[i:472145e62c] Notre Dame Cathedral, Paris, the Choir [/i:472145e62c]

Eveshka walked into the cathedral and didn't bother to genuflect. Renee was already inside kneeling before an altar of Mary. Eve smirked and strode to the Choir which had the central runway cleared out. The seats were filled with the Toreador High Council. Madame Guil, dressed in a rather austere jumper stood in the middle of the place awaiting the combatants. On opposite ends of the strip were tables upon which a variety of edged and blunted weapons were lain.

Renee appeared at the other end of the list. Behind her were two glowing eyes off in the distance. Nobody seemed to notice them but Eveshka. So... Trom was here with his imaginary friends. So much the better. Eveshka, dressed in a little leather number smacking of a dominitrix outfit, picked up her vaunted Katana and Wakazashi. She gave each a little flourish. Renee picked up a falchion and a moderate sized kukri. That was interesting, thought Eve.

MAdame Guil spoke. "There will be no throwing of blades, and no use of offensive blood skills other than celerity. If quarter is asked..."

"None shall be asked," said Eveshka.

"Nor given," finished Renee.

"Attend to your mark and await my signal."

Both combatants stood at the far end of the strip and awaited Madame Guil. She clapped her hands once and backed to the side lines. The assembled Toreador Royalty shifted uncomfortably in their chairs. This was something they had not seen before, at least not for a long time. Two "nobles" doing battle to settle a wrong that, to them, did not seem to be too private. In their view, they felt Eveshka should just be tried, and sentenced. What was Pandu thinking?

Both women came forwards at a careful pace. The Renee was the first one to strike. Her blows were parried with ease by Eveshka who riposted. On and on the exchange went parry, riposte, parry, riposte. Five minutes turned to ten, ten turned to twenty, which turned to an hour. Still nobody seemed to achieve any significant advantage.

Renee had thought Eveshka would be better than this, as did the assembled High Council. Perhaps she was pacing herself.

Perhaps she is toying with them thought George. She is not showing her complete skill. He knew she was holding back. He wondered how many of the Torries knew that.

On and on it went until Eve smacked the falchion from Renee's right hand, leaving her the small Kukri. Then it was all over. Renee parried a blow from the outside from the wakazashi but was not fast enough to parry the thrust of the katana that skewered her. Black undead blood gurgled from Renee's mouth as Eveshka beared her fangs and smiled triumphantly. She pulled out the katana and spun around holding the wakazashi at neck level and the katana at waist level. She sliced Renee into three pieces that turned to dust before they hit the ground.

Thus passed Renee Delacroix, Prince of Paris for three hundred years. Eveshka walked to the middle of the list, placed her weapons on the ground and curtsied before Pandu. She then turned and strode out of the Choir.

"Well, who will run Paris now," asked one of the Archons. The other merely shrugged. These two were brilliant swordsmen but didn't have the sharpest of minds.

By the setting of the sun the next day it was announced that Pandu would rule Paris directly. There was much rejoicing about this among the more bubbleheaded ones. Pandu was all suave and sophisticated with his cute little accent and regal Africanisms. He held himself with the majesty of a lion, the bearing of a lamb, and the wit of a snake.

The elder Toreador seemed to be slightly disturbed about this turn of events. Was this why he was allowing Eveshka to run rampant? He wanted the focus on her and away from some sinister design of his own?
It was possible. Meanwhile, Eveshka sat at a street cafe in Montmartre with many of her Daughters attending her. She figured Tromador would be along soon. If not him, than the Society of Leopold members who had finally tracked her down. She felt like having some fun with them. No better way to draw them out than to give them the target they sought.

Elsewhere, in the United States, a freaky overnight AM radio program called [i:55f824767b] Coast to Coast AM [/i:55f824767b] had a guest on talking about vampires, werewolves and other things that go bump in the night. His phone lines were filled with callers from all over. Art Bell was in his glory. His guest was named Max from Vienna. He claimed to be a Vampire Hunter.

