16th of September, 1217, 6:56pm
The Bay of Haifa
Outside The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
Teresa breathed deep the humid air of the sea. She could not explain its calming influence upon her black soul. She allowed the waves to rock her as she lay in her casket. The sun had only just come down and she wished to enjoy these few moments of peace before rising.
So much had changed for the Black Queen of Balgrad. Shortly after her exploits in Magdeburg reached the Sea of Shadows it became apparent that her sire no longer showed any confidence in her ability to represent his interests in the East. Though he did not dare try to take her city from her he had begun to once again expect reports on a weekly basis.
Then a year ago he demanded her presence at the Castel d’Ombro, She tried explaining that the region had grown unstable and that her nemesis Vintila Basarab had grown so bold as to begin attacking her in earnest.
But his words were heavy with the power of his ancient blood and she came just the same. Though she was able to secure the services of Master Sanchez and Sherazhina to watch over her domain, she had not expected to be gone for so long. Nor had she been expecting to return to her duties as his ambassador. To prove her loyalties Silvester demanded that she drink once again from him and having done so she was obligated by blood oath to do anything he demanded.
What he demanded was that she come here to the Second Kingdom of Jerusalem in the Forsaken city of Acre. A city so holy that it is said that no Cainite had stepped foot in it in over a millennium.
She was to meet with a Genoese Lasombra called Maria D’Agostino, one of his agents whom he wished would claim the city as it’s Prince. Its seemed that the current Prince, a Frenchman named Etienne, was losing the support of his Patron, some ancient Christian out of Jerusalem called Varsik, and was ripe for the picking.
Thankfully she knew someone who had taken up residence in the region some months ago. Vendramino Giovanni had followed King Andras into the Levant in search of spoils. When he heard of Teresa’s journey he sent word that he would meet her in Acre.
Unfortunately she had made him wait. Once she reached Venice she received word that their ally, Count Kyrillos of Temeschburgh was accompanying the Baron Heinrich von Achern to Acre. They were coming on Crusade, though Kyrillos was only joining because Vendramino had invited him to partake of the wealth of trading he had discovered within the Levant.
And so she waited, calming herself with the rocking of the boat.
The door to her apparently empty chamber opened and someone strode in.
“Teresa, I wish to inform you that we are making port now.”
It was Kyrillos but he was gone again.
She rose begrudgingly when she finally heard the sound of the ship coming into dock. As she disembarked she found her mad ally and his giant childe Istvan awaiting her along with a handful of other vampires. She recognized two of them as Ventrue ranked highly within the Black Cross. One of them was of course Baron Heinrich von Achern, favored childe of Jurgen of Magdeburg and the other was Count Lanzo von Sachsen, a favored vassal of Jurgen’s Sire Hardestadt.
They’d been at each other’s throats since they’d left Venice.
“What are our plans, Kyrillos?” – Teresa
“We were supposed to meet with the guide sent by Prince Etienne.” – Kyrillos
“I was sure that Vendramino would send someone specifically for us.” – Teresa
“He did.” – a voice whispered in her ear. It was strangely accented, in fact she wasn’t entirely sure what language it was speaking.
Teresa turned but found no one there.
“Careful, Lady Teresa, you may draw attention to my presence which, I can assure you, would be a poor choice considering our company.” – the voice
Kyrillos looked askance at his friend.
“Are you well?” – Kyrillos
“I am, though I believe we’re being haunted.” – Teresa
The Malkavian took a good long look at her and then he saw it. Like an emptiness being filled he saw a robed figure in white. Even as skilled as he was he couldn’t quite make the figure out.
“Careful, Count, you must not look at me overlong lest I be revealed.” – the voice, its arabic accent was subtle.
“It is no ghost, it is simply Vendramino’s Arab servant. Pay him no attention and do not feel bad for not seeing him, he has simply succeeded in becoming completely beneath our notice.” – Kyrillos
Tensions were tight on the docks. The Teutons that they’d arrived with were at odds with the Cyprians and it wasn’t long before the two camps were arguing and throwing rotten food at one another. Eventually a physical fight broke out between two knights and that cascaded into an all out brawl, though luckily no one seemed to be reaching for their sword.
A single elderly monk stood on a crate begging for peace between them.
“Brothers! Brothers! Brother-Knights hear me! We are not enemies but comrades, called by our Lord to holy combat to turn Satan’s tide away from these holy-”
Which side threw the punch was unseen and mattered less once the man fell from his perch and was trampled in the rumble.
Heinrich approached the pair with his back to the dog pile.
“Ignore them. Our guide is here and we must away if we are to reach Acre by dawn. We must present ourselves to the Prince.” – his disgust toward the undisciplined knights is evident
“We must pay homage in the glittering palace of the Prince of Dirt.” – he added, sarcastically
Their guide looked to be a young girl no older than seventeen and was strikingly beautiful, perhaps even as beautiful as Sherazhina, though with a more exotic cast to her features. Of course she was also a vampire, the childe of Prince Etienne to hear Lanzo speak of it. What was more Etienne, despite being French and Christian, was one of the Charlatans which was in and of itself scandalous.
She was called Sabela.
17th of September, 1217, 2:49am
The Caravansary
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
They had traveled for much of the night. Passing many an encampment, this one belonged to the Hospitallers, that one was Teutonic, that one was Cyprian, another was made up of Hungarians and Magyars together.
But still they pushed on until finally they saw the city gates in the distance.
“But if none of ours are within the city, than how is it that there is a Prince?” – Istvan
“The Prince of Dirt holds court in a caravansary nearly a mile away from the city.” – Lanzo
The caravansary was ancient, perhaps as old as the city itself but with the exception of some superficial wear it was well preserved.
As they passed into the courtyard they saw Vendramino standing near the gate. He was dressed in accordance with local customs, in such a way as Teresa suspected a local Merchant Prince might dress.
He seemed to be enjoying himself greatly. As she watched Abdul-Malik appeared next to him, almost as if he un-vanished. As if he’d always been standing there. He raised a hand in greetings.
They joined them as fast as they could.
“How goes it Count Kyrillos?” – Vendramino, in good cheer
“The journey was long and I was surrounded by ill tempered zealots.” – Kyrillos, smiling in spite of himself
Abdul-Malik watched those around him carefully, knowing full well that he was being watched with wary eyes.
“Have you had the chance to meet Maria d’Agostino?” – Teresa, furtively as she glanced from vampire to vampire
“Yes we have. She’s the youngish moorish looking woman thither, the one in blue, no the one with the jewels.” – Vendramino
Abdul-Malik cocked an annoyed eye towards his patron
“It’s said that she and Narses had some falling out and has been exiled here.” – Abdul-Malik
“Yes, and you should be careful of that one, she’s old and canny. She runs all trade out of the Genoan Quarter within the city from here.” – Vendramino added helpfully
“Thank you.” – Teresa
“Oh and you wouldn’t believe who’s just arrived on the caravan that arrived from the north.” – Vendramino
Kyrillos crooked an eye curiously.
