[b:57db9c970a]Eveshka[/b:57db9c970a]

[i:57db9c970a][b:57db9c970a] DATELINE OCTOBER 12, 2002: CNN HEADLINE NEWS: SHOWDOWN IN THE GULF[/b:57db9c970a]

Newark, NJ. ATF and FBI agents apprehended an Iraqi national allegedly carrying a "dirty bomb." The name of the suspect has not been released but administration officials have said they are "100% sure he is Iraqi." The Pentagon has not commented upon how this will change its prosecution of the war with Iraq.

Baghdad is no longer considered a secure city as Republican Guardsmen have funneled into the city over the past few days and have pushed Coalition Forces out of several key areas. Coalition members are beginning to tire of now 2 months of ground warfare. They had anticipated several hundred hours at most. More missiles fell on Tel Aviv once again. The Israelis have not commented on losses. Pentagon officials state that their lack of acknowledgement is unusual and could be a sign that losses were significant.[/i:57db9c970a]

[b:e4c0e3c506]Julius[/b:e4c0e3c506]

[b:e4c0e3c506][i:e4c0e3c506]Somewhere near Trabzon[/i:e4c0e3c506][/b:e4c0e3c506]

What was he up to? Wondered Eveshka as Julius pulled to a halt by a secluded cove on the shores of the Black Sea. All he had said was that they deserved a night off and insisted on stoking up with so much vitae that they both sported a pink, almost mortal flush to their bodies. On the journey here, he had evaded her queries, making small talk and smiling enigmatically at any questions about their destination.

They left the car and Julius led Eveshka down to the beach. "It's a beautiful night, isn't it?" He asked.

Eveshka took in the surroundings. The sea gently lapped against the smooth sand and under a moonless night, away from the light pollution of the busy town the stars were revealed in twinkling glory, the milky way clearly visible as a ribbon of pinpricks against the midnight blue of the cloudless sky. Eveshka smiled and nodded, as Julius sat down on the bare sand.

"So why are we here?" She asked, still taking in the surroundings.

"I wanted to show you something." Julius answered, still enigmatic, patting the sand next to him. Eveshka raised an eyebrow, taking a seat next to him and looking out over the calm waters. Julius closed his eyes and quite deliberately took a breath. "Breathe deeply, love." He said. "Smell the sea, listen to the crickets chirping their calls to one another, feel the cadence of life about you, become one with it." As Eveshka closed her own eyes to take in a breath of her own, Julius took her hand and placed it to his chest. Beneath her palm, she could feel his heart beating, as his chest moved in and out. "Enjoy the rhythms of life." He whispered. "Feel the blood course through your body, the air in your lungs, the breeze in your face." Eveshka spent blood, as he had, and the pair sat for a moment taking in the night, using the power of vitae to give life to their unliving bodies.

Julius took a smooth pebble from the sand and placed it into her hands. "Feel the rock." He began. "Caress it's smoothness and listen to it's tale." Eveshka ran her hands over the pebble. "Once it was part of a great mountain." Continued Julius, softly, his deep breaths continuing rhythmically. "Listen closely and it will tell of it's fall into the deep of the ocean, the places it has seen. It's journey from shore to shore, from sea to sea, finally to be washed up here. An ancient thing, to be held in the hands on one so young as you."

Eveshka opened her mouth as if to speak, but Julius put a finger to her lips, looking up. "And the starlight. Shone ages ago by burning furnaces of light, travelling for thousands and millions of years, to be witnessed this night by two brief specks in an ocean of timelessness. Two fireflies, buzzing their brief existence like a single tick of the clock in the agelessness of creation."

"But I am old." Whispered Eveshka staring at the rock. "Old and tired."

"What is old?" Answered Julius. "By mortal reckoning, I am old. In the reckoning of most kindred, you are old. The sea says the rock is old, but it laughs and points to the stars. You are as old as you wish to be, or as young. And you are as alive as you choose."

Abruptly he stood, smiling cheekily at her, his eyes twinkling in reflection of the starlight. "Come on!" He entreated and started running for the sea, discarding clothes as he ran, finally running naked into the surf. [b:e4c0e3c506][i:e4c0e3c506]"Come on!"[/i:e4c0e3c506][/b:e4c0e3c506] Julius shouted again, but Eveshka was already running to join him, laughing and losing for once the millstone of years about her neck, which had weighed her down so much in the past weeks. They played together in the water, laughing and giggling like children, splashing and squealing with total disregard to their status, or their power or the state of their existance.

After a time, they left the water, hand in hand, and lay upon the beach, holding each other, but not as children. The night empowered them as the pulse of nature and their hot breath upon each others bodies exhorted them to test each others strength, pushing one another to new pinnacles of pleasure. They made love as mortals, their heartbeats quickening as each took and gave in equal measure of their bodies and souls.

Finally, exhausted, they lay side by side upon the beach, fingers barely touching. Two breaths in rapport and two heartbeats in tune. Two young souls in concord with each other and with the living world around them, until the first lightening of the sky told of the coming dawn.

[b:9f3960cf61]Eveshka[/b:9f3960cf61]

[i:9f3960cf61]The sun had risen onto a dull roar. At first it sounded like thunder off in the distance. Yet it kept getting louder and louder. She looked outside the window of her hut, a crude mud hovel with thatch roofing. She heard her father shouting something. Waterfall? What? That must not be what she had heard. She distinctly heard "Nanna, must be taken NOW. She cannot be out in this, she cannot." Nanna, she had heard the name before. It was the name of their Goddess-Queen. Nanna, who watched over her flock by night in return for being kept from the sun's prying rays during the day. She had only SEEN Nanna once. She was the most beautiful woman she had ever beheld.

She got up and padded lightly out the door to watch as litter bearers carried the great covered compartment in which Nanna traveled. The finest silk carpets and tapestries covered the litter. Inside was the Goddess-Queen herself. Her father, the captain of Nanna's guard, supervised the loading and then walked at the head of the column following a steep trail up the side of the valley. He had not even bothered to say good bye.

