Gabriel was becoming increasingly suspicious that Tromador's armour was made of more than mere steel, for whilst he had received a number of minor wounds, the shining plates seemed as efficacious against the attacks of the wraith like claws of the Outsiders as they would be against more solid weaponry. Regardless, even with Tromador taking a point position as the immoveable object, the group were sorely pressed.

Arion stumbled briefly. The Outriders had started on the horses, raking at their flanks in opportunistic attacks as they dodged the swinging swords of the two knights and the aerial attacks of the bat winged harpy. All knew, that should the horses fall, it was a certainty that both Gabriel and Tromador would be overwhelmed.

[i:8ea6899b82]"The sword, Gabriel."[/i:8ea6899b82] Cried Tromador, [i:8ea6899b82]"Caladbor! Unleash the power of the blade."[/i:8ea6899b82]

For the briefest of moments did Gabriel struggle inwardly in indecisive debate. The power of the blade had utterly unmanned him when first it was presented, yet the words of his patron echoed in his mind, [i:8ea6899b82]"By the blood you shed now shall you know the sword's power and shall it know it's master."[/i:8ea6899b82]

Gritting his teeth, Gabriel extended his thumb beyond the guard and cut himself upon the blade, activating the dread magicks within by the power of his undead blood.

--

Once again Gabriel found himself in the dark netherworld. A vision of hell overlaid upon the reality of the world. The sky boiled with lightning and the ground seethed with crawling carrion hunting worms, insects, centipedes, each feasting upon the bodies of one another. The horses were again transformed into the semblance of nightmares, flames coming from their nostrils and sparks from their hooves. Tromador appeared as a horned demon, whirling green eyes above a maw packed with row upon row of needle sharp teeth. Where the Harpy had been, now swooped the decayed corpse of a long dead dragon, rotting organs and internals exposed through putrescent holes in the outer flesh, staring at prey through milky dead eyes.

For just a moment, Gabriel was on the verge of panic. Once again the sword played upon his deepest fears, horrors rising unbidden from his psyche where even he had not known they resided. Only for a moment though; the horrors had become his own plaything, his to control.

Around the group the outriders appeared as small and insignificant fleshy creatures, pink and glistening and cringing from the green light which came from the unwholesome weapon.

Gabriel led the group onward, the masses of pathetic wormlike outriders parting ahead of his dark advance.

--

Tromador watched the outriders back off with some satisfaction and followed Gabriel through the group held at arms length by the fear of the visions the sword created. With a little concentration, he could see through Gabriel's eyes, at the horrors he was experiencing. Tromador winced and blinked the sights away, preferring to view the real world. [i:8ea6899b82]"That sort of thing could drive a man mad."[/i:8ea6899b82] He muttered.

When the nameless city was little more than a tiny filthy speck on the far distant horizon, Gabriel sheathed the blade at last, sitting rigidly awkward in the saddle.

[i:f59cb7d923]"Well done lad. I've never seen those flighty bastards so terrified."[/i:f59cb7d923] Tromador rode alongside him, gauging his condition. His posture and composure suggested a degree of self assurance, but just about everything else revealed that he was a wreck.

Great torrents to blood sweat poured down his face like rain on a window and pooled up in the spots where his armour met his neck. His features were sunken and hollowed, and his eyes distant. Even his muscles, undead and tireless, shook under his own weight and he swayed slightly under Lord Stanley impromptu inspection. Tromador decided not to carry the ruse any further, social protocol be damned...

[i:f59cb7d923]"Caveat emptor, eh?[/i:f59cb7d923] he offered kindly. Gabriel said nothing for a moment and then seemed to recognize the fact that someone was addressing him.

[i:f59cb7d923]"I'm sorry? Oh...oh yes. The blade is certainly..."[/i:f59cb7d923] horrifying, scarring, threatening to rend my soul in two, [i:f59cb7d923]"....effective."[/i:f59cb7d923]

Although the compassion was faintly detectable on Tromador's face, all present realized that now, still so close to the Outriders, was neither the time nor place for commiseration. Had it been any other, no doubt the ancient Ventrue would have offered a brief rest or at least a more leisurely pace, but it was clear that Gabriel would not openly admit weakness in front of Lord Stanley.

The two riders checked their mounts and found that at least a small portion of luck remained in the gigantic dead rock that was planet Earth, and the horses wounds were cursory. Above, Cyrilynn showed little signs of fatigue or relenting in the slightest. In fact, the harpy had seemed eager to return to battle with their spectral foes, but Gabriel's present condition and a helping of common sense eliminated that option.

As the corterie pressed on, the landscape became less and less desolate. There was no great abundance of trees or animal life, but as they entered the area that centuries prior would have been Kazakhstan, the barren decor seemed to have been a more natural look for the region.

