The wind blew through the playground, stirring long faded scraps of paper around a cracked tarmac floor. Long unused swings were set moving to and fro, giving the breeze voice from their rusting chains. Beyond the playground, zephyrs played amongst fallen leaves, tossing them into the air and laying them back down in new patterns upon long, unmowed, neglected grass. At the gate, still open, never closed, the park's bye laws were finally ripped from the dry and weathered board upon which they had been affixed.

It's not that the park was badly designed, or poorly constructed. The playground had, once, been full of children, with picnickers loungeing upon the newly cropped grass, enjoying a glass of vin rouge in the summer sun. There was something about it though, something about the park which made one's hair stand on end. An edge, an aura. The uncomfortable feeling of something not quite right, but impossible to pin down.

Gradually the children left, the picnickers stopped coming. No more young couples, with secret assignations under shady trees. Eventually, no park keepers to mow the grass, no handymen to tend the rusting playground. Deserted, delapidated, it began it's slow decline.

((this is the saddest story about a park i've ever read. :cry:

[i:3e1846865a]"Julius, I will not have Hogwart's sprouting up on my back lawn!"[/i:3e1846865a] Insisted a defiant Eveshka, her sapphire eyes holding him with a steely gaze.

[i:3e1846865a]"Fine."[/i:3e1846865a] Came the exasperated words of the frustrated magus. [i:3e1846865a]"I'll just find somewhere else to build it then."[/i:3e1846865a]

-----------------------------------------------------

The day was dull and overcast with more than a hint of drizzle in the air. A lone gull circled overhead, crying it's defiance to the inclement weather.

In truth, Julius was crying his joy. It had been an age since he had felt the currents of air beneath his wings and the gull form he had made his own was truly a master of the skies. That coupled with the daylight, no longer so limiting since he had absorbed the powers of Ali and Ishtar within himself, gave voice to his pleasure. The night was still a more comfortable time, but the day was no longer denied him. It also made the spotting of a suitable building site that much easier.

He had resolved to move some of his research facilities to Touraine. A design and prototyping plant would be a workable front for the more important business of resurrecting what he considered the lost art of magic. Modern mages might disagree, citing their fluent abilities to manipulate reality, but to someone as accomplished as he, they were little more than hedge wizards who had lost their way. Time for the art, his art, to flourish once again.

An area of greenery caught his eye. Something was strange about it, more than simple air currents flowed upward from it. Indeed, there was power here. An aura, he could almost see the magical eddies and waves rising from the abandoned ground. He turned on a wingtip and spiralled towards the ground.

Minutes later, a smartly dressed Julius was wandering about the deserted park. Clearly nobody came here any more and clearly the ambient flux would greatly aid in the study and practice of the [i:3e1846865a]Ars Magica[/i:3e1846865a]. All he needed do now was purchase the land and commence construction.

[size=18:548badbc34][i:548badbc34][b:548badbc34]Touraine Télégramme[/b:548badbc34][/i:548badbc34][/size:548badbc34]
(translated)

[size=24:548badbc34]Darrant's Digging Denied[/size:548badbc34]

Construction work on foundations for the new Darrant Industries plant ground to a halt today, as ancient graves were uncovered on the site. The two graves, possibly part of a larger cemetary, must now be properly excavated by archaelogists before work can continue. The laws requiring such excavations to be performed at the landowner's expense have once again come into question as lobbyists push for this "commerce stifling" practice to be removed from the statute books. Local historians and archaeologists are "excited" at the prospect of learning something more about the region's past. Julius Darrant, billionaire recluse and owner of the multinational corporation, was unavailable for comment.

---------------

Julius put the newspaper down with a disgusted look. [i:548badbc34]"Why can't anything ever be easy?"[/i:548badbc34] He asked.

[i:548badbc34]"[b:548badbc34]Not[/b:548badbc34] on my lawn, Julius."[/i:548badbc34] Repeated Eveshka.

The dig site was dark, but the night is the natural time for Kindred and darkness is no hindrance to the undead. Security guards slept at their posts and even the normal sounds of the moonlit gloom were somehow muted. A lone figure prowled towards the opened and ancient grave cuts, each now revealed as containing a single stone sarcophagus. In the morning, so the archaeologists said, the lids would be lifted to reveal the contents.