Others were out of their huts now. This was not a happy occasion. Something was greatly wrong. The roar kept getting louder and louder. The creek which ran past the village seemed to be rising rather quickly. What a neat surprise. She always liked swimming in the creek after the rains came. She was always a bit of a daredevil. So off to the creekside she went. She started throwing little sticks into the water, squeeling with delight as they took off over the rocks: rocks that were rapidly being flooded over. The rocks beneath the water made for even bigger swells. That was just fine with her, that meant she could throw in even larger sticks and watch them zoom down the creek.

The creek swelled more and more. The little girl turned to go back to her hut and discovered that the lowlands that she had crossed were now engulfed in water. She was standing on a small gravel island. She hadn't noticed the water rising behind her. Her mother stood on the bank, several javelin throws away screaming her name. The little girl immediately realized she had upset her mother and began to cry. Then the rumbling REALLY became loud. It rose to a deafening crescendo. She turned to face the direction of it and saw a wall of water barrelling down the valley, devouring everything in its path. The wall of water engulfed she and her entire village seconds later. It was salty. She sputtered and coughed and tried to swim to shore. There wasn't any shore towards which to swim. She was tumbling down the valley. She struggled valiantly against the violent current. An undertow sucked her to the bottom where she struck her head upon a rock. She gasped and breathed in the salt water. Her body tried to expel it by coughing, but it only brought more salt water into her lungs. As the pain in her lungs increased, she struggled and fought to breath life giving air, she was almost to the surface, almost there, she could see it she could[/i:9f3960cf61]

Eveshka sat bolt upright screaming in bed, bloodsweat streaming down her naked body. She was not alone. Julius was sitting straight up as well, blood sweat streaming down his as well. They looked at each other, eyes wide with fear. Eveshka said one word in the form of a question. "Nanna?"

Julius merely nodded.


Nearby, Morathi also satup in her bed, bathed in blood. She had dreamed the same thing. Gabriel too, in his nearby hotel room shared the experience.

[b:c4d7c8fb26]Michelle[/b:c4d7c8fb26]

[b:c4d7c8fb26]Chateau Chenonceau, Loire Valley, France[/b:c4d7c8fb26]

In a darkened turret, forty feet above the river Cher, Khemintiri stared out a narrow window into the dark. Below her, on the river, small boats filled with tourists and lovers passed by the beautiful 16th century Chateau. The lights of the small craft transformed the black river into a starfield of white, yellow, green and red, as if in imitation or even competition with the night sky above.

The Chateau itself had been closed to the tourists for hours. The tour guides, janitorial staff and grounds keepers had left for the day. Now, the only occupant was Khemintiri. As the last of the mortals had left, she had prowled silently up from the hidden rooms in the bowels of the foundation through the magnificent rooms above. In what was once the bedroom of Diane de Poiters, she opened a secret door that led to a narrow staircase. From there, she followed the narrow stairs to the turret above.

Now she stood, gazing out of upon the river Cher. Khemintiri never tired of rivers. To her, they were the arteries and veins of the world, their waters the blood. For most mortals, the land of Khemintiri’s life was known as Egypt and it was inexorably linked to the pyramids at Giza and the Sphinx. Not so for Khemintiri. To her, Egypt was still Khem, the black land, named after the black mud along the great river. For her, that river, the Nile, was what defined Khem, not the pyramids, not the Sphinx, not the tombs of the pharaohs; just the river. It snaked through both the upper and lower kingdoms, providing both with life and death. Without its waters, the kingdoms would be nothing but inhospitable desert. And yet, those same waters could bring untold destruction when they flooded.

Like so many things in this world, one had to take the good with the bad.

Khemintiri’s mind had wandered far over the past few nights, wandering and watching. She had followed her former thrall, Eveshka, as best she could, to determine if her instinct had been correct.

It was. Eveshka did not love her and the wizard had helped her see it. A brief flash of anger had passed through Khemintiri when she realized the wizard’s part in this. She decided to destroy him. He was a powerful sorcerer to be sure, but he was young and inexperienced and no match for her if she brought her powers to bear. It would not be a quiet affair, but she would prevail. And if Eveshka tried to intervene – she would destroy her unfaithful lover as well.

The anger passed almost as soon as it appeared. The wizard, Darrant, had actually performed a kindness for Khemintiri, though at the time he believed her to be Michelle St. Claire. Darrant had broken the start of a bond that the renegade Tremere Goratrix had attempted to emplace on her. In the dark Khemintiri smiled slightly, a bittersweet smile that betrayed a sense of loss and appreciation. She would not destroy the wizard – that would be his compensation for his kindness long ago.

As for Eveshka, Khemintiri would let that go as well. The affair had been a short one, and though intense, it had really been between Khemintiri’s adopted persona and Eve, not Khemintiri and Eve. Khemintiri was not even entirely sure how she felt about Eve given that so much of her personality right now was left over from her imprint of Michelle. Khemintiri struggled nightly to find herself, find who she was, and every night she was torn between Khemintiri the destroyer, Michelle St. Claire and Khemintiri the lost little girl. Where any of them really her? Did it matter?

Khemintiri climbed out of the window and made her way to the rooftop, scaling the sides of the turret and then the peaked roof as easily as person might scale a ladder. Though naked, she was not worried about being seen – no mortal eyes could see her, hidden behind a cloak of obscuration. On the roof she stared into the night sky for a moment, and then turned her attention back to the river.

Eveshka was not coming. She had sent Khemintiri to her domain to await her return, as a man might send his wife home to await his return from battle – but Eve would not be coming home. She had love elsewhere. For Eve, Khemintiri was a temptation of the soul, not an affair of the heart.

Still, someone would come. Intentionally or not, Eveshka and the wizard would lead or send the hounds of the Camarilla to Touraine, to Khemintiri. She wondered if it would be another outright betrayal, or something more subtle, more tragic. And who would come? Lucinde? That was very likely, and she would no doubt bring her archons. The wizard Darrant? It was possible but not likely. He had two greater concerns – this fool quest he and Eveshka were on and Eveshka herself. Would he send others? Perhaps. Either way, some one would come.