Much of the trip went unspoken, and initially Gabriel feared they simply made poor traveling companions. But as they trecked eastward, he began to realize that they were not uncomfortable with one another, but unnerved by something else altogether. Much as Gabriel had felt drawn to Julius's unintentional beacon with fascination and benevolence, their goal here seemed to emit a sensation of dread and foreboding.

The quest was one of few certainties, other than whatever they found, it wouldn't be good....

Wren climbed without effort. His arms pulled him with awful speed up the cliff face. Tethering ropes to crags of rock and releasing a line behind him for the others to follow. Porter grunted at the gesture before prompting Poe to climb. The younger Gangrel responded by sticking his tongue out and then started the long climb. His considerably weaker muscles taking the strain of resisting gravity with a less than joyous sentiment.

Porter watched his second-born climb with a growing admiration. The youngster, for all his bravado and rebelliousness, displayed a definite instinct for self preservation. Had he not witnessed the Childe’s actions in battle, he might have called this instinct cowardice. But he was anything but.

However. Porter, and he suspected Wren, thought. The boy [b:dc32d29c1e]did[/b:dc32d29c1e] climb like a girl.

Poe pulled himself onto a narrow outcropping and took a sip from the blood-pouch on his hip. Feeling the meagre source of blood refresh the wells of power within, he pushed away from the ledge sending a scattering of small rocks downwards.

The rocks struck pay-dirt, dislodging a moderately larger member of the same family that fell and rolled starting a chain reaction.

Porter could have flown clear. In fact, the reasons he had for not simply flying to the top of the cliff were his own. The cascade of rocks came down with growing fury. The ground at his feet then shook with its own, disconnected vigour.

To the horrified Wren and the dumbstruck Poe it seemed that Porter was struck and crushed by the falling rocks. Wren shook the image from his mind, dragging his companion to the clifftop.

The sounds of crashing rocks far above him, Porter fell.

Poe sat on his knees, his head hanging with an equal look of dismay as his locks of blonde hair. His hands clutched at the dried dusting of soil that crowned the cliff.

[i:5a65c3e2f7]“We can’t go back for him, can we?” [/i:5a65c3e2f7] He knew the answer even before Wren answered. The Brujah stood looking out over the vista they had left behind. Far to the West lay the city they had sworn to defend. His hand, against character, found itself patting the young Gangrel’s shoulder.

[i:5a65c3e2f7]“No, we can’t go back. Your...your father knew that. He was a warrior. He understood the risks involved in this quest. He would have wanted us to go on. He understood the importance of our success. Come now. We have alot of ground to cover. There will be time enough to grieve at Journey’s End.”[/i:5a65c3e2f7]

He smiled limply before walking on, his stride somewhat less hearty.

Poe tossed a handful of soil into the breeze and sighed before standing. He closed his eyes and whispered into the current of warm air.

[i:5a65c3e2f7]“Bye, dad.”[/i:5a65c3e2f7]

----------

Porter’s landing was even less graceful than his fall. The floor of the cavern he’d literally fallen upon came up at him with such force as to send his legs from under him, tumbling the old Gangrel head over tit.

Pulling himself onto his feet he looked around as best he could considering he stood in complete blackness. Burning a little blood meant he could at least see shades of grey. One particular shade moved forward and the smell of a predator filled his nostrils. He sent a fleeting psychic image at the shape.

[i:5a65c3e2f7]Flames. A great fall. Devils. Souls in torment.[/i:5a65c3e2f7]

The figure hissed.

[i:5a65c3e2f7]“No. This isn’t hell.”[/i:5a65c3e2f7]

The figure took his arm and led him forward. Being pretty much out of his depth and at something of a disability, the Gangrel went without argument.

They entered and left several chambers by Porter’s count. Then upon entering the fourth, he was suddenly blinded by a flare of unnatural, or could it be natural, light. Squinting his eye he scanned around himself. The figure stepped up to a ledge that overlooked the source of the light. Porter looked on with amazement as the figure unfurled great membranes from beneath its arms, the distorted outline of huge ears that swept back and away from its face completing the surprise.

[i:5a65c3e2f7]Bats.[/i:5a65c3e2f7] The image sent was short and succinct.

The bat-like creature turned revealing an almost human face. A semblance of a smile crossed its crinkled face, revealing tapered fangs beneath a pug nose.

[i:5a65c3e2f7]“Of a sort, my friend. Come, you are expected.”[/i:5a65c3e2f7]

The bat man fell forward before his wings caught the air, carrying him downward to a pool of light a hundred metres below.

Porter stepped up to the plate. Clucked his tongue and followed suit.

