. Build what was and like the circles you create, the world circles to it's beginning.

[b:59c7d02aa5]"No, my childe, that can never be."[/b:59c7d02aa5] [i:59c7d02aa5]Come away now...[/i:59c7d02aa5]

Turn, observe the figure. He stands watching. Not interfering. Back to the ruins. Pile the stones.

[b:59c7d02aa5]"Let the past dwell in the past. You and I are done with it, with here. Move along now."[/b:59c7d02aa5] [i:59c7d02aa5]Turn around ...[/i:59c7d02aa5]

Turn back to face the figure.

[b:59c7d02aa5]"I heard your call. Did you think I had forgotten you?"[/b:59c7d02aa5] [i:59c7d02aa5]Look into my eyes ...[/i:59c7d02aa5]

Meet the figure's gaze. So much work still to do. Irresistable.

[b:59c7d02aa5]"So much pain, poor little maimed childe. Come to me now."[/b:59c7d02aa5] [i:59c7d02aa5]I will heal you ...[/i:59c7d02aa5]

Hell's Bell, as the youth in Jacob's Flats so often called it, halted it's persistent tic-toc to announce noon's arrival in a dozen great strikes against the timepieces ancient bell. The clock in many ways symbolized the near ghost town's existence. It had withstood age, the unrelenting desert heat, a worldwide Armageddon, and several resolutions by the town's zoning board to be torn down. No, like Jacob's Flats, Hell's Bell (officially The Great Memorial Clock) refused to go away. It persisted as any true inhabitant of what was the forgotten area called California's Badlands did, with an undying grit.

That's not to say the town was impervious to worldly events and catastrophes, it was simply that the gauge on which standards of living were measured upon had always been set so low, that the end of civilization had gone widely unnoticed on a day to day basis. To the citizenry, the massive clock was a metronome to their lives. The perpetual overcast gave no clues to the time of day, and only the reliable chime of Hell's Bell started and ended the workday. The tiny collection of businesses and trailers ran adjacent to Main Street, a dusty stretch of road. The highway that centuries prior had run perpendicular to it had long since been lost to the desert sands, although a small portion remained and had been converted into a tetherball court.

Most of the inhabitants scratched out their meager living via indoor farming, courtesy of the town zoning board. Large buildings, their original purposes as aircraft hangers long forgotten, sat amidst a rare stretch of cement. The townsfolk's ancestors had toiled relentlessly to remove the cement from within the hangers, and to cultivate the soil with what scanty water sources they had available to something that might reap life giving foods. Since then, Jacob's Flats had become an agrarian community, each inhabitant putting in long hours tilling the soil.

The weight of reality failed to press as harshly upon Jacob's Flats as it did the rest of the world. Perhaps it was due to the resilient natures of the inhabitants, perhaps it was because the tiny desert town never really stood to lose anything substantial from a holocaust in the first place. More than likely, the tiny town found such trivialities as the impending extinction of mankind miles away from the very tangible task of survival against the natural....as well as the unnatural.

Memories were short, they might as well be as there was seldom anything worth remembering in Jacob’s Flats. The town's founding, originators, and purpose were lost to the desert sands. All that remained from the smoky, distant past were records that were played on pirate radio stations for the enjoyment of teens drinking homemade liquor. Such thoughts were foremost in Rick's mind as he plucked his knapsack gingerly off the couch to avoid the revealing 'clink' of the mason jars within. At 19, a Friday night (or what the clock deemed was night, after all it was in reality only a guess) free was a rare commodity, and his father's wrath at his absence would be well worth it.

He slipped out the front door and towards the flats outside of town. The desert stretched forever in all directions, lifeless and motionless. Bits of scrub and deadweed dotted the landscape with the occasional husk of a long since deceased tree jerking above the horizon. Above hung the perpetual ceiling of gray nothingness that had grown familiar to him through nearly two decades of it's continual presence.

He knew he was nearing the designated meeting spot by the familiar sounds of guitar and James' off key singing. By the time he topped the bluff that shielded their congregation from town his friends were in view, the two of them huddled next to a campfire.