“Our once friend, Killian Toth. The little usurper slipped off and into the shadows not an hour ago. My guess is that he’ll wait until just before dawn to present himself.” – Vendramino
Kyrillos smirked at the news.
“You had best introduce yourself to the prince while the sun is still some time off. The processions have grown long in recent weeks with all of the crusaders and unless you are acknowledged by dawn you’re not allowed to stay within the Caravansary. The earlier you ask the better your chances of having a secure haven.” – Abdul-Malik helpfully
And so they did. Excusing themselves they made their way into the small gathering of Cainites forming in front of an ancient roman fountain against the eastern wall of the Caravansary.
There, sitting upon a smallish wooden throne is the man who must be Prince Etienne. He was broad shouldered and his hair was a wavy brown. He was obviously not a local despite his pilgrim’s garb.
“Welcome, Wilhelmina, I grant you sanctuary and the right to hunt in my domain.” – Etienne, in French accented Latin
The Baron von Achern stepped forward to be recognized.
“Halt! I am Count Lanzo von Sachsen, vassal to Hardestadt, I will not follow a lowly Baron!” – Lanzo, angrily
The crowd grew quiet at the sight of the oft-regal Warlord baring his fangs in anger.
In the crowd Kyrillos could hear others whispering. Saying that Lanzo had fallen from grace out of his grudge with the Prince of Magdeburg, that the real reason he was here was to embarrass the childe of his enemy. That he’d made a pact with the Arpads of Transylvania.
Kyrillos could only wonder how the great man he’d followed into war could have fallen so far.
At that moment the Prince was having a discussion with his advisor, a heavy set Armenian in his middle years dressed in much the same way as Vendramino.
“Who is that?” – Teresa
“He is called Aram Hovannes, he is of the Prince’s blood.” – Thierry, appearing at her side
The Armenian stepped back and the Prince stood
“We shall greet the Baron first, as he has taken up Knightly Orders and it is our belief that such vows should count for something.” – Etienne, confident if a bit quiet
The knight shouldered past the Count, gloating as he did.
He bowed dramatically before the Prince.
“I am the Baron Heinrich von Achern, Childe of Jurgen of Magdeburg, Child of the High Lord of Black Cross. I humbly ask your permission to secure a place to weather the day sleep and the right to hunt.” – The Baron
The Prince granted his request and that of Count von Sachsen and of a Ventrue knight called Brother Altus and of Istvan, Kyrillos and Teresa.
Throughout Abdul couldn’t help but think that he could hear… something.
Like a heart beating or wings flapping.
Finally after everyone else had presented themselves Thierry stepped forward meekly, as if he were afraid that he’d be struck down.
“I will be acknowledged before the Usurper!” – a voice called from a nearby archway
Vendramino was sure that no one had been under the arch a moment before.
All eyes turned to see a giant of a man wearing heavy bone studded leather armor. He was larger than any of them remembered, though his face was the same chalk white mask of contempt and his blond hair had grown longer.
Vintila Basarab strutted through the parting crowd toward the Prince. Thierry flinched subtly as the monster passed him.
“I am Vintila Basarab, Childe of Koban and Warlord of the Knights Basarabi, I am here on crusade and would be granted permission to hunt.” – he announced proudly
Two knights who had come on the caravan flanked him as he stepped forward. He neither kneeled nor bowed before the prince.
Murmurs filled the night air.
“Silence! I recognize you, Vintila Basarab, and grant you permission to hunt in my domain. But I will not tolerate your disrespect for me or my guests. I know of your clans’ war in the land beyond the forest and I will not have it staining the sands of this holy place. That goes for all present. No violence comes to our own in my domain, and no mortal dies to slake our hunger! Is that understood?” – Etienne, showing the full force of his presence.
Vintila could not help but be cowed by the display, and he nodded in deference to the Prince of Dirt.
“As for you, what is your name?” – Etienne, to the Tremere
“I am called Thierry bani Tremere, milord.” – Thierry
“You too are welcome in this domain.” – the Prince
The Fiend sneered at what he perceived to be a personal slight against him.
With the final presentation fulfilled the Prince leapt to his feet upon the fountain, using it as an ad hoc pedestal.
“Due to the unsafe nature of these lands and the scarcity of reliable and secure havens above ground I have graciously decided to grant each of you a secure haven! Beneath this caravansary there lay catacombs hidden from the eyes of the living. These catacombs were crafted in the time of Diocletian. These catacombs once housed Nestorian Christians who were persecuted by the Byzantines five centuries ago. To this night they are still regarded as Heretics. Like us they were damned, though they adored God.” – Etienne
After giving the assembled dead a moment to fully take in his words he bowed his head and continued:
“I pray that God blesses this crusade and grants the lord’s holy knights strength and valor in the coming battles and that they are able to succeed before the coming end which Bashir has shown shall be coming soon.” – Etienne prayed
Once he finished praying he asked for a moment of silence and then spoke one last time.
“I invoke the Tradition of Domain and wish for all of you to understand that I recognize all of the laws of Caine, but I add one more stricture: None may do harm to any within a mile of the city for it would be a sin against God to lift a sword or bare a fang in anger in this land of peace. Those who break this commandment will be taken to the city where they will face our Lord God’s wrath with the coming of the night.” – Etienne finished
17th of September, 1217, 5:28am
The Catacombs
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
Kyrillos and Teresa had found secured havens deep within the catacombs and had begun to unpack when they heard a commotion within the corridor. It seemed that the Prince was asking that they all join him in the courtyard.
When they reached the courtyard they found that they were not alone. Nearly every Cainite who claimed a haven within the Caravansary was present as Prince Etienne spoke in confidence to a stooped figure.
Kyrillos listened closely but their conversation was ending.
“And you are sure, Jerome?” – the Prince
The stooped figure nodded.
The Prince turned toward his audience, his face the very picture of reverential ecstasy.
“Tonight, Jerome has chosen to accept our Lord’s judgment: He shall approach the city and be healed of our curse. Or he shall be destroyed.” – Etienne
The robed figure stepped out of the Caravansary’s western gate and walked into the dark of the early morning. A mist blanketed the land, aglow in the wane moonlight as the hidden vampire shuffled toward the city’s gate.
Some, like Achern and his coterie or Basarab, turned and returned to their havens while others followed after Etienne and the other vampire.
As they made their way out of the gate Kyrillos felt a tingling in his skin. They walked a short distance farther he saw pinpoints of light flickering across his tingling hands and knew that they ran over his face as well.
Up ahead, Jerome began to steam as waves of heat distorted his cloaked form.
Teresa watched the light licking her skin with quiet terror.
“I would suggest we go no farther, Teresa de Balgrad.” – Maria d’Agostino
The Italian lady stood behind her, pinpoints of light streaked across her face as well.
The Black Queen stopped, Kyrillos and the others chose to move on further.
They came to a stop just as the tingling became a constant burn. Kyrillos’ hands reddened, white coronas arcing off his skin.
