Kim-Christian's Vampire Chronicles

Yellow envelope adressed to Daniel Callahan

Remember and you might be welcomed
Amongst the heartless monsters you surround yourself with
Feeding off the pain and misfortune of others
A maniacal unit of festering parasites
Warped into a feeding frenzy at the smell of fresh blood

Open your eyes and see the creatures for what they are
A swirling mess of hatred and envy
Don’t be naive enough to think you’re unaffected
The conversion has already begun
End it now

Downtime notes
27 November - 27 december

Deveroux learns that Cormack and Bardock has lost control of Lodin. Rumors of Lodin’s “Death Squad” spreads to everyone bothering to socialize even a little with the vampire society.

Those visiting Elysium frequently learns of Brujah’s intentions to take the throne in Chicago when Lodin is inevitably dealt with. Critias is backing Erik in this endevour.
A beef between “new-age”-, headed by Tyler and conservative Brujah, led by Critias, breaks out.

Inyanga is passive towards the Ventrue conflict and the issues surrounding Lodin’s throne. Tyrus and The Wolf Pack gets unintentionally offended when Erik adresses a certain type of clan-bretheren. Tyrus is forced to respond with supporting the “new-age” crowd.

Annabelle is publically backing Critias.

The prince is in “limbo”. There are no longer any elders publically backing him anymore. Every neonate and ancilla dare not speak out; not even the harpies spins any controversial narratives. People are split between honoring the Camarilla tradition of loyalty to the prince and fear of their own continued existence.
Now EVERYONE knows that Lodin took power exactly this way around a hundred years ago.

Punching the troubles away


[[:samantha-sam-brooks |

Samantha “Sam” Brooks]]

Sam punched the concrete again, and sent little pieces flying through the air. In her mind the rage slowly rose to the surface. The event of the night stod painfully clear. The meeting at Critirius had not gone well. Not that Sam had expectet anything else. She knew she had offende the Brujah Elder, and she knew it was at stupid mistake the minute her hand had touch the glass with his blood. But Same just could not help it. Something about these old vampires that demanded her respekt, just because they were old, just pissed her off. Respekt was something you earned, not someting you just got handed to you with out effort. But she had stepped over the line. she knew that, and she did not like thinking about what would had happend if Quin had not been there.
“It is not personal” Quin had said. “He is punishing me through you.” Sam punched the concrete again. It is not personal. Well all this talk about it not being personal, was beginning to get a bit personal. But it was not Critirius that pissed her off the most. She kind of understood his motives. He could not just let some neonate punk back talk him like that. It was just the way the Kindred society worked. Same did not liked it, and she did not accept it, but she could understand it. No what pissed Sam off the most was Erik. The way he had spoken to her to night, told her she had atced up. How dared he! She offered him protection on her domain when he had asked her for it. She had even kind off forgiven him for breaking her arm at the Princes party. But for him to turn on them like that, to first help with the rescue of Al Capone, and then after all their trouble and hardship, to just chop off his head and waste all their effort. Christian had almost been killed! No she could not forgive Erik. He had done the one thing Sam could never forgive. He had betrayed her. She did not buy his excuse, that he had no choice, that he had been ordered by Critirius. You allways had a choice. Sam punched the concrete undtil she had punched through to the ground. You allways had a choice.

Yellow envelope adressed to Daniel Callahan

All changes, even those we long for the most, have their meloncholy; for what we leave behind us is part of ourselves; we must die in one existence before we can enter another.

Rise! or Embrace The Sun...
Wade picked this letter up on Daniel's behalf.

A letter for Daniel Callahan. It is hand-written and the penmanship is quite impressive. Very much a work of art in itself. Although the packaging is ordinary and innocuous. The envelope is unsealed.
My dear child

Inclosed is not what I am. It is however what I should believe. Alas I do and I do not. It is not the path I walked and probably one I will never be able to return to. Our soul is strangely malleable but its’ control and grasp on what lies within is brittle and always fragile. Last night I saw with my own eyes how the beast has a hold on you. You have to ride it or lash it into submission. There is no middle ground. If we try to change we run the risk of losing ourselves or perishing entirely. Furthermore – no one changes significantly on their own retaining their existence in this world. You are extremely fortunate to have someone caring for you – if that is the case. In my experience you only encounter such willingness when a mutual gain is somehow implied.