[i:4a997fba1f]"Not on my watch."[/i:4a997fba1f] Muttered a familiar voice. [i:4a997fba1f]"I'll be damned if anyone is spoiling my building site."[/i:4a997fba1f]

It was clear to the disgruntled vampire magus that his wonderful magical aura, the thing that had attracted him to this particular site was somehow linked to the coffins. As the work had proceeded, some of the more "sensitive" diggers had been taken away with mystery illnesses, headaches and nausea. In other circumstances, it might have been appropriate to test them for evidence of "The Gift". Other circumstances, however, would require a school in which to teach them. Furthermore, if disturbing these graves ruined the magical aura present, it would likely require a new site. Magical auras being somewhat rare, it would be a major setback. The only solution, then, was this midnight raid of the site, by the only person qualified to correctly assess the contents of the sarcophagi. The resident wizard, Julius.

Normally, this kind of work would need help. Even someone of Julius' power could not always guarantee the effects of the unknown and someone to watch for the tell tale signs of trouble in the primary was de rigeur. Eveshka, his first choice, had with sincere regret declined. As Prince, especially Prince of a tiny independant fief, her time was ever limited by the never ending problems brought to her door, tonight she had the pleasure of two visiting Archons to keep her entertained. Powerful as she was and powerful as her consort may be, keeping the Camarilla sweet at least kept some of the wolves from the door. Cyrilynn, his second choice had become increasingly erratic. The loss of her ghoul had hit her, in Julius' opinion, excessively hard. She had become withdrawn and prone to sudden bouts of temper. Only the bond which Julius had been forced to call upon with increasing regularity. In the end, with some degree of sadness and desperation, he had asked Elzbet for help. His thrall had left Touraine to stay with the Salubri for a time. He hoped she would be healed.

And so to the problem in hand. Two stone boxes, each radiating magic so strongly as to infuse the area with their influence. He touched each in turn, very gingerly, snapping his hand back quickly as soon as he came into contact with them. This close the aura was subtly different, containing traces of both Divine and Infernal power. This in itself was not so terribly unusual, certain rituals could touch upon the realms of the [i:4a997fba1f]Beati[/i:4a997fba1f] or the [i:4a997fba1f]Depravati[/i:4a997fba1f] though interaction with either [i:4a997fba1f]Empyrean[/i:4a997fba1f] was often fraught with danger. There were seals in the stone, for those with the otherworldly perception to see them. Hermetic magic had placed these lids in place, in a ritual of which Julius, even with all his memories upon which to draw, could not fathom. The only solution, then, was for him to lift the lids himself. He rubbed his hands together and began to formulate his spell.

For once, Julius took no chances. The slightest miscast here, in the presence of unknown magicks could be fatal. No whispered, mumbled words, no casual gestures. Each phrase of the Hermetic Latin incantation spoken clearly and accompanied by careful gestures to weave the form and technique together into one complete dweomer of magic. The lid of the first coffin glowed slightly as the Hermetic seals were released, then as Julius made a motion, a mime of something being pushed to one side, it slid away.

Within the otherwise empty casket, six gently glowing bottles had been laid. Carefully placed, but in no pattern that made sense to the undead magus. [i:517f0e845a]Intellego vim[/i:517f0e845a], the words of a new spell breathlessly escaped his lips, almost unable to believe that he had truly found such a treasure. [i:517f0e845a]Intellego[/i:517f0e845a] the form to ask questions and [i:517f0e845a]Vim[/i:517f0e845a] the technique of magic. In essence, his spell asked the nature of the magic he had discovered and the answer was beyond his belief.

