((*applauds*

[i:49c1b0ba2d]"This again, hmm?"[/i:49c1b0ba2d] Remarked Tromador. [i:49c1b0ba2d]"You do realise that if you keep injecting what little of my blood remains, you'll become my willing slave, don't you?"[/i:49c1b0ba2d]

The mage looked up from his syringe. [i:49c1b0ba2d]"I thought I'd mix and match, undead beast."[/i:49c1b0ba2d]

[i:49c1b0ba2d]"Oh, Vaulderie games, what fun. Of course, the others will run out before I do, then what, I wonder."[/i:49c1b0ba2d]

[i:49c1b0ba2d]"Then I burn their dead corpses, as they will have outlived their usefulness."[/i:49c1b0ba2d]

[i:49c1b0ba2d]"I couldn't possibly allow that. But, please do continue, it's fascinating watching, though of course a real living history lesson would involve my friend with the wings - though I understand you have to keep all the others quiet, we wouldn't want them complicating the issue, now would we."[/i:49c1b0ba2d]

The magus stood and regarded the figure in front of him. Naked and suspended from shackles at wrists and ankles. The face was barely recognizeable beneath a layer of dirt and bruises, one eye swollen to the point of closure, the other red and bloodshot. A dried brown trail led from the base of the once proud, now shattered nose over the torn mouth and onto the chin. An arm hung at an odd angle bone clearly broken and the torso showed evidence of constant and consistent abuse.

He picked up a baseball bat. [i:49c1b0ba2d]"I thought vampires were supposed to be [b:49c1b0ba2d]strong[/b:49c1b0ba2d]"[/i:49c1b0ba2d] Said the mage, emphasizing the word with a smash to Tromador's ribcage. The Ventrue felt another rib, or possibly two snap under the force of the blow. [i:49c1b0ba2d]"But you... are [b:49c1b0ba2d]weak[/b:49c1b0ba2d]!"[/i:49c1b0ba2d] The tip of the bat slammed into Tromador's mouth. [i:49c1b0ba2d]"Now, be silent."[/i:49c1b0ba2d]

Tromador spat out a tooth, then allowed his head to fall forward, as if unconscious.

----

[i:49c1b0ba2d]"Gabriel..."[/i:49c1b0ba2d] It came as a whisper. [i:49c1b0ba2d]"Gabriel, time to wake up now."[/i:49c1b0ba2d]

As if pulled by an unseen hand, the wooden stake slowly worked its way free of the kindred's heart.

[i:49c1b0ba2d]"Lord Stan..."[/i:49c1b0ba2d] Began Gabriel in a whisper.

[i:49c1b0ba2d]"Hush, dinner is served."[/i:49c1b0ba2d]

Gabriel's glassy emerald eyes peered through his eyelashes like a hawk watching through the branches of a tree. He was enveloped in darkness with a single shaft of light pouring forth like a cloudbreak from a door across the room. Standing in the threshold like a monolith, two large figures loomed black, their conversation muddled and monotone in fog brought on by his state of semi-conciousness.

The Ventrue struggled against the Beast which even now threatened to send him into convulsions. The mists of confusion began to recede from his mind and his captors words gradually became decipherable.

[i:16e0194526]"...wishes us to bring this one as well. The other has already passed out."[/i:16e0194526] the voice was high and metallic, somehow sinister. [i:16e0194526]"Apparently they're not as durable as we thought. Lets hope this one lasts a bit longer."[/i:16e0194526]

There was a low chuckle from the other silhouette.

[i:16e0194526]"Well lets grab him and go. Put the shackles on."[/i:16e0194526] the voice was considerably deeper, and resonated off the walls of the tiny room.

[i:16e0194526]"I thought you had the shackles."[/i:16e0194526] the high voice retorted.

[i:16e0194526]"I told you to grab them! They're on the table...I'll be right back."[/i:16e0194526] came the exasperated grunt, followed by distant footsteps disappearing presumably down a hallway.