"So, Max, tell us about this latest catastrophe you allege is occuring in Europe," began Art.

"Not just Europe," said Max, with a Germanic accent. "It is happening right here in the United States as well."

"But the premise of your book, [u:9c78a0fdbe]A Plague by Night [/u:9c78a0fdbe], is that there is a sect of Vampires running rampant in France."

"Yes, yes that is right. Particularly in the South of France, Paris, and the Loire Valley in the Indre-Loire region. Now, I used to belong to a secret society dedicated to the erradication of vampires but I disassociated with them several years back."

"The, uh, Society of Leopold," responded Art. "As discussed in your book."

"Yes, yes that is right."

"Now who exactly are these people?" asked Art.

MAx went into a lengthy disceration on all manners of issues regarding the Society of Leopold and began fielding questions from callers. The questions dealt with all manners of things from fruity housewives who claimed that their idiot Aunt Esther was a Vampire and that she threatened to turn her children into them if she did not purchase stock in the Disney Corporation, to the supposed link between Free Masons, the Society of Leopold, The New York Yankees, and the Skull and Bones Fraternity of Yale University. All in all it was a red banner day for Art.

Then came a call....

"Going to the international lines now we have Eve. Go ahead Eve."

"Allo, ah ahm Eve en France. I listenedining on Radio 1 at Tours," said Eve in a thick French accent.

"Ah yes, Tours, the heart of Indre-Loire," said Max.

"Ah wishes to knows what is happenedining wiss ziss attacks in Tours, espessially since ze explosion of ze Cassedral. Zere are rumours of Vampires walking among us zat ze autorities 'ave not addressed."

The conversation turned to weird disappearances and gruesome killings where it appeared the killer had sexual relations with the corpses. The call ended with Art inviting Eve to keep in touch with further developements.

She assured the audience that she would.

[b:632065a389][u:632065a389]Switzerland[/u:632065a389][/b:632065a389]

[i:632065a389]"She's mad I tell you!"[/i:632065a389] Protested George. [i:632065a389]"More mad than me."[/i:632065a389] He gestured to the empty spaces around him. [i:632065a389]"More mad than me and all of my imaginary friends put together."[/i:632065a389] George looked around the room and pointed to Mr. Barbie Doll, who was staring catatonically at the wall. [i:632065a389]"More mad than him. Francis, she's a grade A1 fuck up. She's leaving a trail of blood behind her and thumbing her nose at the hunters and camarilla alike. This can only end in a river of blood, kindred and kine."[/i:632065a389]

Francis leant back in his chair and surveyed the kindred gathered about the table. A strange collection, where Tremere sat next to Giovanni next to Cappadocian and obscure and apparently lost bloodlines remained in defiance of their "destroyed" status. [i:632065a389]"Any suggestions?"[/i:632065a389]

An unusually tall kindred stood, towering over the assembly with his pale blue skin and completely black eyes. [i:632065a389]"It has been our custom to simply watch. Very few of us have taken direct action in centuries. Some of us remain enshrouded here to preserve bloodlines which would otherwise be lost to persecution, whilst some of us simply wish to be apart from the struggles which mark our kind throughout the world"[/i:632065a389] Murmers of agreement and nods in the direction of the ancient Kiasyd. [i:632065a389]"However, we must remember our purpose here is to maintain kindred, as a race. In this place we forget ties of allegiance to clan or sire and acknowledge that we are all childer of Caine. Eveshka must be stopped. We must stir ourselves and take direct action."[/i:632065a389]

Francis' eyes flickered left to right as he scanned the room. [i:632065a389]"What do you propose, Stephen?"[/i:632065a389]

[i:632065a389]"A task force. We select a few of those who can safely leave here and send them to Tours, those who remain will work behind the scenes as usual."[/i:632065a389]

[i:632065a389]"Very good."[/i:632065a389] Said Francis. [i:632065a389]"When do you leave?"[/i:632065a389]

Eve had read the book [u:8ead09b3e7]A Plague by Night [/u:8ead09b3e7] and learned a little bit about the author and about the Society of Leopold. She also learned through the grapevine, that the author had disappeared. The book also disappeared from bookshelves. Very strange.

