The figure reclined upon the streetside bench, his cold green eyes locked on the building that stood directly across from him. Barely discernable on his chiseled features was a slight glimmer of satisfaction as he stared at the building as a sculptor might gaze over a masterpiece emerging from a once mundane block of stone.

'Casino Gabriella' had been closed for nearly six months to the public as the renavations required had proved too drastic for the morphing building to accomodate patrons. But at last, Gabriel's newest venture was beginning to take shape just as he had hoped. The buildings once brick exterior, that had stuck out so soarly amongst the newer bars and social clubs along the Cascadian Strip, was now the centerpiece of it all. And Gabriel's own name was presented proudly in great silver letters upon a backdrop of immaculately polished marble. Long columns dwarfed the sea of potential gamers that swelled against the locked glass doors, their eyes full of the familiar twinkle of excitement and greed.

Gabriel knew the investors would be frantic, wondering where he was, why was he not preparing for his grand opening speech? Millions of dollars had been poured into the one time seedy building. A complete overhaul of the interior and exterior, with the addition of two great wings and a third basement level. Thousands in marketing and advirtising, and bribes to acquire the appropriate permits that some of Gabriel's more influencial rivals had worked so hard to keep him from.

The return to Cascadia from his excursion with Julius had left him notably changed, a trait that was rare in an undead creature. Initially, the progress on the casino had been stilted, as Gabriel spent countless hours alone, refusing to accept visitors. But gradually, as the finer details of construction and money management began to seep back into his everyday activities, he returned to a figure resembling his old self, throwing himself head first into his business routine.

[i:5f2fcfcf4a]"It seems like the marketing paid off."[/i:5f2fcfcf4a] a pair of familiar hands gripped the bench where he sat, and just above them Tyler's beaming, youthful face came into view. [i:5f2fcfcf4a]"It certainly is a beauty."[/i:5f2fcfcf4a]

Gabriel examined the crowd itself, and found himself wanting to make some cliche comment about penguins, as the tuxedos and evening dresses milled about. The evening was warm, and both Gabriel and Tyler could smell the mixture of sweat and anti-perspirant rising from the gathering throngs.

[i:5f2fcfcf4a]"I'll need to speak with you later, in private."[/i:5f2fcfcf4a] Gabriel said quietly, slightly annoyed that his moment of reflection had been intruded upon. Tyler's memory of the investors clammering over him, asking where his employer was projected itself clearly in Gabriel's mind, and the Ventrue nodded without a sideways glance. [i:5f2fcfcf4a]"Tell them I had last minute preparations concerning the servers, I'll be in shortly."[/i:5f2fcfcf4a]

Tyler shook his head silently and slipped away through the crowd, enjoying the excitement of the evening. How many rich socialite's wives would he bed tonight? No way of telling. It was wonder he hadn't been caught yet.

At last Gabriel stood from the bench and pressed the ruffles from his own tuxedo. He began to skirt the edge of the crowd, nearing the employee entrance where he would run silently over his speech a final time and then prepare to welcome the new clientelle.

Something made him stop in his tracks, a scent carried in the evening air. Among the thousands that crowded the streets, there was something familiar...but vaguely so. In an instant it was gone, and Gabriel had pushed the thought from his mind, disappearing inside.

((disclaimer: yes, the original Casino Gabriella given by Julius was in Russia or somewhere but I wanted to return Gabriel to Cascadia. so either overlook the discrepency, or just assume he closed the original casino down and reopened it here where gambling is illegal. IT'S FICTION WHO CARES?!

(( if its in cascadia.. then why did you post it in the international MB?.. good though.))

[size=24:7a6af982b9]AT LAST!![/size:7a6af982b9]

[size=12:7a6af982b9][/size:7a6af982b9]::soaks up what little thread is there and then drools for more::

:shock:

Gabriel moved through the bustling underbelly of the casino, white walls and rooms built soley for their practical purposes. Here were the bones of the old building. Kitchens, offices, storage, security and more lay before him, their inhabitants shooting sideways glances at him and redoubling their efforts to appear busy.

He made his way towards his office and snatched the notecards he had prepared off of his desk and gave himself a final approving nod in the mirror. When he emerged from the office, Tyler was waiting, popping the final bit of shrimp into his mouth.