It is hard for me – seeing you again. Especially considering where you are right now. I have been there and it is truly the hardest part of changing. It cannot be accurately put into words. Least to say – it is so bad that I dare not go back there. I dare not change again and it is driving me mad. It is ironic that I know a truth I cannot embrace and you do not know the truth but are so desperate to embrace. Knowledge is unhealthy for our kind if we cannot act on it.

You are on the edge of the abyss. You are hanging on to what you are by a mere thread. Now – the big question, do you want to change? Because if you do; then you have to let go of that thread. By doing so you will not lose yourself but you as you were and are now – will become a memory; a fading one at that. It will be terribly hard to hang on to. If you do not want that; then you have to reel in that thread again. But be careful it does not snap when you least expect it.

Now, while I am still lucid. I should warn you. Do not seek me out. Unless you possess means to make the appropriate amends. Your insolence ended up costing both of us greatly. You have been terribly inconvenient. I am still puzzled over myself bothering with you in your wretched and pathetic state. Rise now or you might as well go embrace the sun and get it over with while you still have some semblance of control.


No Veiled Threats here – Part II
The Clown

No Veiled Threats here – Part II
The Clown

The storm continued its’ howling in the night. That suited Quinn just fine – it matched his state of mind perfectly. He glanced around at the various transmitters and antennae mounted on the roof of the Sears Tower. He knew this place was one of the nerve centers and an intrical part in broadcasting the iron grip the venture held on society through the media. The control, manipulation and propaganda was subtle he knew. It was a delicate and yet firm hand which in many ways ensured the integrity and preservation of the masquerade. In vampire society it was probably the most indirect measure of power but even so – probably the strongest bargaining chip on that table. The masquerade was official primary priority after all. In the end that was what held the torches and pitchforks at bay. Quinn was disgusted by the necessity. The warrior and the king inside of him wanted to crush that opposition and force it to stay in its’ proper place.