Several nights after she finished the book, Eveshka paid a visit to the little town of Azay La Rideau. The town was mentioned several times in the book. She snooped around and discovered that hunters HAD been there recently but that there seemed to be no clues left as to where they went. She waited for the hunters to take a shot at her, but none came.

Eveshka continued her trip down to the south of France to Carcasonne, an enormous castle in Gascony that was the base of few Tzimisce that operated in France. She'd linked up with them when she was in Nice on "vacation." They were repaying an old debt to her. Eveshka was worried that the Tzimisce would become a problem to her once the debt was fullfilled but she thought the advantages of calling in a favor vastly outweighed the risks.

[b:1cfb63fe8d][u:1cfb63fe8d]Switzerland[/u:1cfb63fe8d][/b:1cfb63fe8d]

[i:1cfb63fe8d]"Well this is er... nice. Hello everybody."[/i:1cfb63fe8d] Said M to the room in general. A shifted from foot to foot, nervously referring to his notebook from time to time.

The usual horseshoe conference table was occupied by the usual suspects. Francis in rapt fascination of the vision in front of him. George sat facing a long haired and ebony skinned kindred, touching his temples, whilst Stephen continued his discourse. Mr Barbie Doll was hiding under the table, muttering something about [i:1cfb63fe8d]"the danger of light from cracked mirrors."[/i:1cfb63fe8d]

[i:1cfb63fe8d]"From which clan did you say this Ataji descends?"[/i:1cfb63fe8d] Asked Francis.

[i:1cfb63fe8d]"No clan."[/i:1cfb63fe8d] Answered the ancient Kiasyd. [i:1cfb63fe8d]"Ataji claims descent from the Kinyoni legacy. A true childe of Caine as you can see and from his abilities I would imagine we can deduce the probable root of his lineage. In any event, I am sure his skills will be useful."[/i:1cfb63fe8d]

Francis nodded. [i:1cfb63fe8d]"And you would be the root cause of Georges instability."[/i:1cfb63fe8d] Concluded Francis addressing M directly.

M shook his head. [i:1cfb63fe8d]"Oh no, I would be the product of his instability, Francis. I must say, this is rather fun when one gets used to it. Don't be letting go of his head, George. I'm sure that I have some excellent input to provide to this august gathering."[/i:1cfb63fe8d]

Stephen gently shifted Tromador's hands, causing the illusions to vanish. Slowly, Ataji looked up, before speaking in a cultured voice with just a hint of an accent. [i:1cfb63fe8d]"Sir, your head is a minefield of souls screaming for attention. How you function at all is quite beyond my capacity."[/i:1cfb63fe8d]

[i:1cfb63fe8d]"Rule by committee."[/i:1cfb63fe8d] Replied George in a rueful voice.

[i:1cfb63fe8d]"The three... or however many you two plus George adds up to... and who else?"[/i:1cfb63fe8d] Asked Francis.

[i:1cfb63fe8d]"I think that should suffice for now. We can't have an overly large group of us ancients suddenly appearing from the woodwork, not unless we really need them."[/i:1cfb63fe8d]

[i:1cfb63fe8d]"Very well then. Good luck."[/i:1cfb63fe8d]

[b:1cfb63fe8d][u:1cfb63fe8d]Paris[/u:1cfb63fe8d][/b:1cfb63fe8d]

Three men get off an aeroplane just arrived from Geneva. Their travel documents, their faces and indeed the footage from airport security cameras all show the same thing. Three fairly generic caucasian businessmen in expensive suits. No strange Kiasyd features, no dark skin with impressive dreadlocks, no glowing green eyes. Nobody pays them any attention. They get on a train heading for Tours.

It was raining in Tours. Big drops of water splashed down into puddles upon the pavements driving all souls kindred and kine alike inside and out of the weather. All except the hunters, who prowled the night in search of their prey, hoping perhaps to find a young and foolish kindred, alone in her haven, easily destroyed.