Ahead Jerome, now little more than a dark figure in the distance, fell to its knees silently and then erupted in a gout of white fire.
Etienne bowed his head, his hand hiding his eyes.
“Jerome was found wanting. Let us repair to our havens and pray for his immortal soul” – The Prince, sadly
The assembled Cainites, shaken by the display of faith, returned to their havens. The sun would rise in less than an hour.
Vendramino stayed behind.
He reached into his cloak and retrieved a small blackened leather pouch. Concentrating on his goal he trudged on.
The pain was extraordinary but it was nothing he hadn’t felt before. He’d made this trek many times throughout the last few months. There seemed to be an endless supply of zealous fools in this godforsaken place.
After nearly a quarter mile his skin began to darken and smoke. Further still, to where the fallen Leper’s remains lay and the air around him began to ripple.
It seemed that Jerome had gotten farther than most.
Vendramino removed a small spatula made of bone from the pouch and scooped up a small portion of the Nosferatu’s remains which had disintegrated into a fine white ash. He knew that if he waited much longer it would be indistinguishable from the sand on which he stood.
Vendramino pitied those sad creatures who lacked his infernal tenacity.
As he replaced the bone spatula he glanced toward the gates of Maupas and saw… something
“It can’t be.” – Vendramino to no one in particular
Standing at the gate was a shining figure. He was young and vital. His face was the very image of tranquility.
“Tommaso? My boy?” – Vendramino
The figure raised his hand in greeting.
Vendramino lurched forward despite the pain. His skin, already reddening, began to crack, small flames flared within.
As he drew closer the pain intensified, he could feel his hair burn, he could smell his flesh char.
Now his beloved son was inside the gleaming gate. Vendramino placed a hand on its molten frame ready to pull it open.
“Stop, Vendramino. If you enter the city you’ll be destroyed.” – Gabrielle, her spectral hand rested upon his shoulder
“I don’t care! Be gone.”
She didn’t go.
“That is not Tommaso, my love, that is not our son.” – She whispered
His son’s image was further along now. It beckoned to him.
“He’s not our son, Husband. Go, before you are destroyed!” – Gabriella, desperately
Vendramino turned his back on his wife’s ghost, blood tears searing to ash on his face.
“Be gone.” – Vendramino, banishing his wife back to her grave
By the time he reached the caravansary the burns that had covered his body had already been erased by the power of his blood.
The sun was rising as he slipped into the small haven he’d carved out of stone and bones, leaving the necromancer crumpled upon the floor.
10th of October, 1217, 10:52pm
Vendramino’s Chamber
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
The Cappadocian had made a cozy little vault for himself within the catacombs beneath Prince Etienne’s Caravansary. It was deeper than those of the Baron and his cronies, too deep for the sun to ever grace its shadowy threshold, which was obscured enough to ensure that trespassers were few. This was not to say that it was far removed from the surface, in fact there were three passages that led from his little nest of skulls and bones to the surface, one of which had been crafted by his (now dead) servants and was known only to him.
The antechamber was shadowy and contained only a single small wooden door that was invisible from the corridor, hidden as it was behind an earthen wall. That wooden door led into a smallish alcove attached to the vampire’s proper haven. Like the rest of the catacombs this room was filled with the skulls and bones of the dead, though they had been chosen and placed by Vendramino and his slaves upon taking up residence. He slept upon a large pile of pillows that were arranged in a recess within the deepest wall in front of which he had placed a massive writing table with an abacus and his most recent ledgers. To the left and right of the ledgers were two sconces crafted from the skulls of those whom had been buried here centuries ago.
Currently the candle to the left had reached its end and was beginning to gutter out, sending flickering shadows across the faces of those who had gathered there.
The old necromancer himself sat slumped in his chair, his brow darkened as he concentrated upon something that he was working in his hands. Though he grunted in agreement as the others spoke, his heart wasn’t in the conversation.
Kyrillos was in a dower mood, as he had been since reaching the Prince of Ash’s court. He’d been promised the riches of the Levant but found his hands tied from so far outside the city. He’d made good contacts to be sure and had been in correspondence with an Egyptian trader for a fortnight but the work was slower than he’d anticipated.
Teresa stood in the deeper shadows of the alcove. She had become paranoid since her arrival in Acre as her Oath to Silvester weighed heavier on her each night as her loyalty to her allies challenged the power of his blood.
Abdul-Malik sat cross-legged not far from where Vendramino himself sat. He wore the white robes of a priest and sat upon a small silken mat. He had, since their arrival, been the very image of tranquility. His unshaven face positively serene as he watched his European allies converse.
They were currently gossiping, whispering to each other in the odd way they did, slipping effortlessly between three or more languages. It took some getting used to but Abdul-Malik had come to find the cadence almost melodic and extraordinarily soothing.
He kept this observation to himself.
“Sherazhina informs me that Sanchez has been keeping himself busy in Kronstadt. Josephus is furious with him, casting curses at him nightly.” – Teresa, from the shadows.
Vendramino smirked.
“I pity the young Patrician, for he is doomed.” – Kyrillos, chuckling
Though she did not laugh the shadows that surrounded Teresa lightened and seemed to dance almost whimsically.
Abdul-Malik was less amused with than the others, but he usually was when it came to the Spaniard’s antics.
“I’ve heard that the Prince is not happy.” – Vendramino, offhandedly.
“Why now? Has the Baron overstepped his bounds again?” – Kyrillos, his voice heavy with disgust for both the Baron and the Prince.
“I heard that there was a murder two nights ago.” – Vendramino, sipping from a chalice of brackish looking liquid.
“What matter is that of the Prince? I am sure that there are many murders in these barbaric lands.” – Kyrillos
Abdul-Malik raised an eyebrow.
“Please, my heathen friend, do not take offence.” – Kyrillos, his voice made it clear that his intent was the opposite of his words.
“Non taken, Infidel.” – Abdul-Malik, patiently, anyone who did not know them might assume that their barbs were affectionate.
“Rumor has it that the mortals were loyal to and under the protection of the Church.” – Teresa
“I too heard this, and that it appeared that they were murdered by Crusaders under orders from one of the Cainites who have come to rest in these catacombs.” – Abdul-Malik, fully joining the conversation
“I’m sure that the Fiend is to blame.” – Kyrillos
Teresa wasn’t so sure.
“Teresa you’ve become acquainted with the Prince’s issue, yes? Why don’t you ask her?” – Kyrillos
“Should I see her I might.” – Teresa did not take kindly to the presumption of her mad friend.
“I think you’ll see her sooner than you would expect.” – Kyrillos
The Queen furrowed her brow, not understanding the strange bit of divination before she noticed the others were looking expectantly at the entryway behind her.
She listened closely and then caught what they had already noticed: the sound of footsteps on the stones.
The shadows held no secret from her and she saw the girl before the others. She stood there in a violet gown, not unlike her own. The girl had taken to dressing herself in the European way and had attached herself to the Black Queen.