The winds had greatly picked up speed. The temperature must’ve dropped. Quinn’s beard was formed into tiny icicles. He’d been standing still frozen in thought and his jeans crunched as he turned around getting his bearings again. A proper blizzard was raging through Chicago now. Light flashed and the roof was briefly illuminated as brightly as a high noon. A thunderclap split the air in the same instant. Sparks flew as lightning rod of the tower absorbed and conducted the massive surge of electricity. This wasn’t natural Quinn thought. Well, it could be but he knew that tonight it wasn’t.
“Really… thundersnow… is that you, Khalid? Too cheesy to be anyone else!” Quinn addressed the air in an annoyed tone.
“How did you know?” Came the reply in a loud high pitched rasping voice which was clearly frustrated.
“I came up here to be alone. Now piss off!”
“No, you didn’t! That’s obvious. I-” Before the sentence was finished. In one motion Quinn blurred forward and shoved one hand forth with blinding speed. A startled “OUGHF!” sounded as something hideous landed on its’ ass on the marble tiles and slid a meter or so backwards.
“I’m in a bad mood right now; which means I’m not up for your games. What do you want?” The nosferatu rose with exaggerated care and very slowly. He was hooded and cloaked in pitch black rags which billowed violently in the wind. It looked like a roiling shadow rising up through the ceiling below. Only tiny shiny red dots were visible under the hood, his eyes.
“You know it’s ironic tha-“ Khalid was interrupted once again before he could finish. Quinn stomped one foot down and as the marble tile cracked it sounded eerily like thunder.
“ENOUGH! I asked you what you wanted. Undeath is inherently ironic I don’t need you to elaborate on it.” Again with the irony Quinn thought. What was going on? “I swear by the gods…” His voice trailed off as if the passion suddenly left him. He shook his head. Khalid’s reply was like a scalpel of ice running along Quinn’s spine, the nosferatu’s voice like breaking glass and the sweetest honey all at the same time.
“Yes Angel – what will you do?” He asked too calm and all too smug. The truth was that Quinn knew next to nothing about the older vampire. As far as he knew no one did – but that would be an ironic assumption considering the previous events of the night he thought. Someone always knew. Khalid seemed satisfied with letting the silence stretch and the tension build. No, Quinn knew that Khalid had probably attained more secrets than the average camarilla prince would over the course of a millennia. The blizzard still whirled around them. Quinn was about to turn around and leave when the cloaked figure finally spoke.
“How are the kids?” Khalid asked in a mild tone.
“Sam’s coterie? I very much doubt you don’t know all too well, Khalid. You’ve shown your interest I hear. Which means you know how they are.” Quinn said. A dark grey hand slid out from under the cloaked figure the skin looked like old scabs. Blood shone in a gash running from the back of the hand up under the cloth. The fingers were tipped with long black nails pointy, sharp and slightly curved.
“What I meant was – what do you think about them?” Khalid pointed at Quinn.
“They are getting on my nerves…” Then Quinn pointed at Khalid. “Not unlike you are right now. Get to the point!”
“I want to share some information with you.”
“I doubt that. You don’t share anything. That I do know; and since I don’t have anything you want, that means that you are of absolutely no use to me.”
“Oh, but you do. The kids are under your wing. They are in your debt, Mr. Quinntero. That is what you have. The kids are of interest to me.”
“There seems to be a lot of that going around lately. What are they to you?” Quinn walked with purposeful steps toward the Khalid; just to see what would happen. It might’ve been a trick of his mind but Quinn thought he felt the tiniest hesitation some flicker of uncertainty in that hideous creature. Quinn halted his approach. His intuition told him that the old nosferatu survived on his secrecy and the information he held. He probably had a dirty secret on everyone. There were certainly plenty in Quinn’s past to collect but he hadn’t dangled any – yet. This guy was an enigma to most – which part was sincere and which the feint?
“They survived Antioch. To me they seem to be quite resourceful.” Said Khalid.
“Antioch hasn’t killed a single vampire yet, since he was freed.”
“That’s right.”
“-And that is the reason. You’re interested in them because Antioch is.” Quinn said.
“Precisely. I want to bring him in you see…”
“Right – of course you do.” Quinn rolled his eyes at him. “Go and talk to them then; don’t need me for that.”
“Wrong, Mr. Quinntero. I want you to collect the debt they owe you – on my behalf. That’d leave me in yours…”

No Veiled Threats here - Part I
The Politician

No Veiled Threats – Part I
The Politician

Quinn landed on the roof of the Sears Tower skyscraper in Chicago, the tallest building in the city. Freezing rain and sleet blew at him in a powerful gale. Barely a prickle on his naked skin, the vampire felt no discomfort despite his white tank top and worn jeans being soaking wet. Like this, a mortal would freeze to death in a few minutes. The wind roared and howled in a furious pitch as it slid through and along the stone and steel of the angular architecture. This night the visibility was next to nothing through the heavy downpour and roiling low hanging clouds. Even Quinn’s supernatural senses were of limited use in the storm. He liked being up here alone with his thoughts. It was at the same time a silent mockery and protest to the unofficial Ventrue establishment which resided on the top floors below his feet, Wilson Brokerage & Insurance the front for it. Quinn strolled along on the slick and slippery marble tiles staring at the impenetrable weather and pondering the previous events of the night.