Khemintiri stood and walked across the sloped roof to the far edge and looked down upon the gallery that connected the Chateau proper to the river’s edge. It had been built in 1575 by Catherine De Medici. Khemintiri smiled. She actually remembered Catherine. Such long times past. Khemintiri surveyed the river’s edge and the gallery.

Someone would come, and they would be coming for her. She needed to prepare. Though there was great danger in staying, there was also great opportunity. In the dark of the French night, Khemintiri began to lay out her plans, and woe be to those that that would cross her……

[b:2408969f75]Eveshka[/b:2408969f75]

Eveshka got off the plane at the Aerodrome of Tours. She had flown back to her domain to attend to some business. All of the arrangements had been made. A special guest was arriving soon to her Chateau. Montcalm met her with a limousine for the drive back to Usse after a stop off at Mont Louis. She had to confront Khemintiri. She did not fill her Seneschal in on just WHO this visitor was, but she told him enough so that he would be on his guard.

The car pulled up to Mont Louis and Eveshka went inside. Twenty minutes later she came back out. Khemintiri was not there. Maybe she want back to Chenonceau. The car sped south-east along the Loire to Amboise and then south to Chenonceaux, the town. She stopped for a moment at the long driveway up to Chenonceau the Chateau. Montcalm looked at her, knowing that there was something going wrong with his Prince.

"She's here," said Eveshka very curtly. "Drive. Usse."

Fourty-five minutes later, she arrived at Usse to meet two Jusitcars. One as friendly as a justicar could be, Madame Guil; the other, glaring at her as if she were a piece of vermin. This was Lucinde. Inside her office, Eveshka filled them in on what had happened. She awaited her punishment, sure that her Principality would be taken from her. To her great shock, it was not. Madame Guil seemed very understanding and assured her that she had done the right thing. It was not everyone who could be enthralled to an evil antedeluvian, break the bond, and still have the wits about her to set in motion a chain of events that she was sure would bring down one of the most wanted Cainites in history. Lucinde's reaction was far from what she expected. She DIDN'T react. Didn't react at all. She merely said that she wished to go at once to Chenonceau. No Archons, no interference, she just wished to meet her face to face.

Eveshka felt terrible, she had known that Khem was who she was for several years. They had shared many things. She had never seen anything that would indicate that Khemintiri was evil, vile, debauched, or corrupt. All she saw was a scared little girl having a massive identity crisis. She truly wished that she DID love Khemintiri. But alas, she did not. Not yet at any rate. Who could tell what would happen in the future. Who could even tell if there WAS a future. She sure as fuck couldn't. All she knew was she needed Khemintiri out of her existance so that she could continue to survive. Having Khem around was certain death. She had heard, from Madame Guil, that Lucinde was obsessed with Khemintiri. That kind of obsession was generally predicated on extreme hate.... or extreme love. Eve prayed that it was the latter. She truly felt sorry for the Egyptian Goddess. It was completely in Lucinde's hands now. She only prayed that if her devotion WAS out of extreme hate, that Khem was destroyed, or at least wouldn't come after her. She also knew that because of the bond they still shared, Khemintiri most likely already knew she had been betrayed... again. Eveshka had been trying to block any mental contact or emotional contact. She had no idea if it had succeeded. She just hoped, actually she kinda just hoped that Kemintiri would get away and go someplace to find happiness. Surely everyone deserved happiness. Eveshka was sick of death and destruction. No matter what happened, she was bound for Paris the next night to meet with an old friend of hers. Someone she hoped would not die of fright from seeing her.

[b:65e20c4995]Morathi[/b:65e20c4995]

[b:65e20c4995]Trabzon Harbour[/b:65e20c4995]

The Akademik Ekaterina had docked, Dr Mooreland had already disembarked to return to the project Morathi had borrowed him from, but he had been suitably entranced by the presence of Lucilla Troy that he would drop anything and come to her aid if she called...

Having contacted Julius as to her arrival, Morathi herself was in her cabin trying to ignore the faint hint of smoke lingering in the air from when she had stripped the bedsheets and incinerated them in a sturdy steel bin. The magical flame had very efficiently removed the bloody evidence of her bad dream, but unfortunately the lingering smell of smoke was a reminder that it had happened. A dream of drowning was not particularlly surprising considering the risky dives she had been involved in of late, however there was more to the dream than that. It was more like reliving a distant memory in a similar fashion to when she used her auspex to percieve memories contained in artifacts, perhaps even the fate of the village she had discovered...

If so it could be that 'Nanna' had potentially evaded the flooding, her personal grasp of the period's mythology was patchy at best for the moment, however after spending time with Dr Mooreland on the surveys she had learned a few of the myths of 'Nanna' a Goddess of the Moon, with influence over healing, magic, interpretation of dreams, and the development of civilization. A figure certainly worth detailed researching in light of the dream.

Moving to more practical matters, Morathi carefully opened the special padded case the recovered gold trinkets had been placed in once the Revenants had ensured they were safe to expose to the atmosphere. They were still working on the other artifacts that had been gathered, but gold being what it was had allowed the golden artifacts to be handled so swiftly. The trinkets were finely crafted, And Morathi decided to commence her study of them with the brooch depicting a horse warrior. She gently held the brooch in her hands and focussing her mind to the sole task of studying the brooch carefully opened her auspex to the memories contained inside...

[b:7bdb22591f]Michelle[/b:7bdb22591f]

[i:7bdb22591f]Le Chateau d’Usse, Loire Valley, France [/i:7bdb22591f]

Lucinde pondered the information she had just received. The Toreador Eveshka Shuvolov had just confirmed that it was, in fact, Khemintiri the Setite anathema that had usurped Michelle St. Claire’s identity. In the guise of that particularly ambitious Ventrue, Khemintiri had risen to become Prince of York, an accomplishment Michelle herself had never equaled. Eveshka had served as her seneschal; and her lover. Now, the two had apparently parted ways. According to Eveshka, Khemintiri now awaited Eve’s return at Chateau Chenonceau. Eveshka had come before Lucinde and her Toreador counter-part, Madame Guil, and proclaimed herself free of Khemintiri’s influence.