“Lady Sabela, what an honor. What brings you to my humble home?” – Vendramino, standing to his full height.
“I’ve come to ask the Lady Teresa and you, her allies, a great favor.” – Sabela
“What would that be?” – Vendramino, positively salivating at the thought of having the Prince’s own childe under his thumb. It was clear that the prospect was forefront in all of their minds.
“I am sure you heard about the family that was murdered not a mile from here two nights ago?” – Sabela
“In fact that was the subject of our conversation just now.” – Teresa
“The family in question was Muslim, though they hid themselves within the Christian fold.” – Sabela“Then what is the problem, girl?” – Kyrillos, his tone grandfatherly
“By my sire, Prince Etienne’s decree, those who accept his hospitality have no right to do harm to any who fall under his protection, not just the Christians. The fools responsible didn’t just kill those poor souls. They had their way with them first. The women were raped before being killed. The children used for sport. This is a land in turmoil and these monsters have… enraged my sire as well as those Muslim vampires who make their havens in the lands beyond.” – Sabela, her outrage gave her words weight.
For his part Vendramino, though he was interested in what was being said, was still preoccupied by the project he held half hidden in his hands.
Abdul-Malik was angry, his mask of tranquility was gone.
“As my esteemed friend, Kyrillos, is so fond of pointing out, they were just mortals.” – Teresa
The girl looked upon the woman she’d looked up to with no small amount of horror.
“But, you must help me find the culprits. My Sire, your Prince, demands satisfaction in this.
“The girl is right of course, Crusaders were involved. I say we look into it for her.” – Kyrillos, his voice and demeanor were downright paternal.
“What business is it of ours if Mortals go about killing one another?” – Teresa, perplexed
“You heard but did not listen, Woman, Vampires did this!” – Kyrillos
“We must feed, mustn’t we?” – Teresa
It was Kyrillos’ turn to be perplexed, as he always was when it came to communicating with her matters concerning mortals. He decided to take a different approach.
“Teresa, surely you’d like to curry favor with her Sire.”
She considered his words.
“No, I do not wish to risk dirtying my hands with the blood of an immortal over the blood of a mortal. But I won’t stop you.” – Teresa
There came a knocking from the outer room and they all, save Vendramino, stood as one.
“May I intrude?”
It was the Prince’s Majordomo, Duqaq ibn-Jamil.
The Toreador was tall and lithe and wore the finest local fashion. Sanchez would have hated him. His features were vaguely Arab, though he came off as a European.
“Please do.” – Vendramino, looking up from his work
“I couldn’t help but notice that you were speaking of the latest scandal.” – Duqaq
“Yes, we were just trying to explain that killing a family, even a Muslim one, isn’t such a good idea in this climate.” – Kyrillos
“You heard that they were Muslim? There was no proof of that. It appears, at least to the prince, that Kuritz simply went mad.” -
“Kuritz?” – Abdul-Malik
“Yes, that’s the name of the Ventrue that is being accused of the crime. We cannot be sure but they were seen riding out toward the homestead the night before the massacre and haven’t been seen since.” – Duqaq
“I still don’t understand why you’re talking to us about this” – Teresa
“According to the Lady Sabela you are honorable creatures and, as outsiders who had no connection to the Accused, you may be trusted to locate him. You would need to leave tonight of course, and must not tell anyone but report to me when you find him. My master wishes that we keep this between us.” – Duqaq
Kyrillos and Abdul-Malik nodded in agreement, perhaps for the first time since they’d met so many years ago.
“I would like to go with them, Duqaq.” – Sabela
“You are your own woman, Sabela, and you are the Prince’s childe. I would not dare to presume to tell you that you could not go if it was your wish. But I must warn you to watch your words, as I do not believe your sire would forgive you this bit of gossip.” – Duqaq
The seneschal gave them directions as best he could and hurried them along before disappearing whence he came.
They did not hear him go.
“Will you go, Lady Teresa?” – Sabela
The Lasombra was torn between the prospect of a Prince’s boon and her own apathy over the crime.
“I do not know. What say you, Vendramino?” – Teresa
Vendramino stood for the first time since dusk and placed his new candelabra on the desk.
“I’m in.”
11th of October, 1217, 1:37am
Some miles east of the Caravansary
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
The starless sky hid nothing of the horror they discovered in the burnt out husk of a house. The smell of cooked flesh and blood was still on the wind even two nights later. The scent of blood was strong but not overwhelming, it was probably faint enough for mortals to miss entirely.
The skeleton of a house was black and gray. Almost nothing survived the fire.
They had seen this many times before but it wasn’t easy. Only Vendramino seemed unaffected by the carnage.
“Look here.” – Teresa, her voice small.
She pointed to the hand of a child, still clutching a charred doll, lying some distance from the house itself.
They searched the wreckage for nearly an hour before finding any evidence of what happened to the knights. Tracks led further east into a stony outcropping; they would have been completely hidden had it not been for Kyrillos’ keen senses.
They followed without speaking, the trail becoming nearly invisible while they crossed stone and then suddenly becoming clear again, leading directly into a small box canyon.
“Do you see that?” – Teresa
Kyrillos nodded
“see what?” – Sabela
Not far from where they stood was a pile of dismembered corpses, their bloodless and rotting carcasses already being scavenged upon. Nearby was a single suit of armor, its chest plate caved in by a wooden stake that seemed to pin it to the scorched earth, a greasy black stain marking the presence of what must have once been Kuritz.
“We should leave.” – Sabela, turning to leave
“You have nothing to fear, girl. You are unlikely to die in our presence.” – Vendramino, approaching the grease stain.
Kyrillos heard the sound of crumbling stones somewhere behind him. It was nearly imperceptible. The kind of thing one heard in a canyon.
“I like to think he screamed like that poor girl he hacked to pieces as the sun rose even though I know it couldn’t have been.” – The voice was lyrical but strong. Not unlike a stern mother.
They turned to see that the way they came had been filled by armed warriors. They were Muslim by their dress and Vampires by the way the Coterie’s skin crawled.
“I count eight.” – Teresa whispered.
“Eight?” – Vendramino
“The wall.” – Teresa
Sure enough, there were two men standing upon the walls of the canyon with a third crawling upon the stones themselves.
“You are brave, the four of you coming without an escort.” – the speaker, her face covered by a veil.
“Come Franj, tell us why we shouldn’t stake you and leave you for the sun as well?” – The woman
“We are here to find those responsible for murdering that family in cold blood.” – Kyrillos, who made his presence known.
In response someone spat blood at him. It was clear that they were unhappy, but despite the spittle he saw a few sheath their swords.
“They came here with me, Hanifa bint Nasir.”
The voice came from behind Vendramino, but it was a familiar one. Abdul-Malik stood in his shadow, his white robes seeming to glow in the night.
“I don’t know you.” – Hanifa bint Nasir
Her men weren’t so sure though, they seemed to fidget as they looked upon the undead imam.
