What it does concern is four of her subjects, members of the Camarilla, and from different clans all. The first, he found himself wandering through the woods beneath the moonlight. A low fog had settled against the ground, wafting about his ankles. His eyes, a solid gray, peered about into the void around him. There was no sign of movement or attack, but he had long since learned to remain ever vigilant.
"Have you found it?"
He gazed around the copse, finding nothing. Just the wind blowing through the trees, and the fog pooling around his feet.
"You have to quiet your mind."
He thought that he had spent the better part of the last half hour trying that, but was beside the point it would seem. Nevertheless, he did attempt to push the wayward thoughts from his mind, and focus on finding it. If he even could. Like his previous two attempts, he believed that this one was likely due for the very same failure.
"Have you found it?"
"No, I-" He stopped, mid-sentence, as he caught motion in his peripheral vision. Turning to his left, his eyes fell upon a lumbering, powerful form of a wolf. Wolves the likes of which he had seen many of in the wilds. "Yes." It moved forward toward him, cautiously. It had its eyes, its solid gray eyes so eerily similar to his own, staring right back at him. One facing the other, both tensed for reaction that did not yet need to be taken in response to action that had not yet happened. But which would move first against the other?
"Speak to it."
"...what?" He asked, watching as the wolf tilted its head as if confused, and then sat down on its hind legs before him. Waiting.
"Speak to it."
"I don't understand."
"Do not use words. Use the language that it would understand."
He thought the entire thing was madness, but he had come this far and would not turn back now. He let his instinct guide him, an instinct that had slowly begun to develop in the years he had trained for this. His hand extended out to it, his palm toward the fog-covered ground.
"Good, yes."
He stroked the creature's fur behind its neck, and it whimpered passively, but did nothing more. All the time, its eyes stared at him, never blinking, never once looking away. He took this to be a good sign, a sort of connection between himself and the creature having been established. The stepping stones to something more...and then the creature reared up and sank its fangs into his neck. He howled out as his hand was worn away at the wrist, blood spewing out onto the forest floor. His knees buckled, and he was unprepared as the wolf spat his hand free from its maw and leaped upon him, his fangs sinking into his neck....
"Benjamin! Benjamin! BENJAMIN!"
The wolf, the forest, and the blood faded. But the pain, it remained, if only as an echo for a brief moment after. His chest had tightened, the surefire sign of a Frenzy about to burst free. "It's alright, it's alright, relax. Relax." He felt Nathaniel's hands at his arms, a soothing energy passing into his body. The tightness in his chest lessened, and then slowly faded away. A mortal who had been through such trauma would either be dead or in the throes of shock, but Kindred did not breathe and he Ben merely shook.
"I'm...I'm fine." Ben said, waving the man off. "I'm fine, thanks." The older man, in more ways than one, nodded and pulled away. After a moment, Ben rose to his feet. "So...that was the Beast? I thought it'd be more...more..."
"It wasn't your Beast." Nathaniel told him. Ben blinked, starting at the gray-haired Gangrel. He must have looked crestfallen, because Nathaniel then elaborated. "It was a fragment of it. Don't get discouraged, you fared much better than some Kindred I've tried to train. Many have trained for decades and have not done so well in their first attempt." He walked over to where he had had a large, purple crystal on a string hanging from a hook.
"I don't understand...I thought it was some form of hypnosis?" Ben asked as he watched Nathaniel take the crystal off of its hook, putting it away in his pocket.
"It was." Nathaniel said. "Old meditation tricks to connect you to your Beast...essentially a controlled form of Frenzy. Until...well, you saw what happened." He shrugged. "I do think, however, that we've come far enough tonight."
"I could try again." Ben said, straightening himself out, but Nathaniel merely shook his head.
"No. You should go out. Feed. Mingle among the Kine for a bit, if you can." Nathaniel said, the last part rather pointedly. "Staying tucked away in the loft here isn't going to help you, you know."
"...yes, Elder." Ben said, the last word emphasized by his irritation. It was the only time he referred to Nathaniel as such. The older Gangrel, taking it in stride, merely ushered for him to leave. Ben did so without further incident, pulling the hood of his hoodie over his head as he left Nathaniel's study and moving out through the front door of the structure, into the wooded area around it. The wooded area that was, right now, drenched with a mist that wafted about his ankles.
He wandered out, eventually settling upon a jogger who had taken it upon himself to stray a bit off the beaten path. The man did not see him coming, just as Ben had intended. By the time he had popped back into the view of the man's eye, it was too late...and he was facing the other way. Fangs sank into flesh, and he drank. The Kiss stalled the man in its ecstasy and, by the time Ben finished, he was gone again. At least, to the man's eye. In truth, Ben stood not five feet from where he'd been standing before, watching the man look around in confusion and touching the spot where fangs had sunk to find only unblemished flesh.
He ran off. A moment later, Ben turned to do the same when he was taken by surprise. It was not a predator of the Kindred, but a voice upon the wind. Just loud enough that he could make out its words, but so soft that he doubted it could have been heard otherwise.