The remaining figure approached, his nearing body blocking out the light and casting a creeping shadow over Gabriel's own. As the footsteps came to a halt, he could feel the entity staring at him, peering at his motionless figure.

Gabriel inhaled sharply and the scent of Kine filled his nose, the smell of flesh, of blood, of sustanence. It was more than the Beast would tolerate. The battered Kindred fell sharply backwards into his own conciousness, a surge of crimson overtaking the inky abyss for an instant before he blacked out completely...

...[i:16e0194526]"No! AAHH!!"[/i:16e0194526]...

....when he awoke he was crouched on his haunches. For the first time he realized he was nude...and wet. His naked figure was hunched over, head held low. There was a warm sensation emenating from his hands and looking down he realized he was wrist deep in someones intestines.

The spongy, soft material peered back at him from within the folds of a deep gash in a lifeless body. Dark robes enveloped the motionless body that lay on it's back, head cocked at an unnatural angle that suggested a snapped neck. It was easy to confirm his suspicion as the splintered neck bone was visible through the torn out, ragged throat.

The face was stricken with a mask of terror, eyes widened and mouth agape, rapidly filling with a pool of dark, thick blood.

Gabriel removed his hands from the gooey mess and stood, examining his surroundings. The room was barren, four stainless steel walls reflecting dimly, now black in the spots where the violence had spattered it with blood and gore.

A single flickering lightbulb hung overhead, prisoner itself in a small cage. Devoid of windows or other doors, only the single entrance, the carcass, a small collapsable cot, and himself filled the interior.

[i:16e0194526]"...are you alright?!"[/i:16e0194526] the voice echoed down the hall and was followed by rapid footsteps that grew louder by the second. The Ventrue, still partially absorbed by bloodlust, could smell the meat approaching. Apparently his captors slaughter had been a noisy one, enough so to attract his former companions attention.

Boiling over once more with an almost insatiable fury and desire the Ventrue exploded into the hallway, facing the source of the footsteps. Another robed figure, this one larger, skid to a halt a short distance away. The sight of the bloodied, naked and enraged vampire brought a look that mingled somewhere between shock and fear.

The captor shoved a hand into the depths of his robe and drew out a large blade that glistened with supernatural energy. Sparks and crackles of energy ionized the dormant hallways stale air as he approached. Gabriel peered at the doorway through which he had just emerged. A large cast-iron door lay open, protruding into the hallway.

Enacting his own blood magic, the Ventrue grasped the door and pulled with all his might. The vampiric energy pouring through his limbs, his body contorted itself to inhuman size. Sinews of muscle and writhing veins pulsated and protruded from his pale figure, and with a protesting groan the door began to give way. The hinges cried with metallic protest and then gave way completely just in time for Gabriel to swing the massive metal door at his approaching attacker.

The robed foe stared dumbly at the Ventrue who swung his new weapon in a massive arch.

[i:16e0194526]"...urk!.."[/i:16e0194526]

There was a terribly muted thud as the attacker was splattered against the grungy metal wall of the hallway, a sound like a melon being crushed echoing loudly. After a moment, Gabriel pulled the door away and observed his handywork.

The hallway was vacant and disappeared in the distance in one direction, and ended with a sharp corner in the opposite direction. Similarly devoid of windows or any kind of ornamentation, it was deathly quiet for a moment aside from the sticky sound of a splattered corpse peeling off the wall.

Three figures emerged from the far end of the hallway and their silenced muttered was barely audible. The air crackled with energy once more and from the figures conjoined hands a thick column of blue flame soared down the hallway towards him.

[i:16e0194526]"Shit...mages."[/i:16e0194526] he grunted, planting the door firmly in front of him. There was a terrible impact and blue flames exploded from around the edges of the steel doors, licking at him like serpentine tongues.

Summoning his energy once more, the Ventrue hurled the door with all his might towards the magii, who dodged the massive projectile with relative ease. When they turned their attention towards the vampire, he was gone, disappearing around the corner.

((more to come...don't worry Cyrilynn, Gabe's a comin!