“Of course you do, Hanifa. I am Abdul-Malik Ibrahim al-Rashid and you know who my Patron is. These Franj are off limits. They have come here for the same reason you brought this down upon the twice dead warlord that lay at our feet.” – Abdul-Malik
“You speak for the Infidels?” – Hanifa, suspiciously
“I cannot speak for the Prince’s childe but these Europeans have been my compatriots for some time and I can ensure you that they share your hunger for justice in these matters.” – Abdul-Malik
Sabela stared daggers at the Saracen. Teresa had ensured her that her identity would be kept safe should they encounter the Ashirra.
The Muslim woman nodded, acknowledging the truthfulness of Abdul-Malik’s words. None seem surprised by Sabela’s heritage.
“Tell the Prince that honorable war is one thing, but slaughter will not go unpunished. Remind him that we will respect the truce as long as he controls his domain.” – Hanifa
Just like that they were gone. No sign of their presence remained at all, even to the sharp senses of Kyrillos.
“We’ve got what we’ve come for.” – Abdul-Malik
“Should we take the armor as proof?” – Teresa
“Yes.” – Vendramino, who was in the process of collecting the ash remains.
Teresa reached down to pull the stake out of the armor only to find that it wasn’t a stake so much as a pike as long as a man.
“I think I’ll keep this.” – Teresa even as she hefted the armor and threw it onto the Venetian’s wagon.
11th of October, 1217, 4:23am
The chambers of Duqaq
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
Dawn was approaching as they reached the Caravansary, but wasn’t so close that they were pressed to return to their own vaults.
Duqaq made his haven above ground, within the caravansary itself in a suite of rooms that were well appointed but overstuffed with all that he had acquired over the course of centuries. Vendramino noted that he was Christian despite his Arabic dress and customs and that he was far older than his prince.
The advisor was currently seated comfortably in an Arabic style chair as if it were his own personal throne, his handsome features stretched taught, his jaw clenched hard enough that his long fangs pressed into his lips as he listened to their recitation of the night’s events.
“The excesses of the Franj are angering the native Ashirra. I have no doubt that the Banu Haqim are already amongst us and have received word that mortals within the city have also begun to clash. I wonder if perhaps the Muslims do not need to make war as the Christians seem all too eager to destroy themselves.” – Duqaq, his eyes unfocused
With a gesture he dismissed them, thanking them as an afterthought.
11th of October, 1217, 4:50am
Somewhere beneath the Caravansary
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
Blood marked the stones of the passage before Kyrillos, though there was precious little light in this particular branch of tunnels but the stench was tantalizing.
Along either side of the entrance to their territory were two human corpses, their heads drawn together into a macabre keystone, their bodies flayed open, ridged and fused to the stone of the tunnel walls. Four arms were eternally outstretched, each hand holding a dying ember in a dish that could only be bone. The light they cast wouldn’t have been enough for a mortal to see by but the message was clear: this was Basarab territory.
Kyrillos couldn’t help but shudder.
There was movement in the darkness beyond the grisly threshold and then a massively large figure dressed in Magyar armor emerged from it, gliding with a horrible and unnatural grace.
“What.”
“I have come with a proposition for your master.” – Kyrillos, quietly.
“Wait here.” – the guard, vanishing once again into the darkness with no discernable locomotion.
Kyrillos didn’t wait long before there was more movement.
The being that emerged was immediately recognizable as Vintila Basarab.
“What do you want?” – the Fiend
“I wish to open up trade negotiations between our domains.”
“And why would I ‘negotiate’ with one of Hardestadt’s ‘vassal-clowns’?” – Vintila
“War is hell, and merchants make particularly robust allies.” – Kyrillos
“Of course, because when I think of bloodshed and conquest I often wonder how much it would cost for my men to spice their supper. No, if I were to have need of spice I would slay a spice trader and take what I wanted.”
Kyrillos nodded, he had already redirected his shipments from the region and from those under the rule of Vintila, and sent word for others who wished to continue doing business with him to do the same. The Fiend had simply made sure that he would cement those rerouting.
Without a word he walked away, even as the fool laughed mirthfully at his own wit.
23rd of October, 1217, 6:08pm
Ruins to the south of the Caravansary
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
It had been nearly two weeks since the destruction of Kuritz and the assembled Cainites had become restless. To stave off the violence that was sure to ensue and to help quell any talk of some who wished to depose the Prince of Ash, Etienne announced that he would be holding a midnight tournament in grand European fashion.
When the prince announced that all duals would be to first blood or submission the Baron von Achern, Lanzo von Sachsen and a few others laughed derisively. The announced games included both armed and unarmed single combat, a javelin throwing competition, as well as a general melee. Since the games were announced and individuals signed up the betting had begun, with Kyrillos at the center of it.
He found it strange that so many played at being mildly offended by the prospects of violence while simultaneously placing bets on who they believed would be victorious. Any successful merchant could tell you, hypocrisy was lucrative.
Javelin throw, with many of the knights stepping forward to launch their volley for truly impressive distances, some hitting targets at distances that would terrify a mortal. Teresa stepped up and threw her javelin farther than most of the others, though hers wouldn’t be the best throw that night, it silenced many of the idiot knights who were insulting her lack of a prick. Though she was sadly out thrown by three others.
Vintila threw last, having joined the competition only after realizing that Teresa herself had already thrown. He sent one of his men off to retrieve his javelin, a heavy looking spear that looked vaguely bonelike, in its head was a jewel that looked much like a human eye, which swiveled to look upon each of its master’s opponents.
The Tzimisce surveyed the field.
“I will not throw this spear without a target!”
As if on cue one of his ghoul-knights ran out into the field, a heavy burlap bag thrown over his shoulder. When he reached the first of the javelins he up ended the bag, releasing the captive within.
The man stood naked, shaking and afraid.
“Run.” – the knight
After a moment of confusion the man’s eyes went wide when he saw Vintila charge him, spear raised over his head. He ran as far and as fast as his legs would take him even as the fiend let loose.
The spear caught the man between the shoulder blades, fastening him to the ground.
The crowd was mostly silent, save for Vintila’s own men who cheered raucously despite the fact that the man had not even reached the nearest cluster of flags. Vintila had come nearly dead last.
The crowd parted for the Prince as he stormed forward. Vintila bowed to the crowd and then turned to leave before Etienne could reach him.
The second game was a series of single combat exhibitions, the first being fought by Baron von Achern and Count von Sachsen who were both chomping at the bit to loose their fury upon one another. They lashed out with a fury that startled even the undead, landing blows that would demolish lesser monsters but neither seemed capable of landing a single decisive blow.
And then someone did. With a mighty heave the Baron launched von Sachsen back nearly twenty feet to the cheers of the crowd. Those cheers turned into gasps though, when Lanzo leapt back to his feet, his teeth bared, his eyes flashed with fury, his sword left behind as he charged his foe, lost completely to his beast.
Von Achern, for his part, was ready, bringing the pommel of his sword down upon the frenzied vampire’s head, crushing him into the ground instantly, the sound of cracking bone audible over the raucous crowd. Van Sachsen’s men came forward to drag their master away, his skull caved in but healing. He wouldn’t be able to walk again until sundown.