Lucinde believed her, or, more precisely, Lucinde believed that Eveshka believed she was telling the truth. However, Lucinde also knew that one could not lightly discard one’s attachment to that Setite goddess. The power of that vitae, the beauty of that creature and the danger of her existence were simply too intoxicating. Eveshka may love another, or no one, but she, like most, could still be manipulated by Khemintiri. The question was whether Eveshka’s betrayal of her former lover was staged by the Setite or was it a genuine spontaneous act of treachery. Lucinde smiled within. She believed the latter. Eveshka could be manipulated, but this affair had the ring of truth. Lucinde believed Eveshka was genuine, at least on this night.

As Eveshka related her tale, Lucinde watched and listened. Madame Guil reassured the frightened Toreador that she would not lose her Principality nor would she be punished. Indeed, Madame Guil commended Eveshka on her ability to withstand Khemintiri’s influence as well as she had.

Lucinde tuned the Toreador’s out. She found Madame Guil distasteful to say the least, and that scatter-brained harlot Eveshka was, well, a scatter-brained harlot. Amazing that she could have survived eight centuries. Lucinde did not care what the Toreador’s did to police their own ranks. Lucinde had other marching orders. Khemintiri had, within the last century, murdered and usurped a justicar, destroyed one Prince and usurped the identity of another. All had been Ventrue. Neither the Camarilla nor the Ventrue could tolerate Khemintiri’s continued existence. One vampire could not be allowed to repeatedly embarrass the whole of kindred society and its most powerful clan.

Lucinde rose to leave as Madame Guil comforted Eveshka, who appeared genuinely distraught about the night’s turn of events. Lucinde did not care. It was a waste of time. For better or worse, Lucinde was a soldier. She had been fighting the enemies of the Camarilla and the Ventrue for centuries, first as an Archon and, after Khemintiri destroyed Michaelis, as a Justicar. While the Toreadors would sit and cry and ponder the tragedy and drama of it all, Lucinde had a job to do. A very dangerous job.

As she turned to leave Madame Guil turned her attention away from Eveshka and to the departing blond Ventrue.

“Lucinde, do you go to confront the anathema?”

Lucinde looked back impassively. “Of course.”

Madame Guil smiled. “And you are going alone?” The Toreador justicar raised an eyebrow. “Do you not think that unwise?”

Lucinde’s face remained impassive. “I do not go alone. I came here alone, but I am not with out aid.”

“Your archons?” Madame Guil asked.

Lucinde knew what Madame Guil was driving at. She was voicing the suspicions that many had about Lucinde’s obsession with the anathema Setite.

“Yes. My archons will go with me.” Lucinde answered. “There are more however.”

“More?” asked Guil.

“Yes. I have brought … a host.” Lucinde narrowed her eyes. “The anathema will not escape this time. The Ventrue will see to it.”

Madame Guil’s tone changed to one of indignation, even anger. “What host is this of which you speak? You have no authority to bring such a force into the realm of another without permission.” Madame Guil glanced at Eveshka. “And I am sure you do not have the local Prince’s permission.”

Lucinde eyed the two Toreador’s coolly, and when she spoke, she spoke slowly, her voiced low, soft and yet undeniably powerful.

“I do not ask her permission, or yours. The inner-circle has made the elimination of Khemintiri its highest priority, as has the Ventrue clan. With me goes the will of the Camarilla – for if the Camarilla cannot bring this Anathema to heel, what authority will it truly possess? Khemintiri’s crimes threaten the very foundations of our society. If one can flaunt our laws repeatedly with impunity, what then when many turn on us? Now is not the time for petty infighting. Now is the time for action.”

Lucinde pointed out the windows. “My host awaits. It is my charter to destroy Khemintiri. It is also my charter to destroy those that would aid her.” Lucinde paused for a moment. She did not like to threaten other Camarilla kindred, not that she feared them, she simply saw it as gauche. Still, here, now, it was appropriate. “Do not hinder me. Do not hinder my host, we…”

Madame Guil cut her off. “You … dare … make threats in this Prince’s domain?” Madame Guil arose from her chair, her face twisting in anger and fury. “I think you underestimate our power little Ventrue – and overestimate yours. We could destroy you politically or physically, indeed, perhaps we should given your insolence.”

Lucinde remained impassive. What Madame Guil said was true to a point. She and Eveshka could undoubtedly destroy her if they came to blows her in the room. Eveshka herself was a renowned swordswoman, quite old and of powerful blood. While Lucinde was the professional soldier, a fight with Eveshka would be closely matched. Throw in Madame Guil, and Lucinde would be defeated. Lucinde did not flinch however.

She regarded Madame Guil flatly. Without a word, she strode towards one of the doors. Motioning for Madame Guil and Eveshka to follow, Lucinde passed through the portal and headed down a darkened hallway. She led the now silent Toreador’s through the castle. Soon, they entered the part that was open to the tourists by day. Passing through a gallery filled with a most impressive collection of weaponry, Lucinde made her way to a spiral staircase. In silence, the three women scaled the curving narrow stairs higher and higher until they came to the uppermost tower room. Here, a waxwork sleeping beauty rested eternally, waiting for a prince that would never come. Her resting-place over looked the river below and the dark forest beyond. Lucinde directed the Toreador’s to the panoramic view that awaited them. Cautiously, the two approached the windows and looked out into the night.

Everywhere the Toreadors looked with their supernatural vision they could see figures crouched in the dark. Dozens of vampires, a veritable legion of kindred, stood guard in the night. Darkened figures moving with catlike grace patrolled both sides of the river, in and out of the trees. In the moonlight, their silhouettes betrayed their armaments; deadly shadows armed with swords, pikes, rifles, and scythes. There, in the night, the Toreadors were witnesses to what was truly a host of the damned. Had the Toreador’s been mortal, no doubt the sight would have taken their breath away.