"You are summoned to the University. The Primogen of Clan Tremere has need of you. Tonight, swiftly as you are able, at the Liberal Arts building, bottom floor. The delivery dock will be open for you. You are expected."
Looking around, he could find no clear source of the voice. Nor had he expected there to be, once the Tremere had been mentioned. There was nothing for it, he knew only too well. Refusing a summons from a primogen - even of the Tremere - was considered bad form. While most of his efforts had gone into avoiding them over the past twenty-two years, he had done his best not to cross them. Now, he would play the Jyhad just like every other member of the Camarilla...whether they wanted to or not...
Elsewhere in Seattle, there was a club. The Moon and Stars, a lounge of some size. On most nights, it hosted talents ranging from the best to - to be frank - the worst that Seattle had to offer in terms of singing. Tonight, its owner was all too happy to say that the talent was very much in the former category. Issac Carroway sat back and watched with apt attention after he'd taken a long, long drink from one of his willing blood dolls.
"I've got yooooooou
under my skin!"
He watched as she stood there. Her dress black, stopping just above her knee. Her lips painted red as they parted, unleashing her voice upon the microphone.
"I've got yooooou
deep in the heart of me!"
There was a magic to her voice, one that the Toreador could not adequately describe. She was Grace Penderghast, and she was a star. This was her limelight, and she thrived in it. He would have been lying if he said he didn't feel blessed to just get to listen to her. Her gloved hand took the microphone into its grasp as she continued to croon, her voice acting upon the crowd like a Siren of old, drawing sailors to their deaths. Isaac wasn't surprised, given the girl's blood. Few could resist the vocal wiles of a singer such as she. More so when given the gifts afforded to the Kindred.
As with every song, alas, the ending came. It was too soon to see a thing so sweet pass. It was always a great sorrow when Grace left his stage.
"Thank you, thank you! Come up and see me some time!" She said, giving her best Mae West and then a playful laugh as she set the microphone back in its stand to the applause of the crowd. Isaac rose, moving toward the side of the stage as she descended. Grace gave a warm smile as she extended her hand, and he took it, leaning in to kiss the back of it.
"You were spectacular." Issac told her as he pulled back.
"I was, wasn't I?" Grace's smile became a knowing smirk.
"I was wondering if you might be able to sta-" Issac started, but she cut him off with a raised hand.
"Oh, I would Isaac, darling." Grace said. "But I have a prior engagement." His heart sank, along with his face. Yet, it rose again with the touch of a glove against his chin, bringing his eyes to look up at hers. "Raincheck?"
"Absolutely." Isaac said, a smile on his lips again as Grace turned and left him there, heading to the door where one of her ghouls - Mortimer, if he wasn't mistaken - was waiting for her with her coat...and a menacing glare at anyone who ventured too close to his mistress. It was that very same glare and imposing frame that guarded Grace on the way to her towncar, where her other ghoul - Martin - sat with the engine idling. Mortimer helped her into the car before moving to take his place in the front passenger seat beside Martin. Grace did, after all, relish her privacy when she could get it.
It was a privacy that would be breached this night, however. The car pulled away from the curb and journeyed into the night. Grace, being of the Kindred, did not feel as strongly the extreme heat and cold that regular humans did. That being said, she could already see the breath of both Mortimer and Martin fogging the windshield. If that were not enough, the backseat windows were also beginning to fog over as the temperature dropped further. Grace was about to say something to her manservants when her eyes bugged out at the sight of the back of Mortimer's seat.
It had distended, stretching out and a force seemingly from within it protruding. Grace opened her mouth to issue a scream, but stopped before the sound had left. What looked to be the head, torso, and arms of a human being pulled itself from within the seat, the leather stretched across it like some sort of suede skin. It's mouth - at least, Grace assumed it was a mouth - opened and began to speak.
"Grace Penderghast. Your presence is requested for a private consultation. This is a paid appearance. Please present yourself at the Delivery Dock of the Liberal Arts building at the University tonight at your earliest convenience. Primogen Brook will have you met."
"Sorry 'bout that, should be warm in a jiff." Mortimer said finally, reaching for and activating the heater on the dashboard. It seemed that neither he nor Martin was any the wiser for what had just happened. The temperature began to rise again, and Grace had to admit that she was intrigued. Lilah Brook, the Tremere Primogen, wanted to see her. The songstress had the strong feeling, however, that her appearance was not going to be for her singing. More's the pity. Nevertheless, it was the Jyhad. A role to play, power to gain if she were smart.
And that, she was.
"Mortimer. Call over to the Opera House." Grace ordered. She was pained to have to decline the invitation she had been given, but the call of a Primogen took precedence over the whims of the Kine. "Tell them that I regretfully must decline for the evening. I have taken ill."
"...yes, ma'am." Mortimer said, taking his cell phone from the pocket of his suit jacket and making the call.
"Martin," She turned her attention to her driver, "Take us to the Washington University campus. The Liberal Arts building, specifically."