Vendramino’s bout began and quickly ended without the drama of the one between the two Warlords. He devastated his opponent in short order, leaving the Gangrel sprawled out and bleeding in the sand to the shock of all who did not know him. There was no applause, as no one was sure what had happened.
“He was a plant.” – Aram Hovannes said, furious.
“Are you accusing the Prince of Schaasburg or the German Baron of being a cheat, Lord Hovannes?” – Kyrillos asked incredulously
The Ravnos handed over his money purse and stormed off, disappearing again into the crowd.
Throughout all of this the crowd was alive like it hadn’t been since they had arrived. Sabela stuck close to her sire, who was under a great deal of scrutiny, his brood-mate Aram Hovannes was always so close, always watching. Tonight was no different, he had been pacing and mumbling angrily under his breath since the Tzimisce barbarian had murdered the Muslim in cold blood.
“The display disturbed me too, Sire.” – Sabela
“It’s not that, Sabela. If I do not succeed soon in finding the source of the aura that protects Acre my sire, Varsik, will install Aram as Prince and I will have left you an orphan too soon after your Becoming.” – Etienne
“That is… troubling, Sire.” – Sabela, understating her fear.
“You are comfortable with the Transylvanians, yes.” – Etienne could change subjects so quickly it hurt.
“I have made a sort of alliance with Teresa, yes, but I wouldn’t call them friends.” – Sabela
“Perhaps you would like to… suggest to them that… Lord Jurgen may find an ally in exchange for protection.” – Etienne.
“I will make the offer.” – Sabela, nodding as she slipped into the crowd.
“Nothing too blatant, my dear, I would hate…” – but she was already gone.
“To be accused of treason.” – Etienne, to no one in particular.
Maria D’Agostino watched the jousting from the crowd, her ghoul-cum-husband sitting at her side. Neither seemed particularly diverted.
“The Prince is a fool if he thinks that such activities will make any of us forget his obsolescence.” – Maria, her ghoul-husband nodding obediently.
“It’s a farce of the worst variety and yet these fools indulge the bumpkin Prince.” – she continued
“I couldn’t agree more, my love.” – her ghoul-husband cooed sycophantically.
“Wouldn’t you agree, Lady Teresa?” – Maria, turning to look at her companion.
Teresa knew that it was a calculated slight, as she, herself, had just participated in the Javelin throw.
“Yes, though I understand the drive behind the festival, poorly executed though it may be. The need to keep one’s subjects’ passions in check is no trivial thing.” – Teresa, still bitter that she lost the competition.
“So you believe the Frenchman a suitable Prince? I myself believe that the Second Kingdom of Jerusalem should be ruled by one of clearer pedigree. That such a place is in the hands of a Clan so low as the Ravnos makes me queasy.” – Maria
Teresa nodded. The thought had occurred to her.
“At the same time, though, I’ll be damned if I let the retched Magyars rule it. The very thought of the Ventrue holding sway over any part of the holy land…” – Maria, trailing off as darkness danced in her eyes.
Teresa nodded, while she was not as hostile to the clan of kings as a whole, the thought of von Achern being granted any more status or titles left her cold.
“Should there be a changing of hands here within Acre, can I count on you to stand at my side? Having the childe of the Leader of the Amici Noctis would lend a certain weight to my claim of Primacy.” – Maria
The question was rhetorical of course, she had already been given assurances by Teresa’s sire Silvester. Darkness coiled around the Black Queen’s heart as the Italian spoke.
“Of course, Lady Maria, you have the full support of the Friends of Night. In fact my sire believes that a changing of the guard in the Holy Land is long overdue. That the second kingdom should be brought into the Sea of Shadows and that you are uniquely suited to making that happen.” – Teresa assured her.
It was then that Teresa decided that Maria D’Agostino would never rule the second kingdom.
Abdul-Malik slipped through the crowd, not invisible but unnoticed to those around him. He had made a habit of following someone new each night, learning what he could about them. Tonight he’d been following the Tremere who had caused the ruckus in Magdeburg some years earlier.
The Usurper seemed to be watching Teresa, as if he were hoping to have a word with her. He didn’t notice when the Assamite approached him, jumping visibly when a hand was placed on his shoulder.
“What?! Where did you come from?” – Thierry, trying to calm himself.
“You seem very nervous, Kilian.” – Abdul-Malik
the young vampire’s eyes widened slightly.
“How do you know that name?” – Kilian/Thierry
“We met briefly in Magdeburg.” – Abdul-Malik
“You are a friend of the Lady Teresa.” – Kilian, Realization brightening his face.
“I am and I noticed that you seemed alone and might need someone to talk to.”
“It’s just nerves. That bastard Basarab has been tormenting me. It’s made me jumpy. It seems that our families have a history.” – Kilian.
“How could Teresa help you with this problem?” – Abdul-Malik, honestly curious.
“It is not so much Teresa as Lord Jurgen that I wish to make contact with. Though it requires some more study, I believe I have worked out a way to use the Aura that surrounds Acre against the foes of the black cross and if Teresa could inform her Lord that I would happily grant him that power in return for amnesty… but I must go now. I am not safe here.” – Kilian, his eyes fixed upon Vintila Basarab who was watching him hungrily.
“Say hello to Jervais should you see him, yes.” – Adbul-Malik
“I haven’t seen him since my banishment, but I’ll do what I can.” – Kilian’s final words were more bitter than the Saracen expected.
24th of October, 1217, 1:04am
Ruins to the south of the Caravansary
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
Finally they came to the last of act this tournament; the grand finale if you will: In the center of the ruins a large pile of armor and shields had been assembled, standing as tall as a man and wide enough for a half a dozen warriors to stand upon. Around this makeshift hill stood 12 participants. The rules were simple. No one was to be destroyed and the last man standing upon the mountain of armor wins.
Once the trumpet sounded the battle began. Within moments two different vampires were staked and three were overwhelmed by their beasts. others were limping away, holding their guts or severed limbs.
It was down to only four when everything came to a screeching halt. Quite literally.
The roar was louder even then the mass battle taking place at the center of the crowd, over the sound of the roaring crowd and the manic betting. It was so loud that everything came to a stop as everyone turned to look.
The horrible shriek came from the Prince’s raised perch. The prince himself stood ramrod straight, staring north.
“It’s gone, it’s gone!” – the Prince shrieked over and over again.
It took the crowd a moment to comprehend. Vendramino was one of the first to piece it together before a whisper cut through the crowd.
“the aura was gone.”
24th of October, 1217, 8:14pm
The Chamber of the Baron von Achern
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
Kyrillos and Abdul-Malik stood, waiting for the Baron to acknowledge them. Vendramino could not be reached, as he had fled for the city the night before, leaving many of his possessions, which were being collected even as they stood there waiting for the petulant man in knight’s armor standing before them pretending to be too busy to acknowledge their presence.