Lucinde addressed Guil and Eveshka. “Khemintiri has made war upon the Camarilla. Now, the Camarilla shall make war upon her.”

Lucinde turned to descend the spiral staircase. At the archway, she turned back to Guil and Eveshka. She a last message to deliver, a barb more personal than business, but one that could ultimately help with her task at hand.

“One other thing,” Lucinde said with a sly smile. “I brought someone with me to help find the Anathema, and I believe you know her Eveshka.” Lucinde’s smile broadened. “Or, at least you think you do. She is staying at Chateau d’Artigny, just outside of Montbazon south of Tours.” Lucinde paused. She could see in Eveshka’s face that the Toreador already knew what Lucinde was about to say, but she wanted to say it anyway.

“Her name is Michelle. Michelle St. Claire.” With that, Lucinde simply smiled and left, rejoining her host to prepare for the battle to come

[b:92407ce0a5]Eveshka[/b:92407ce0a5]

Eveshka did not react. She just stared blankly at Lucinde as she left her haven. Eve knew that this day would come. She knew that Lucinde would not resist the opportunity to stick a further dagger into her. Well, the worst was passed. Who cared what some slut protege of Lucinde would say or do. Lucinde. That was another matter. A particularly evil smile crossed Eveshka's face. She closed her eyes and reached out across the short dark gap separating she and Khemintiri. She WAS still bound to her, after a fashion. Khemintiri was likewise bound to Eveshka, after a fasion. The problem was this, was LUCINDE still bound to Khemintiri in that SAME fashion? There was the question. Her psychic projection raced across the Touraine night. It raced over vineyards, forests, rivers, small hamlets of sleeping Frenchmen, all the way to the magnificence of her former home. Chenonceau. Lucinded did not seem to sense her presence. Not in the slightest. Khemintiri however. She sensed it right away. Her black eyes flicked to the direction of the projection and smiled. It was a cruel smile.

"I know you are there, 'Little Firebird,"' said Khemintiri to the blackness. "Come to gaze one more time? Come to watch the hounds of the Camarilla bring me in?"

Eveshka watched and did nothing. She knew that Khemintiri was probing into her thoughts like no being ever had in the past. She knew that Eveshka did not want her destroyed, almost hoped that she made it out. But she also knew taht Eveshka was there for reasons of self-preservation. This was not out of duty, as far as KHEM was concerned. This was survival.

[b:33041172e4]Michelle[/b:33041172e4]

Chateau Chenonceau, Loire Valley, France

Khemintiri walked the peaked roof of the gallery that ran from the Chateau to the river's edge. Even as her eyes looked into dark night, her mind looked into the soul of Eveshka Shuvolov. There was no love for her there, but there was no hate either. Pity perhaps, even hopes for Khemintiri's escape if it did not mean danger for Eve. Clearly, the Toreador's motivation was survival. Part of the Firebird wanted Khemintiri to flee, to lose the hounds in the night, while part of her wanted the hounds to finally catch their quarry - if they did, Eveshka would never have to worry about her again.

Khemintiri knew that Eveshka had betrayed her to Lucinde. She also knew that Eveshka sought to warn her about Lucinde. Now, Khemintiri could feel Eve's mind reaching out to find her. Would she watch? Did she want to see Khemintiri make her stand? If she fell, would Eveshka rejoice or mourn? Did it matter? Many would dance upon Khem's ashes given the chance, what difference could it make if Eve were one of them? Still, to Khemintiri, it did make a difference. Khemintiri had actually tried not to hurt Eveshka, a rare thing in Khem's recent life. For Eve to rejoice at her destruction would prove that Khem really was the villain that many made her out to be.

Khemintiri's mind wandered away from Eveshka and sought out the mind of her hunter, Lucinde.

The Ventrue's Justicar's soul was as different from the Toreador Prince's as could be. Lucinde was the Ice Queen to Eveshka's Firebird. Lucinde was a true hunter. Once she had a goal, nothing could dissuade her from pursuing it. Khemintiri tried to probe Lucinde's mind but she was more disciplined and less distraught than Eveshka and consequently more difficult to read.

Khemintiri did know she had brought the host of the Ventrue with her. Khem lept from the gallery roof to the Chateau roof and peered into the dark across the river. They would come soon. Not tonight, for the hour was already late, but tomorrow, or the next night at the latest. Running now would be difficult as Lucinde would surely station sentries all around Chenonceaux. Still, it would not be as difficult as defending against the assualt.

But running left her with no options.

And Khemintiri still had one option left she wished to try. She smiled as she looked down into the river Cher. This was not her river, but at least it was a river. If she were to perish, finally, after three millenia, she wanted to do it within sight of a river. For Khemintiri, every river held a promise; a promise of travel, of new places and distant lands where your troubles did not follow. The waters flowed past wherever you stood and on down the course of the waterway into lands you could not see. Khem had often wished to simply leap into a river and let it carry her away. Now, Khem had come to a cataract in the river of her own life. She could not see what lay beyond, if anything. Perhaps a friendly shore - perhaps the oceanic oblivion of final death. And from there, where? The afterlife? Khemintiri still believed in it, but she also believed that it likely held only torment for her. Had she not offended the gods themselves.

A crimon tear formed in her eye. She hoped that if she fell, her last sight would be the river, and her last thought would be of where it might take her, far away from here, from her former lovers, both old and new, from the past and the present. Perhaps to someplace where she would not be an anathema, a destroyer or a whore, to some place where she would just be a girl, a girl with beautiful green eyes and hope......

[b:b10376a113]Eveshka[/b:b10376a113]

Eveshka sat in the plush chair before a roaring fire. [i:b10376a113]Rotschreck[/i:b10376a113] had long ceased to play any part in her existence. She reached out one last time to Keminitiri before recalling her soul. [i:b10376a113]"Please forgive me."[/i:b10376a113] For better or for worse the dye had been cast. Now she had to carry on. Her next trip was to Paris. She needed some answers that had been gnawing at her.