"...ma'am?" Martin asked, looking back into the rear view mirror at her.
"I did not stutter Martin, now did I?" Grace asked him, her eyes pointedly fixed upon his own. Martin's eyes bugged out and he quickly averted his gaze, remembering his station.
"Of course not, ma'am. Washington University, Liberal Arts Building." Martin said, a hand on the steering wheel as the other programmed the new destination into the GPS.
"Good boy." Grace said with that same, knowing smirk, settling back into her seat for the trip.
Elsewhere still, far from the bright lights and mirthful feeling of The Moon and Stars, was the Tremere Chantry. Situated in the Washington University campus, it was an ideal hiding spot - hiding in plain sight among the echelons of higher education. Within, the apprentices were much similar to the students who trafficked about outside in both the day and the night. But here, within the Chantry, greater discoveries were being made every night. Even the most minute of them outweighed even the grandest of those of the Kine...or so most who lived in the Chantry would have you believe.
As inscrutable as the Tremere were, they were able to keep up a front. At the moment, Anthony Wallace was putting the need for that front out of his mind. It was a distraction, one he did not need even now. His pen scratched against the paper as he wrote down his notations on Thaumaturgical theorems, having developed what he had hoped would be the beginnings of a new ritual. His own reserves of vitae were not going to be sufficient for it, but that was a problem to be solved after he'd worked out the full formula.
In his small cubicle, he was alone up until a tiny creature stomped its way up to where he stood overlooking his worktable. The neonate did not look at it, but he knew what it was: a golem. A golem that bore the symbol of Lilah Brook, the woman who was both Primogen and Regent of the Chantry. He knew it stood there, and he knew what it meant - she wanted to meet him in her Glass Office. The last time he had been there, it had been after that rather dramatic battle. Something else to put from his mind. No, enemies of the Tremere were not something he had any wish to muse on, at least at the moment.
Nevertheless, the golem waited, as patient as the stones it had been crafted so lovingly from and enchanted with the highest expertise of blood sorcery. Primogen Brook would not be denied. Finishing up his formulas and practicing proper procedure in locking down the work station (as the golem literally pointed to remind him) when he left, Anthony took his light jacket from the coat rack and slipped it on as he followed the golem down to the Glass Office that he might answer the summons.
"You called for me, my Regent?" Anthony gave a respectful bow as he entered the Office proper. His voice was utterly monotone, completely devoid of any emotion whatsoever, as he regarded the woman sitting behind the desk. A waifish woman who appeared as though she had been somewhere in her late twenties, or at the very latest her early thirties when she was given the Embrace. Dressed in a dark red button-down shirt and black pants, she rose as he spoke, her black eyes fixed upon him from behind her horn-rimmed glasses.
"Apprentice, I have a task for you. Accompany me." She ordered immediately, leading him from the room. Anthony went without the slightest issue. When he did not speak for several seconds. "I have a task for you, others will be arriving shortly, and I do not wish to repeat my instructions. Serve me well in this, and I shall speak to Apprentice Horace about seeing to your tests for the next Circle." Anthony could not deny, he was very much intrigued by Brook's words. An ascension to the next Circle? Already he was upon the Second. The Third would bring him more responsibilities, certainly, but also privileges as well. It was not an opportunity he could pass up.
Maybe, perhaps, he would eventually get to a point where people would leave him alone and he could study Thaumaturgy in peace! What a prospect! He simply gave a nod, which seemed to satisfy the Regent as she led the way from the office.
She shook her head. Become an undead monstrosity, an abomination in the eyes of God, and get little voices whispering to you at inopportune moments absolutely free! She didn't know what she was expecting after discovering that she was now living as one of the damned, but that certainly hadn't been it. It seemed that every one of the Kindred had their own particular blend of insane, Malkavians were just...more honest, as her sire had said. Nevertheless, it was something she was going to have to learn to live with and so she had over the last few years. She didn't think she'd ever get used to it, but she did have forever to try. As she mused on the thought that her life had become ever more strange, more so when she noticed a dark shape making itself known from the shadows of the building.
"Detective, you may find the loading dock at the University's Liberal Arts building to be of interest tonight." A masculine voice said, like some sort of costumed vigilante come to alert the Police Commissioner of some ne'er-do-well's schemes. Just like that the figure was gone again. Obfuscation at its finest. Sybil just sighed.
"Seriously, I don't even get the one with the eye-patch who swears like a sailor. Typical." Her eyes rolled. Nevertheless, it was a lead...of a sort. Almost as good as the voices in her head.
Almost.
Heading from the roof, she journeyed down to the parking garage and was soon within her car. Snatching up the handset, she spoke.
"Central, this is 917. Doing a patrol of the area of the University. Copy."
"917, this is Central. Patrol is logged." The Malkavian smiled to herself and drove off into the night.
And as the four had either arrived or were soon to take their places on the board, they were watched. Not by one, but by many eyes. A great struggle would see its beginning this night, and none among the players who knew of what was to come knew how it was going to end...
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