The two began a steady pace towards the Casino stage, a floor above them. Even now, he could hear the trample of footsteps above him, the crowd happily piling into the air conditioned building, relieved to be out of the heat.

[i:db02763dc4]"Tyler...I've only come in for several minutes and do you know what I've seen?"[/i:db02763dc4] Gabriel asked.

[i:db02763dc4]"What's that?"[/i:db02763dc4]

[i:db02763dc4]"Several large gentlemen in black suits and ear pieces. Hardly the inconspicuous security I had requested is it? This is a gaming center, not Camp David."[/i:db02763dc4] As if coordinated, they passed a large looming figure in a black suit and tie, his eyes steady around him.

[i:db02763dc4]"So I see. I passed your specifications on to Mr. Hastings, I'm quite sure. I'll speak with him."[/i:db02763dc4] Mr. Hastings was the new head of security, an old college friend of Tyler's who was proving to be less of an asset than orginally hoped. Gabriel nodded.

[i:8fcc20a337]There is an old saying...

When the pupil is ready, the master will appear.[/i:8fcc20a337]

[i:8fcc20a337][b:8fcc20a337]March. 2003. France.[/b:8fcc20a337][/i:8fcc20a337]

The Orion’s Favour seemed to bob on invisible waves. It moved with each gentle murmur of wind that caressed the hundred foot high dock, the vast sails billowing and falling gently as though a sleeping giant snored nearby. The dock jutted out like the petulant lip of a stony faced child, projecting out over a lush, verdant valley. The face that bore its petulance was an ancient structure. More Keep than castle, it stood tall and proud as though standing guard still over its past domain. The ship itself had long since been emptied of both crew and unusual cargo. The cargo having been carried into the very bowels of the stronghold. Tattersail had long since departed however, leaving the ship and its crew to other hands.

The creature that knew itself, or rather was unsure of itself, “359”, lay in an earthen chamber. Stricken of light, he could only listen, feel and smell his surroundings. He lay in an almost foetal position, his arms wrapped around his shins. His body clothed in the merest of rags. His muscles, strangely he thought, aching and trembling. And in his belly a hunger he could scarcely remember. It was no bloodlust he felt, nothing he would have expected. But a need...for food. He groaned with both the sensation and the confusion as his stomach grumbled. Rolling onto his knees he tried to look around. But no matter how hard he tried, his eyes would not change. His vision would not detect the infra, the unseen. He was as blind as the proverbial. He rubbed his eyes, standing. Grunting as he hit his head on the low ceiling. Running his hand to soothe the bump it passed his face, feeling hairs. A beard. He stopped his hand, probing his face, tracing the outline of hair that covered, it seemed, most of his chin and his mouth. These details however confusing, simply did not add up to a reasonable conclusion. Until, that is, the chamber began to fill with water.

It started with a trickle. A drip just within his strangely limited hearing. The dripping became a gush, pushing its way along the dusty floor. He started to panic, feeling the cold on his toes. His mind clouded by instinct, forgetting he had nothing to fear from drowning. Or did he?

The gush became a rushing, a flooding force that burst through unseen entries. Water quickly rising to his knees, then his waist. His chest, until it was almost enveloping him. He panted, he cried out. Spinning his head, in a hopeless attempt to see a way out. His chest heaving, his heart pounding!

His heart? He was a vampire! His heart no longer beat! His lungs no longer sucked in air! His masters had told him...

The water covered him. Still blind. Still struggling. He began the inexorable descent into drowning as his air ran dry and his will ran out. A single thought filling his mind as quickly as it’s realisation shocked him.

[i:8fcc20a337]I am alive![/i:8fcc20a337]







As quickly as the water had overwhelmed him, it was gone. As was consciousness. The blackness of sleep was upon him.

[i:b8c14dc6f7]“So it was as feared...”[/i:b8c14dc6f7]

The voice startled him.

[i:b8c14dc6f7]“Yes my Lord Denneval. It would seem that he is mortal. However strong his line, his condition was not transferred with the cloning. Whoever did this was both a genius and a madman.”

“Indeed, Fronsac. Indeed. His health, is he strong?”[/i:b8c14dc6f7]

The two voices were thickly accented. The voice, Denneval had a strong European accent. But one so hybridised that its origin could not be discerned. The Fronsac voice however was certainly French. A distant memory informed 359 that Fronsac’s dialect was from the Gévaudan region.