The small coterie would've undoubtedly pushed on through the night, had Tromador and Gabriel not been riding horses. The stallions, though incredibly sturdy and of good stock, glistened brilliantly with a translucent sheen of sweat. The three made camp (which devoid of any type of fire, looked very little like a conventional camp) amidst the steppes of what had once been eastern Kazakhstan.

Here, life seemed dominated by the vast grey sky. The landscape was nearly stripped of any type of discernable feature, and the horizon met evenly in the middle, each vying for supremacy. As a cool, effortless breeze swept across the plains, the three attended to their individual needs.

Gabriel and Tromador stood nearby, brushing down the horses and inspecting the steeds carefully for any traces of injury or discomfort. Cyrilynn squatted over a fresh kill, and the distinctive sounds of ripping meat contrasted against the smooth rythm of brush strokes.

[i:afcdd9f7dd]"How much further, by your estimate?"[/i:afcdd9f7dd] Gabriel asked, peering over his horses flank towards Tromador.

Cyrilynn glared impatiently below at her cohorts who slowly led their horses up the craggy side of the mountain range. The footpaths were thin and overgrown with shrubbery, perilous terrain for steeds. From her vantage point, she could take in the steppe's entire horizon, yet neither it's magnitude or stark lack of life moved her. Letting out an impatient snort, she turned her attention back to her companions.

Far below, Gabriel and Lord Stanley traced the walking path carefully. Each held the horses reins in one hand at the face of the cliff with the other. Gradually, the path widened and became less of a threat.

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"So Gabriel,[/i:7ac8fbb45e]" the elder Ventrue said plainly, [i:7ac8fbb45e]"what did you do?"[/i:7ac8fbb45e]

Gabriel glanced over his shoulder momentarily.

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"I'm sorry?"[/i:7ac8fbb45e]

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"For an unliving...back in Cascadia?"[/i:7ac8fbb45e]

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"Ah,"[/i:7ac8fbb45e] Gabriel returned his attention to the footpath. [i:7ac8fbb45e]"I worked in shipping, primarily in the export of steel. I served Clan Ventrue as Whip and Primogen as well as the regional Prateor for some time. Additionally I served as Seneschal under the unfortunate regime of the mad Prince Valek." [/i:7ac8fbb45e]

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"You were Prateor?"[/i:7ac8fbb45e] Lord Stanley's voice was lined with disbelief. Gabriel felt a pang of shame, wishing he had not disclosed that particular fact. [i:7ac8fbb45e]"It strikes me as odd that we didn't cross paths sooner, and under slightly less...apocolyptic circumstances."[/i:7ac8fbb45e]

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"Yes well...within the Clan, I was mislabeled as being something of a busy body."[/i:7ac8fbb45e]

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"You mean you were not content to simply manage your business and social affairs from behind some desk ninety floors up?"[/i:7ac8fbb45e]

Gabriel nodded, but made no audible response. His somewhat 'physical' approach to things had indeed cost him dearly in his Clan's dignitas. The once promising Ventrue who had orchestrated many of the plans that had led to Sorenti's complete fiscal dominance of Cascadia was viewed as little more than a 'brute' or 'Sorenti's bastardized thug'.

It was only because external pressure that he was made Prateor. And even then, the position was stripped almost instantly just as soon as the Strategoi could do so without losing face. Gabriel was humiliated and disillusioned. It hadn't been long before he was blacklisted from the Clan of Kings.

The two rounded a corner and now Cyrilynn was in sight, perched atop of sizeable boulder.

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"Don't be disheartened Gabriel."[/i:7ac8fbb45e] Stanley continued, speaking in time with the clop-clop-clop of his horses hooves. [i:7ac8fbb45e]"The leaders of Clan Ventrue were corpses in the truest sense of the word. The Chamberlains, Senate, Directorate and their endless scheming...what was the result?"[/i:7ac8fbb45e]

Gabriel's eyes cast out over the desolate landscape once more.

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"Their plans and strategies were wiped out in a fit of passion."[/i:7ac8fbb45e] Stanley said at length to dramatic effect. [i:7ac8fbb45e]"It's passion that ultimately matters Gabriel. Without it, we are but drying husks."[/i:7ac8fbb45e]

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"Hmm. Poetic."[/i:7ac8fbb45e]

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"Did you enjoy the post of Seneschal?"[/i:7ac8fbb45e] he asked. As he spoke the final word, the duo passed a snoozing Cyrilynn, who instantly awoke and took to the air, apparently pleased to be moving forward once more.

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"There was very little not to enjoy. Influence, power, access to privleged information."[/i:7ac8fbb45e] Gabriel stated flatly. [i:7ac8fbb45e]"Actually...I spent quite a bit of my time studying the official account of Cainite activity within Cascadia...which brings up an interesting point."[/i:7ac8fbb45e]

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"Hmm?"[/i:7ac8fbb45e]

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"You're supposed to be dead."[/i:7ac8fbb45e] Gabriel stopped at this point and turned to face Tromador. Arion huffed impatiently.