"Well look who managed to get away! Ricky Ricky..." James stopped mid-song, his smile broadening.

"Hi Rick!" Melissa leapt to her feet, her youthful bosom bouncing to the tantalization of the both boys. She wrapped her arms around his slender neck and pressed her warm lips against his cheek. "We were beginning to wonder if you were gonna show!"

"Ah hell Missy, wouldn't miss our date for the world." Rick said, his grin sly. James noticeably sat up and Melissa blushed.

"It ain't a date Rick. We're all here."

"Yeah Rick...we're ALL here."

All three youths jerked in shock at the intruding voice. The source stood several yards away, defiant against the desert winds. A thin, nearly skeletal figure twirled a rusted tube of metal in one hand, his other lost to the various folds of his long overcoat. He wore faded blue jeans and no shirt, displaying a colorless, shriveled chest. His face was dominated by a pair of sunken eyes, with pupils so pale, they were barely discernable. Sandy blond hair was trapped beneath a pair of filthy goggles that sat perched atop his head.

But the three teenager's focused solely on the set of sharp, decaying teeth that were visible behind the figure's parched lips. As they stared wordlessly, fear visibly rising in their faces, two more figures emerged out of the sand-laiden wind.

"Shit...leeches." Rick murmured.

"Leeches?" the foremost figure stated more than asked. He cast a sarcastic glance to each of his companions, then feigned a wounded expression. "C'mon now Rick...that's not polite. We just wanted to join the party."

Rick was already thinking of how far from town they were, and was calculating their chances of outrunning the leeches. How far could they get in the sand? James and Missy sat helplessly, their faces displaying their terror.

The three demons walked closer. Something was strange about their figures...they were off proportion. Their fingers...they were long and dagger like. The thirst in their lifeless eyes grew.

"Then by all means...join the party." Rick said. He tore open his knapsack and heaved a mason jar at the lead vampire. The creature raised a forearm to block the attack and the container shattered against it. Glass and grain alcohol rained down over him, but cause no damage. Before the retribution came, Ricky bolted forward and kicked the campfire with all his strength.

A single ember flew forth and landed against the leeche's leg, igniting the high proof alcohol. The vampire screeched horrifically as he was ignited into a giant fireball. His lackies stared in shock, unable to decide what to do.

"C'mon!" Rick shrieked. He grabbed Missy and bolted back over the bluff, James in tow. The three ran/skid down the dune, the town in view. Abrubtly, that view was cut off by the three vampires' figures, one still smoldering. The burnt skin of the lead vampire was flaking and bubbling, and reflecting the seething hatred that he clearly held just below the surface.

"Big mistake bloodbag." he hissed.

[i:985eb9ddbc]"Does it matter? There's nobody to see."[/i:985eb9ddbc] Tromador paused. [i:985eb9ddbc]"And please don't tell me it matters to you. Before you turn into a sorrowful self obssessed narcissistic lump, wallowing in self pity, remember that whilst you might have lived to see this, many of us had to live through it. Look around you Eve, can you even begin to imagine what caused the world to be like this? Whilst you slept, a great war was fought. A war like nothing you could possibly have imagined. Gehenna maybe, except some of us survived and some of the ancients didn't."[/i:985eb9ddbc]

Eveshka sat silently, staring at the ground.

[i:985eb9ddbc]"It was what we had prepared for, I suppose. The Inconnu, I mean. In the end, the jyhad turned out to be irrelevant. When the ancients decided to get up and play, all the interclan machinations went out of the window. Youth versus experience. No Sabbat, no Camarilla. All kindred united in common cause, to survive. In the end though, it wasn't even our war which swept the planet clean. I've no clue what caused it, because around that time all the media went dead. Two great swathes of energy flashed around the globe, wiping out just about everything. Most died. Apart from us, I've not seen another kindred since then. Kine seem pretty thin on the ground too. I've been holed up in Switzerland for a while and though there does seem to be some kind of organization in Northern Europe, it's sparse."[/i:985eb9ddbc]

George stood and held out his hand. [i:985eb9ddbc]"So what'll it be, Boyarina. Sit here amidst the ruins of what was, or jump into the car and see if we can't find something better?"[/i:985eb9ddbc]

Eveshka got into Tromador's rho-car without a sound. It lifted off into the air heading east along the wasted Loire Valley. She looked out the left side of the car as they past Luynes. The old medieval castle still stood.

