[i:a90aee3917]"Words are nearly beyond me Lord Stanley."[/i:a90aee3917] which was of course a lie born out of etiquette, as although Gabriel was earnestly shocked he was completely capable of allowing his natural Ventrue intuition to dictate his behavior. [i:a90aee3917]"The honor of joining your house is more than this humble Ventrue deserves, and yet I will aspire to bring further dignitas upon it...although such a feat is nearly imaginable."[/i:a90aee3917]

As he peered among the collected, he quickly realized that his words were hollow and meaningless in a world where the Clan of King's rigid social structure was virtually non-existant, beyond George and Gabriel's etiquette towards one another. He bowed curtly and stood before the ancient Ventrue, holding the perfectly crafted blade before him.

[i:a90aee3917]"During my tenure as Seneschal in Cascadia, I took great pleasure in my role as Master of the Archives. In those ancient documents I learned much about the city and it's former inhabitants,"[/i:a90aee3917] he turned to his new patriarch, "[i:a90aee3917]including the head of my house."[/i:a90aee3917]

He returned his attention to the gathered crowd, some of which shuffled impatiently now that Tromador was not directly affecting them. Gabriel filled the absence of presence with his own, and within moments the peasants and lower level Kindred were peering intently at him. He rushed to conclude.

[i:a90aee3917]"Our situation is one that none of us could have predicted. Surviving Gehenna was neither a fate I anticipated, nor desired. But now, more than ever, our past is vital to our survival. Without memory of who we were and where we come from, we are truly lost."[/i:a90aee3917]

He spun on his heel and looked Tromador in the eyes.

[i:a90aee3917]"It is with such reverance to history and ancestory in mind that I name this blade Caladbor, in honor of the ancient Irish blade of Fergus mac Roich, the great King of Ulster. He found himself against great odds, much like ourselves, but overcame through willpower and compassion."[/i:a90aee3917]

He snapped the blade sharply to his side and delivered another short bow, before approaching the ebony stallion. The powerful beast snorted in the mild weather, great plumes of white steam erupting from his nostrils and dissipating before his new master. He too, shuffled impatiently as the Ventrue approached, his raven muscles rising and falling like the black ocean at night.

The Ventrue, unaccustomed to an animal that didn't despise Kindred, approached with hesitation while still displaying the confidence the ceremony deserved. He placed a hand on the great stallion's cheek and instantly felt the warmth behind the glistening coat. Great, wide eyes peered back at him, displaying the poise and self assurance that could only come from a stallion.

[i:a90aee3917]"He is a glorious creature. Stunning."[/i:a90aee3917] Gabriel took him firmly be the harness. [i:a90aee3917]"Diometer, distressed by the loss of her child, once turned herself into a mare and roamed the earth. The sea god Poseidon easily saw through her ruse however, and transformed into a stallion. The coupling resulted in a child...a magnificent stallion named Arion."[/i:a90aee3917]

He ran his hand down the silken mane that crowned the stallion's stout neck.

[i:a90aee3917]"Arion carried many great men, many of which fought impossible foes. It is fitting, that he should be given the name Arion."[/i:a90aee3917]

His fingers traced Arion's powerful shoulder muscles and slid onto the saddle and it's intricate leatherwork. He slid Caladbor into the custom sheath that hung alongside the saddle and handed Arion's reins back to the peasant, who stood transfixed.

The villager led the stallion off and Gabriel returned to the gathering.

Lady Cyrilynn knelt in the dusty, unyielding soil, resting her ramrod straight body on the strength of her slender ankles and stared ahead into the distance. The katana Julius had presented her with was balanced on her thighs and New Enoch sat, forgotten, at her back. For the first time in hundreds of years, she wore the black body uniform of the Scorpion, although that creature hadn't existed for some time.

Picking up the cold steel blade she leaned to kiss the back and then ran her tongue along the edge, blooding it for the first time. The sharp sting sparked through nerves and she swallowed the crimson trickle, tasting battle in it's metallic flavor. Again she rested the weapon on her lap and drew inward, the vista before her fading from view.

Everything was in readiness for the coming journey but she had one final preparation left to attend to. This was hers to do alone. No one else could assist her with it, not even her savior and protector, Master Julius Darrant. She must face the future and reconcile to her soul that she would not be returning.