[i:b8c14dc6f7]“Yes my Lord. Hale and hearty it would appear. The process, although mortal, has passed on certain characteristics. His constitution is remarkable. Considering the nonsense they filled his head with, and the drugs they fed him. He is quite resilient. I can’t be sure of what other traits he has retained, but..,”

“As you can see.”

“Excellent. Tattersail was right I think. This little one will come in handy. Have him bathed. Allow him to shave if he wants to. And let him eat his fill in the kitchens. After he has rested and acquired some level of dignity, have him brought to me. And Fronsac?”

“Suzerain?”

“See to it that he feels welcome. He’s no use to me if he feels threatened, or trapped.”

“As you wish.”[/i:b8c14dc6f7]

With that he could hear retreating footsteps. One pair however, not two.

A second pair of footsteps drew closer. The scent of old death, of Ancient nobility, filled the scant space between them.

[i:b8c14dc6f7]“Sleep boy. You have much to learn before you can earn the right to your father’s name. But never fear. You will.”[/i:b8c14dc6f7]










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

Denneval stood in a large marble hall. The tunic he wore, and the bound leggings, denoted he intended to practice swordplay. The twin blades that hung from his belt were long, razor-like swords. Schiavona he had mastered the use of centuries ago. The caged hilts, the long reach of the blade, and the superb cutting edges. These he favoured over all other weapons.

359 stepped warily into the hall. The torchlight flickering over them both. He had eaten well, and although his first impulse was to vomit the solids back up. He managed to suppress this, and was soon thankful. The food warmed him against the alien chill and fuelled his muscles. The ache he had felt before remained.

[i:b8c14dc6f7]“They ache because you are human. Your nerves are constantly firing, sending sensations that are both pleasant and painful throughout your body. It is one of the blessings and curses of being alive.”[/i:b8c14dc6f7]

Denneval stood tall. His stance regal and imposing. His right hand rested upon the hilt of one of the swords.

[i:b8c14dc6f7]“However. If it is revenge you seek for the stolen memories in your head. Then it is a thing you must sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice? You mean, become Kindred again?”

“Again? You forget boy. You were never Kindred. But your father, your source, was. But this is no time for choices. You are here to learn. This is Talion...”[/i:b8c14dc6f7]

He tapped the hilt of the sword on his left.

[i:b8c14dc6f7]“It is a fine blade. And it is yours.”

“Talion? A punishment befitting the crime, non?”[/i:b8c14dc6f7]

Denneval smiled broadly. [i:b8c14dc6f7]“I see not all of Porter’s memories were lost, nor his knowledge. Now let’s test how well he would bear arms.” [/i:b8c14dc6f7]

He took Talion from his belt, passing it to 359 who dutifully strapped it to his waist. Denneval drew the first sword in one careful stroke, an action 359 repeated perfectly.

[i:b8c14dc6f7]“En garde!”[/i:b8c14dc6f7]

359 pulled on the memories that filled his head. They told him how to move so as to narrowly avoid Denneval’s slash, but remain in close enough proximity so as to be able to return with an attack of his own. He thrust his sword, his eyes opening with alarm as the sword-master easily parried his blade away. He received a painful cut to his right flank as a reward. The pain took him by surprise and it angered him. He spun wildly, ignoring his memories demands that he keep a clear head. Raising his sword again he entered into a whirling circle of steel, stepping ever closer attempting to drive Denneval back. The sword-master simply watched with apparent amusement as 359’s face became contorted with rage. At the last moment he stepped to the side, trapping 359’s sword in a graceful flash of his own, twisting his wrist, sending it tumbling into the air before he caught it in his other hand. With the pommel he struck 359 hard on the back of his head as the human stumbled forward with sudden momentum. 359 fell down hard. Unconscious again.

Denneval sheathed the two swords, standing over the prone body of his pupil.

He spoke determinedly.

[i:b8c14dc6f7]“[b:b8c14dc6f7]Never[/b:b8c14dc6f7] attack in anger. [b:b8c14dc6f7]That[/b:b8c14dc6f7] is lesson one.”[/i:b8c14dc6f7]

[i:7bed0afece]“He’s doing well, non?”