“Mr. Quinntero, I do not want to tell you how to do your job. Our blood is involved in this mess. Someone is being disingenuous.” Critias said this to Quinn in the same one would use with a slow child. Quinn raised an eyebrow in obvious skepticism. The Brujah representative of the primogen had been hounding him about his shortcomings for the past ten minutes or so. He knew the ancient vampire expected and wanted a debate. Quinn wouldn’t win of course, which was the whole point.
“Sir, please tell me you’re not serious…” Quinn gestured with both hands indicating all of his surroundings. The two of them were standing on the roof of a parking structure on the edge of Quinn’s domain. “All of our kind are disingenuous. Honest vampire in an inherent contradiction.” It was Critias’ turn to smile this time.
“It really is – is it not” Critias turned and walked to the railing of the six storey building peering at the skyline of downtown Chicago, The Loop. A long minute went by in silence. Finally Quinn walked up next to the older vampire. “Mr. Quinntero, it is ironic – in my mortal days I considered this ‘persona’…”. Critias gestured a hand up and down at the gangster. “…to be the embodiment of civilized decline.” The elder vampire’s voice was suddenly cold; as if conveying some ancient hatred along with the words.
“That’s harsh – coming from a politician.” Quinn replied. He didn’t seem fazed by the swing in the mood.
“Please – that word is not applicable to people in office today. It has been perverted beyond recognizing. They are bureaucrats – nothing more.” Critias turned to look up at the much larger man. The two were in a lot of ways a study in contrasts. Critias short, slender and quite pale with a well-trimmed white beard. He wore a black tailored two thousand dollar suit with a silk tie the color of blood. Quinn stood a head taller. He had the build and posture of a warrior, bronze skin and several scars of battle visible on his bare arms. He probably outweighed the shorter man by fifty kilos. Both were striking figures and imposing in their own ways. “The turn of the thirteenth century lord of Culhuacan was not a politician I am sure. The great Kukulkan was a king, a ruler and a leader. That name survived the disappearance of the Mayans. I wonder how you ended up with that name so many centuries later?” Quinn couldn’t hide his reaction of surprise – he took an involuntary step back from the older vampire.
“No one knows that anymore.” Quinn replied uncertainty obvious in his voice. Critias shook his head and Quinn knew the debate was over now and he was being thrown off balance to pave way for the real reason of Critias’ precence.
“Do not be naive, Mr. Quinntero. Your ‘generation’ does not express interest in history. Of course it is known.” In reality Quinn was torn between the traditionalists and the new era. He couldn’t find comfort with either mindset. So he was really lost in the middle and in many ways didn’t know which foot to stand on.
“But you’ve never brought it up before – why now?” Quinn asked. Critias turned his attention to the view of the city once again. A mass of blinking red and blue lights, speared by the cone of a helicopter search light were racing along horizontally on the streets a couple of kilometers ahead.
“Well, there are several reasons. First – I wanted to give my condolences about your daughter; from your life that is. A terrible tragedy – my sympathies. We bear the spiritual scars of mortality forever I am afraid. Your youngest progeny – they are much alike, yes?” Critias didn’t look Quinn’s way as he spoke but Quinn could tell that there was genuine compassion in the words. He felt a slight tremble beginning at his core; some distant echo of a physical human emotional response. Quinn steeled his resolve immediately and suddenly became still like a statue. A single tear of blood ran down his cheek.
“El mismo espíritu.” He whispered.
“Of the same spirit, I see. In many ways I feel the same way about my progeny.” Critias looked at Quinn with the slightest hint of a smile. Then he pointed at the police approaching Quinn’s domain. “You have company, Mr. Quinntero. We will talk another night.” Quinn’s phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He knew what it was about. It was not important right now. He reluctantly tore his sight from the heat approaching his domain. A growl bubbled forth in his throat which should have no place there. It was too deep and could be felt as much as heard.
“What do you want with Sam?”
“Nothing sinister – I assure you…” Steel entered Critias’ voice. “…and don’t bristle at me.” He pointed at the police in the distance. “Now, go and vent your frustrations somewhere else before you do something we both will regret!” –And with those words the ancient vampire turned on his heels and stalked in the opposite direction. A sudden hard northern wind came in from Lake Michigan as if in answer to the boiling anger in the air. Quinn vaulted the railing in blinding speed. Now a massive panther, black as midnight raced with supernatural speed and grace along the rooftops of Gary. As it ran the winds picked up and the sleet and rain flew.