The landscape was unchanging. Since the scars of nuclear fallout and the harsh tongue of a frozen, radioactive winter had battered and sterilised the land, there had been little if any recovery. Icy dust storms scraped at bare rock, scattered clumps of rough bladegrass poked short stems into the perpetual twilight. Small rodents scurried from hidden burrows, feeding on whatever was found and carried the burden of feeding offspring without concern.

A rock trembled, frightening the rodents into hiding. The rock then rolled slightly then stopped. A sound rose from under the unimpressive crag of sandstone. A scraping, grinding sound. Then the rock rolled again and gritty sand was swatted aside by dirty, earth stained fingers. A dusty, shaggy haired, barely clothed figure heaved himself from a hole where the rock once stood. Pulling himself to his feet he looked across the blasted hillside and grunted.

[i:84690e8f23]“Son of a bitch was worth the risk.”[/i:84690e8f23] He uttered to noone in particular.

He looked towards the horizon, sniffed once before he started walking.

The rodents re-emerged in his wake, watching the gruff, unkempt figure striding into the distance.


((Grah! It's something...

Gabriel moved down the passageway away from the Magi. He turned another corner and ran straight into...

"Tromador," gasped Gabriel.

Tromador put his finger to his lips in a "shh"ing motion. He brought up his vibrosword and waited for the Magi to come around the corner. After a moment or two one came around the corner. The vibrosword flashed and cut through where the head should be but it passed through clean air and hit the wall making a loud clang. The image of the magus dissipated.

"Shit," Lord Stanley muttered.

"Now what?" asked Gabriel.

"Um... Run," muttered Trom in a voice sounding uncannily like Han Solo's.

The two vampires ran down the tunnel as the area they had previously occupied exploded in a blaze of light. The passageway continued into the gloom, a door opened to the left. It opened and a skeletal figure in a black death shroud slowly walked out and turned to face them. It raised it's hands and in a gurgling, but high pitched voice, shouted words in Hermetic Latin. Fireballs rocketed past them and slammed into two of the magi. One of them crumpled into a burning heap on the floor. The other somehow extinguished himself, but looked rather shaken. The third stopped dead and began chanting.

The skeletal figure beckoned for Tromador and Gabriel to follow it. Having no better plan, they did. It closed the door and uttered some words, causing the door to glow blue for a moment and then return to its normal appearance.

"That will keep them for the moment," gurgled the voice.

"Wha.... who are you," asked Gabriel.

The figure turned and pulled back its cloak to reveal a mummified looking face with long straggly dark hair.

"Evey...." said Tromador in a near whisper.

The head nodded once and turned away.

"I need vitae." she said simply.

((Okay I've been away long enough, who's up for finishing this shindig?

[i:efafe1bef3]"Damn it, Mephisto, they're gone! Stop the chant and help me!"[/i:efafe1bef3] Scipious hissed angrily in Latin, still swatting frantically at his smoldering robes. Long tendrils of foul smoke snaked from the creases of his hermetic garmants, one of his cohorts lay incinerated on the floor, eyesockets full of a fluid that were once functional eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, and all Mephisto could do was drone the monotonous chant of a protection rite.

The last embers on Scipious' right arm were finally extinguished and the irate Magi stormed forward and grabbed his shaken ally by the shoulder, shaking his violently.

[i:efafe1bef3]"Enough you fool! They'll get away!"[/i:efafe1bef3]

Mephisto stared blankly at him, his normally dull eyes glazed over and shining with terror and confusion. Scipious spat in disgust and stalked over to the door the three antagonists had disappeared through. The door shone oddly and the perplexed wizard found despite his best efforts, he could find no way to open it.

He turned to admit this to Mephisto when abruptly the door swung open violently, sending him sprawling to the floor. Confused and disoriented, the Mage was jarred to his senses by the sound of Mephisto's terrified cries. The shrill scream became drenched with fluid and trailed off into a sickening gurlge. As the prone Magi looked up, he caught sight of Mephisto's body pinned against the wall convulsing.