Perhaps Eveshka hadn't noticed, too busy gallivanting, or perhaps it was just beginning of their attacks, but the hunters were making the difference. The gaggle of young Toreador was falling in size as Leopold made serious inroads into the local population. Still absent, visiting her Tzimisce contacts, it fell to others to deal with the problem.

[b:408fd36a7f][i:408fd36a7f]Click... click...[/i:408fd36a7f][/b:408fd36a7f]

[i:408fd36a7f]"You will find that your weapons aren't working correctly."[/i:408fd36a7f] Said Stephen mildly. [i:408fd36a7f]"For example, the firing pin has snapped on that uzi."[/i:408fd36a7f]

George concentrated. [i:408fd36a7f]"And your superior a... Ah yes, Father Jack, is abusing your children whilst you are here."[/i:408fd36a7f] He suggested.

[i:408fd36a7f]"And a herd of stampeding elephant is about to trample you to death."[/i:408fd36a7f] Concluded Ataji.

Whatever the hunters saw, must have seemed quite real to them as they started running. Two fell, bones snapping beneath the feet of "elephant". The third of the team escaped and left the area, presumably to have words with Father Jack.

[i:408fd36a7f]"Elephants?"[/i:408fd36a7f] Said Stephen and George in unison, looking at Ataji.

The African kindred shrugged. [i:408fd36a7f]"Sorry gentlemen. Force of habit."[/i:408fd36a7f]

Two Society members stalked up the side of Eveshka's Cathedral. They knew that a centuries old vampire was havened either in the place, or very near the place. These were two experienced operatives, they were not exactly elite so to speak, but they were not greenhorns either. George and his companions, real and imagined, watched from the darkness under cover of the blanket of the night and a more potent blanket of obfuscation. George sensed something from the other side of the square from them, but saw nothing. He raised his suspicions to his compatriots. They saw nothing either. Suddenly the two Society soldiers burst into flame that consumed their bodies within seconds. It was as if they had been vaporized. Another, very powerful, vampire was around. George's first thought was Eveshka, but this was not like her. It had to be someone else. Their operatives had not relayed any information about her leaving the Tzimisce stronghold.

[i:2ebda39252] Paris, Montmartre [/i:2ebda39252]

Veronique Fassard, the Toreador Primogen of Paris, rose as she normally did. Her eyes opened with that same misty magicalness that they had for the past 435 years. She summoned her attendants to work out the pooled blood from the underside of her body. Unlike other vampires her age, she had never learned how to will her blood to unpool and required manual assistance to do it. One of her attendants was a mortician and knew all about making the dead look, if not alive, at least not quite as dead as they normally would appear.

She dressed and moved out into her office area where the fledgling Torries were already gathering. The loss of Prince Renee had come as a shock to them. They had thought themselves untouchable here at the center of the universe. LAter that evening, Veronique would be meeting Ivy, her Whip to dicuss some issues. They'd be meeting at a rather posh and private club over in St. Germain.

Veronique walked out of her apartment and into the hallway accompanied by her entourage. Her security personnel had already swept the area and it was clear. She boarded the elevator with two younger ancillae. Suddenly, where there was nobody, there was somebody. In a nanosecond a shape appeared slashed destroyed the ancillae and diablerized Veronique. As the elevator reached the ground floor her lifeless and soulless body had been reduced to bits of bone and ash.

[i:2ebda39252] Paris, Le Quartier Latin [/i:2ebda39252]

At the same moment Veronique was meeting her destiny, Ivy was walking from her haven across from the Pantheon. The place was eerily deserted. It should usually have been filled with mortals, mostly students, flitting about, they seemed to be compelled to stay away for reasons they could not explain. She crossed the wide plaza that surrounded St. Etienne du Mont with two trusted Toreador in attendance. One of them accidentally bumped her and Ivy turned to face the clumsy ancilla. Her trusted Toreador companion seemed to melt into someone else. She watched in shock as her companion's hand turned into a blade made of bone and sank into her neck. Her other trusted Toreador companion seemed also to have turned into a horned monstrosity whose horns and tusks swirled about his body like some odd gardening tool. Ivy was shredded. As she was not that old, a scant 150 years, her bloody mangled body splattered the tiles of the plaza like ground beef for a bit before turning to ash.