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"Well, we're all..."[/i:7ac8fbb45e]

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"No. Not undead. DEAD, dead."[/i:7ac8fbb45e]

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"Am I?"[/i:7ac8fbb45e] The ancient Ventrue's face bore a mark of confusion.

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"You were supposed to died fighting the Garou during the Great Siege."[/i:7ac8fbb45e] The confusion shifted into annoyance.

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"Oh that."[/i:7ac8fbb45e] he said, motioning for Gabriel to continue walking. [i:7ac8fbb45e]"Who was it? Mark Twain? 'Rumors of my death are greatly exaggerated.'"[/i:7ac8fbb45e]

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"You were allegedly protecting Riannen..."[/i:7ac8fbb45e]

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"RHI-ANNON."[/i:7ac8fbb45e]

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"Pardon me. Rhiannon. You were reported to have been protecting her when the building was overrun by Garou and the roof collapsed, crushing you both."[/i:7ac8fbb45e]

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"Hmm. Well clearly that wasn't the case. Out of curiosity, who wrote that report?"[/i:7ac8fbb45e] Tromador cocked his head, his hungry eyes narrowing, already knowing the answer.

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"Well...it was collected from various sources. A council was set up and interviews taken and..."[/i:7ac8fbb45e]

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"But who reported that PARTICULAR incident?"[/i:7ac8fbb45e] he pressed.

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"If memory serves it was...Sorenti."[/i:7ac8fbb45e] Another pang of shame.

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"Ah. My idiot brother. I might have expected as such."[/i:7ac8fbb45e] This was the second time Gabriel had heard his Sire referred to as such by this man, and it bothered him on multiple levels. Of course the most obvious reaction he felt was offense. He had cared deeply for his Sire, who had served as his mentor, protector, and the closest thing he had to a father.

But such feelings of defensiveness were understandable and irrelevant. What bothered him more was the idea that anyone actually considered Sorenti incompetent by any standard. To Gabriel, his Sire had always represented the quintessential avatar of Clan Ventrue. He was able, powerful, and a formidable foe. Gabriel had never run across anyone who hadn't feared Sorenti on some level, and he had included himself in that equation. Even now, four hundred years after the fact, Gabriel had become powerful in his own right, but Sorenti still stood out as a pillar of stren...

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"Lighten up Gabriel."[/i:7ac8fbb45e] Stanley chuckled, reading his thoughts as though he were speaking out loud. [i:7ac8fbb45e]"I meant no harm in my comment. If I offend, I humbly offer my apologies. I was merely commenting on Sorenti unwillingness to face the truth. Instead he makes a blasted martyr out of me."[/i:7ac8fbb45e]

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"TROMADOR! GABRIEL!"[/i:7ac8fbb45e]

Both Ventrue exchanged a glance and instantly bolted for the summit. As they cliff's face shrunk, the entire valley became visible as though it were being revealed from behind a curtain. They stood high above a massive expanse of trees, lined by the very mountain range upon which they stood. The range stretched in a wide u-shape, deep hues of purple and white melting into shrouds of dusty fog, disappearing completely within it's blanket. Between the dual rock walls, stetched a picturesque forest, so thick that none of the trio could make out it's floor. The distant sounds of animal life wafted from the valley like the opening tuning of an orchestra.

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"It's beautiful...[/i:7ac8fbb45e]" Gabriel managed.

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"Undoubtedly dangerous."[/i:7ac8fbb45e] Tromador said, peering intently into the trees, trying to penetrate it's thick canopy.

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"Well you're quite the optimist."[/i:7ac8fbb45e]

[i:7ac8fbb45e]"What kind of forest prospers without sunlight?"[/i:7ac8fbb45e] he asked, his eyes never moving from the thick treetops. [i:7ac8fbb45e]"In addition, this place is practically the Garden of Eden carnate, I'm sure someone's moved in. And they likely will NOT like trespassers."[/i:7ac8fbb45e]

Despite Lord Stanley's persuasive reasoning, the three descended the cliff face, a perilous undertaking to say the least, as this side of the mountain was covered in considerable moss. Once they had reached the base and were on flat ground, Gabriel and Tromador remounted and the three moved into the valley, listening silently to mysterious bass crooning that seemed ever present...

The champaign fizz of their last battle still bubbled in the harpy's veins. Muted by the now traveled distance but an ever present, volatile mix waiting for it's fuse to be lit. The small breezes that had wafted up from the forested expanse had brought the news of hot, [i:e6f8d48330]fresh[/i:e6f8d48330] blood to her jaded senses and the taste of her last meal became a forgotten delight. It hadn't been enough, despite her efforts to ferret out every last drop that she could absorb. Not her favorite type but she needed every bit to maintain her position in the group. Namely that of lofty spy. Nor was she willing to give up the freedom of that vast empyrean vault.