Within the casket the six bottles each contained a single pawn of [i:517f0e845a]Vim vis. Vis[/i:517f0e845a]... the physical expression of magical energy. It came in many types, each associated with a technique or form of magic and able to add power and permanency to spells of that nature. It was now though, incredibly rare. Since the Dominion had become ascendant, the natural sources of [i:517f0e845a]vis[/i:517f0e845a] had all but vanished from the world and almost all the hidden caches remaining from the past had been plundered. In all the time Julius had been a mage and a powerful member of House Tremere, he had been able to accumulate only a very few pawns and never [i:517f0e845a]Vim vis[/i:517f0e845a]. Only [i:517f0e845a]Vim vis[/i:517f0e845a] could be used to fuel raw magic. Only [i:517f0e845a]Vim vis[/i:517f0e845a] could be substituted for any other kind. It was like finding the essence of magic, bottled stored and ready for use. Julius had never even seen it before, but to own it? This was a treasure beyond his imagination.

The reason for the magical aura was now abundantly clear. The [i:517f0e845a]vis[/i:517f0e845a] would have, like a magnet on a nail, imparted it's aura into the surrounding ground and over the hundreds of years since it had been buried, the earth itself would have taken the aura upon itself. This was a good sign. Even after the [i:517f0e845a]vis[/i:517f0e845a] had been removed, the area would retain it's aura long enough to establish the school and once the school had been established, the practice of magic here would sustain it.

Nervously Julius approached the second sarcophagus, hopeful of further treasures for his collection. Again he wove the magic and again the lid slid aside. This time however, no gently glowing bottles of [i:517f0e845a]vis[/i:517f0e845a] greeted his greedy eyes. Almost in a rage, Julius jumped into the coffin, scrabbling with his bare hands searching for the treasure, he wanted it, he needed it.

Abruptly, he sneezed.

The magus slowly stepped out of the grave with a quizzical expression on his face. The intense desire, the overwhelming greed for more [i:517f0e845a]vis[/i:517f0e845a] had abated at the same speed with which it had arrived... And sneezing? Vampires don't sneeze. This would require thought.

For a moment Julius toyed with the idea of magicking up some dinosaur bones to put into the coffins, but quickly realised that whilst it would be funny for a moment, such a discovery would cause the archaeologists to delay his plans even longer. He gathered up the [i:517f0e845a]vis[/i:517f0e845a] from the first grave and used a quick spell to replace the lids of both, leaving only the Hermetic seals unreplaced. The scientists would find only empty stone come morning and soon vacate the property.

Scowling in disgust at the thought, Julius left to assist his beloved with her Camarilla visitors.

The man walks into the empty house. For once he ignores the flashing light on the answering machine. Nothing of interest, nothing remains. He fought with his estranged wife earlier in the day. He's been clean now for six months. For her. It doesn't matter. She doesn't care. He walks slowly up the stairs to the bedroom he had meticulously cleaned for her and pulls the syringe from his pocket. The needle fits snugly and he sets it to one side. He empties the golden brown powder onto a spoon, and adds the water. The lighter he holds beneath it causes the water to bubble and the powder to dissolve. Slowly he draws the solution into the syringe through a small piece of cotton wool. Even after so long, the vein is hard to find and he must slap his arm repeatedly. Finally he implants the needle into his body and squeezes the plunger. He knows he has taken too much. He intended to. His body will be found the following day by his wife, the needle still dangling from his arm and the message of forgiveness still unheard on his answering machine.

The train driver sits on the platform. He is shaking from the night's cold and from the stress. Once again someone has thrown themselves under the wheels of his train. Again, he has killed. A woman this time. She was pretty, he could see that, in the slow motion seconds of her fall beneath his wheels. Pretty and young with her whole life ahead of her. He looks down and believes that he can see blood on his hands, the blood of those he considers his victims. He looks up, to see another train approaching the platform and runs forward to join the dead.

The woman stands on the building top, swaying in the wind, her face blackened where the mascara runs in streaks with her tears. She looks at the picture of her baby daughter, the mouth that used to smile up at her, the adorable face with her father's blue eyes. The funeral had been a month ago and she had believed the pain would fade, but all her dreams were nightmares of that tiny body, cold and blue in it's cradle. She wipes her eyes and gives herself to the air. She hits the ground, never knowing of the new spark of life growing within her belly.

The man now jobless impacts the wall in his BMW... The priest who has lost his faith swings from the rope in his church... The blood flows from the teenager bullied at school, the razor fallen to the floor at his side... The jilted lover sniffs the rose she had refused and puts the gun into his mouth...