“Very...he’s like a sponge. It’s almost as if he feeds on the lessons themselves.”[/i:7bed0afece]

359 awoke to hear voices outside his chamber door. Denneval and Fronsac quickly retreated down the stone corridor, leaving him alone in his room. He stepped out of bed and walked to the wash-basin. The room quickly filled with steam as the shower ran. He adjusted the temperature until it was sufficiently cool before stepping in. He relished the sensation as the warm water ran over his back, soothing his tired muscles, washing away sweat and grime and clearing his mind of distraction.

He stood under the falling water for a while before he stepped out wrapping a towel around his muscular waist. His hair hung from his head in soaked wet ribbons, draping over his shoulders. Each step dripped its trace onto the tiled floor as he walked back to the basin, looking into the mirror.

The face that looked back was his, but not his. Thick black hair. A grizzled yet strangely pleasing face, made all the more grizzled by a heavy beard. A powerful jaw-line, and shining out amongst all of this. Two piercing green eyes that shone with a fierce intelligence. He tensed his muscles, letting the towel fall to the floor and growled. His teeth bared as he studied the man that stared back at him.

A smile finally crept across his face. The first one in this skin he thought.

[i:7bed0afece]“I’ve got to do something about this beard...”[/i:7bed0afece]

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

Denneval practiced an elaborate fighting Kata in the training hall. Each move a precise sequence of attacks and blocks that resembled a rapidly changing dance. Fronsac rapped his knuckle on the doorframe and coughed loudly.

[i:7bed0afece]“My Lord? You have a visitor.”[/i:7bed0afece]

He stepped aside as a figure entered the room. Fronsac’s and his Undead master’s face said it all.

359 stood dressed in a similar tunic to his host. That wasn’t the surprise. The surprise was the stance of confidence he’d adopted. Oh, that and the almost expertly sculpted goatee beard he’d trimmed his unruly beard into. He stood, hands behind his back. Talion hanging snugly from the sheath on his belt. A wry smile between the beard and moustache on his face. His hair tied back from his face. His legs apart spreading his weight.

[i:7bed0afece]“Well, Maestro? Do you think it’s too much?”[/i:7bed0afece]

Denneval smiled hugely. He shook his head.

[i:7bed0afece]“It’s perfect.”

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

“What are we to study tonight Maestro? Knife fighting? Archery? Capoiera?”[/i:7bed0afece]

Denneval shook his head. [i:7bed0afece]“None of those. You have a much harder weapon to master this eve.”[/i:7bed0afece]

359 raised an eyebrow. That, and his bearded grin made his expression sardonic.

[i:7bed0afece]“No? What weapon?”[/i:7bed0afece]

Denneval grinned wickedly. The expression could be considered mocking, were it. But it was affectionate.

[i:7bed0afece]“Charm of course. Etiquette. The art of the Nobleman.”[/i:7bed0afece]

The following night Denneval led him out of the Keep for the first time since his arrival. Fronsac stood outside, by the door of a large car. His master noted the expression on 359’s face.

[i:7bed0afece]“Pah! Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. You’ve learned alot these last few months. Besides you have earned a night of leisure.”[/i:7bed0afece]

He climbed into the car as 359 stepped around to the opposite side. Stepping in beside him.

Fronsac closed the doors then got into the driver’s seat.

[i:7bed0afece]“Next time. You will do the driving.”[/i:7bed0afece]

359 frowned. [i:7bed0afece]“I can’t. Porter never learned.”

“Then Fronsac will have to teach you.” [/i:7bed0afece]

He nodded grimly.

[i:7bed0afece]“Fronsac? Drive on.”

“Very good my Lord.”[/i:7bed0afece]

359 gripped his sleeve nervously.

[i:7bed0afece]“Why so nervous? I won’t leave you on your own just yet. Now. You need a name. I can’t introduce you as you, and I certainly can’t address you as 359 now can I? Now let me think...”[/i:7bed0afece]

The Undead’s face lit up. [i:7bed0afece]“Well why not....Martainn it is.”[/i:7bed0afece]

359 looked edgy.

[i:7bed0afece]“That was Porter’s human name. I’m not sure I....”