He was held tightly by the feral blonde vampire who even now tore at poor Mephisto's throat, biting and gnashing with unbelievable ferocity. The mage shuddered in the final throes of death and then slid limply to the ground. The vampire's naked figure, now slick with blood, stood over his prize for a moment, and then bent down and took hold of the collar of his robe.

Long track crimson trackmarks streaked the floor as the dead magi was dragged back towards the gaping doorway where it would undoubtedly be consumed. Scipious came to his senses and rose to his feet, beginning to chant along the way. The familiar sensation of blood energy rushed to his hands, where even now the red glow of a fireball was beginning to accumulate.

As the vampire passed with his good friend Mephisto in tow, a hand reached out of the blackness quicker than Scipio could contemplate and grabbed hold of one of his hands. The last sensation the started mage registered (before his entire being went numb with shock) was that of his wrist being shattered by the creatures iron grip, and a sharp blow to the temple...then the comforting embrace of oblivion..

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

Gabriel dropped the corpse formerly known as Mephisto at Eveshka's feet, a feat Tromador mirrored a moment later with the corpse formerly known as Scipio. The two stood visibly proud in the darkness, an emotion unnoted by the ravenous Toreador.

[i:efafe1bef3]"Dinner is served."[/i:efafe1bef3]

She drained one of the mages in moments. Somehow Eveshka managed to contain her beast and pushed the second body over to the others.

"It's dead, but there is still some life left in him," she croaked. She stood up and moved towards the end of the room. She had found an exit hidden in the wall. She gently brushed one withered finger along a seam and the door opened. The two vampires behind her had slightly quenched their thirst, they knew that the ancient Russian had to be near empty still.

"Where are you going Evey?" asked Tromador.

She merely pointed and said, "Blood."

He looked at her oddly. HAving achieved Golconda and essentially having the power of the ancients, he should have sensed something. He did not.

There wsa no choice but to follow her. Tromador could sense the Beast rising within Eveshka's withered shrivled. There would be no stopping her if she thought there was vitae in that direction.

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

They came out onto the blighted landscape. They were on a hill over looking the remains of a vast temple complex.

"Kuala Lampur," said Gabriel. "We made it."

"Now what though?" asked Tromador. "This is not right. We should not be walking into this so easily."

"We need to get Cyrillin," pointed out Gabriel. Tromador merely nodded.

Eveshka descended down on to the plain, heedless of the two behind her.

Tromador finely saw them.

"KINE!!" he nearly shouted, pointing at a group of humans in armor walking towards Eveshka with swords drawn.

"Blood," said Gabriel. The two vampires charged off down the hill. The melee was over in seconds. The did not kill them so much as bled the mortals dry. With blood pools back to normal, for the moment, they headed back up the hill towards the doorway back into the catacombs of the magi.

Half a millenia earlier, the ruinous landscape that housed the catacombs had been home to Malaysia's largest and most prominant city. A pulsating, vibrant star nestled within the bosom of the South China Sea. Now, as with everything else, it was simply a barren corpse.

A dusty gray wasteland in which the only signs of life lay prone in a field, unable to move beyond the simple task of breathing. The Kine gasped painfully for air, purposely wracking his shattered body with pain in a desperate attempt to stave off the warm embrace of unconciousness.

Through the fog of confusion, exhaustion, and impending death his eyes fell upon the small entranceway to the catacombs, the very threshold through which his executioners had emerged, slaughtered him and his companions and then subsequently disappeared back into.

Even now, from deep within the gullet of the catacombs irregular flashes of white hot heat pulsated outwards. As the fading warrior watched, great strokes of blue flame spewed forth from the entrance, reaching towards the bleak gray sky. The pillars of fire pulsed rhythmically for some time and then fell all together silent.

Suddenly, the warrior, who even now was becoming ever more detatched, felt the ground beneath him shudder. A moment later, a great plume of black smoke erupted from the entranceway, blotting it out completely. The smoke thickened and curled, and was then torn abrubtly in half as a figure shot forth from it's mushroomed top with great speed.