------------

[i:72c036cf59]"Can you feel it?"[/i:72c036cf59] Julius asked. [i:72c036cf59]"There is something about this night."[/i:72c036cf59]

Eveshka nodded gravely.

((wow!!!!!!!!!!!!

Benoît Theirry lived in middle managment. He'd managed to get an office of his own not by his skill or ability, but rather than by blind luck and to be fair, long years of service to the same company. He didn't see it quite like that though and had become embittered by both the lack of support from his staff and the lack of appreciation from his superiors. Once again, the sale had fallen though, Benoît's targets weren't even particularly high, but he never achieved them and of course it was never his fault. Always the computers were down, or Mr X hadn't provided the paperwork or Mr Y has said the wrong thing to the client. In this case however, it was a Serge Grégoire who sat on the other side of the desk reading the letter which told of his termination of employment. It was Benoît's fault, of course, but he would never admit that and Serge was easy to blame.

Amaury Christian was sick of it. Always it was the shop across the street which attracted the customers, whilst his was ever empty. There was no good reason for it, that he could see. They had a similar location and sold pretty much the same things. There really was only one solution, remove the competition and the custom would have to come to him. There wasn't anybody else. A careful and unobserved trip through the back alley and the bottle of brandy, a cloth flaming at it's open neck would soon coax an inferno from the numerous flammable things in the store room. Amaury smiled as he watched the bottle smash through the window, soon his shop would be full. Nearby, he could hear what sounded like a woman screaming, but he ignored it and made good his escape.

Guillame "Smash" Sébastien knew himself for the stud he was. No man could best him in a fight and no woman refused him! No one!! The lush little blonde that came and went by his corner on her way to work had caught his eye but when he'd put the moves on her, she'd turned him down flat! And in front of his pals too. But he'd gotten the last laugh, he thought in glee, as he looked at her trussed up nude form, lying helplessly on her own bed. It had been SO easy to track her back here and the temptation of the unlocked door had convinced him that no one would ever know he'd come and gone. And when he was done with her, she'd be too frightened, too embarassed, to tell anyone what had happened. As he came down on her, his hands gripping those luscious breasts, she let out with a scream. He merely smothered it with a slobbering kiss and wedged a knee between her legs, lost in the rising passions her struggles incited in him. When the nearby explosion shook the house minutes later, lover-boy felt the earth move and knew he'd found his mission in life. To bring some illicit excitement into the lives of lonely women.

Serge Grégoire drove home, the notice of termination on the passenger seat next to him. It wasn't fair. He'd done nothing wrong and now that great buffoon Theirry had fired him. To make matters worse, the traffic was appalling. Sitting and inching forward was not his idea of a fun time on the day in which he had lost his job, for the benefit of that fat fuck Theirry. Grégoire pounded on his horn, for all the good it did him, a few obscene gestures from the car in front for his trouble. And then the cause of the problem. Blue flashing lights everywhere as firefighters fought a blaze and ambulances carted survivors away. Despite the traffic, Grégoire arrived home earlier than normal, having been given the boot at lunchtime. A strange car was parked in his drive and as he entered the house, he could hear laughter, a man and his wife, coming from his bedroom. Grégoire decided he had put up with more than enough this day and felt the red mist descend over his eyes. He ran to the car and pulled a revolver from the glove compartment. The two lovers had time to say nothing as the bedroom door kicked open and the revolver spoke it's owners rage into their craniums.