“You wear his face. You have his balls and his blood. I’m sure he won’t mind you borrowing his first name for one night. Unless you have an alternative?”[/i:7bed0afece]

359 blinked. What name would be suitable?

He drew again on his memories. Perhaps a name used by Porter before his migration to the Americas?

He blinked again.

[i:7bed0afece]“Marneus. Marneus Poe.”[/i:7bed0afece]

Denneval’s face lit up.

[i:7bed0afece]“Excellent! Very well Marneus. Let us see what you can do.”[/i:7bed0afece]

The car was a V8 Vantage. Slightly modified to allow for more space, and comfort. But nevertheless the car was an impressive beast. Denneval and his protege sat in the rear as Fronsac geared the growling engine forward. Soon all three were gunning along a winding country road en route to a social function Denneval had arranged. To his guests it was merely a friendly gathering, but it was in fact a training ground for 359.

The hall selected was an even more elegant affair than ther halls his master resigned within. 359 stepped from the car, opposing his master in stance if not in intent. The two men smiled, 359’s a wary expression where Denneval’s was full of confidence. Power.

[i:313ddee3b9]“Shall we?”[/i:313ddee3b9]

Denneval waved a flattened hand, gesturing for 359 to lead the way.

359 nodded. [i:313ddee3b9]“Marneus, remember?”

“But of course, mon ami.”[/i:313ddee3b9]

Marneus, he mused. It would take some getting used to but....

He smiled at the long-coated doorman and carried on inside. The rising lilt of music filled his ears making him feel light, airy even. He politely nodded at the other guests before turning to face and subsequently usher in Denneval.

The Suzerain walked slowly through the massive oak entrance. Every step, purposeful, measured. He had the walk of an Ancient, the stride of some jungle cat leisurely stalking its prey. He was dressed in a modern suit, the jacket longer than most, passing his waist by several inches. The suit was an organic thing, Marneus thought. It seemed to move with every twitching muscle in Denneval’s body. Hugging and loosening exactly when and where required. It was, he decided, a thing of awesome beauty. A thing mirrored by the partner he wore himself. The two men, host and guest. Master and student, stood dressed in imposing greys and blacks. Marneus followed his lead then, stepping as he did. Mingling with those his master deemed noteworthy. A stunning looking Indian woman took Denneval by the hand, kissing it with a fearful respect. Marneus looked on, in part confused by her fear. There was more to his master than a compassionate mentor, obviously. But what?

[i:313ddee3b9]“Forgive me, my Lord. You have company.”

“Ah yes, my sweet Korred. This is my distant cousin. Marneus meet Korred. Korred, this is Marneus.”

“Honoured, madam.”

“The honour, my dear boy. Is mine. After all, to be graced with Lord Duhamel’s presence is honour enough. But to be in the company of his family. Now that is quite another.”

“To be in the presence of one so beautiful as yourself brings me more honour than a noble birth, my Lady.”[/i:313ddee3b9]

He’s catching on quickly, Denneval thought.

Marneus leant forward, taking Korred’s painted hand in his own. He kissed the back of her hand lightly before looking up. His face sculpted into a perfect “winning” smile.

[i:313ddee3b9]“Tell me, Denneval, Duhamel. How is Gevaudan?”[/i:313ddee3b9]

The speaker approached from behind Marneus. The voice was a challenging sneer that made Marneus’ all too human skin crawl. Were he Gangrel, his hackles would most certainly be up.

[i:313ddee3b9]“Aveline. I don’t remember inviting you.”

“You didn’t. I invited myself. I knew you would have regretted it if I hadn’t so...”[/i:313ddee3b9]

Denneval didn’t appear fazed. He maintained the smile as Korred led Marneus away. As alluring as Korred was, Marneus kept his attention on the strange newcomer.

[i:313ddee3b9]“So. Aveline. What brings you so rudely into my circle?”

“This pupil of yours... How much do you know about him?”

“Why?”

“Well. He’s the spitting image of the Gangrel rogue, Porter. But from his stink I’d say he’s human. Well maybe not human, but definitely mortal. So I ask again. What do you know?”

“You are impertinent, girl. But your tone is concerning. The boy was stolen. The Pirate Tattersail brought him to me. It seems we have old enemies to reconsider.”

“Is that all? Why does he look like Porter? What’s the old mutt got to do with it?”