"Is there anything left?" asked Eveshka.

Tromador looked over at her. "A few buildings, some places were not as badly destroyed as others it seems."

"Take us to St. Gatien's, and then to Chenonceau. There is something you must see."

The rho-car set down outside the cathedral. The two aged vampires went into the confines and down into the secret passage.

"Hmmm, didn't want to wake him?" asked Trom, pointing at the still torpored and mummified looking body of the Toreador stooge.

"Didn't have the heart to wake him."

Tromador nodded. Eveshka picked up the book the mummified Torrie was holding and handed it to Trom. "This should answer some of the questions."

Tromador read it. After several minutes he looked up at Eve. "It was that bloke Julius?" he asked.

"Seems like it," said Eveshka sadly.

The two went up to the surface and into his rho-car and headed off towards Chenonceau.

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

The rho-car set down outside the remains of the chateau. The two of them moved the heavy stone seal that Julius had used to close her in, several centuries before. The two went down the stairs and into the crypt.

"Hmmm, I remember this place," mused Tromador quietly. He watched as Eveshka went over to the armoire and opened it. She got out a shoebox sized package, a bundle of cloth, and her swords.

"Now, those would have worked much better," said Tromador with a slight smile.

"Yeah, I kinda forgot they were here," said Eve. "Ok. Let's go find out what's out there."

Ricky and his companions took on the roles of prey, completely dominated by their attackers. So petrified were the three, that they could not have hoped to noticed the subtle shift of the sands behind their attackers. It was not until the sands began to swirl in a tight, concentric cyclone did all six participants take note.

A figure emerged from the whipping grains, calm and deliberate. It's features were indiscernable aside from it's eyes, which burned like coals. Richard thought he could make out thick, clumps of what must've been hair, whipping about the creature's head.

"Ah hell..." the lead leech murmured, taking an unsure step away from the figure. Instantly, his companion grasped him by the neck and heaved him to the ground, causing a spray of sand to temporarily blind the young Kine. As the wind carried the sand screen away, the three were subject to a horrific sight. The two lackies lay atop the lead leech, scratching and tearing. Bits of burnt flesh and tissue rocketed into the air.

Once the head vampire was little more than a bit of pulp in the vast emptiness of the badlands, the two remaining Kindred turned on one another. Within moments it was over and only the Kine and creature remained.

And as though he were part of the curious desert winds, within a moment he had whipped away as abrubtly as he had arrived...

The human-sized sandstorm danced and frolicked for some distance upon the Badlands tumultuous winds, eventually twisting and spiralling itself towards the mouth of a small cavern. As the mass of thick earthen walls of the cavern blocked the winds gusts, the mass of sand and grit regained total control of it's movements. The gyrating ceased, and with it the sand began to tumble to the cavern's floor, disappearing between the various crevices.

All that remained was a pale green cloud of gas that hovered midair, making it's way down the natural corridor. Gradually it lengthened and stretched, condensing and becoming solidified. By the time it had reached the cavern's main chamber, the once transparent gas cloud had transformed into the figure of a man.

There was the hiss of gas being released and the flick of a lighter. Instantly the room was bathed in a soft, warm light.

"Well, you're home early."

Gabriel stood completely nude at the point where the corridor and chamber met, his thick, sinewy body barely visible from the fringes of the flame's halo. On the opposite side of the corridor, holding a small gas lamp, sat Kathy Belvadere, the forgotten Toreador. Although the pair had no way of knowing it, they looked like many Kindred did after the disaster. They were shadows of there former selves, weathered and tired, but forced by nature and necessity to become durable.