Jean resented every minute he spent away from his games. Except for the time he spent chatting on the cell or phone with his current girlfriend. His uncle, in Jean's opinion, gave him a pittance of a wage and all the dirty jobs he could find. So the young man spent every spare minute finding ways to shortcut his duty list and sneak in to the breakroom for some play time on his laptop. Today's car was no exception to the daily game. Jean ticked off the jobs, on the bill of service, that took the longest, left empty oil cans and dirty rags lying around to give the impression of diligent effort and then drove the vehicle into a parking spot outside the building. Coming back he noticed the spot that had leaked from the vehicle and decided he'd better get some sand on it before his "employer" called him on it. Strange, he thought, it didn't smell like oil; more like brake fluid. Jean shrugged his shoulders at the mystery and left with visions of blasting space pirates to smithereens. Thierry arrived in a taxi from his offices, collected the keys and drove away. He arrived at the scene of the fire just in time to see the last ambulance departing the scene. He had wanted to pop in to grab a drink to calm his nerves for the evening. He sighed and headed the other shop, run by that miserable fellow nobody really liked. Amaury grinned toothlessly, assessed his customer's distracted frame of mind and promptly short changed him.
The ambulance sped from the scene. All the serious casualties had long since gone, including the shop owner, who would be needing a hearse for his next journey. The driver, tired after a long shift was pleased to deposit his charges, minor burns and smoke inhalation, within casualty before returning to his ambulance. He read the call and smiled, amused, a nice easy call to finish his shift. Thomas Édouard, the casualty, smoked too much and drank too much. He was also particularly fond of greasy food, his house a shrine to the pizza delivery man. An endless stream of burgers, chips and fatty kebabs would arrive at his house, where he would sit and watch the wrestling, his expanding body becoming ever larger as each day went by. Tonight was all too much. The toxins in the smoke he had breathed found their way into his bloodstream and despite the best efforts of the skilled medical staff, his overtaxed heart, encrusted with sticky yellow cholestorol, finally gave out.

Abelard was the apple of his parent's eye and could do no wrong. In effect, he was spoiled rotten but what he wanted, he usually got, in spades. But this, this was a one of a kind and if he had it, he would have it all! He'd recognize that spherical shape and colors anywhere! It was a Pokemon ball, right there in the gutter, beneath the grate. He just KNEW it had the coveted card that was so hard to find. Now all he had to do was get his fingers around the thing and it was his!! Wedging his fat little fingers and wrists past the thin metal bars had been uncomfortable but not impossible and now it was his, ALL HIS!! He'd have jumped for joy if he could have stood up but he was stuck. The ovoid shape wouldn't fit through the opening and it certainly wouldn't do so with his hand wrapped around it. He didn't dare let go, for fear of it rolling away down the gutter drain and being lost for all time. He couldn't shout for help because then all the other kids would come and try to take it away from him. No, that wouldn't do, it's was his, and his it would remain, despite the lowering dark, his hunger, his discomfort and a need to use the bathroom.

Thierry drove past an ambulance, quite convinced he'd seen it earlier that evening. Some fat kid was being loaded into the back, a piece of railing fence stuck to his arm. He chuckled and drove on, it was a good thirty minute drive to his house, of which the last five minutes were always his favourite. Downhill at speed around the switchbends. It was about half way down when he realised his brakes were failing. His newly serviced auto spun off the road, flipped and rolled down the hill.

"Phillipe? Pardon, mais..." Phillipe listened to the instructions on the radio. It seemed his ambulance would be attending one extra call tonight.

((collaborated with Ginko on this one... enter Ginko... ;)
((hmm... freaky. This is the seventh IC post!

The nest had been disturbed and that, in itself, disturbed me. It is hard to hear the Shadow Song when the real world intrudes. Thus, it behooves me to solve the problem, perhaps fix it, and then I may go back to my contemplations. The Autumn leaves that blew across my specially altered tabis were an omen I could not ignore, urging me to take an interest. It seemed a very auspicious moment. I pondered on that for a good while, standing in the shadows.

Eventually, I had to leave my quiet shelter. The dead had found me and decided to make me an object of their attentions; I could not think clearly with them clamoring at me. I would speak with them when the time was right and now wasn't appropriate. I paced forward to the edge of the wounded soil and looked down into the ebon gloom. There was nothing.

The soil still held Chi and likely would for some time to come, unless it was drained away at a high rate. And whomever had taken the heart of the dragon's nest had to know it was here. Why not just set up a shrine, or temple or whatever it is that westerners do, to encompasse all of it? Why take the core? I was uneasy with the possible permutations. It was time to speak with the dead.

The air was heavy with water, a light drizzle manifested as a slow cloying mist, soaking through coats and clothes to suck the warmth from flesh and bone. Julius stood, clammy hair clinging to his head in untidy strands, channeling the water to run in cold rivulets down his pale flesh. Outlined in the mist, yellow excavators stood, their dirt tracks bedding into the brown, yielding and sticky mud. The early light of morning filtered from a miserable grey sky to illuminate the scene below.