The figure, large and batlike, arched into the sky and emitted it's shrill call. A moment later, the warrior saw the familiar forms of his executioners emerge on foot from the catacombs and descend back towards his position.

The warrior smiled slightly as he realized fate had truly been kind to him, and his life would ebb away before the trio could reach him. A barely audible gasp, a spasm of muscles, and then another soul was blinked from existence.

Porter’s journey brought him out of the ashen desert that was the world and into a harsher, saline world that was the oceans. He stepped gingerly at first as the searing salt levels in the shallowed seas bit at his naked skin, before disappearing under the surface and continuing the long walk below the waves. As he disappeared into the salty brine’s murk the few surviving species of fish began to investigate the strange “fish” that made painfully slow progress into their realm. His eyes grew accustomed to the dimming light as he finally stopped descending and began to walk along the sea bed. His naked feet kicked up silt as he trawled East, sending sand burrowing fish off in terrified panic, leaving a trail of disturbed sand and mire that predators could easily follow.

A day passed and he found himself resting on the craggy lip of a vast undersea chasm. Even in these fire seared waters there were places so deep that humans had never ventured into their crushing confines. He remembered his encounter centuries earlier with Tattersail’s Sire Crom finding himself wondering if the ancient shark still existed. He pulled a tangle of seaweed from his legs, letting it drift over the ravine before he started to swim across.

Something vast, icythoid, yet oddly crab-like scuttled up the walls of the ravine as the curious deformed fish swam over its burrow. It watched with stalked eyes as the swimming thing reached the halfway point, then with a powerful swat of its armoured tail and a burst of water from a cylinder of shell on its back it barrelled forwards in pursuit.

Porter heard the rush of forced water before he saw its source. Turning his head downwards he spun wide eyed in horror as the huge crabfish bore upon him. He tried warding it off with his Animalism but the huge predator was either too dim to understand, or too hungry to care. It reached out with four huge pincered jaws and pulled him into its puckered mouth....

As the creature pulled him in a ridiculous thought came over him at the sight of it all.

“Heh, looks like a giant arse.”

The innards of the crabfish were a direct polar opposite to the chitinous shell that housed them. Its stomach pulsed and quivered as it generated acids to break down its meal, but the acids merely bathed the frankly quite comfortable Gangrel as he sat trying to make contact with the beasts tiny brain. He grunted in the biting fluid and in frustration sank a curved claw into the stomach lining. The mighty crustacean predator rolled then as if in pain.

“Felt that didn’t ya? Ya big bastard.”

He repeated the assault then probed with his mind, riding the feeling of fear the huge creature generated, following the emotion to its source. Once he’d made contact he instructed the beast to change course and then sat back looking out at the sea around him through it’s crude eyes.

Using a combination of the crabfish’s jet propulsion and the swatting of its vast tail the journey East was quickened immeasurably. Exhaustion finally slowed the beast’s momentum and it listed on the sea bed. Porter opened a vein in his wrist, forcing his vitae out into the stomach. Then, wrinkling his face is apparent distaste he pulled and pushed his way out of the creature’s shrivelled anus. His blood giving the creature enough energy to recharge its tired bulk and find prey.

“No sense in killng ya, is there?”

The coldness of the water bolstered him on, his trek only interrupted by the need to feed as he fed from a passing turtle. Partly refuelled, the Gangrel swam up to the water’s surface to get his bearings. On the horizon jutted a crag of land. Quickening his pace he soon found himself on a shingle beach, staring across a plain. A few hours of walking led him to an impossible graveyard littered with the bones of dinosaurs? He sniffed the wind then, recognising the scents it carried. Climbing onto the upended carcass of what resembled a brachiosaur he took to the air in bird form, the tiny shrike he had become looking totally out of place in this alien futurescape....

((we've SERIOUSLY gotta finish this festering turd of a thread))

Tromador, Gabriel, and the ghastly Eveshka reached the rag tag group of humans. They were filthy wretches who seemed more out of some odd Kubrick film than anyplace else. Actually they would be out of place even in one of his idiotic flicks. They had greyish skin, nearly white hair, and wore pelts of some unidentified animal that was also rather whitish looking. God knows how long it had been since the sun had shone down on that land scape.

