There were many things that Grace Penderghast had expected when she finally did come face to face with Lamdiel. Chief among those was a very, very intense and painful death. That hadn't happened, nor had what she had expected to see when she and Sybil were brought before him. She'd pictured in her head some kind of ancient, eldritch being, something more beast than man and showing the age of centuries on his very skin. What she got, however, was not that at all. It was, in fact, the opposite.
A teenager, maybe no more than sixteen or maybe seventeen if she stretched it a bit, sat in the chair before them. His features were clearly Middle Eastern, though which specific country Grace could not say. He was sitting at a large banquet table that looked like it had been carefully and meticulously set up for a fine dining event and then promptly had what appeared to be several bodies splayed out on top of it, one of which the Kindred known as Lamdiel was yanking his fangs out of, fingers coming up to wipe the blood from his lips.
"Forgive me..." His voice was heavily accented as he finally spoke. "I find myself so thirsty tonight. I'm given to understand that that is impolite in some circles." Neither Grace nor Sybil spoke as Lamdiel finished cleaning his lips, taking a napkin up from the table and wiping any remnants as well. He gazed up at the pair of them. "Please... sit." Two of the Glaziers pulled out two chairs, one for Grace and one for Sybil. The pair slid into the chairs, neither one speaking or even gazing away from their host. "If I had wanted to kill you, I would have drained you before you walked in the door. Long before then. Relax."
Grace let out some air she hadn't realized she'd been holding onto. A breath might be... inaccurate.
"So you don't want to kill us?" Sybil asked.
"You? No." Lamdiel said. Catching the inhale by Grace, his eyes looked over to her. "You are... young, are you not?" Grace froze as though a million wasps had just been let into the room. "Speak."
"Y-Yes..."
"Not many nights to your name. I was like you, once." The methuselah said, a distant look in his eye as he seemed to be gazing beyond the Toreador and the other Malkavian at the table. "A time is coming to Seattle, a time of great danger and tribulation. One that will need to see all Kindred stand together."
"The man in the mirror." Sybil said.
"Ah! Yes, little one." Lamdiel said, eyes lighting up as he looked at the younger Malkavian. "You see the pieces, but not the full picture."
"The man in the mirror?" Grace asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"In time, daughter of Arikel." Lamdiel said. The doors opened into the Cascade Room, in walking a familiar Gangrel, Nosferatu, and Tremere... flanked by multiple Glaziers. "Our other guests have arrived... nearly all of them, at least."
"...so how's the heist going, fellas?" Sybil asked, giving the three a pointed look.
"Sybil..." Lamdiel's hand came to rest against Sybil's upon the table, even giving her pause for a moment. "This was all to bring you here. All of it."
"What do you mean?" Ben asked.
"Mr. Grayson... please, sit." Lamdiel said. "I shall endeavor to explain everything." A trio of Glaziers pulled the chairs out for the three Kindred who had just joined the party. With varying degrees of reluctance, they were seated. "By now, I'm certain you all know who I am... and, through my followers and my visions, I have come to know all of you to varying degrees." His eyes flicked to each of them in turn. "I have looked into your souls... and I know that you have what I require."
"And what makes you think we'll serve you?" Hugo asked.
"Serve? No." The methuselah shook his head. "No, we must fight alongside each other as one. Not as a master and servants, but as equals." The looks he got were various levels of incredulous. "The man in the mirror that Sybil spoke of... when he comes, he will bring untold and unending devastation not just to this Emerald City, but to the world over. We must be prepared when he arrives, and that means we must forge our weapons properly."
"What do you mean?" Grace asked.
"Ask your friend from the get of Absimiliard." He gestured to Hugo. The Nosferatu wore a blank expression, displaying no result. "Tell them, Hugo... what do I mean of forging blades?"
"You're the Methuselah here, you tell me." Hugo replied dryly.
"Impurities must be burned from the ore before the metal can be shaped into a proper weapon, such as Seattle must be burned to its core and made into a weapon that will serve our purposes." Lamdiel said. "Kindred, Kine, and all others are at risk."
"And you're wanting to do this out of the goodness of your heart?" Anthony asked.
"There is no goodness in my heart, Usurper." Lamdiel looked to the Tremere at the table. "But there is pragmatism. The Earth is home. I exist here. I need this place, as do others."
"You're talking about killing, though." Sybil said. "The impurities you're burning... people."
"As the expression goes... you cannot make an omelet without breaking some eggs." Lamdiel said.
"That's..."
"...insane? You were going to say insane?" The methuselah wore a smile that got varying reactions from the people at the table. "I know how it sounds, but it's an unfortunate truth. I have seen the Camarilla in this city as it was in decades past, and I can tell it has grown no less corrupted and decadent. A war is coming, and they will not be ready. We will need all of you to stand against him when he arrives."
"Who?" Anthony asked.
"The Man in the Mirror. I already said it before." Sybil said.
"Who is the Man in the Mirror?"
"I... don't know..." Sybil frowned, her face scrunched up as though she'd forgotten something.
"Your vision will clear with time, my childe." Lamdiel said to her, once more patting her hand gently. "When we have the Mirror repaired, we shall have the leverage that our Clan needs. And that the world will need."
"I've heard enough of this." Hugo said, pushing up from the table and standing.
"You have a problem, Mr. Combs?" Lamdiel asked.