The night before had been full of desperate half experienced emotion, as though the town's kine had been living a royal nightmare, their pained afflictions carried upon the night's breath so that even the least sensitive mind could scarcely blot them from tortured consciousness. For such as Julius and Eveshka, the emanations had been profoundly disturbing, keeping their minds in dreadful turmoil as they simply lay in their bed and clung to each other like frightened children. Eventually as day had dawned, Eveshka had succumbed to the nature of her undead blood, drifting into daytime torpor, Caine's curse for once a true blessing.

For Julius, still coming to terms with the power of his stolen blood, there was no such surcease. He had come to the site of the old park, to watch the coffins being raised by the archaelogists. He stood, reflective, defying the meagre sunlight, watching a muted scene of quiet efficiency. Whatever had passed the night before, it had affected all within the town and all were silent in their contemplations, speaking only as necessary to complete the task.

After the graves had been emptied, he looked to examine the empty holes. Nothing new lay beneath, no illuminating secrets or revelatory visions awaited him. Two wet, empty and muddy holes, with no stories to tell. He slipped quietly away and shortly a gull took to the air, returning to the comforting darkness of his haven, to join his love and try to get some sleep.

My Most Revered Ancestor,

I write to tell you of my most recent findings, with opposing thoughts. I fear to disturb you with this news but it is of such import that I judged you needed to know how the world fares and the Wheel of Ages turns. I did, indeed, find a treasure in this new land, one I thought undiscoverd by the Kin-jin but I was too late. For another has beaten me to the site and ripped the very essence from the land. It is an imbalance I cannot ignore as the land begs for it's return.

The undead are restless, too. For untold centuries, they have been largely ignored and untended. It is right that I have come here and I feel, at last, that I may have found my place in the way of things. I doubt that you will see me in the flesh again for I will likely end my existence here, among the forgotten spirits. Someone must sooth and assist them and it feels right that it should be me. I have been given a sign, for today I found an autumn leaf the same size and coloring of my birth sign, the one I had tattooed on my shoulder blade the day before I left the Middle Kingdom. It is good to have purpose.

Let me tell you of my sojourn in this foreign place, you've already had news of my journey, such as it was. I had found many strong and thriving dragon's nests but, as had been surmised, the strange kin-jin had claimed the best of them. Those that were not used had either very little Chi to justify a temple, were tainted beyond acceptable limits or were guarded by ones I had no wish to disturb at this time.

This one within the heart of a place the mortals dubbed as Touraine, in the western lands called Europe, in a region called France, held much promise. But I must tread warily, as it is easy to fall prey to the suspicions of those who rule here. I speak the languange well enough to get by and am glad I studied it as my pronunciation grows daily but, then, you expect it of me. So far, I have been deemed harmless enough by those whom I've come in contact with. For the most part, I wander and think among them and they do not know what they are harboring..

It is to my sorrow that I was not swift enough to have staked a "legal" claim to the plot that held so much promise for the future. In my arrogance and caution, I moved too slowly in securing it and it was snatched very quickly from my grasp and the land defiled. And the dead were eager to tell me everything. All it took, for payment, was the promise to come and talk with them each week that I remain in this city. Easy enough to do as they are so full of stories and the happenings of the past and the present.

They imparted to me strange tidings and I am troubled greatly by what they say. They tell of one who came in the night, a night I was elsewhere, when two graves were previously laid bare by the diggers. This man of great power opened the coffins and stole away with the dragon's essence. They say there is much disburbance in the forces now, an unease that they can't or won't speak of. If I press them they disappear or scatter and I cannot force them back without the skill of Soul Shackles, which would surely infuriate more than the ghosts and thus guarantee my Final Breath. A risk I am not willing to take, at this time.