[b:03766ced78]Gabriel[/b:03766ced78]

Gabriel sat motionless, a frigid, lifeless effigy doomed to wait out eternity an empty shell. Or that's how he felt currently at any rate. Still for nearly an hour now, or was it two? It could've been a day for all he would've noticed. There was a horrendous feeling of emptiness within him, and he had no idea why.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, how long had it been since he'd even uttered a sound? Seemed like hours ago that Julius and Eveshka had returned from whatever romp they had embarked on, whatever it was they smelled of bodily fluids and seawater. Their faces carried the expressions of those enraptured with one another.

It sort of reminded him of Kathy and himself, in a happier time. Certainly a more prosperous time for Gabriel, both spiritually and financially. He seemed to recall a conversation earlier in the night with Tyler, something about stocks dropping. His life long quest for power and money held little interest for him these nights, and searching for this blasted scroll and hanging around Eveshka and Julius was all he could do to stay busy.

He groaned slightly and felt his vocal chords reverberate, coarse and thickened from unuse. A brief wave of awakening nerves trickled through the skin on his neck and raised tiny follicles near the back.

Finally the Ventrue shifted slightly, glancing over at the object that lay on the table some feet away. The sword had still revealed no clues to the coterie....but then again the Tremere had not even examined it. He seemed content to frolick and prance about with his Toreador "Goddess" while the forces that be more than likely edged closer and closer to the blood of Caine.

But in such a situation, Gabriel had little influence, he could not sway them. All he could do was hope he was on the winning team.

The room illuminated with harsh blue light for a moment and echoed with the sharp SNAP of a breaking light bulb fuse before the furnishings and a very moody Ventrue were doused in darkness.

"...."

[b:a0c4174373]Julius[/b:a0c4174373]

Julius prepared the suite for his guests. First of all he replaced his skull upon the dressing table. Eveshka had made him move it, something about not caring to be grinned at whilst putting on her makeup. Julius smirked, "while the cat's away.." he thought to himself. By a strange quirk of coincidence, the exact spot just in front of the ornate mirror was the perfect place from which to operate a series of remote magical wards and Julius did not wish to be disturbed during this meeting.

By the time Gabriel and Morathi had arrived, Julius had laid out the various artifacts into groups. Gabriel's sword, with a neatly printed label "Proto-Scythian". The artifacts from Morathi's dig, in a pile with the label "Scythian". Eveshka's rubbing and a small statue of the moon goddess Nanna were labelled "Sumerian" and finally a Thoth sigil placed on top of the label "Egyptian".

"Thankyou both for coming." Began Julius politely. Morathi smiled and Gabriel gave him a sour look. Clearly he had been unimpressed with Julius and Eve taking off for a night. "The hell with you." Julius thought. "What are we fighting for anyway, if it's not a little joy in our existances. Miserable bloody Ventrue." Julius closed his eyes and activated the magical defences. Hotel staff would conveniently forget there was a suite in the Zorlu Grand. Any greater powers would meet stiffer resistance to entry.

Julius bade his guests to sit and served them drinks. "So, this is what we have so far. A scythian, or possibly pre-scythian" Julius pointed at the sword, "civilization, flooded out when the mediterranean hit the black sea. It's culture and presumably survivors spread to become the Sumerians and ultimately the Egyptians. Anthropological sources place them all from the same stock, which for now we'll assume are these proto-scythians."

Morathi listened and nodded knowledgably. Gabriel stifled a yawn. Julius grinned. "But of what interest is this fascinating archaeo-anthropological data to us?" Julius started to enter his stride, enjoying a little moment of theatrics. Morathi nodded again, but inwardly considered if there was such a word as archaeo-anthropological or if Julius had just made it up. Regardless of the etymology of Julius' vocabulary, Gabriel thought the question a valid one.

"Three things link these artifacts to our quest." Julius continued unabated. "The first is this map, detailing possible locations for Enoch, under the waters of the Black Sea. Morathi may or may not have found Enoch itself, but surely the settlement she has discovered is part of the same civilisation. Secondly the dream. If we take the dream as truth and I see no reason to doubt it at this time, then we are witness to ancient kindred living in this area prior to the great flood."

Julius stopped and fixed Gabriel with his piercing gaze. "Finally, the clue which led us onto this road, the ultimate cause of our quest. The greatest inspiration and a still unsolved mystery." Now Gabriel's interest was piqued, whilst Morathi stifled a yawn. "Behold, Gabriel," Continued Julius, as with a flourish he produced a scroll case from somewhere on his person, "The scroll of Shal-Ka Mense."

If Julius had expected to get a reaction from Gabriel he was sadly mistaken. Gabriel was way beyond being shocked to discover that Julius had been in possession of the scroll all along. Now he just grunted and nodded. "Well, let's have a look at it then." Julius handed it over.

Gabriel studied it for a moment, the elaborately written farsi characters blending with the almost hidden Thothian symbology on the faded parchment. "So what does it say, oh great Wizard?" He asked, somewhat testily. Julius grinned again. "Haven't the first clue, old boy." Gabriel slumped back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. "However," Julius continued. "I have got as far as rendering this somewhat cryptic farsi cypher into English. Trouble is, it is all nonsense. Doesn't make sense. I am hopeful though. I have a small fragment of a previous translation. Using that, I should be able to piece together the whole. Meantime, Morathi will be working on these artifacts."

"And what should I do?" Asked Gabriel pointedly. "Well, here's the thing." Said Julius, who had the good grace to look somewhat embarrassed. "I don't really know where your skills are. What do you think you should do?"

[b:58f03d6831]Michelle[/b:58f03d6831]

[i:58f03d6831]The River Cher, Loire Valley, France[/i:58f03d6831]

They appeared like phantoms in the hour following dusk. Throughout Chenonceaux, the kindred of the Camarilla host rose from there daytime resting places and began to gather. One group used their presence and intimidation to take control of the small boats which often traveled down river to Chateau Chenonceau in the evening. They would use the boats this night, but not in the way the usual tourists and lovers would.