As had been taught her, when she was in training for her profession, she examined her life and deeds and found them executed with honor and precision. Jobs well done, no faulting found. Except two. The one mistep of her entire career could be gauged as destiny. No other way would she have become the bond servant of the a Tremere mage.

The only shame she had ever committed lay in her desertion of her domitor and [b:2dc9b20944]he[/b:2dc9b20944] absolved her entirely, therefore, again, no blame. She opened her thoughts to the eerily quiet winds and drifted, allowing the her eariler speculations to empty themselves, to make room for what was to follow.

It was time to make peace with Final Death. Her spirit quailed, then was silent as she pushed forward into the the serenity of mind, body and soul. Her early teachers had lead her to this neutral void and Elzbet the Salubri had refined it for her, so that all she had to do was put away anything that stirred what emotions she had. Sometimes, when things overwhelmed her, it was the only solace she'd had, besides Toisol.

Toisol. Her jailer, her lover, her Sire, her teacher. For whatever time had remained to them. His absence was hardest to set aside but, in this unemotional state, she could recognized the crutch that he had been. The safety net from emotions that threatened to tear her apart from the inside Away from the feelings that should have been hers but had never understood, much less acquired.

It amazed her that, especially here, her regard of Julius, Gabriel, Porter, Wren, Kathy and, yes, even that witch Eve, had something undefined and frightening behind it. There was no doubt she would have laid down her life for Julius (even without the blood bond), and for his paramour... should it be necessary. For despite her dislike of the ambivalent boyarina, she completed Julius. She was as much a part of him as breath was to the kine.

But that sacrifice would extend to those of this dying coterie as well. And not because the magus desired it. Yes, she considered, there was a kind of veneration there that could have been deemed an "affection", if one were to accuse her of having feelings. However, she prefered to think of it as a wary respect borne of the fact that she was so much younger than rest and because she knew what they were capable of. As to the ancient, Lord Stanley, only time would help her decide.

Humanity? It could hang, as far as she was concerned. Were it not for the fact that Julius valued them or that Kindred needed kine to survive, she would have seen them go the way of all extinct creatures. Even Zeki and Karli, although she'd probably have kept those two for pets. After all, they were hers. She'd found them, nurtured them, had a city built for them. God help anyone who chose to hurt them.

Hours passed as she examined her concerns from each and every side. Finally, the last one was laid to rest and sent to drift on the ever present zephyrs. They took away everything she gave to them with little murmurs of complaint, until there was only emptiness.

Closing her eyes, she began a whispered litany that rose and fell. A chant to the gods and the dead to await her arrival and the hope that she would be worthy to enter their hall. When it ended, she arose in time to find one last voluntary meal and to set out on the hunt for Absimilliard.

In what was once the Far East, the Enemy moved her pieces into position. From her not so Ivory Tower in the ruined jungles of Cambodia she surveyed the world at large. Her Nemesis had arisen again. That was inevitable, and actually to be encouraged. Not since the days since she and the Great Serpent walked the earth had there been such joy in her life as that final cataclysmic battle centuries ago. Her Nemesis' consort had arisen as well. That, too, was a quaint development. The power of the two, the complete embodiment of "Being," had opened the doors to the true final showdown. Problematic was the return of the one who spoke with the voice of Legion. The voice shouted out with one last final yelp and then was silenced. How could someone overcome that nearly omnipotent entity? It was inconceivable. Now she felt that they were coming for her. At last. With that, she smiled and reached out to her minions to the north. Preparations were nearing completion.

The two small groups readied themselves to leave New Enoch. Julius had provided everyone with as much as he could muster. Wren now sported a repeating crossbow, based on the design of Tromador's but which shot magical lances of flame, never requiring ammunition. Gabriel, of course, had Caledbor hanging from the pommel of Arion's saddle. George still carried his vibroblade, presumably now enhanced, to create a melding of technology and magic. Cyrilynn, now returned to her harpy form carried a newly forged blade of her own. Amongst it all, the beast Porter carried nothing but his animal claws, still prowling silently, communicating in mental images, if at all, shooting suspicious glances at his "son" Poe, who once again carried the sword [i:e61bdcfd22]Talion[/i:e61bdcfd22]. Where Julius had retrieved that from, remained a mystery known only to the wizard. In addition such bloodstones and blood pearls as could be fashioned were distributed. The kine of the place had sacrificed greatly in crimson contributions to the war effort.