About 60 mortals began the fight against the three tired out immortals. After mere minutes, none of the 60 remained. Most of them were bled completely dry to replenish the blood pools of the three vampires. The three rested in the shelter of a battered stone archway. For the first time in ages, the three actually felt energized.

"Where do you suppose Cyrillin's gone off to?" mused Gabriel. "I thought I saw her briefly."

Tromador nodded.

"Julius is summoning her," said Eveshka. Although her features were still zombiesque, her voice sounded almost normal. She looked at her right hand. It was still withered and skeletal.

"You seem to be a bit out of sorts My Lady," intoned Gabriel.

Eveshka merely nodded. "No point in wasting energy on appearances now. Nobody to impress."

Tromador smiled. "I think you are more lovely now than ever before."

Eveshka's hooded features looked over to Tromador. A ghost of a smile creased her features. She stood up.

"Something is coming," she said, pointing to the east. Indeed there was something. Out of the tallest of the buildings came a ray of light, blasting up to the heavens, into the constantly raging sky. The ray of light illuminated the countryside around for miles.

"Well. This is going to be quite the adventure," muttered Tromador. He stood up, his torn cloak billowing around his battered platemail.

Beneath them in the valley was an entire army of humanoids moving in their direction. From their vantage point they could see that some carried what looked like rifles of some sort. Others carried swords and spears. Still others carried large sticks or hunks of metal that were crudely fashioned into some sort of bludgeoning weapon.

"There's got to be thousands of them," EVeshka said. "We can't beat them."

Tromador shook his head.

"We don't have to beat them," said Gabriel. "But we do have to fight them. It is our mettle they wish to see. Our mettle we shall show them. Julius is coming."

Eveshka nodded and joined Tromador. "It would be nice to have Porter and his group here though," said Gabriel.

"It would be nice to have a lot of things," said Tromador. "It isn't gonna happen I'm afraid. It's just us. Nobody else."

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

The enemy came on in disorganized ranks. Huge kettle drums were banging away by men, in the loosest meaning of the term, riding on things that remotely resembled some sort of equine beasts. BOOM BOOM BUHBUH BOOOM. BOOM BOOM BUHBUH BOOM. Also issuing from the ranks was the horrid wail of poorly tuned bagpipes. It sounded as if each piper was playing his own tune. The effect was utter chaos. That’s what it was: an entire army of Chaos.

From the back, soaring over all of them came a winged creature uttering unearthly shrieks. It had bat-like wings and the body of a human woman. Her face was breathtakingly beautiful and her body perfectly formed. Writhing around her, even as she flew, were several large snakes. The shrieking grew louder and more highly pitched.

The three vampires on the hill saw her wheeling over the army shrieking. Gabriel was mortified and cowering. Eveshka was quite cowed but still stood, albeit with great discomfort. Tromador alone was unaffected. The screaming and wailing grew unbearably loud and seemed to cover the entire earth. Gabriel gnashed his teeth and wept bloody tears in a fetal position. Louder the wailing came. Eveshka dropped to her knees holding her head and gritted her teeth. She rocked back and forth in silence. It was the insane cacophony of thousands of finger nails on thousands of chalkboards, entire symphonies of squealing violins all playing different pitches with an army or two of out of tune piccolos shrieking away in counterpoint, combined with the incessant crash of the sea shore at Cape Canaveral when every space mission ever launched touched off at the same time. It was maddening.

[i:d06f32ba42] The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone
In the ranks of death you will find him;
His father's sword he hath girded on,
And his wild harp slung behind him; [/i:d06f32ba42]

The imperturbable inconnu was singing. A rich baritone issued from his mouth. Even as the horrid noise from beneath them continued unabated, he persevered.