[i:2ebda39252] Mont St. Michel [/i:2ebda39252]

As Ivy's once lovely countenance was turning into a gory chutney, Cabot, a rather hermitic Toreador elder, and Prince of the quiet Duchy of Normandy, climbed to his tower in the main Cathedral. He was to begin holding court there. When a cloaked guest arrived. There was something very old about this guest. There was also something very chilling about it. The odd thing was, none of his attendants and courtiers seemed to even notice the sinister shape moving right up the middle of the room, passing everyone. They all shuddered slightly as if a draft were passing through them, but they noticed nothing. Cabot cocked his head in confusion.

"What do you want?" he asked the shape. His Seneschal turned to him in confusion and asked, "My Lord?"

The cloaked shape stopped moving and seemed to disappear from view. Cabot strained all of his power into seeing the apparition. There it was, vaguely. HE got up and moved towards it. All eyes were on the Prince as he withdrew a rather menacing looking blade from a sheath. The shadowed shape began to back away and was then gone. He could not find it anywhere.

"Someone, or something, was here Georg," said Cabot. "I think the disturbances of the south have finally reached us here in Normandy."

[i:2ebda39252] Paris, the Louvre [/i:2ebda39252]

The Toreador High Council met. Reports were coming in from all over France and Western Europe. Many high ranking Toreador had fallen, including three Archons. The Council had decided to name Pandu as the interim ruler of each of the provinces until the emergency was over and new Princes could be secured.

The talk in provincial France was not at all happy. The northern Duchies and Fiefdoms allied behind Cabot against the will of the Council. The central provinces were already firmly allied behind Comtesse Eveshka, who still had not been seen in several months. The southern realms were erupting into chaos as Sabbat began crossing over from Spain. The Lasombra began setting up shop in Marseilles, Nice, and Bordeaux. The Toreador there sent for aid in Paris and Touraine. Touraine was more than happy to send assistance, as did Paris. Where the cyphers of Touraine and Normandy went, so came stability. Where the livery of Paris went, so followed even deeper chaos.

((don't dry up on me now! c'mon guys!

The Toreador High Council met in Paris. Pandu sat at the head of the table, as it were. All high ranking Toreador from across the globe were in attendance.

"Where is Lady Eveshka," asked Pandu to the group at large. He was met with silence. "All of our contacts are silent. For all of our power, influence, and knowledge, we cannot find one simple little vampire?" His voice had lost its fatherly tone and was now sharp and forbidding sounding. His eyes rested on Madame Guil and a group of her Archons.

"We have not found her anywhere, My Lord," she said. "There is no evidence that these killings that have occured are even her. There is also no evidence that she even exists any more."

"Meaning?" asked Pandu.

"None of our agents in Touraine, Aquitaine, Gascogne, or LAnguedoc have found her anywhere. There is no word of her from Orleanais, Blois, or Anjou either. She has just disappeared. Yet, Touraine remains a flourishing province. Her Daughters have infiltrated everywhere and coopted Sabbat and Camarilla cells alike."

"Meaning?" asked Pandu with narrowed eyes.

"Wherever her minions go.... she is worshipped." said the Toreador Justicar. "I don't know if it is corruption, brain washing, or sincere adoration, but her businesses are lucrative, her hegemony firm, and her people are happy."

This was met with silence.

"But they are not Toreador," stated Pandu simply.

"No," replied Madame Guil. "They are not Toreador."

"This is unbalancing everything. Am I the only one who sees this?" asked Pandu rhetorically.

"Madame Guil," said Pandu with an icy tone. "I am proclaiming a Blood Hunt on La Comtesse de Touraine and all of her Daughters. They are now a direct threat to the stability of Clan Toreador and the Camarilla as a whole."