Both of her companions had made note of her continuing restlessness but had said nothing as she'd maintained her role of biddable lacky to their group's needs. Tromador was new to Julius's bond servant and, so, had left her to Gabriel's watch. With all that the younger Ventrue had been through recently, it was no surprise that he didn't see the warning signs until too late. Thus it was his cry that chased after her as she suddenly gave vent to a rapturous scream and flung herself into the air. "Cyrilynn! [b:e6f8d48330]NO!![/b:e6f8d48330]"

Her Beast rode her hard. Having taken advantage of a centuries long hiatus, it had drowned her will, snatching her long held reins with a brutish force. The recent, extended, harsh periods of activity and, most especially, the lack of proper food had combined to turn her granite discipline into the finest of dust. And now she was paying the price for that negligence. She spotted prey almost immediately and plunged downward, disappearing from her associate's view with a shriek of triumph.

Cyrilynn's intended targets scattered wildly, despite the fact that they were [i:e6f8d48330]much[/i:e6f8d48330] larger than she. She tore into her first victim with relish and feasted noisly on the lengthy neck before taking to wing and quckly bringing down a second kill. The sudden stillness that greeted her after she'd blooded it made her tense up with returning wariness. Her Beast, finally assuaged and growing quiescent, gave her no trouble when she muzzled and chained it deeply within her soul then glanced around..

The now sated Harpy found herself being inspected by two sets of uneasy eyes, in the form of her Cainite escorts. Gabriel turned to the elder Ventrue and remarked, "Interesting...I never expected to see one of those... even in my younger days." It took her several minutes, during which time both men rode closer to her, to be aware that their gazes were no longer settled on her. Instead, they stared down at the creature pinned beneath her bloodied talons.

Brontosauruses were as much a thing of legend as Vampires we supposed be. Yet what she'd brought down so effortlessly didn't vanish into the primeval mists just because it shouldn't have existed. It was huge, it was real and it was undeniably dead. So, then, why did she feel something was so terribly wrong?

"Whatcha doin babe?" asked Julius, knowing full well what Eve was up to.
He'd been keeping closer tabs on her since he sensed that she was getting ready to do something heroic and stupid. For the past half hour he'd been watching her with her enchanted rapier and main gauche twirling about slicing the hell out of dummies with increasing speed. He'd actually never seen her move so fast. He'd actually never seen ANYONE move so fast. She was gearing up for something drastic.

"You know what I'm doing, lover," she said softly. Her gaze did not meet his. She seemed sad, but determined.

"You know that none of them are coming back Evey," said Julius.

"I know."

Julius frowned. His scars had healed over. His appearance matched the man she loved on the inside. "Then why?"

She sighed, for effect. "George Stanley, ages ago now..... he said," she paused. "You know me Julius. You know me better than anyone. You've known my proclivity for wanting to end it all and never doing it."

Julius smiled a half smile and laughed slightly.

"One of those times, I was standing on a roof top painting the sunrise. He said to me.... 'You know you aren't going to go like this Eveshka. You will go in the last battle of the last war at the end of time. You'll go in a blaze of glory.'"

"Did he," mused Julius. "I've given up trying to stop you Eveshka. I know that you'll do what you want, or what you feel you need to do." He shrugged, "I know that even this will not be the end of you.... of us."

She smiled slightly but wouldn't meet his eyes.

"I can tell by your aura that you are terrified of what you may face, of what may happen."

She nodded.

"We've danced this dance since the beginning of time, my love. One going before the other. Sometimes it was you, other times it was me. We always found our way back to one another."

SHe finally looked up and met his eyes. Blood tears were streaming down her cheeks. "Come with me Julius," she gurgled. "Leave the mantle of the king behind. The future is out there." She pointed into the eternal night. "It's not here. New Enoch? It's a fallacy. It's like one of my pipedreams from ages past. You are not Caine arisen. Please Julius.... come with me."

It was his turn to look away. "It may all amount to nothing in the end," he said. "I am not Caine arisen from the dead. But I cannot leave either. These kindred and kine that I have assembled here... they need me. More than you do. What we're doing here is bigger than you and I, baby. Why can't you see that?"

Eve's eyes flashed angrily, but still sad nonetheless. "There is nothing bigger than you and I. That's what this is about. You and I. Us. Together... out there." She pointed with her rapier into the gloom. "These beings here?" she asked with a gesture. "These are not the future. These are not even the past. These are.... I don't know what these are. We belong with Tromador and Porter, with Poe and that godawful Harpy. We belong with Gabriel. We need to fix this. Together. As only you and I can do."