[i:d06f32ba42] Land of Song!" said the warrior bard,
"Tho' all the world betrays thee,
One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,
One faithful harp shall praise thee!" [/i:d06f32ba42]

On came the ranks of the unholy host. Unholy. That was a bit like the pot calling the kettle black. The three kindred gathered on that hilltop had committed horrid atrocities in their tenure on this earth. What made them worthy of calling themselves the good guys? What made them worthy of wearing the white hat and charging into battle on the side of righteousness? Nothing. The noise from beneath continued.

[i:d06f32ba42] The Minstrel fell! But the foeman's chain
Could not bring that proud soul under;
The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again,
For he tore its chords asunder; [/i:d06f32ba42]

A faint female voice joined Tromador’s at the beginning of the second verse. By the end of the first stanza it was quite loud. Eveshka had arisen to stand next to her former lover, her former Seneschal, and her former partner in crime. The two had been through hell in their years together. They had gone from the pits of despair to heights of power and back down to the dust more times than either could count.

[i:d06f32ba42] And said "No chains shall sully thee,
Thou soul of love and brav'ry!
Thy songs were made for the pure and free,
They shall never sound in slavery!" [/i:d06f32ba42]

The winged creature hovered about 300 yards out from them well in front of her army. She wailed even harder, more highly pitched, and louder than ever. She looked to her right, off to the north. A shrike was circling the area. She smiled, so much the better, she thought. The shrike alighted on the top of the archway under which the three vampires sheltered.

[i:d06f32ba42] The Minstrel Boy will return we pray
When we hear the news we all will cheer it,
The minstrel boy will return one day,
Torn perhaps in body, not in spirit. [/i:d06f32ba42]

From above Tromador and Eveshka came a third voice. It was a gruff and wolfish sounding voice, yet it sang the words with a bit of a Gaelic lilt. Porter had arrived. After all the years that had passed, he still remembered his Celtic roots. The wolfish Gangrel crouched on top of the arch and sang.

The winged creature pulled up and wheeled around and flew out over her army. She stopped her shrieking.

[i:d06f32ba42] Then may he play on his harp in peace,
In a world such as Heaven intended,
For all the bitterness of man must cease,
And ev'ry battle must be ended. [/i:d06f32ba42]

The song ended and Porter jumped down to join Tromador, Eveshka, and the still cowering Gabriel. He gently grabbed Gabriel’s arm and pulled him up.

“Up lad, there’s mischief afoot,” he said simply. He turned to Tromador and nodded. He turned and looked at the shrouded and skeletal form of Eveshka. He sniffed strongly and, after a moment, smiled ferally.

“I’d know that smell anywhere, Old Woman. Patchouli and nag champa. Lady Eve,” he said, and with a semblance of affection touched her shoulder. “I knew you could not stay out of this,” he finished with an almost fatherly smile of pride.

Gabriel stood. “I…. I’m sorry,” he said. He felt ashamed.

“None of that Ventrue nonsense boyo,” said Porter.

Eveshka looked over at Gabriel and said, “Even I trembled in her presence, Gabriel.” She looked over at Tromador. “I never knew you could sing so well,” she said, her ghastly features breaking into a rictus of a smile.

All the while, the enemy host drew closer.

Shakily at first, Gabriel rose to his feet and peered down at the swarming, ever-pulsating mass of glinting metal, limbs, and faces stretched into visions of rage and hatred. A Kindred merely fed from necessity, pure biological need. Bloodthirst was an expression the Ventrue had witnessed countless times over the centuries, but here, so evident in the faces of mere humans...he found it a far intimidating sight.

Above the nearly monotone roar of the hungry and enraged, above the dust and smoke and grime and fury, the still fearsome circling figure hovered. Her mere smokey silhouette shimmering as she dipped and rose time and time again sent shivers down Gabriel's spine. He watched in morbid fascination as her wings sliced through the black pillars of smoke that rose from the army as one might cut down as a daisy.

All at once she emerged from the blackness and into the cold gray sky, her eyes piercing the distance and digging into his skull. A howl, long and ravinous, poured out across the landscape trumping even the mighty battlecries of her followers, who in turn reflected her rage and stampeding towards the tiny corterie at an even faster rate.