With a flourish George Lord Stanley swung into the saddle of his roan steed, named "Blaze" for the white streak running down his mane. Eveshka wondered that she had never seen Tromador mounted upon a horse before. It seemed appropriate, somehow. Even more of a surprise was as he released his long concealing cloak and let it fly off in the wind. Beneath was a full set of plate armour, over which hung a surcoat in the white and blue of the Stanley household arms. Indeed, it seemed the medieval nobleman had returned from the lost centuries, perhaps appropriately, given the lack of technology in this post apocalyptic world and to Eveshka it seemed that finally Tromador had truly returned and her heart was gladdened at the sight.

As Gabriel mounted Arion, George turned to Cyrilynn, inclining his head before speaking in archaic and formal tones. [i:e61bdcfd22]"My Lady Cyrilynn, the House of Stanley doth ride this day 'gainst a mortal foe. We would be honoured if thou wouldst join us upon our dread enterprise."[/i:e61bdcfd22]

For a moment Cyrilynn was slightly stunned. Such eloquent formality was something she would once have thoroughly approved of and to hear it so addressed to her after these many years shocked her, nonetheless, she was able to respond in kind. [i:e61bdcfd22]"The honour is mine, Lord Stanley. I trust, however, that thou wilt not be offended if I fly, rather than ride."[/i:e61bdcfd22]

Tromador grinned in response and drew his sword, pointing into the air. [i:e61bdcfd22][b:e61bdcfd22]"Stanley, A Stanley"[/b:e61bdcfd22][/i:e61bdcfd22] He cried before spurring his horse into a charge through the open gate, Gabriel and Arion in hot pursuit. The harpy took to the skies, flying over the wall then swooping down close to the heads of the two horsemen, not quite clipping them with her wings before flying ahead to scout the terrain.

Poe mock coughed at the dustcloud raised by the galloping horses. [i:e61bdcfd22]"What [b:e61bdcfd22]is[/b:e61bdcfd22] it with Ventrue anyway?"[/i:e61bdcfd22] Then looked about. [i:e61bdcfd22]"Are we about ready then?"[/i:e61bdcfd22]

((brilliant!

((Stef is a bastard. Thing of beauty me Bradford bunny!

[i:c474d6cf00]...thwap...thwap...thwap...[/i:c474d6cf00]

Caledbor's sheath beat steady time against Arion's flank as the great stallion tore through the barren landscape outside of Enoch. In the vast, grey openness the two stretching columns of dust that their mounts left in their respective wakes was a startling distinction to the vapid, arid scenery.

Ahead of him, George, regal and exquisite, rode wordlessly, apparently scanning the horizon for indications of danger. He was a world away from the broken aristocrat the respectively young Ventrue had met only days prior. And yet, from his past research of his now House Patriarch, Gabriel knew he was far from whole.

As he watched the Inconnu legend spur his steed ever faster, with great waves of light glistening over his finely polished armour, Gabriel felt confident he knew exactly what it was George was looking for. Cut from the cloth of ancient Ventrue heroes and nobility, his clansman sought glory and adventure...to relive what he had been deprived of for so long.

As Gabriel's old Whip Mephisto had so often reminded him, riches and worldly goods were only the currency by which his type kept score on a much larger game. Glory. Glory was the intangible prize they all sought so desperately, though what means was up to the player.

Whether George was really seeking glory in a game that had long ago lost most of its players, or if it was Gabriel himself, he couldn't be sure. More than likely it was a mixture of the two. In any case, Gabriel recognized that he had become intertwined in something that would likely lead to his final death, and that fear was oddly absent of that equation.

In the distance, Cyrilynn's form hovered against a bleak backdrop of sky, circling and waiting for the riders. He wondered what her motivations truly were and resolved to keep a close eye on her.

[i:c474d6cf00]"Ya, Arion...YA!"[/i:c474d6cf00] he whispered, leaning forward so that the horses powerful shoulders pulsated just inches from his face. Arion snorted compliance and bolted forward abrubtly, closing the gap between Lord Stanley and Gabriel.