Across the river Cher opposite the famous 16th century chateau, three kindred gathered. The dark woods ran thick with kindred soldiers and these three held the leash of the beast. One is a blond woman, more a girl really, perhaps in her late teens. She is wrapped in a dark cloak that she pulls tightly around herself. Her name is Lucinde, she is over three hundred years old and she is the Ventrue Justicar. The second kindred is a youth in comparison to Lucinde, being but 136 years old. He is a tall man, thin, with green eyes and straw colored hair. His name is Anastasz Di Zagreb and he is the Tremere Justicar. The final figure dwarfs both of the other two; in size, in age and in reputation. He is tall, broad shouldered and massive. His wild hair falls around his shoulders like a lion’s mane. His skin is dusky and crisscrossed with the scars of countless battles. Those who know of him believe him to be at least 800 years old. His blood is strong; 5th generation Gangrel. While his true name is a matter of speculation, the Camarilla knows him as Kharsh, and he is the one and only Warlord of the Camarilla.

In the dark, the three watch with heightened senses as their legion of shadows closes in upon the Chateau Chenonceau and their foe. There forces are tri-parte: the first wave is comprised of the host of the Ventrue, blue blood soldiers bequeathed to Lucinde for this one endeavor – to avenge their clan against the Anathema Kemintiri. Though it is not said aloud, the first wave is but fodder – they will be sacrificed to weaken the Anathema, force her to expend her blood. Lucinde and Anastasz have taken measures to ensure that this wave cannot be used by Kemintiri to replenish her vitae, though the Ventrue soldiers themselves know nothing of the plan.

The second wave belongs to Kharsh. They are his soldiers, ex-military of many eras, proficient with all known weapons. They are armed and armored as each sees fit. Some bear assault rifles with combat sights and grenade launchers, while others carry ancestral swords. This wave forms the true assault force and will be led by Kharsh himself.

The final wave of the legion is comprised of archons. These are the followers of Lucinde and Anastasz. They are their trio’s most potent but least numerous contingent. They will be used to contain Kemintiri once battle is engaged. Should Kharsh’s force fail, then the archons and the two Justicars shall fall upon the Egyptian goddess themselves.

Under cover of the trees, Anastasz begins one of the many rituals he will cast this fateful night. Nearby, Kharsh watches a computer screen showing him an image of the locale shot from a helicopter high above. As he watches, he mutters orders to his troops through a throat-mike. Kharsh may be 800 years old, but his grasp of modern weapons and tactics is as good as any mortal soldier’s.

At the river’s edge, Lucinde simply waits and watches. This night has been almost a century in the making, and soon, very soon, battle will be joined…..

[b:9949b3053d]Gabriel[/b:9949b3053d]

Morathi, already entranced with the new additions to her growing list of artifacts, paid little attention to the offhanded comment. But to Gabriel, it certainly commanded his attention. Had he been in a lighter mood, he might've felt slightly embarrassed, but as it were, he was mired in a naive self-pity. He simply stared blankly at the Tremere for a moment before shrugging.

[i:9949b3053d]"Well, I suppose it couldn't hurt for me to stretch my contacts and see if what we can find out about the other players. Salah Al-Hudin and Ali right? Perhaps I can dig something up."[/i:9949b3053d] Compared to the rest of the loosely bound coterie, Gabriel found himself running short of skills that could compare to those they already possessed.

Whether or not Julius trusted Gabriel's research would reap any results, Gabriel could only guess. The smile on his face seemed to indicate that he was content with the decision, at least it would keep the troublesome Ventrue out of his hair. At the moment, Gabriel couldn't have agreed more with Julius' prognosis. While he was a powerful ally, the playboy seemed even more trouble proned than Gabriel himself.

[i:9949b3053d]"Sounds good Gabriel,"[/i:9949b3053d] Julius nodded, moving towards where Morathi's figure sat hunched over the glistening blade, [i:9949b3053d]"just take care you don't get TOO close."[/i:9949b3053d]

Gabriel grunted and made his way to the window and briefly wondered where Eveshka was...

[b:71d747a2de]Michelle[/b:71d747a2de]

[i:71d747a2de]Chateau Chenonceau [/i:71d747a2de]

Kemintiri could sense the gathering host outside the stone walls of the Chateau. So many kindred, so much hate, all for her. Outside in the darkness, Lucinde lurked, watching and waiting for Kemintiri to appear. Kemintiri had been preparing for this battle for the last two days, alternately hoping it would come to pass and hoping she was wrong and Lucinde would not find her.

Deep within the bowels of the Chateau, where no tourist or tour guide ever came, Kemintiri sat in the room where she and Eveshka had slumbered away the last few years. Kemintiri stared at the bed. She had found so much there with Eveshka; love, companionship, a safe harbor from the storm. That safe harbor had been bought and purchased with a lie however. Kemintiri had adopted the persona of Michelle St. Clair, a Ventrue, and that was who Eve had grown attached to. When the lie was exposed, Eve mistook her attachment to Michelle for an attachment to Kemintiri. She had allowed herself to be bonded. It was not too last.

Like Lucinde herself, Eve had her bond to Kemintiri broken by a Tremere wizard. Now, Eveshka had led Lucinde and her hounds to Kemintiri.

Kemintiri sat at the dressing table. She turned to the mirror. Lucinde and the hounds were here for Kemintiri, the arch-Anathema. Kemintiri thought they should get what they came for. Casually, as the first wave of Ventrue soldiers took their positions outside the Chateau, Kemintiri searched through Michelle’s make up kit. As the blue-blood kindred pulled the bolts back on their automatic weapons and drew razor sharp blades from well used scabbards, Kemintiri found what she was looking for. Kohl. Three thousand years ago she had rimmed her eyes with Kohl on a daily basis. The style had become a part of the iconography the modern world attached to its idea of Egyptian queens. Kemintiri pulled the Kohl pencil out of the make up kit. It was a little different from the ones she had used; this modern Kohl came in a wood pencil with the label “Elizabeth Arden, Kohlberry 02”. Leaning into the mirror Kemintiri began to apply it to her eyes. The pencil’s line was as black as night. She smiled. Some things did not change, not really.