Kathy retained much of her former beauty, long dark hair somehow managed to remain tended to. Her skin had lost some of it's former glow, but as far as Gabriel was concerned, she was an oasis amongst the wastelands...the one beacon of happiness he retained in his shattered world.

If Kathy had retained much of her former appearance, the once fickle Toreador could certainly not say the same of her lover. Gabriel was almost a polar opposite of his former opulance. His bloodbond with Poe had distorted his features, created jagged bits of muscle and bone where once only alabastor skin and nordic features had lain. Thickened and muscular, the Ventrue had darkened considerably. Only in his eyes could she find the old Gabriel, although Gehenna had threatened to remove even that final spark of light.

His once smooth blonde hair had hardened by the desert elements into ruddy dreadlocks that whipped about dramatically whenever he moved suddenly.

Both Kindred had survived only because of one another, and each day scratched out an existance for that reason alone. When the blasts had come, Gabriel had possessed the resources to find out only seconds prior. It had been only the will of God that had allowed he and Kathy to be together at that time. Great power bred great enemies, and Gabriel had never been one to be unprepared.

His sizeable estate had been demolished, but the extensive bunker below had survived with it's occupants intact. The pair had managed to scramble to safety with a few others, Poe amongst them. For nearly a century Gabriel had struggled to return the decimated city of Cascadia to some sort of functionality. But eventually, the Ventrue's vast stores of vitae began to run dry, and more and more Kindred began to leave town in search of others. With no sun to contend with, travel was not nearly as difficult.

There came a day with the lovers looked out over an empty city. The Clan of Kings meant nothing, and even the Inconnu, who he and Poe had served faithfully, in the end deserted him. Starved and on the brink of madness, they departed. Each town afterwards brought only further loneliness, the veins of America had been sliced and had long since run dry. Eventually the pair stumbled across Jacob's Flats, and out of starvation had been forced to set up residence nearby.

Despite the lack of vitae, the pair's potency had increased dramatically. Kathy was strong enough when fed to create the illusion of beauty unmatched by any artist. Gabriel's powers too had been cultivated over the centuries. It was he that kept the inhabitants of Jacob's Flats uninterested in the outside world. In fact, since his arrival, the population had nearly doubled due to "romance in the air". His powers of the mind had been matched by his bastardized Gangrel powers. The blood of the Gangrel Poe had coursed through his veins and left him a freak...a mutt.

Now he and Kathy lived off the inhabitants of Jacob's Flats, Gabriel deceiving himself by thinking he was somehow their savior. Each battle fought against the gangs of rabble fledglings in the area cast him deeper and deeper into his fantasies. He was their hero, not a lowly parasite.

UM................................


[size=18:4987e0519c]wow!!![/size:4987e0519c] :shock: :shock:

The sands settled for the first time in three days.

The figure rode across the ridge that overlooked the distant town of Jacob’s Flats. His face hidden by a hood and cowl, wrapped around his head gifting him the appearance of a Bedouin rider. He seemed to be watching something as he brought his horse to a stop, dropping from the saddle and offering the tired animal a drink of water from his bag.

As the horse drank he stroked its left flank, murmuring something into its mane. Thirst quenched the horse trotted off to find grazing as the rider unravelled a thick blanket, rolling it onto the sands. He sat then cross-legged, pulling back his hood to let the light, what little there was, cascade over his face. His long blonde hair, piercing single blue eye accompanied by a black leather eye-patch, and the gruffly worn beard of golden hair on his broad jaw-line gave him a leonine countenance. He sighed looking down on the town below, hissing through his teeth as he thought.

[i:af03b5ef88]“Damnit Gabriel. I really wish you hadn’t brought her along. We don’t need her. We’re supposed to be.....a team.”

“Quiet, Poe!”[/i:af03b5ef88] The thoughts of both parties made the distance between them in record time.

[i:af03b5ef88]“She was my lover. Besides if I hadn’t brought her with us she’d be dust by now.”