He felt his blood, still pulsing warmly from the previous battle, run cold in his veins. He was terrified, humiliated, and confused...

...the familiar grip once more gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze...

[i:956a7115d9]"Don't worry about her lad."[/i:956a7115d9] The Gangrel grumbled, as though reading his mind. Gabriel turned to see Porter's smiling face, filthy from travel but seeminly more content because of it. [i:956a7115d9]"I've dealt with cunts like her before."[/i:956a7115d9]

[i:956a7115d9]"Really?"[/i:956a7115d9] he knew he sounded frightened and unsure, but he didn't care. Any standings he had previously held among his colleagues was lost, and like a junkie Gabriel sought only escapism. Only rather than a syringe and a volatile mixture of chemicals, he wanted only the blood of his enemies. His grip tightened on his blade.

Porter stood to his full height now, which wasn't much incidentally, and placed to meaty hands on his hips. He peered up at the circling she-bitch.

[i:956a7115d9]"No lad. Not really. But if there's one thing I've learned over anything during my millenia is that women are all the same."[/i:956a7115d9]

He considered gauging Eveshka's reaction to such a comment, but knew there would be none. Resolved to the battle and possible Final Death ahead, the Ventrue stood silently, as he had so many times before, to smooth the defects of his character in blood and the pain of others.

...THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP BOOM THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP BOOM...

The call of the drums hastened, rolling over the churning masses like a siren's call, heightening the furor and blood frenzy of her captives. There was a curt bark and Gabriel watched as the frontline of the swirling horde dropped their makeshift halberts into position creating an uneven, yet formidable, line of glistening steel points.

Slowly, but unmistakedly now, the pitious mass of humanity's remains lurched forward consuming the dry landscape before it like a swarm of locusts. Behind the noisy clang of metals, roars of anger, and heavy stomps of feet upon the ground, the corterie could hear the snap of branches as trees, bushes, and any other life was trampled heedlessly by the legions.

[i:96d0104fb7]"Steady now."[/i:96d0104fb7] although the group he led could be counted on a single hand, Tromador's voice contained the stern yet confident undertones of a general leading his troops to war. His steel gaze remained fixated on the scores of men before him, and somewhere within his expressionless face, Gabriel thought he recognized a certain satisfaction in being thrust into a familiar situation. A Ventrue leading his troops forth into battle, although glory and dignitas were hardly the goal in this struggle. [i:96d0104fb7]"Let the Kine come to us."[/i:96d0104fb7]

The sound of fiberous material straining drew Gabriel's attention back to the throng just in time to see the venemous glint of arrow tips shining dully in the concealed sunlight. A moment of recognition, and then release...

...[i:96d0104fb7]twang[/i:96d0104fb7]...

The collective release of thousands of arrows sliced the air so audibly that the Kindred could detect it over the chaotic orchestra of clammering troops. The swarm of arrows rose high into the slate sky before finally topping their arch and then hurlted maniacally towards the four Kindred.

Porter stepped forward and Gabriel watched as his muscular legs sunk into the earth as though he were wading into water. A moment later his thick torso had followed and in an instant he was entirely submerged beneath the rocky surface of the hill. The ground trembled beneath the corterie's feet and shifted forward as though it were a tablecloth being yanked from under dishware.

Suddenly the ground in front of them rose in a mountainous crude earthen wall the stretched out 50 yards on either side of the corterie and loomed high enough to block their view of the incoming projectiles. The soft crunch of metal being plunged into dirt carried on for some second, and from their vantage point behind the makeshift wall the remaining three Kindred could see the hail of arrows showering the landscape.

No sooner had the final arrow fallen, then did the wall sink back into the earth. Seconds later, Porter re-emerged and faced the frenzied masses. As he flexed with anticipation, the thousand tiny pin-pricks upon his back sealed over and Gabriel was acutely aware that regardless of whether they survived this encounter, the opposing force was in for a long and particularly gory struggle.