As the Ventrue took a final glance over his shoulder, Enoch was but a glistening speck on the horizon and Sir Gabriel of the House of Stanley knew that they were truly alone.

The three Kindred travelled on foot.

Porter had elected them to this particular means of travel, a fact that Poe was convinced was frankly “taking the piss”.

Porter led the trio, occasionally disappearing over a rise or through a copse of thorny trees. Returning and expressing his impatience at the others’ pace, before slipping off again.

[i:f045afc348]“And THAT’S my father? He’s like an overly excited puppy!”[/i:f045afc348] Poe’s expression was grim, the prospect of days, mayhaps weeks of travelling, with the Ancient Gangrel evidently too much for him. Wren stalked silently to his right, his fingers finding the pendant in his pocket. Turning it over, unseen. He gave the young Gangrel a withering “show respect to your elders” kind of glare and quickened his march, leaving Poe fuming in his wake.

At the end of the first days hiking, they had left the infant city a hundred miles to the West. They made camp on the salt-rich loam of what once had been a lake bed. Wren inspected the camp’s weapons, making sure everything was just so. Poe stalked to a fro, still irritable after being told off.

The Ancient, Porter, crouched, one leg bent at the knee. He sank his hands into the silt and closed his eyes, raising twin handfuls of the dusty earth and releasing them into the wind. A wind that cast them directly into the face of the bedraggled youngster.

[i:f045afc348]“Fuck sake, “dad”.”[/i:f045afc348] He never expected the backhand to come from Porter. Wren yes, but considering noone had yet to see Porter react in any discernible way....

He landed with a rasping plop, skidding on his arse. Wren smirked as he pulled a makeshift hood over his head. The Brujah watched as their scout pulled himself waist deep into the loose soil. Disappearing from view, leaving a short lived crease in the surface.

Poe touched his tongue to his lip, tasting his own blood. Grimacing, careful not to vocalise his annoyance, he took shelter behind a back pack and tried to rest.

----------

Porter swam through the soil. His consciousness filtering through the particles of silt and sand, tasting and comparing. A herd of deer had travelled north of their camp, a few hours ago. Shifting his mass he turned to pursue them. The others would feed on fresh, albeit non human, blood before they moved again.

Porter drank his fill of the first deer, throwing another two over his shoulders, he stalked back to the camp, unceremoniously tossing them at Poe and Wren’s feet. Before retiring himself, to the unimpressive peak of a jutting boulder.

Poe and Wren looked at the deer, then at each other. A silent agreement was struck between them as they lifted an animal each, and drank till their veins swelled.

Rolling onto his feet, Poe smeared the blood over his mouth. He started laughing as Wren finally took his own face away from the carcass in his hands.

[i:a3283f69d7]“Wish I had a mirror! You’re a sight!”[/i:a3283f69d7]

Wren touched his own face, feeling the traces of red criss cross his mouth.

[i:a3283f69d7]“You look like a painted whore! Ahahahaha!”[/i:a3283f69d7]

The Brujah licked his lips then walked over to Porter.

[i:a3283f69d7]“He’s your kid, you discipline him. Which way we headed?”

Sun rises over mountains.

“East. Were those metaphorical mountains, or?”[/i:a3283f69d7] He fell silent as Porter pointed towards the horizon.

The mountain range wasn’t on any map printed two hundred years earlier, but it rose defiantly from the horizon. Meeting the sun and sky like the over developed tusks of some imaginary beast. Poe came up behind his Elders as they watched the faintly glowing sun, struggle to its place in the sky. It’s deathly rays rendered impotent by the gases and dusts in the atmosphere above them.

Still, they all seemed to think, it was a beautiful vision.

...was surreal the appropriate word? What was appropriate in a world that had been effectively wiped out?

Strange...maybe strange was better suited for the situation. Here Gabriel was, atop a newly christened stallion, clopping along towards what would surely be another epic quest in a long line he thought had been erased long ago. Strange days.

[i:b9e1c4b61b]"Straaaaange days have tracked us dooooown..."[/i:b9e1c4b61b] he crooned softly to himself, imitating a certain drunk Californian's baritone voice. He hummed quietly and slowly, deliberately dragging each word out until he was in sync with Arion's gentle trot.