“That I cannot answer. Perhaps, in time, Marneus will answer that question for himself.”

“Marneus? He’s got the gall to use one of Porter’s names? I can see the appeal for you then. You’re just as arrogant and cock-sure as each other. I’m sure he’ll do you proud.”[/i:313ddee3b9]

Denneval released a long slow breath. It was as much a snarl as an expulsion of used air.

[i:313ddee3b9]“Goodbye, Aveline. You can see yourself out.”[/i:313ddee3b9] He turned sharply away from her, the rebuffal made her stammer.

Denneval steeled himself from the anger she had stirred in him. His cold blue eyes locked upon the figure of his mysterious protege. He ran a calloused hand through the leonine shock of hair that tumbled to his shoulders. His square jaw and piercing features made him even more akin to a predatory cat than before.

Marneus was it appeared, in his element. He had a gathering crowd around him. Listening to amusing little anecdotes and some simply being seduced by his striking features. The clone may have his father’s DNA. But the skill with which he manoeuvred within social circles was all his own. He had an appealing arrogance about him. One that bordered upon being irritating, but somehow never quite became such.

Tattersail had been right. With the proper training. The proper instruction and of course the proper motivation, Marneus would make an excellent weapon to be unleashed on their old nemesis. What better than to turn an enemy’s blade upon himself? However, even with all the training he had to offer. As a mortal, Marneus would be a mere fly to be swatted. To become all he could be, he had to become one of them.

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

Marneus’ training continued. From his tutelage with Talion under Denneval’s strict supervision. But the underlying sense of dark necessity was always apparent. Marneus realised that, and between the prolonged periods of training. Be it weapon, physical or social training, he would absorb what human experience he could.

He would wander the Keep estates by day, relishing the feeling of the sun’s warmth, the wind’s cooling caress and the rains soothing tears. He soaked in the tastes and flavours of life, from stuffing himself with every food he could lay his hands on, to experiencing every possible sensation.

That of course included sex. At Denneval’s request, Marneus was visited by the highest class of escort. Given free rein to do as he pleased, he would make love, pleasure and sometimes simply fuck his way through entire collections of women. Women seemingly eager to please the strangely alluring rogue. Denneval, via Fronsac’s careful investigations, continued to probe his pupil’s origins.

[i:313ddee3b9]“Why did that Toreador witch call you Duhamel, my Maestro?”[/i:313ddee3b9]

Marneus probed gently as the two men stood gazing out over the moonlit valley.

[i:313ddee3b9]“It took you long enough to dare asking...”

“Very well, Marneus. You should at least know the man you call master.”[/i:313ddee3b9]

The transformation was subtle, insipid, but no less devastating. Denneval’s features seemed to darken. The glint in his eyes faded, replaced by a terrible radiance. He seemed to swell and tremble with the power he was revealing. He seemed to grow impossibly taller, every aspect of him becoming more than it’s former. Until finally. Gratefully, for Marneus who shrunk away in fear, he spoke.

[i:313ddee3b9]“I am Denneval. Nobility to some. Ancient monster to others. I am Duhamel. Suzerain of Gevaudan, though there are those with longer memories and longer lives that would dub me Beast. Denneval. Diomedes. The Nemean Lion. My my. So many names. So many aeons. And still I know not myself.”[/i:313ddee3b9]

Marneus’ eyes were wet. Fear had loosened the water in his eyes. It had also threatened to loosen his bladder. But he was a far luckier man than that. He pulled his legs around him, steeling himself from the chill that emanated from his master’s true voice. The echo chilled him to the core.

[i:313ddee3b9]“The witch you speak of is an ally. Do not let her manner deceive you. It is just her way. However of far more importance, to you I mean, is what I intend for you little mortal. Your progenitor was one of the finest among us...”

“Us? You mean the Kindred? Or...”

“Kindred. Aye. But there are sects among our kind.”

“You mean the Clans? You aren’t Ventrue, are you? You’re something else...”

“Ha! It would seem that Porter gave you his sharp mind as well as his looks. No. I am not Ventrue. I am Gangrel, like your “father”. But unlike that old, predatory bastard I hunt far sweeter prey.”[/i:313ddee3b9]

Marneus lost some of the dread his stomach had tightened with as Denneval offered him his hand.