Madame Guil merely nodded and watched Pandu stand up and leave the room, his long flowing robes billowing angrily behind him.

[i:90c5cfecfa] Tours, Grande Marche de Bordeaux-Vinci 22:00 [/i:90c5cfecfa]

A group of Daughters hung out in the narrow confines of the outdoor market listening to some street musicians playing Irish whistles, Uillean pipes, and Bodhrans. These musicians were quite good and the Daughters delighted in encouraging the Terpsichorean Muse in all manifestations. One of the Daughters, Eilean, a red haired daughter of Erin, was adept at step dancing and added her talents to the imprompu concert. A crowd of mortals had formed.

Off in the distance was a small gathering of Toreador who watched the group of Daughters quite attentively. They did not see what the problem with them was. They seemed to be model Toreadors. They seemed to be what Toreadors aspired to be. In short, they seemed to be BETTER than Toreadors. Was this why the Blood Hunt had been called? They thought it almost more of a crime to destroy such artists and rapturous beauties. Orders were orders though. Rumour had it that they came down from the highest of high echelons. They had to lure them away from the crowd of mortals. The tracks outside the Gare Vinci would be perfect. There was a bridge that was rarely used leading over them. That would be the ideal place. The Daughters seemed young, perhaps they could be encouraged somehow.

Across the plaza, sitting obfuscated on the retaining wall of the huge fountain were George and his crew. They were watching the Toreadors watch the fledgling Daughters frolic with their mortal admirers. One of the Toreadors was a ravishingly beautiful woman. M was having quite the time with her. This woman stepped out into plain view of the Daughters and got their attention. She then turned and walked away in a mysterious manner towards the train station. The Daughters spoke among themselves and seemed to get mischievious grins on their pretty faces. They followed after her. The Inconnu followed after them. Unknown to the Inconnu, someone was tailing them as well.

The Toreador beauty led them like sheep down along the wall next to the tracks and then onto the bridge. The bridge was over 100 yards long and totally enclosed in chainlinks and cement. Apart from ripping a hole in the chainlink sides, the only ways in and out were the entrances on either end. As the Daughters followed the Toreador onto the bridge, Toreadors closed in from either side. They did not have guns. They all carried edged weapons. These had more stopping power for the undead.

George and his associates watched from a distance. Suddenly, George turned and looked behind him. He felt a presence. It was Eveshka. She was out there somewhere. He could sense her, but could not see her. His attention was brought back to the bridge when his heightened senses heard the clash of steel on steel as the fight commenced. The red headed Eilean was cut down in seconds. George felt compelled to look behind him again. As his head began to turn he saw a black form move at inhuman speed, literally faster than a speeding bullet, towards the fight.

"Thus enters the errant Childe of Ishtar," said George. His associates grunted their agreement. They watched the black blur stop abruptly, saw two sword blades flash and then saw all of the Toreador ripped to shreds within seconds. They then saw something uncharacteristic of the Eveshka they had been tracking. She knelt down and picked up the remains of Eilean. With their heightened senses they could hear the surviving Daughters and Eve weeping. They strained their senses to listen in. It sounded as if Eve and the Daughters were planning something big to get even with the Toreadors. George looked away for a moment at something that caught his eye. Ataji muttered two words in quiet shock that brought George's attention back to his former lover. "Oh my."

Stephen something that was rather obvious but still quite disturbing. Instead of Eveshka carrying Eilean, the now deceased Toreador beauty was carrying her, but was wearing the clothing Eveshka had just been wearing. "It would seem our Comtesse has learned Flesh Crafting."

Eveshka looked at herself in the mirror. She had been standing there for hours. Every time she tried to change her face back to what it should have been, it fell short. Her crafted face looked EXACTLY like her natural face, just not to her. Indeed, someone who knew her intimately might be able to tell that there was something different about her but not enough to know what that something was. But Eve knew. Eve could tell. And she did not like it.