I contemplated my paths for some time in that place, far past the time I should have gone to rest. I was uncomfortable but could not seem to tear myself away. The day was cold and gray but the chill breezes whispered to me to stay and to listen so I heeded them. My effort was rewarded for one came who was alone. He was young as a Kin-jin went but something about him spoke to me and, again, I listened. He approached from the west, a good sign for me, and stood looking into the torn soil. I dared to look inside his soul and was shocked to see that he was of great age, age beyond his appearance.

Was he the one? The one who engendered the land's petition of solace? As I write this, revered ancestor, I cannot tell. I followed him for a time, until he took the form of a bird and flew beyond my sight. I will find him again and come to knowledge of him. Perhaps he is akuma, in which case, I will defeat him and return the heart to the dragon. Perhaps he is nothing more than a great magus of this land's highest court and wishes to know what goes on in his domain. If such is to be, I will honor him and, if possible, see if he and I walk in the same footsteps.

I have much to think on and to do. I will strive, as always, to continue on the path of my Dharma and the way of Obligation, as well as fullfilling the duty you have laid upon me. Know that I continue my endeavors on your behalf and will send you further news of my achievements and important observations. Until then, I am and always will be, your most humble of servants.

Gin-ko World Walker

A portion of the chateau had been long since designated as Elysium and it was here that Eveshka, or Montcalm in her absence would hold court and attend to the needs of the Kindred within her fief. It was one of the larger rooms, lavishly furnished in a baroque style, with crystal chandeliers imparting a flowing bright light from their mountings upon the high ceiling.

The average kindred in Touraine, still, was a young and flighty Toreador. Kindred of any age were quite rare. The Tremere avoided Julius and the Ventrue chose to remain within more conservative fiefs, which had not renounced their Camarilla ties. A couple of Nosferatu lived locally, their trade in information as valid here as elsewhere and a lone gangrel had arrived from the surrounding countryside. A pair of Malkavians, twins by their appearance were known to be in the area, but little seen. Of other clans, so far, none had arrived and those who had been in the fief when it's independance had been asserted had paid their respects and moved on.

What passed for a Primogen consisted of the only kindred with any age or experience. One of the Nosferatu and the Gangrel with Montcalm as Seneschal. Eveshka as Prince and of course Julius, who sat on the council without holding any true position at all. All were present within the Elysium this night, in an effort to calm the fears of the gathering neonates.

Eveshka sat behind her lavish desk as ever she did, whilst Montcalm wheeled petitioners in an out of her presence. The normally vibrant elysium, buzzing with Toreador gossip strangely muted and silent after the events of the previous night. It seemed that kindred had witnessed scenes of violence, hatred, petty acts of spite and in general a restless and unpleasant dinner table. To compound the problem, even the act of feeding had proven difficult. Vessels had been resistant to the dark kiss, taking no pleasure in it. Blood had clotted the instant it left their veins, to hang from the lips in gobbets of indigestable, ill tasting gore.

The two primogen moved among the kindred, offering what reassurances they could, whilst Julius, standing along some distance behind Eveshka attempted to use a little subtle magic to calm the almost panic ridden room. Stocks of vitae were broken out and those who had failed to feed at all were given the comfort of another night's sustenance. For those with the longest memories, even for Julius with the longest of all, this experience was new.

The room was beginning to look like some kind of refugee camp, with goblets of vitae replacing mugs of soup, when she entered the room. A slightly built oriental figure with black hair and dark eyes. Fragile hands poked from just visible white sleeves beneath her black serapi style overcoat. On her feet, strange footwear with a separate section for her big toe and in one hand a stout staff. Eyes swivelled to gaze upon her, making her uncomfortable for a moment, especially when she spied the nosferatu Primogen.

Quickly she recovered and bowed formally in the direction of the desk, where Eveshka sat, moving forward and repeating the bow every measured step. As she walked, assembled kindred assumed a kind of hush, parting to allow her passage, the only sound of her movement the click of the quarterstaff upon the marble floor. Finally she stood before the Prince, her head bowed. Eveshka cocked her head to one side for a moment, trying to fathom this stranger, then opened her hands expansively.