[i:313ddee3b9]“So. What are your intentions, master?”

“You seek revenge upon your former captors. But even with all my training. All your skill. Against those you face. You will be nothing more than an irritation. No. To stand a chance of succeeding in your quest you will need to sacrifice everything you have come to enjoy. But I realise this is a difficult decision. After all, it has been too long since I drew breath and relished the feeling. The pleasures of the flesh are lost on one so old as me. I will give you one day to consider...”

“I don’t need time. Do it.”[/i:313ddee3b9]

He dreamt a thousand things. Women, his father must have known, smiling. Some jeering. Some dying. Faces blackened by fire. Wolves cut down by silver. He dreamt of running through the forests of Ancient Britain. And awoke shrieking, his mouth filled by the invisible, cloying, acrid bile of the capsule that had birthed him.

He looked around, seeing his Sire look upon him favourably. Fronsac by his side.

[i:a89e00c8ab]“For a moment we thought we had lost you, boy. Just a moment mind. Here, you need to replenish what you’ve lost.”[/i:a89e00c8ab]

Marneus stomach reeled at the vision before him. Steaming blood was passed to him in a pewter tankard. But with his new existence, a beast growled within. A beast that would not be denied. And he drank.

[i:0a80ce98cd][b:0a80ce98cd]The present. Somewhere in Europe.[/b:0a80ce98cd]

The future is a random beast. It rolls and frets like the storm tossed sea. Choice, fate, and simple bad luck create waves that can break upon its unknown shore. But the future can also be determined. Preset. [/i:0a80ce98cd]

The tracks rattled and clacked. Providence, or simple chance had named the engine that thundered along the railway. It’s origins and destination as mysterious and intriguing as its name.

Future was a Collett Class steam engine. She had been built in the latter half of the 19th Century, another example of the era’s “state of the art” engineering. Her boiler had been modified in the subsequent decades, giving her more steam, more power. And more speed. Her nose had been stripped of it’s smoke deflectors at her current owners behest.

She was as sleek as any engine of her age. Rocketing and rocking on the night charred line between....

Well that would be telling, wouldn’t it?

There were five cars being drawn tonight. Three of them bore the combined weight of a bank of computers, a small group of technicians, a satellite communications system and an even smaller security detail. The fourth was apparently a kitchen car. And the fifth had been renovated to house a conference room. The fifth car was car 654 of the Gresley type. A varnished teak panelling on the outer skin, polished so finely that you could see your own reflection on it.

Five figures sat around a massive, marble topped, oak legged conference table.

Four of the figures sat in silence. Their faces shrouded by shadows that seemed to move intelligently. The fifth spoke hoarsely. His voice forced. Rasping. Dry. The sound was like the crackle of fire dried paper in all too careless fingers.

[i:0a80ce98cd]“And you say the potentate has undergone the penultimate step to his ascension?”[/i:0a80ce98cd]

A second voice answered.

[i:0a80ce98cd]“Aye. However, in order to ensure he “takes the final step” we must activate the Incubus. He has to have a little more incentive to drink the blood of Gilgamesh’s Sire. Only then will he reach his full potential. And only then can we harvest.”[/i:0a80ce98cd]

The dry voice returned.

[i:0a80ce98cd]“Those are an alarming number of “only thens”.

“Yes your grace. Things are going as we planned though.”[/i:0a80ce98cd]

The unseen figure seemed to swell with impatience, before a faint rustling, as that of dried, papery skin moving against itself, ended his consternation. The sound mirrored by the reluctant reassurance that played through his ancient mind.

[i:0a80ce98cd]“Very well. I haven’t waited two thousand years to give up now.”[/i:0a80ce98cd]

The others nodded, shuffling nervously in their seats.

[i:3df628e524][b:3df628e524]March. 2004. Greece.[/b:3df628e524][/i:3df628e524]

The Colophon was the most sought after and most revered of all of Cyprus’ casinos.

Everyone who was anyone resided in its illustrious walls. Gambling away their ill gotten gains, and risking something far more precious to them than their souls.

Face.

To save face, it was not uncommon that some tried to cheat. But the combination of overt and covert security and a wide array of recording equipment made it nigh on impossible to cheat.

[i:3df628e524]“Sir? You have yet to place a bet.