“Where is the Venetian?” – Baron von Achern asked as he looked over a map of the city.
“He is already within the city, he left within an hour of the aura’s vanishing.” – Kyrillos
“Good, that means that he’s had a head start. I wish for each of you to go into Acre and find your ally and with him I want you to lay claim to as much of the city as possible in the name of the Black Cross to better ensure my dominance over the city when I make a play for power when the fool Etienne falls.” – The Baron
“And the Relic?” – Abdul-Malik
It is of little consequence. You are only to attempt to obtain it should it appear that the fiend should take it as his own prize." – The Baron.
“But Thierry believes that he may be able…” – Kyrillos
“Yes, I know of the Usurper’s theories, but I have no time for sorcerous chicanery, Lord Kyrillos.” – The Baron, dismissively.
After a few moments of silence they meekly dismissed themselves from the Baron’s presence and silently vowed to themselves that they would find a way to bring him low.
24th of October, 1217, 9:36pm
The Gates of Acre
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
Sabela stood at the gates of the city. They were earthen and plain, nothing like she expected them to be, after so many years of imagining those walls and what they must be made of, this stone façade was the greatest of letdowns. She placed her hand on the wall and felt the heat of those walls. Whatever magic had been here had left its mark but was gone.
“Do not go into the city, Sabela, let the Franj desecrate that holy place, no good can come from entering the city walls.” – Etienne had said
Steeling herself, Sabela stepped across the threshold and was still somewhat surprised when she didn’t erupt into flame. It was truly gone.
The city was a wonder. It had been so long since she’d seen so many people in one place wander the streets so openly.
The streets were well lit with great braziers and wall mounted sconces, so that night shoppers could peruse the wares of the night markets. Venders shouted out their bargains as the streets, crowded with shoppers and entertainers and so very many children playing. Windows in every building were left open, light pouring out of them to light the streets further.
It was a glorious thing to behold and it saddened her when the tears came, staining everything in red.
This place had never seen the torments visited by the Get of Caine. They were all so defenseless.
She wept again at the thought of it.
24th of October, 1217, 9:51pm
The Venetian Quarter
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
Kyrillos found himself in the Venetian quarter in hopes of finding his old ally but found only a merchant’s square and a fine looking inn, with no sign of Vendramino in sight. After some time he came to realize that he saw no sign of any vampire within the quarter at all.
The idea of the virgin territory thrilled the old merchant. He spent money in each of the stalls, exorbitant money, letting everyone get a good look at him as if he were some visiting dignitary. By the time he’d entered the inn he had already made an indelible impression.
He walked around the tavern as if surveying a gallery. He feigned warming himself by the fire. He hovered over the patrons and finally made his way to the innkeeper.
“What do you want?” – the innkeeper, unhappily.
“Do you have a room?” – Kyrillos
“Best in the Quarter.” – the innkeeper, who didn’t seem so agitated once he actually spoke to Kyrillos.
“Then I am sure that it should be mine.” – Kyrillos, grandfatherly
“I would love for you to have it, sir, but it is currently being rented by a knight for his mistress.” – the innkeeper.
“What is your name, good sir?” – Kyrillos
“Joshua, sir.” – the innkeeper’s gruff demeanor had been utterly subverted by a more subservient one.
“Joshua, I am Kyrillos Dimities, and I would like to purchase a stake in your business.” – Kyrillos, dropping a coin purse onto the bar with a heavy clang.
The barkeeps eyes narrowed slightly, the Byzantine’s hold over him stretching almost to the breaking point.
“Why do you want this?” – Joshua
“I am…overseeing a project involving certain investments I’ve made and may need to put roots down for the foreseeable future and while I do not wish to purchase a home I am loath to rent.” – Kyrillos.
“I told you I do not have a room open upstairs.” – Joshua, absent mindedly pouring the man a drink.
“But you do have a cellar of some sort?” – Kyrillos, who took the cup but did not drink.
“Of course.”
“Is there a room there? Someplace that I may have privacy?” – Kyrillos, biting his knuckle ponderously, opening it in the process.
“Well, of course, but I can’t imagine why you would want to take it as your room.” – Joshua
“I have my reasons, good sir. If you would not mind my proposition, let us drink on it.” – Kyrillos, handing the barkeep back the red tinged cup of wine.
Joshua held the bag in his free hand, he felt the weight of it. It was worth a year’s wage. It was an easy choice.
He drank the wine. It made his head feel light and his blood rush like it did when he was a child. He giggled a bit as he licked his lips.
24th of October, 1217, 10:30pm
The Pisan Quarter
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
Abdul-Malik walked unhappily with the Franj city in the heart of the Muslim world. He had made circles around the city, completely unnoticed, as was his like. Since he’d left his cohorts though he felt the presence of others of their kind, though he had not seen them. Of the source of the now gone Aura, he found no evidence. The buildings themselves though hummed with the power of the faithful. Certain streets were barred him due to the power of faith that radiated from the very cobblestones. He had never in the entirety of his long night felt such faith.
He comforted himself with the thought of the righteous fire that must leap upon any of the undead who come within sight of a truly holy site such as Ka’aba.
As he entered the harbor many of the sounds of the city fell away. The sea seemed to glow in the night, reflecting the moon and stars like a rippling mirror. It was truly a sight to behold.
Somewhere, he heard someone yelling obscenities in Latin and French.
He followed the voice to find a lowly beggar sitting upon a pile of rope pointing at an ancient tower at the end of the pier.
The madman was currently in a fit of laughter but soon was taken up with rage and throwing rocks at the tower.
“Sortir de ma tour, salauds! It is mine, by right, and I’ll not have you squatting in it!” – the beggar who was one again caught up in a fit of laughter.
Abdul-Malik stood there and watched the fool shout. It was fascinating the way a battlefield is fascinating after the battle was over. All the dead and dying lying there and one cannot bring oneself to look away.
Finally, in spite of himself, the vampire stepped forward.
“Why do you shout so, my friend, surely you have no quarrel with this tower?” – Abdul spoke as if to a child or to one who was feebleminded.
“What do you want Saracen?” – the madman asked, angrily
“I simply do not understand the need to throw stones at the tower, I am a stranger in this land and am unfamiliar with the custom.” – Abdul
“It seems our kind have been here all along, my friend, and they have been squatting in MY TOWER!” – the madman
It was then that Abdul noticed the flash of the moonlight glistening off his fangs.
The madman was undead, as surely as Abdul himself was.
“I bid you ado, Saracen, but now I must clear my home of the vermin!.” – the beggar, standing, his robes falling open as he did so.
Without another word he bowed dramatically to Abdul-Malik and then turned to trudge toward the Tower as dozens of rats seemed flood out from the tower, as if fleeing some coming catastrophe.
24th of October, 1217, 11:08pm
Not far from the palace of the Patriarch
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
Vendramino waded hungrily through the mass of humanity that surrounded him. He’d taken up his haven the night before within the castle itself but found his sleep listless and filled with horrific visions. It seemed that in the holy land even those in power had Faith.