[i:16adc43b70]"August ruler of this land, I am but a simple visitor from the Middle Kingdom, come at the request of my ancestors to learn of the West. With your permission, I would like to reside in this area. If you feel this is inappropriate, I will go elsewhere."[/i:16adc43b70]

I sat amidst my ritual preparations as the incense rose to the sky. The sandalwood scent a pleasing one that never failed to sooth the senses. The spirits seemed comforted by it as well, as they began to gather round. Eager to relate their stories, I let them ramble for a time, delighting in the lessons they imparted unbeknownst to them. To the few that gave me much information, I left a gift of Chi in my blood in their tea cup and to the rest, I promised a similiar payment if any one of them brought me news of the one that I sought.

It only took a few hours of hosting the dead but I soon had something worth looking into and the payment of an extra drop of essence was well worth it, as I found. The journey was pleasant and truly uneventful for this strange new land and I had much time to continue my pursuit of the Black Egg. The house of the mandarin the dead had spoken of was hard to miss, even buried in the countryside as it was.

I rounded a bend in the road and it blazed with hundreds of lights, a beacon in the night. Skirting the edifice took some time but was well worth the effort and it gave me enough time to ensure that I would be the last to enter. As I did so, I could feel the beat of the dragon's heart from within. Now I knew, indeed, where the thief lived. But the next question was [b:588444f8f8]who[/b:588444f8f8], within, was the plunderer.

I bided my time, watching those who came and the few who left. At last, I noted a group of four enter and waited the space of nine beats of the heart before I made a bid to enter the den of the fox. The guards at the door made no move to block my entry, yet I bowed my head, shook the dust from my clothing and stepped inside the open doors.

The palace was overwhelming in its style and colors. The heaviness of its ornamentation and high ceiling matching the thickness of the air. It was not the delicate, open, airy precisions of the places I am used to, yet it had a strange appeal. As if it was merely another face of the Wheel. I relished the chance to reflect on it and so, I filed it away for later examination. For now, I dug deep for the cold mind so that I could feel my way through the mine field I was entering.

The room I found my way to was more that of a gathering than of an official court. Had it not been for the prominent desk at the far end, I would have felt myself in the wrong place. Nevertheless, the ancestress held court at that table, surrounded by her advisors. Her's was a cold beauty, like that of a child's doll. Her body posture was graceful but the velvet of it hid a core of steel. She would be interesting to challenge but now was not the time for such.

I was gestured forward into her presence and so I dusted off my manners and walked the long mile into her sphere, my etiquette to her of the highest. It pays to give full honors when one is unsure of one's footing. My demeanor that of humble petitioner and my mind at it's most observant, I came forward with a measured tread, those in my path parting like the waters of a river. I hesitated at one point, for I had seen [i:588444f8f8]akuma[/i:588444f8f8], but the monstrosity turned to have speech with another and I surmised that perhaps all was not as it seemed. This bore thinking on and I resumed my path.

As I took my last steps, I was aware of two things of import. One was the vibrating awareness of the imbalance of Chi in this place. The assemblage fairly radiated it, like a pall at a funeral. It was.........unsettling. The second thing was the man that brooded in the ruler's shadow, neither of the court, nor away from it. Here was the man I sought and all I had to do was find out if he held the source.

I am not one to ask the tiger to bite my hand off when reaching for the key, so I masked my recognition behind my cold mind and kept my attentions on the necessary formalities. Seeking the timid peasants facade, I asked for permission to stay, saying that I would go elsewhere if I was unwelcome. I did [b:588444f8f8]not[/b:588444f8f8] say I would leave the area altogether, merely that I would leave this place. Westerners are not of a literal mind.

Eveshka looked up at the asian woman and scanned her aura. She arched one eyebrow at what she saw. For all of her 800 years, she had never seen anything like what she saw in the asian woman's aura. It made no sense. What was she? She was not Cainite. She was not human. But she appeared to be vampiric. She also appeared to be powerful. She did not wish to loose face in front of her courtiers by denying this... "thing's" request for hospitality. The asian seemed well mannered and refined. Looks could be deceiving, but Eve could see no outward deception.

"You may stay if you wish," said Eveshka with a smile. "You will find Touraine to be a quiet place. Please keep it so. That is all I ask. If you wish, there is lodging near the cathedral that may suit you. There are no young ones that make their havens in that section. The age of the place seems to unnerve them."