Julius nodded. "I do not think I can join you on this one Evey." He visibly deflated. "I have to carry on here. I love you. More than you can possibly imagine. It is hard to believe that after so much death and calamity, I can still identify love. But I belong here. I will see you again. If not in this world......" he turned away from her. "Then the next," he whispered softly, knowing that he would probably never see her in this world ever again.

Eveshka turned and walked towards the stable that was kept near their citadel. She mounted her white mare and in a swirl of silken purple and black folds was off. Her saddle bags were full of blood pearls, vials, and other things she would need. She and the mare made their way westward on a path that would lead them in a few short weeks, if she survived that long, to what used to be the Indian Sub-Continent.

Brontosaurs were never meant to be Dachsunds but for lack of a better description that's what this one was. Of the dinosaur class, of course. It had the round-backed body and the longish neck but the legs were thickly stubby and squat; easily supporting the massive body weight. The stomach, however, had not been changed by whatever unkind evolution had wrought it's magic on it. Instead, it had stayed the same, sagging heavily with each meal and growth spurt until it was an effort to drag the whole beneath the trees to feast upon the closest morsels of leaf and branch. Until the underbelly was just so much abraided skin that it left a brownish trail in it's wake.

On the mangled carcass of the second feasting one could discern someone's joke of immature wings. Spindly, fragile and with torn membranes. Certainly they were never intended to turn the poor gigantic beast into a soaring eagle, but some deity... in it's misguided wisdom... had tried anyway. Like a child attempting it's first sculpting. Nor was that the only abuse perpetrated. Apparently, the the creator had forgotten to also give it eyes. It was a mercy to have put this pair out of their collective misery. Come to think of it, they'd died with [b:f8f2c75a84]no resistence[/b:f8f2c75a84] and a heartfelt groan as she'd used her honed and driven expertise on them.

From what little she'd seen, Cyrilynn didn't think these were the only two here. She shuddered at her unwanted suppositions and opened her mouth to discuss them with Gabriel when she spotted something distinctly ghoulish and definately within her ken, beyond and above the mounted pair. A [i:f8f2c75a84]vozhd[/i:f8f2c75a84] stood upon a cliff overhang, koldunic light gleaming coldly from it's eyes as it watched them. With a calculating nod to the Harpy, it turned and disappeared into the cliff walls behind it.

Gabriel guided an unwilling Arion up one flank of the tremendous beast and then down the opposite side, keenly inspecting the disfigured relic. It's leathery brown skin was a hodgepodge of textures, smooth as scar tissue in some spots and nearly scaley in others. It's gaping mouth hung open, a massive slug of a tongue lying carelessly on the ground. The entire mess lay atop a collection of shattered trees and crushed foliage.

The harpy leapt from her place atop her prize and landed between Gabriel and Tromador, pointing over Tromador's shoulder. Gabriel squinted and Lord Stanley shifted in his saddle to see over his shoulder.

[i:52c8a06e5e]"Well...they know we're here now."[/i:52c8a06e5e] Cyrilynn said, her voice composed of an odd mixture of fear and anticipation. The vozhd's mangled head disappeared from sight. At this point a good fight was more appealing than boredom.

[i:52c8a06e5e]"Well, Tzimisce presence would definately explain this abomination."[/i:52c8a06e5e] Lord Stanley now rode closer to inspect the mangled carcass. In the distance, the dead creatures herd mates crooned morosely, echoing throughout the valley in meloncholy chorus. [i:52c8a06e5e]"I think this one will be missed."[/i:52c8a06e5e]

[i:52c8a06e5e]"Then we'd best not waste time."[/i:52c8a06e5e] Arion shuffled nervously and Gabriel led him past the fallen Brontosaurus. [i:52c8a06e5e]"That war ghoul certainly won't waste any."[/i:52c8a06e5e]

As the coterie entered the forest's murky depths once more, Gabriel found himself shocked at his previous inability to recognize all the clear signs of life therein. Here and there, great archs of destruction pocked the forest, clear signs of it's gigantic inhabitants. It also seemed that none of them could ride so far as ten yards without dodging some tremendous, jumbo-sized dino doo doo.

As they rode on, all three agreed that the best strategy was not test fate. Their prey was Nosferatu, not Tzimisce. A conflict with the fleshcrafters could hardly be advantageous. Of the three, only Cyrilynn seemed hesitant. Secretly, Gabriel and Lord Stanley both wondered where her true loyalties lay. Did some part of her long for her clan's company, or was her true objective solely battle, and the pulse of her victims neck under her bite?

Neither Ventrue was too eager to solve such a riddle. As far as Gabriel was concerned, the quicker they could leave this bizarre Land of the Lost episode behind them, the better. No sooner had he finished that thought than did Cyrilynn's winged form appear before him with a clear sense of urgency (or was that bloodlust?) in her eyes.