“[b:af03b5ef88]Was[/b:af03b5ef88] your lover. Are you forgetting our bond? Are you so quick to forget the challenges we’ve faced. Together?”[/i:af03b5ef88] Poe’s face tightened aggressively.

[i:af03b5ef88]“No I’m not forgetting it. How could I? You remind me every chance you get. Was I supposed to leave her for dead?”

“That would have made things easier. Instead of hunting for three we could have been hunting for two. She’s yours to look after, Gabriel. If she slows us down she’ll be yours to dispose of.”

“Whatever, Poe. Whatever. If you’re finished bitching, what have you found?”

“Traces. The herds are moving towards the coast. In fact everything is. I sensed a powerful Kindred to the East. It could be the one we’re looking for.”

“Excellent. We’ll ride out tomorrow. The town should be safe till we return.”

“Gabriel for god sake!”[/i:af03b5ef88]

Gabriel cut him short. [i:af03b5ef88]“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain!”

“You aren’t their sheriff! Stop acting like one! We’ve got more important business to follow.”

“Are you trying to start an argument? Now come on down. There’s a hailstorm coming.”

“I’d rather stay here. Don’t want to disgust your guest’s sensibilities. Or yours.”

“Oh, Poe.”[/i:af03b5ef88] Gabe sighed exasperatedly.

The beast that had long since been a man hurtled skyward for a third time in so many minutes. He had flown without rest for three days since his encounter with the droid.

His four taloned feet clutched the exhausted figure of a small boy. Claws that could rend steel, bore the boy’s weight with a cradle-like care.

At least until he dropped him onto jagged rocks far below.

The boy screamed as he fell. Suddenly all too aware of how he would die, before the shoreline echoed with the wet crunch of bones splintering. The beast circled once, letting out a shrill cry before descending to feast on the splattered remains.

He tore at the flesh with a massive beak, gulping precious fluids from the torn corpse. His ears twitching, ready to alert him of danger.

Sated he took to the air again, his weight borne by the prevailing winds. The lure from the East was growing stronger as each mile passed.

In the age of television and motion pictures, published books, and theatre the term "closure" had been used nearly to the point of it becoming a cliche. It had meant very little to Gabriel at the time, in part because for him, there was no closure in sight. He was eternal, as perpetual as the sky above...if he was smart enough.

It had meant very little to Kindred society as a whole, in part because there nights were a myriad of stimuli and indulgences. Most of his kind saught to fulfill their innermost desires with attainment of such power. Sex, drugs, riches, power...the unattainable suddenly became easily within your grasp. Souls did strange things once they had no further aspirations...

...and then it all ended...

With the passions of two individuals, one for power, one for love. In the blink of an eye, countless memories, dreams, wishes, and hopes were extinguished, lost to oblivion. Even those who survived could expect what Gabriel had come to value over the past four centuries, closure.

Death would embrace them and the next act would begin. For him, it was an eternity of a meaningless existance, or at least until the mage awoke and finished the job he started half a millenium earlier.

It was easy to think in darkness and as he travelled through the earth, shoving aside rock and soil as if it were water, the burrowing Ventrue was glad for it. There, in pure motion, he didn't have to think of any "higher purpose" or lack thereof.

He had been a man of God in life...an abomination in unlife. Why cling to morals? What was there to gain? Or lose for that matter. He was not even blessed with a quick death, no sun to reduce him to ashes. Starvation was an option...but it never came. He had tried twice before. Always the frenzy overtook him and he woke up more sated and guilt ridden than before.

[i:342fa4693f]Might as well head East with Poe and Kay. Why not?[/i:342fa4693f]

If he couldn't attain his blessed closure...he could at least provide that amenity to others. An act of mercy.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Celerity provided the swiftness needed to travel the expanse of the Badlands without completely losing one's mind...or what was left it. Within minutes, Jacob's Flats was just a dot on the horizon. But even after the modest buildings sunk out of sight, the flames which consumed them rose high into the sky, and a thick plume of black smoke bid the Kindred farewell. Long afterwards, Gabriel would attest that he could still smell the rank odor of burnt flesh.