Clint's witnessing his reality torn asunder...

Clint floored the clutch and break as he pulled to the curb. He had the largest knot in the pit of his stomach and it was punching its’ way up his throat. His vision was starting to narrow into a tunnel. He turned the ignition key and threw open the car door and stepped onto the sidewalk relying heavily on his hands to support his balance. The car rolled slowly down the slightly inclining street. He must’ve left it in neutral and forgotten the parking break. Sam had stepped into the street from the passenger street; she absently placed a hand within the door frame preventing the car from rolling any further. It didn’t look like any effort was expended – two tons of steel was simply held in place. She didn’t even lean into the car. Clint shook his head. This was not the first unreal display of strength he’d seen from her; but it was the reason why the nausea was coming on. She was a fucking vampire.

Every time Clint witnessed the evidence it was like witnessing a tear in the fabric of reality. She’d put his hand on her chest through the v-line on her tanktop. Her skin was so cold – freezing. Even near the armpit where he’d expected some warmth at least. There was none. -And her skin was too smooth; like frozen silk. People have the tiniest oily moisture perforated to the surface. Something one wouldn’t have noticed until touching the bare skin of a freakin’ vampire. Worse still was the absence of a pulse – a heartbeat. Marrow-deep fear had shot through his body at the realization; rattling every cell of his being. He’d barely managed to not run away in terror. That was the second time he’d felt it. The first time Clint had broken down the door to Sam’s private room in the basement of the youth house when gangsters had pulled up and riddled the house with bullets. Sam had not reacted as he called for her through the thick door and it wouldn’t budge at an acceptable rate as he tried kicking it in. Clint had then gone to get the fireaxe from the trunk of his car and proceeded to hack off the door’s hinges. He’d found Sam inside the little room lying on a thin cot on floor.

“Sam, wake up!” There’d been the faintest hint of dread in Clint’s voice even before he realized she was dead. It was as if he’d “sensed” it as the desperation to reach her had set in. Clint kneeled next to the still form, shaking her shoulder gently, trying to rouse the young woman. When there was no response he laid his ear to her chest and witnessed the absence of a heartbeat for the first time. The sinking feeling in the pit of Clint’s stomach suddenly dropped like a rock and he was overwhelmed with despair. He had not exactly loved her but he’d crushed hard enough to fill his thoughts with her for the past week or so. There’d been a glimmer of hope awakened and it was all the more painful now that it was suddenly snuffed out. Things had been extremely dark and very superficial for way too long. Something about Sam had made him feel something real for a change. A handful of minutes must’ve passed before he came back to his senses again and the pale girl was blurry in his vision as he stood up and gave her one last look.

“You’ll have to drive…” Clint said as he stood on the curb with his hands on his knees supporting his balance. He felt like throwing up. “I need moment here.” He staggered to open the trunk of the voluminous Dodge Charger, pulled aside a grey thermo blankett, reached in next to the spare tire and pulled out trusty Jameson. He needed a drink if a trace of sanity was to survive the night. Clint gulped down several mouthfuls from the green bottle. It burned going down but he didn’t have the mental capacity to bother wincing. The glass bottle rattled on the steel of the car as he put down the bottle. Clint looked down at this hands and then he noticed he was shaking, violently – all over his body. He took one last swig of the bottle, put it pack in the trunk, locked it and tossed Sam the keys. “I wont be operating any more heavy machinery for a while!”

Confrontaion With The Unholy Menace
Mike's last moments.