[i:52c8a06e5e]"What in Cain's breath are you..."[/i:52c8a06e5e] Gabriel spat, struggling to regain control of the panicked Arion.

[i:52c8a06e5e]"Shhhh. Listen."[/i:52c8a06e5e]

Wafting through the forest, steady and rhythmic as a heartbeat, the gentle accordant pulse of drums was clearly discernible. The ether became charged as the three Kindred instantly queued blood magic to prepare for any oncoming threat.

Stanley and Gabriel exchanged puzzled glances and all three pressed forward towards the unkown.

Angry clouds tumbled and rolled through a dark sky. Toes dug into gritty sand. Lightening flashed in the distance and moments later thunder rolled across the waste to tickle waiting ears. A cool breeze caressed bare skin and brought with it the scent of blood. Or was it the taste? What was that on the tongue, coppery and sweet? It was vitae with out doubt. And beneath all these sensations was the barely discernible echo of another mind’s scream. Or were there two? Three?

[i:afef2dc90f]I feel, I see, I hear, I taste, I smell, I sense, I hunger[/i:afef2dc90f] the woman thought, [i:afef2dc90f]therefore I must exist.[/i:afef2dc90f] She looked down. She was naked and kneeling, and there was a pale corpse in front of her. Her own skin was much paler than the corpse’s however; indeed, it was as white as pure marble but it was crusty with sand. Where had she been? Had she been buried? How long had she been here? And where was ‘here’? There were ruins all alround, poking up through the dunes like rocks on a sea shore. They stretched off in all directions. This was desert now, but once there had been something here. What was it? She looked at the stone columns and piles that had not yet been subsumed and they were familiar, yet she could not place them. There were other corpses as well, though most seemed much older. She had not slain them all; someone else or something else had reaped most of the carnage here.

And…who was she? On this last question she pondered a moment, but the answer, the memories came quickly. Though the memories were clear, some of them, the most recent ones, did not make much sense and she guessed they were false. She reached up to her torso and pressed her fingers deep into her flesh in different places. She felt no pain as she did this, just the pressure. In a moment her finger tips found what they were looking for. So it was true. How odd.

Her skin healed instantly as she pulled her fingers free. Her probing had left no mark at all upon her alabaster skin. She stood and began walking towards the smell of blood. It was all she had to guide her at the moment…and it was all she needed.

Now he was interested; Poe had displayed an emotion other than bravado or reckless overconfidence. [i:5add418b18]"Poe, since it is just you and me... this will be harder. Let me explain why I was so harsh earlier, and why I wanted to climb."[/i:5add418b18]

He said as they moved along the trail at the unnatural pace that only a vampire could seem to achieve. "When I was younger... much younger, in fact, an antedeluvian awakened," he started, then shook his head, feeling the pull in his very blood. It was strong now, quite remarkably so, as though he could go no other direction, like he was being coerced in the direction they now followed.

He could not have torn himself away from their chosen path had he tried. [i:5add418b18]"I and two of my closest and oldest allies confronted him... it was myself, Raye, a toreador who's art was death, and Bartholemew, the gangrel that first introduced me to your father, in the year thirteen hundred and twelve."[/i:5add418b18]

The memories were painful, and came back vividly. The darkened chamber where they had confronted the beast. The way Bart's sword had done no harm to the ancient creature, but snapped off halfway along the blade, as though striking a stone wall. A single strike knocking Raye cleanly into torpor... and the most horrific image of all... the shocked expression on Bart's severed head fading into ash and bone flakes.

It had only been fireworks that saved Wren that night. Early gunpowder, a chinese formula, bought for amusement and accidently kept with him that had been used as a last resort, thrown into the eyes as though sand... and followed by a torch.

[i:5add418b18]"The Antedeluvian was freshly awoken, and still groggy with sleep. His reactions were sluggish. Within seconds, he had knocked Raye into torpor and ashed Bart. I claimed victory by only the slimmest of margins, saved by an accident of luck or fate,"[/i:5add418b18] he explained, then looked Poe squarely in the eyes. [i:5add418b18]"The one we face now, is, to all accounts, a warrior by his very nature. And, more importantly... he has been awake for a long time now."[/i:5add418b18] Wren finished then turned away from poe, his pace quicking with every step, the burning pull of his blood driving him onwards.

Tromador and the rest of the coterie trudged eastward. They had entered what had once been Myanmar several days earlier. Where there was once lush jungle, there were now barren mountains and hills. The perpetual night continued.