....Sir?”[/i:3df628e524]

The game was a particular favourite of his. He nodded at the table’s attendant and smiled at the trio of gamblers before him, before closing his eyes. Blowing a steady stream of air out through clenched teeth. A slender, feline-like arm draped over his shoulder, toying with the finely trimmed blonde hairs that framed his smile.

[i:3df628e524]“Bet it all, baby.”[/i:3df628e524]

He looked up. His cool, green eyes master of all they surveyed. Murmured something apparently suggestive into his female companion’s ear making her giggle then placed his bet.

[i:3df628e524]“All of it, sir?”

“You heard the lady didn’t you? After all. It’s only money....”[/i:3df628e524]

The table gasped as the bet was placed. The table sighed consolably as the bet was lost. But throughout, he maintained his smile. His female companion’s fingers playing with his lustrous mane of golden hair. She paused as she felt something squeeze her rump, smiling as she realised his hand had wandered.

[i:3df628e524]“You cannot win them all, mon chere. Shall we?”[/i:3df628e524]

She nodded, smiling suggestively, before standing. His hand seeking hers as he excused them both from the table. She wriggled free, her fingers expertly adjusting his tie, straightening his suit as he stretched. His muscles clearly visible under so much fabric. Taut. Powerful. But not too bulky. He let out a low purr before swatting her backside.

[i:3df628e524]“Meet me in my room in...twenty minutes?”[/i:3df628e524]

She feigned disappointment before a second swat sent her running.

His eyes followed her as she headed for the elevator, but his other senses were otherwise engaged.

[i:3df628e524]“I could smell you a mile off, Landon.”

“You know. For a man as wanted as you, Porter. You don’t seem capable of keeping a low profile. I’m not sure about the new look though. It’s a bit 80’s don’t you think?”

“You don’t like it?”[/i:3df628e524] He ran his hand over his goatee then through his hair. [i:3df628e524]“Damn. And here was me hoping I was fashionable. I’ll admit, the blonde hair is a tad off. But you know stylists these days.”

“Enough jokes, Porter. You’re shit out of luck. Maybe we should go somewhere a bit more discreet?”[/i:3df628e524]

He nodded at Landon. Pointing towards the ivy enshrouded balcony that drew few glances to its view, and fewer patrons.

[i:3df628e524]“After you.” [/i:3df628e524] Landon shook his head, his sun stained wrinkles making him look
mummified. The gold teeth making him look cheap. More so than the suit he wore.

[i:3df628e524]“No. After you.”[/i:3df628e524] He pressed something that felt vaguely threatening into his ribs.

[i:3df628e524]“I insist.”[/i:3df628e524]

He agreed, stepping in front, disappearing out of the Casino’s guest’s view.

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

To save face it was not uncommon that when faced with insurmountable odds, some would choose to leave quietly. Landon however wasn’t given much option.

The fall from the balcony wasn’t fatal. Far from it, especially for a Kindred. However it was, needless to say, embarrassing.

Poe turned away from the sprawling, groaning figure twenty feet below, grinning cheekily as he whispered instructions into a passing waiter’s ears, before heading to his room. His Suzerain had been right. Porter’s enemies were for the most part, fooled into thinking Poe was in fact the thousand year old Gangrel.

The room was luxurious. Sickeningly so. Poe dropped to all fours and sinuously crept towards the bed where the woman lay suggestively. She giggled as he growled a long leonine grumble, tapering to a throaty purr.

[i:3df628e524]“Kitty want to play?”[/i:3df628e524]

Poe’s ears twitched at the question. He sleekly slid from his clothes, leaving them on the floor as he moved onto the bed. As her eyes met his inherited, sky-blue slits he let out a snarl that was at once predatory, dominant and overpoweringly sexual. A fact underlined by the lustful smile on his face.

[i:3df628e524]“Definitely.”[/i:3df628e524]

ooooooh shit!!!! :) i'm on my way ))

*SIGH* That's quite the feast I just had! Been a long time since I could indulge my addiction. hehehe :shock:

Do keep it coming guys!!

((wow...just finished reading all your posts Ports, now THAT'S inspiration.

((Gabe you bastard!! I read yours was the newest unread post....saw it was on this thread and prepared myself for FINALLY another cool arse post continuing the storyline....but noooooooo, you tease.