[i:b9e1c4b61b]"What's that?"[/i:b9e1c4b61b]

Gabriel's shot up like a rocket and stared at his inquisitor in surprise. George's face appeared earnestly curious. The elder Ventrue had slowed his pace and now rode alongside Gabriel, his hands folded neatly in his lap. Although the terrain was rocky, the immaculate warlord seemed hardly to notice, and impervious to his steed's movements.

[i:b9e1c4b61b]"Oh...nothing. Just you know...The Doors."[/i:b9e1c4b61b] he chuckled, smiling sentimentally as visions of the 1960's came wafting over him and his frequent trips out to California where hunting Kine had become so easy a fledgling could succeed without effort. With the influx of the drug culture amongst humans, the Kindred who fed upon them had experienced a similiar boom in narcotics. LSD laced blood became a commodity, and it wasn't just a few Ventrue who dropped their East Coast aspirations and the threat of Old Boys Networks in favor of the wild and woolly West to sell 'Blood Trips'.

How long ago was that? Lets see...carry the two...nearly forever...

[i:b9e1c4b61b]"And what doors might those be?"[/i:b9e1c4b61b] George pressed, his eyes sparkling keenly, a world away from the broken figure Gabriel had initially encountered.

[i:b9e1c4b61b]"Huh? No...not the doors...THE DOORS."[/i:b9e1c4b61b] Gabriel responded, knowing he wouldn't make any sense. [i:b9e1c4b61b]"You know...I am the Lizard King! I can do ANYTHING!"[/i:b9e1c4b61b]

At this moment, Gabriel flailed his arms about wildly, gyrating his torso in his best Jim Morrison. Tromador was nonplussed.

[i:b9e1c4b61b]"Nevermind."[/i:b9e1c4b61b]

Ahead, Cyrilynn's tiny silouhette had stopped it's rambling course and was circling steady now. Gabriel couldn't help but draw the comparison of a vulture who had found it's prey.

The two Ventrue spurred their mounts and lunged forward at a hurried pace once more. They ascended a steep cliff, the horses crashing through the underbrush. As they peaked over the summit, Cyrilynn's message became ominously clear.

A smoldering wasteland lay rotting before them. This wasn't the long dead earth they were used to. This was freshly murdered.

Great swaths of soil and earth had been torn from the ground. Gigantic, furious divots dotted the landscape. Gabriel noticed there was no unturned soil, only singed, smoking earth.

[i:b9e1c4b61b]"The Outriders."[/i:b9e1c4b61b] Tromador grumbled, his voice grave but not particularly concerned. Gabriel felt less assurred, but wasn't about to show it. Overhead Cyrilynn continued her circling, and they still had a long ride ahead.

[i:b9e1c4b61b]"Straaaaaange daaaaaays....."[/i:b9e1c4b61b] he sang softly.

Eveshka sat backwards on a wooden chair in the upper story of the "palace" that she and Julius shared. She looked out over her new "domain." Her eyes reflected the constant lightning that coursed across the permanently night sky.

"Whatcha looking at Evey," said Julius quietly as he walked up behind her and placed his hand lightly on her left shoulder. Her right hand came up and across and gently touched his hand and she tilted her head into his touch and nuzzled it with her eyes closed.

"I'm jsut worried about Tromador and Porter," she said. Not that she didn't have compassion for the others in the little coterie that was moving across the ashen plains to the east, she just did not have much of a connection to them. "They've been gone for weeks now."

Julius nodded silently. He knew this day would come, when she woud wish to join them. Even though Julius and Eveshka were soul mates, there was still an insanely strong bond between Eveshka and Tromador. Stonger than he'd have liked, but he'd long since given up on caging her. He knew he had to let his firebird fly.... afterall, she always returned.

"You want to be out there don't you Evey," he asked already knowing the answer.

"I want to see Tromador one last time. We never even got to talk before he left. I feel that we will never see each other again."

Julius sighed. "I feel that if you go, I will never see you again."

"I ....." began Eve. She never finished her sentence.

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

Off in the barren wastes of South East Asia, the enemy began to move.

((OOC-Way to go, Pete!! Let's fire up the old Olivetti typewriter and see what we can do. :twisted:

HMMMMMmmmmm.....))