They halted at one point in order to force a shallow torpor. Several weeks ago they had begun doing this so that they could attempt to retain some of their energy in case of an emergency. This rest period was Gabriel's watch. Tromador and Cyrillin fell into the arms of vampiric morpheus. Gabriel took the time to wander in the immediate area, always keeping an eye on his slumbering comrades. They had stopped on a plateau over looking a valley. On the top of the mountain on the other side he saw flashes. At first he assumed it was lightning. As he watched he could see that it was quite clearly not. Through the flashes he could make out the spectral shapes of the Outriders swarming someone or something.

He had only gone a few hundred yards away from where the group slumbered. He raced up to where they were and Awoke them. Tromador was the first to regain consciousness.

"What is it?" he asked a bit angrily.

Gabriel pointed towards the fight.

"Outriders," he said. "They are attacking somebody or something."

Gabriel, Cyrillin, and Tromador set off across the valley.

Almost an hour later, they came to the spot where the battle had taken place. The ground was still smoldering. What little scrub brush that had been there was now completely gone.

"Whoever it was put up one hell of a fight," commented Gabriel. Tromador merely nodded. Cyrillin looked around coldly at the awesome destruction that had taken place. Even she was impressed.

"Let's hope whomever it was is on our side," said Lord Stanley.

"Enemy of my enemy?" asked Gabriel.

"Something like that," grunted Trom.

The coterie trudged eastward. Up and down hills, mile after mile of stumps and twisted bracken. Every so often they would see more fireballs blasting on the horizon. Tromador recognized some of the other flashes as blaster rifle fire.

They came across the first humanoid corpses the next "day." Their bodies were icinerated. The flesh was, in some cases, was peeled back from their bones. In other cases only bone remained. In other cases portions of their bodies were melted.

"Whatever is going before us has great power," muttered Cyrillin.

Tromador knelt down and surveyed the battlefield.

"These did not happen but a few hours ago," he stood up. "We're closing in on whomever this is."

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

The coterie crossed into what used to be Cambodia and held their course for for several days. Tromador began to get sensations of something familiar drawing near. He could not tell if it was good, evil, or indifferent... just familiar.

"I'm into the last of my blood pearls," said Gabriel.

Tromador nodded. He did not have to utilize as much vitae as he had achieved Golconda.

"There has been no sources of vitae for weeks," intoned Cyrillin. She was beginning to look rough around the edges. Indeed all of them were. They sat in on the upper slope of a valley. They were silent and rather morose. They had long since began the downward spiral into losing heart. None of them knew what was going on back in New Enoch. None of them knew what awaited them. They were just silent with self accusation as if waiting for some sort of absolution.

[b:25fcb51468] BOOM [/b:25fcb51468]

They raised they heads to view the opposite side of the valley. There on the top of the hill they clearly saw a figure wielding great thaumaturgical power. It moved with incredible speed and also flashed a sword blade. They could also see humanoid shapes moving in the ruined vegetation.

"Let's go," said Tromador who started out across the valley. It took them about 20 minutes to navigate across the valley floor and up the other side. They heard explosions and the sounds of plasma rifle fire followed by explosions. Finally all was silent.

They crested the hill to look at the burning bodies strewn about the plateau. In the center stood a solitary figure in a billowing gray cloak that looked more like a death shroud than anything else. They could make out the skeletal form beneath the folds.

[i:09dc2e3683]"CREO VIM ET REQUISIATI PERDO REGO CORPOREM"[/i:09dc2e3683] The few words of Hermetic Latin could be picked out from within a complex incantation which echoed about the valley. At once the skeletal figure was surrounded by a shell of some kind of magical force. Tromador scanned the horizon. There, on the far ridge stood a figure, perhaps a man, certainly a mage, continued to weave incantations. The grey cloaked figure beat impotently against the inside of the newly created prison, then collapsed in the middle of the glowing sphere, apparently, for the moment, spent.

George considered the situation, a brief split second as his ancient and powerful mind assessed all the possibilities and took a decision. He motioned to the harpy, who took to the skies. George pointed and with a blood curdling scream, like some oversized eagle of death, the winged form of Cyrilynn stooped for the chanting mage. Almost contemptuously, he pulled some device from his pocket and pressed a button. A hail of wood erupted from the ground ahead of him, downing the Tzimisce with a stake through the heart.

[i:09dc2e3683]"Gabriel, NO!"[/i:09dc2e3683] The younger Ventrue ignored the warning as he spurred Arion onward. Tromador shook his head, dismounted and ran after, easily pacing the black steed with his celerity. Perhaps the mage smiled as he thumbed another control on the device in his hand. The ground opened, dropping horse and both Ventrue into darkness below.

The mage calmly completed the casting and those of the group who yet were conscious faded into blackness. It could be that a smile played across the tight lips as they spoke. [i:09dc2e3683]"See, in this day and age, immortality is something we could all use. Let's find out what makes you tick, shall we?"[/i:09dc2e3683]