"You're attempting to bring down the Camarilla... to kill all of us for some sort of insane crusade." The Nosferatu said. "I will not stand for this!" He raised his hands, seeming to be channeling his vitae into some feat. In an instant, it was as if Lamdiel had suddenly teleported from the chair to the other side of the table and was now hoisting Hugo up by the throat.
"You won't need to stand... you can fall..." Lamdiel said. The Malkavian's mouth opened wide and to the surprise of all, sand seemed to blast out from it. Hugo screamed as the sand tore at him, and all in attendance watched as the Nosferatu's flesh was rapidly torn away to reveal musculature that likewise was torn away to reveal bones and organs that began to collapse into the gale of sand until, finally, what was left of a skull collapsed atop a pile... and likewise crumbled away into the grains. "And blow away in the wind..."
"You... you killed him..." Grace finally managed to break the long silence that followed, vocalizing what many of the group were feeling.
"I did." The Methuselah said, turning to stare at her. The Toreador shifted in her seat, looking utterly terrified. "Which is a pity... he would have made a fine soldier for our cause. But it is of no matter. Allow me to show you what he has turned away from..." Lamdiel raised a hand and a bright light flooded through the room, taking the sight from all in attendance.
"Where... am I?"
"Ladies and gentlemen..." A voice over a loudspeaker bellowed out, just barely drowning out the sound of a roaring crowd. Grace opened her eyes to realize that she was backstage and peering out from behind the curtain. She found herself dressed in a sparkly, green dress that went down to just above the knee, wearing a headset as she was clearly about to head onto stage before a massive crowd.
"Grace...PENDERGHAAAAAAAST!"
"...what?" Grace's confusion was drowned out by the cacophony that was the screaming fans, all chanting her name after the announcer.
"GRACE! GRACE! GRACE! GRACE! GRACE! GRACE! GRACE!"
"Ben, wake up..." Ben felt himself stirring from... sleep. Sleep? His eyes opened as a light blinded him. Upon realizing it was from rays of sunlight flooding in from a window, he immediately leaped up and attempted to shield himself from it with his arm. Expecting great pain, Ben instead found... nothing. No burning, no flames. Nothing.
The sound of rushing water came to his ears, Ben turning and realizing that it was flowing from a sink nearby. At the sink stood the form of Angelica Knox, setting a toothbrush into a little caddie before she turned to him, walking back in. "C'mon, lazy bones! You can't spend the whole morning in bed!"
"Morning..." Ben said, staring at her, then back at the sunlight. "What... what is this?"
"...our bedroom?" Angelica asked, raising a brow as she stepped back in from the bathroom. "Are you feeling okay? I know last night took a lot out of you, but..." Ben jerked back from her a bit, his eyes wide and apparently still wary. "...Ben? What's wrong?"
"Why can't I smell you?" Ben asked. "I should be smelling you right now..."
"Smell me? Why would you be able to smell me?" Angelica asked, unable to keep a bit of a laugh out of her voice. Her hand reached out, her fingers touching his flesh. "Are you sure you're feeling alright?" Ben reached by grabbing her wrist, feeling where her pulse shouldn't be... and found a steady rhythm.
"What the-?" Ben asked, touching his own wrist in the same place, feeling that same, steady rhythm.
They... were alive...
"...are you falling asleep on the books again?"
"Hnnn... what? What?" Anthony jolted up in bed, looking around. He was in the Seattle Chantry, the library where he often did his studies. Or he... had done his studies... before...
"Lover boy, no slacking. You've got the next Circle to work toward." The voice of Robin Phillips got Anthony's attention, and he grabbed a nearby book and raised it up as though it were a weapon. His fellow Tremere looked unfazed. "...not the usually Longfellow you hit me with, but alri-"
"What are you doing here?" Anthony asked. "You're a traitor!"
"Traitor?" Robin stared at him blankly, then laughed. "Oh, you mean that whole... Baali thing, right? No, silly... that's all over! If it weren't from Regent Brook's cunning plan, we'd still be in dire straits, but we're all better now."
"What?"
"It's true..." Anthony spun around to see the woman herself, Lilah Brook. Waifishly thin, clad in her red button down and black pants, her face framed by her horn-rimmed glasses. "If it weren't for Apprentice Phillips' skills at misdirection, the Baali would have wormed further into our Chantry and we and Seattle would be in quite the state..."
"I... what?" Anthony asked.
"It really was a stroke of genius, I must say, Regent."
"Marion?!" Anthony asked.
"Last I checked, yes." Anthony moved over toward her, seeing her just as she was on the last night he had seen her. "Don't you have work to do?"
"Hello, Sybil..."
She had no idea where she was. This wasn't the museum, wasn't Seattle, wasn't... anywhere. Yet, weirdly enough, it was... everywhere. At once. The sky was a starry night, the moon shining brightly above... and while the chill of winter's cold nipped at her cheeks, she felt warmth at her feet in the ebb and flow of the tide. The water was coming in... over what looked like a verdant garden with flowers in bloom like spring.
"Where..."
"Everywhere, just as you thought." Lamdiel sat upon a rock, having pulled a perfectly preserved poppy flower out of the surf, gazing at it almost wistfully. "I thought it was time that we had a chat, you and I... just the two of us..." Sybil stared at the seemingly much younger man for a long moment, then clicked her tongue.
"...well, Harriet... we're in for it now."
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