Wren eyed poe again, then looked at the mountains. [i:7ab85d07f5]"Rough terrain, if we have to cross them, we're in for hard climbs. I'll lead up on the climb, I'm strong enough to support the both of you combined, and more agile as a general rule."[/i:7ab85d07f5] he said, reaching into the pack of supplies; their ropes didn't have the tensile strength that he'd have liked, but that mattered very little.

[i:7ab85d07f5]"We'll each tie a rope around our waist. Seperate ropes between you, I think, if one of you takes the other with you, thats a bit of a jerk, even for me... I can handle it, but still unpleasant."[/i:7ab85d07f5] he continued as he stepped back towards poe and whispered, though he knew Porter could probably hear him anyhow. [i:7ab85d07f5]"And if you continue to to be a source of discord, or continue to let that smartassed mouth show your overconfidence, I'll wait 'til we're on sheer with pointy rocks below, and cut your line with my claws. You read me boy?"[/i:7ab85d07f5]

Though his words had an almost gentle tone in them, the true message behind them was fairly clear; Wren considered a source of trouble within their group to be a serious liability, and one they not could afford given the grave nature of their task.

One does not play games when faced with the daunting task of slaying an antedeluvian.

Hours later....

Razor sharp claws born of protean dug into rock as Wren clawed his way up an incredibly steep rock face, though there were perhaps other, easier routes, all were considerably longer, and held hidden dangers of their own, a good example was the potential for outrider ambush, as the dark creatures held no apparent talent for flight.

Moreover, there were rocks not far behind them that granted them shelter from eyes that would otherwise have little difficulty in discerning them, or might follow them by stealth as they made their way towards Troile's lair.

The last thing Wren wanted was to give Troile a chance to use knowledge of their position, though he knew not what he saved by choosing this route, he had considered that it was better not to underestimate a creature that was so much older than he, and had wiled away millenia plotting and scheming in the seemingly endless chess game of the Jyhad.

[i:ebd4a9f5ae]"What is it Lord Stanley?"[/i:ebd4a9f5ae] Gabriel asked, halting his mount before Tromador's own. Arion's powerful back muscles strained impatiently beneath the saddle as they halted once more at Tromador's insistance.

The ancient Ventrue sat several feet ahead atop his own mount, his regal features pointed upwards in an expression of stern consideration. At length he dropped his chin to his chest and then addressed both of his companions, who had stood idly by watching with marked detachment. Both understood their tiny corterie was going nowhere without Tromador's endorsement.

[i:ebd4a9f5ae]"Something's close."[/i:ebd4a9f5ae] he said simply. Without further comment he tugged at his reins and wove his stallion through the crumbling masonry that served as the skeletal remains of a city. Gabriel and Cyrilynn exchanged a bemused look before the latter took to the air once more. Gabriel spurred Arion gently and pulled up alongside the intrepid corterie leader, who peered obstinately through the gathering evening mist. Even now, the billowing white clouds of ether were creeping through forgotten avenues and boulevards like an omniscient phantom.

[i:ebd4a9f5ae]"Lord Stanley,"[/i:ebd4a9f5ae] he didn't garner a glance, but pressed on nonetheless, [i:ebd4a9f5ae]"[b:ebd4a9f5ae]what's[/b:ebd4a9f5ae] close?"[/i:ebd4a9f5ae]

Tromador's piercing eyes scanned the empty windowframes of the buildings and Gabriel's gaze followed. The husks of buildings peered back with gaping windows like eyesockets.

[i:ebd4a9f5ae]"Something bad."[/i:ebd4a9f5ae]

Exasperated with Tromador's vagueness, Gabriel fell back and offered a bemused shrug to Cyrilynn who circled overhead. If Gabriel had been wondering what Stanley was referring to in his cryptic replies, the answer was provided a mere moment laters when the Outriders attacked again.

(( Ummm eh? Porter's over a 1000yrs old. He's had claws for most of that time. Besides that he can shapeshift and fly up, as could Poe. They wouldn't need to climb, never mind be "carried" lol[quote:81bf4ef72c]Wren eyed poe again, then looked at the mountains. "Rough terrain, if we have to cross them, we're in for hard climbs. I'll lead up on the climb, I'm strong enough to support the both of you combined,[/quote:81bf4ef72c]