Outside, the Ventrue began their assault…

…The first six Ventrue to enter the Chateau did not see her. Their heightened senses were not enough to penetrate Kemintiri’s obfuscation. As they made their way through the gallery built by Catherine De Medici, Kemintiri approached, unseen, unheard. Though the Ventrue could not see them, her fingernails had elongated into claws, her flesh was as marble and her strength and speed were enhanced to a level they could not comprehend.

The lead blue-blood was simply torn asunder. The second followed in a spray of vitae before he could even pull the trigger on his weapon. The third did manage to squeeze off a burst into the dark at his unseen foe but to no avail. The feral claws of the beast that was their enemy made short work of the young Ventrue. Two of the remaining three assaulters laid down a withering blanket of automatic weapon fire while the third hosed the gallery down with a flame thrower. For a brief instant, they could see what appeared to be a female silhouette breach the wall of flaming napalm and then she was upon them. The Ventrue screamed in defiance as they struggled with their attacker. Invisible claws raked horrid wounds into undead flesh and one by one the remaining assaulters fell until only the blue-blood with the flame thrower remained. He released a steady stream of burning napalm across the gallery, never letting up on the trigger. He was dimly aware the fire was so out of control he would likely burn with it, but now he wished only to take Kemintiri with him into a fiery final death.

Suddenly he felt her. Clawed hands, small, but with a strength of grip he could not have imagined took hold of his arms. The sputtering flame thrower fell to the floor, the gallery interior in flames around the now imobilized Ventrue. Kemintiri appeared to him then, in the midst of the inferno. Beautiful, marble skinned with raven hair and eyes as black as the pits of hell. As he stared into those eyes a forked tongue as hard as steel and as sharp as a razor entered his neck and tasted his vitae. The Ventrue tried to scream, to be free, to fall into the flames, to do anything that would stop her from draining him and replenishing her blood. Her grip was too strong. He could do nothing.

The tongue left his neck. He still lived, well, such as kindred do. She had not drained him. For a moment he thought he might escape. A look of rage crossed Kemintiri’s angelic face and the Ventrue knew what it was to anger a goddess. Her grip tightened and he screamed. She pulled on his arms and one tore away in a spray of gore. Kemintiri tossed the limb into the fires, and then threw the maimed Ventrue in after it. The blue-blood’s fortitude only helped him live long enough in the inferno to appreciate the pain of burning to death.

Kemintiri spat out what blood she had drawn from the last Ventrue. The blood had tasted…familiar. She tried one of the other downed Ventrue and the blood also had the same taste. It was the taste of Lucinde.

Outside, the blond Justicar could only smile. She had prepared long for this night. Each of the assaulters had been deprived of blood until the night of the assault when they were given specially prepared blood pearls to replenish themselves. Each of these blood pearls had been prepared by Lucinde from her own blood. It had taken her years to amass enough blood pearls to satiate such a host. The blood pearls themselves had been treated to a ritual by Anastasz. The ritual ensured that the vitae from the blood pearl would remain Lucinde’s once in the system of the kindred who consumed the pearl, at least for a while.

If Kemintiri drank from any of the assaulters, she was drinking from Lucinde. Kemintiri had tasted Lucinde’s blood once before, and if she drank tonight, it would be the second drink, well on her way to being bonded.

With the gallery interior in flames, Kemintiri made her way to the gallery roof. There, in the night, silhouetted by the fires raging out of the windows, she met the remaining Ventrue assaulters. There were many of them. Some had scaled the gallery walls from the river’s edge, while others had landed in tourist boats on the deck of the chateau and entered the gothic abode looking for the Egyptian. Now they found her atop the flaming gallery. They closed in on her from two sides, switching from guns to melee weapons. Kemintiri did not try to hide herself.

Across the river, Anastasz, Kharsh and Lucinde could see her. For Kharsh, this was the moment. They had flushed out the prey and it was time to move into striking position. He made his way down to a waiting boat with its crew of soldiers. Kharsh grabbed only one weapon on his way to the boat – his sword. This weapon had tasted the blood of countless enemies over the centuries, and now, it would taste the oldest blood it was ever likely too.

Anastasz also prepared to move across the river, though he would take a less direct approach. For the moment, his role was still containment. Lucinde would perform the same role from this opposite side of the Cher.

As the trio separated, they watched the roof of the Chateau Chenonceau. High atop its peaked roofs Kemintiri danced through her attackers. She was armed now, with two enchanted blades. As the Ventrue assaulters attacked she spun towards them, blades whirling faster than the young blue-bloods could see. Lucinde watched helplessly as Kemintiri cut a bloody swath through the first wave. Her assaulters were brave, but they were no match for Kemintiri. Lucinde knew it. She knew that dozens of promising young Ventrue were being sent to final death for no other gain than to deplete Kemintiri of blood.

Crossing the river, Anastasz also watched, horrified to some degree at the tactics and the carnage. His spells would also drain Kemintiri, but now was not the moment. The assaulters would weaken her first. Then Kharsh would attack, and, if that failed, Anastasz would try to fix the Anathema in a battle with his magic while Lucinde moved in for the kill.

On the roof, Kemintiri had no time to watch the approaching boats. She moved quickly across the roofs of the Chateau, her feet never losing purchase. Attackers approached and she went into a dance of death, her blades whirling through her attackers feeble defenses with a speed they could not hope to match. Kemintiri new she was wasting blood heightening her celerity, potence and fortitude. Her skin was as marble and these Ventrue could not likely harm her. Indeed, she could have killed them quite slowly with virtual impunity, but that might have caused the leaders of this attack to change their plans. Kemintiri could not have that. She needed them go forward with their assault, to keep coming, to get closer…