George and his coterie watched in silence as Eve, in the likeness of the Toreador beauty who'd killed Eilean, infiltrated the Camarilla safe house and shredded the occupants. She came strolling out looking like her old self... almost. It seemed that she could not actually craft her own face without the aid of a mirror. It was not until they had followed her home and George stood off in the corner watching her freak out in front of the mirror that they/he discovered that she could not return to her original unearthly beauty. Sure, she was beautiful still, but somehow not the same.

And so George watched. Eve was oblivious to his presence, so focused was she on her appearance. He watched as blood tears streamed down her face. He smirked as he saw her greatest weakness opened up wide before him.

[i:06b55f7db4]"Good. Now's our chance."[/i:06b55f7db4] Whispered M. [i:06b55f7db4]"Time for a little fun with dear sweet Eveshka."[/i:06b55f7db4] He rubbed his hands with glee at the prospect.

George looked to his compatriots. [i:06b55f7db4]"We imprison her now."[/i:06b55f7db4] He said calmly. [i:06b55f7db4]"I don't expect this to be pleasant for either of you, but you know it must be done."[/i:06b55f7db4]

Stephen looked at Ataji with distaste. Neither of them had any particular desire to participate in what was bound to be a quite unnecessarily unpleasant foray into the dark depths of Tromador's tortured mind, but nonetheless they had agreed to the plan. Eveshka was vulnerable now, as she might not be again for a long time. Information was needed, Eveshka would be judged.

Stephen closed his eyes and at his command the ground opened. Summoned by his Mytherceria a horde of goblins dug beneath her, opening a pit at supernatural speed. She tried to sidestep, but the heel came off one shoe, then the other and she fell. Deep into the bowels of the earth, the goblins digging beneath her, she finally hit bedrock with a shock that even her ancient body was unprepared for. As she passed into unconsciousness the ground closed above her, burying her in the dark.

Grimacing and steeling himself, Ataji put his hands to George's head, preparing to use his powerful chimerstry to project the images that the tainted Ventrue's insanity would create.

[i:06b55f7db4]"Welcome to my world."[/i:06b55f7db4] The voice of young man. The voice entering the darkness of Eveshka's consciousness.

That voice, thought Eve, I've heard it before. George... no... one of the delusions in his stupid malk ridden head. Well, if George was responsible for this, he'd soon regret it.

She opened her eyes. Darkness. Still. She tried to move. Restrained. She tried to spend blood. Impotent. Futile.

[i:06b55f7db4]"No, Eve, you are in my world."[/i:06b55f7db4] Said the voice. [i:06b55f7db4]"I make the rules here. See? Let there be light."[/i:06b55f7db4]

Eveshka blinked as a bright light shone into her face, receding slowly to reveal a room of shifting reality. No detail of decoration or furnishing was constant or recognizable. At once she was strapped to a Tremere dissection bench, chained by velvet handcuffs to a bed of satin sheets, tied with ropes face down upon a wooden block or otherwise constrained in a variety of inescapable ways.

[i:06b55f7db4]"They've given you to me."[/i:06b55f7db4] Said the voice, the voice of the young man who now appeared in her vision. [i:06b55f7db4]"I'm supposed to be finding out what you think you are doing. But first I am going to have a little fun. Indulge myself."[/i:06b55f7db4] M, for it was he, grinned an evil smile.

The image of the bed solidified, with M lying next to her. She could smell him, the stink of his eagerness, his animal desire. No matter which way she turned her head, his grinning face was close to hers, his breath in her nostrils, as she felt the satin sheet being slowly pulled away from her body. She felt his hand caressing her breast, the dark skin of her nipple separated from him by only the sheerest veneer of silk negligé. Against her thigh, she could feel his hardness pressing against her.

[i:06b55f7db4]"I heard you like it rough, bitch."[/i:06b55f7db4] Said M's grinning mouth, as he ripped away the shimmering garment, to reveal her nakedness. He drew back his upper lip to reveal two long fangs, barbed like a Giovanni. He kissed her once, gently on her throat, then traced a wet trail with his tongue to her nipple, caressing with his lips and tongue like a skilled lover, like George had once done, before plunging the dread fangs into her flesh.