”Dear lord – forgive me for failing you. I’ve asked you countless times before. Please. I don’t know what came over me. What caused me to refuse your grace when the hour was at its’ most dire. Now I’ve exposed to the darkness what I swore and dedicated my life to keep in the light.” The knight’s steady prayer was interrupted.
“The time for prayer is over. Knight.” Said a smooth and silky male voice. The knight grabbed onto his cane and the rail of the prayer bench he was kneeling at. He grunted with effort as he rose to face the evil in god’s house and addressed the abomination with calm. He now knew his time was up.
“Father Milton took his own life earlier this day. He was a devout catholic. I guess I now know why he found that inclination so overwhelming within himself – to condemn his own soul to eternity in hell. Now that you’re free again it might be worse here.” The knight’s tone was polite.
“You’re wrong. First – I’m not that bad. Second – he was simply weak of will. Hence the reason why he was so vulnerable even open to my influence in the first place.” Replied the abomination. It stepped out of the shadows of the dimly lit chapel. It could only loosely be described as human. An athletic young white male with aquamarine blue eyes that glinted like the gemstone itself. Two orbs of glowing emerald green shone in his forehead proclaimed the presence of the outsider. Anitoch. Within its’ host Friedrich Vogler. The bones of the young body protruded nearly everywhere as a suit of exoskeletal armor. Spikes from the forearm at the elbows and each vertebra along the spine which continued through the tailbone into a scalpel sharp tail of vertebra-joints ending in a tip. Twin pincers rose above his head like a scorpion with two tails – their three joints twitched erratically with random nerve impulses. Much like an insect. Bare bone-clawed feet echoed clicks and scrapes from the marble-cobbled floor of the church as the bone dancer slowly encroached on the holy man.

“I suppose this is my final night in this world?” Asked the knight. His tone stated fact rather than asking a question. He cast a quick glance at the great mosaic illuminated by the moon and stars of the night. Genuine sadness touched Vogler’s features before he replied. Some distant echo of humanity won through.
“Yes – regrettably. I will take no pleasure in it.” Said Vogler. The lights suddenly dimmed. The glow of the emerald-green eyes of Antioch intensified and the chapel interior took on a feint sheen of green for just a moment.
“Oh? But I will! Great pleasure indeed.” A deep rumbling voice emitted from somewhere within Vogler. His lips didn’t move. Just as suddenly the lights returned to normal. Vogler had a look of great annoyance on his face.
“That one took it’s grudge on your people more to heart than I. My own motivation for murdering you is merely of necessity. A path I needed in order to keep…” Vogler pointed a clawed index-finger to his temple. “…Mental accommodations to my benefits…” He gestured around with both hands. “…-And keep his endless blood thirst from eating up your kind.” The knight’s features took on clear skepticism.
“Wauw… that’s mighty big of you.” The knight said his words dripping with sarcasm.

Suddenly Vogler blurred flashing forward too quickly for the naked eye to see. The knight felt a sudden palm-sized impact of pressure and pain on his chest. He heard his ribcage snap in several places before he was sent flying – up and over the altar. His backside crashed directly in into Jesus mahogany Christ on the cross. Before one second had passed the bone devil was face to face with the knight again glowing eyes of frost locked with the knight’s where the corneas had filled with blood from the sudden pressure. His body contorted and then exploded in a cough spraying blood fourth in a mist – splattering lips and cheeks of his assailant. Vogler shoved the helpless knight up against the chest of Christ with one hand in a vice around his throat. The devil’s black tongue slithered out to taste the blood and he quivered with excitement. Bony pincers descended. One rested on Christ’s collarbone and the other caressed his waist. The knight was carefully lifted away one-handed. Choking sounds barely escaped the man’s throat. In one swift scissor-motion god’s son was reduced to a pile of splinters on the church floor. By now panic had taken hold of the knight – he was flailing uselessly his feet scuffing on the floor and arms wrenching at forearms hardened to rock. He was hauled back onto the cross again. Bone pincers descended once again. One was carefully being pressed through the knight’s shoulder with surgical prescision. Bone and grissle cracked and popped in the joint where arm met shoulder-socket. As the pincer bit into the wood of the cross the knight’s neck was released. Mike screamed. A cracking wail of agony pierced the air that would send jolts of terror running up the spine and brainstem of anything living who heard it.