[b:06b55f7db4]I... Will... Not... Scream...[/b:06b55f7db4] Was Eveshka's only thought as the pain lanced into her body, over and over until her chest was a bloody mess and M's face covered in her rich vitae.

M laughed. [i:06b55f7db4]"Mine all mine."[/i:06b55f7db4] he whispered, straddling her face, pinning her shoulders with his knees. She closed her eyes to shut out the vision of his cock, throbbing in anticipation of it's next repose. [i:06b55f7db4]"This will never fill you, eh? Fucking bucket cunt."[/i:06b55f7db4]

He forced her eyes open, to see. His penis was now grossly out of proportion to the size of his body. [i:06b55f7db4]"All for you, my sweet beloved."[/i:06b55f7db4] He whispered gently, before beating her about the head with his newly oversized manhood. [i:06b55f7db4]"Now I get mine."[/i:06b55f7db4]

She tore as M forced himself into her, a new pain to complement the agony already inflicted. Out and in and out and in and each time in with greater ferocity and renewed pain. The rhythm of M's lust faster and faster, ripping her womanhood deep within to accomodate his unnatural dimensions. Finally he withdrew, using the convulsions of his orgasm to jet evil smelling bloody semen into her face.

[i:06b55f7db4]"You just lay there for a while... lover."[/i:06b55f7db4] He said. [i:06b55f7db4]"I'll be back to ask you some questions soon."[/i:06b55f7db4]

---

In the earthern cave, in the real world beyond illusion, the disgust on the faces of Ataji and Stephen was clear. George himself sat silent, his face utterly emotionless, save for a blood tear rolling down his cheek.

Two hundred odd kms to the north east, a group of neoprene clad operatives had infiltrated the center of the Toreador universe, and perhaps the home of perhaps the greatest art collection on the planet; the Louvre. The slithered down marble pillars from the gilded cielings above and seemed to half run, half scutter along the floor close to the base of the wall. When they came upon laser beams they would merely run up the side of the wall and around it. Had anyone been around to witness this they would hae sworn that they moved much like the mummified guardians in the movie "The Mummy." But there was nobody around to witness it.

They made their way to the base of the Louvre, at the remains of the medieval donjon upon which was built the present day edifice. They followed one of the corridors to the left and down past the the Islamic art collection and into the Egyptian room. They gathered around one of the Sarcophagi. They set up plastic explosives and began to wire them in. The team began to make its way out letting the explosives handler do his.... or her, thing. He (or she) hooked the timer up and pressed start and it malefunctioned. A female voice shouted out in French, "RUN!!!" A second later the saboteur and the ancient sarcophagus exploded, as did lots of glass cases, priceless artifacts, and scores of other equally precious items.

Two floors above, the Toreador ranks flew into action. The dizzy newborns who subscribed to the pretty rocks and flashy colors school of Toreador thought ran about screeching and running into one another. The older ones grabbed weapons, body armor, and headed down. Within seconds they encountered the insurgents. Machine gun fire erupted and bullets ripped holes in irreplacable paintings. They smashed centuries old scultpures. The firefight went on for some minutes before the last of the insurgents was dispatched. They were all female. They were all beautiful. They all began to decompose immediately.

Pandu strode into the hall where the firefight took place. He shook with anger. "It has to be Eveshka. Damn her to Hell."

Hundreds of millions of Euros in art was destroyed that night. Madame Guil remained behind looking at the mess. Pandu had sent more assassins down to Touraine a few moments before. She shook her head as she watched him stalk away. This was not the Eve she knew. This was not her way. Although quick to anger, and lethal beyond compare, she had the sharpness of a rapier, not a land mine. This was too clumsy to be her work. It was made to look like her. She knew that. Pandu did not appear to. Madame Guil suspected that Pandu knew more than he let on. He knew Eve as well as she did. If it was as plain to her as it HAD to be to Pandu, what was he thinking and why?'