“You shouldn’t mock me sir knight. I will indulge Antioch and he’d prefer this goodbye lasted the night out.” Vogler said it calmly his tone oddly in contention with the violent outburst. The knight’s head sagged limply. Bloody saliva dripped to the floor. Vogler grabbed a handful of the Mike’s dark hair lifting his face to meet his own and giving him a backhanded slap.
“Are you still here sir?” Vogler asked slight mockery in the last word. The pincer twisted a couple of degrees – wood creaking. A hiss of pain escaped the man and he began trembling violently and struggling to force words out.
“If you have that kind of control why do you indulge him at all? If any part of you wishes better for the world. You seemed to suggest that before. Was that just pretending or are you simply fooling yourself?” Breathing was obviously very painful for the man much less talking. That didn’t keep the slightest hint of a smile off his face though. Vogler started pulling his left upper arm bone through where it had dislocated the socket, split the skin protruding the shoulder. He did it in one slow and fluent motion.
“I left humanity behind. I don’t wish one thing or the other for you. The path I’m on now allows control of the two beasts now residing within…” Vogler said. Sighing and shivering slightly clearly in pleasure. “…But. It also dictates that I must now take my vengeance.” Now holding a blade of pointy bone in his right hand he whirled it around a few times and spun it between fingers checking its’ balance as he continued. “The priest told me about you. A truly righteous man – with a family…” Panic entered Mike’s features but Vogler held up a hand in a placating gesture. “…Don’t worry. I won’t touch them. Michael.” There was actual compassion in those last words. The lights dimmed again and Antioch broke in.
“Oh. But I will!” Vogler smiled mockingly as he replied the to outsider in a barely audible whisper.
“You won’t. Stop posturing.” Vogler rested the blade on the knight’s collar bone as he’d done on Christ. Right next to the external carotid artery. “Our talk is cut short it seems.” He mumbled and turned his head. “It seems we have guests. Brothers and sisters of mine.”
“Realease him fiend!” Shouted one of the new arrivals. A hooded figure. He was holding Lux in tenebris.

From Ashes to fire

Location: A back alley nearby Daniel’s apartment
Time: Shortly after encounter with Sabbat at Oblivion

The hunger gnaws at my very core…I need blood, and soon. The Beast will not be kept at bay for long.

There is shouting and yelling as a couple is fighting outside a tavern, and as the man goes inside the girl is storming off. She is quite young…reminds me of my sister, and yet I stalk and grab her, the first chance I get. The small voice of guilt fades as I sink me teeth into her bared neck and the blood starts trickling, sweet, warm and satisfying.

I wrest my self free, and the Beast is sated for now, althoug still the Hunger burns. She is still alive – confused but alive and earlier anger forgotten.
I leave as she stumbles homeward, her feet slightly unsure and I wonder if I would have fed on her if she truly had been my sister. I hope not.
“Sure you would have”, Lara’s voice echoes in my head “…’cause you are a monster”, she laughs.
Maybe I am.

The pain from my wounds takes hold once again, as the euforia of feeding fades, and the memories of our earlier encounter with the Sabbat comes forth.
The woman in the pitch black? Is she truly a demon? If yes, am I an angel for standing against her? No, I cannot be both angel and monster,…I don’t know.
Consciously, I know that she isn’t truly demonic. Lasombra more likely, but it any wonder many believe it to be semantics.

I do know that I was afraid, very afraid. She hurt me. I had almost forgotten what that’s like. I haven’t been hurt physically since…Phoenix. Not since my Creation at the hands of my Sire have I felt such pain, or fear.

I grab my neck. It is still a gaping wound, unable to mend it. I will need more blood to heal it during the day, so I continue my hunt.

A few hours later….
I haven’t found any prey. The streets seem filled or deserted, never at that crucial capacity. In a desperate attempt I try and rouse a homeless woman, but she is so despaired that she is of no use to me and I’m caught off guard as other homeless persons rush me and I trip and fall amongst the garbage containers.
When I dig myself out all are gone except one.
I crawl out, disheartened, full of doubt, self-pity and look up, into a pair of blazing emerald eyes, and a fiery mane of wild hair…Phoenix.

My salvation, one way or the other, and relief takes hold as I let her lead me into the night.


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