Preposterous.
He had, however, also heard of the Venetian Quarter and had already made the decision to make his haven amongst the Italians there. It may not be home. But it would be a close facsimile.
He smelled blood! Everywhere! He would need to feed soon but knew that should he kill he would not be allowed to stay. Where were the dead bodies? Where were the mass graves? He didn’t know and that frightened him. What if he did not find them?
As he neared the eastern wall, close to the compound of the Teutonic Order, he heard the scream of a young woman. The dark thing that nested in his dead heart stirred and he found himself running far more swiftly than any mortal toward the sound.
He found himself colliding with a woman, her clothing and hands were covered in shimmering crimson fluid, the flesh of her neck was torn leaving a beautiful topographic map of her pain and terror. His hunger leapt to the fore, the thing inside him shrieked for her blood, slamming on its cage of bone and flesh. He felt his hands wrap around her dainty little shoulders too tightly, his right hand becoming slick as it was splashed with her blood.
“The Cavalieri at the Monastery of the Apostles were right! There are monsters in the night! You must help me!” – she wept.
It had been so long since he’d tasted living blood. So long since he quenched that cold hunger with the burning Vitae of the living.
“The cow is mine!” – growled a voice from the shadows, in german.
Vendramino looked deeper into the alleyway and saw the source of the bark. It was Wilhelmina, the childe of the Gangrel Baron that he had cut down the night before. Her eyes were wild and alight like a cats and her posture was decidedly not human. She was currently perched upon the back wall of the alley, her long and wicked claws dug clearly into the stones.
He had never seen her in such a state.
“Do I look to stand in your way?” – Vendramino asked
The cow wept against the old monster’s chest, unable to comprehend his words or intentions.
He took her in his left hand and turned her toward the beast that crouched before him, using her to distract the Animal as he quietly drew his sword. Though he did not have any quarrel with Wilhelmina personally her actions were a threat to his plans.
The neonate charged the mortal her eyes wide and her clawed fingers spread wide. As she flew forward he threw the woman to the ground to his left. The gangrel followed its target, revealing her neck.
Vendramino unleashed a mighty swing, the sword biting deep into her neck, severing her spinal column before lodging in her larynx.
She fell limp upon the apoplectic woman.
Vendramino toed the Gangrel and found her to be nothing but a corpse, even as her blood worked to knit her neck back together he knew that she would not rise again, at least not on this night.
He kicked her over onto her back and dropped to his knee. A cursory glance told him that the mortal had fallen unconscious in the melee but the fluttering of her youthful heart told him that she would live. The wound, though it bled profusely, was superficial.
The Gangrel had already regenerated but her dead eyes, which remained those of a cat, stared blankly into the middle distance.
Blood! His beast called. Vitae! The dead girl was filled with it and as a corpse would make nary a sound as he dined.
He had not tasted the blood of another vampire since Constantinople and a part of him missed its sweetness…
He looked up to discover that their altercation had gone completely unnoticed by the mortals who walked not a dozen feet away. It seemed that Wilhelmina, even in her Frenzy, had chosen a place from which to pounce carefully.
As he thought on it he tasted blood. It took him a moment to realize that he had bitten the torpid vampire and he was gulping down her fury laden Vitae. He had lost control to the Specter that animated his dead flesh and felt empowered by that. He watched as the Specter broke her bones as he fed, as if to wring out every drop of her immortality.
And then it did. He saw her soul become unmoored from her corpse and dissolve into his own. That fury he felt as he drank infused him, empowering him even as her body withered. As he came back into himself and regained control of his limbs the Specter seemed unwilling to return fully to slumber and he thought that, perhaps that was the price to pay for giving into the thing.
He turned to the girl whom he had used for bait and for the first time noticed that she was dressed as a nun, her vestments marked by the sign of the Hospital of St. John.
Vendramino smiled at his good fortune, as he had at his feet his first agent in the city.
He reached down to cup her head so that he might give her a bit of blood and heal her wounds when there was a flash of white hot pain. He wrenched his hand back and saw the seared flesh and the trail left in his flesh from where her hair had touched him.
The Specter was there again, taking away control of his body and fleeing from the nun. He was over the wall before he was able to wrest control back from the enraged thing.
It seemed that he had been marked in more ways than one by his Actions.
24th of October, 1217, 11:23pm
Not far from the palace of the Patriarch
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
Kyrillos and Abdul-Malik had met in the Market square at eleven o’clock as they had planned so as to find their mutual ally and hopefully find a way to press the advantage of their allegiance and relative power within the city walls.
Though they were loath to admit it, Vendramino was the most skilled when it came to such endeavors. They had wandered the older portion of the city for a few moments before being drawn by the scent of spilt blood.
Though both had fed this very night their curiosity had been piqued nonetheless.
What they found, deep in the shadows of the outer wall, was a young girl, dressed in the colors of the Hospitalers of St. John with a gaping wound in her neck. Next to her lay the withering and ashen corpse of one of their own kind.
“What did you do, Assamite?” – Kyrillos, only half joking
“Why must I have done this? This is messy and too in the open, and please, honored friend, refrain from calling me that vulgar epithet.” – Abdul-Malik, his voice measured as if speaking to an ailing old man.
Abdul stooped low and fanned the girl’s face with his robe until she began to come to her senses.
“My child what has happened here?” – he asked, in latin
“What? I don’t know.” – she responded faintly in Italian.
“We must take her somewhere.” – Adbul.
“Excuse me for a moment.” – Kyrillos said as he blew greasy ash from the corpse, his eyes narrowed as he looked upon the remains.
Her hair was blond but filthy, her features fine but weathered. He knew should she still have her eyes they would be an earthy brown. Her body, which even now was curling into itself had been lean and strong. a wound to the left side of her neck showed how she might have come to this state though he had never heard of any vampire, let alone a Gangrel, die directly from such a wound.
Her face, upon which he had tried desperately not to look, was serene in its final repose in a way that it had not been in the few months he had known her. It was the face of a girl just coming into her womanhood, a mortal’s face…
“It is Wilhelmina, Childe of the Baron that Vendramino faced last night.” – He said quietly, sadness coloring his voice.
Adbul-Malik did not like it when the old Lunatic spoke like that.
Kyrillos turned and without a word scooped up the mortal girl, who was once again losing consciousness, in his arms.
“You would make her a slave?” – Abdul-Malik asked judgmentally.
The Byzantine sneered unconsciously.
“You do not think highly of me, nor should you be one to judge, you who own at least one slave that I can think of.” – Kyrillos
“Only because you gave him to me last night as part of my winnings.” – Abdul-Malik
“It was only fair, as I offered your services to his master should Vendramino lose.” – Kyrillos
The Saracen clenched his jaw and pretended not to hear what the Malkavian had said.
“Take care of that won’t you?” – Kyrillos, motioning toward the still withering corpse, whatever sentimentality had infected him moments before apparently gone.
Abdul glared at the back of his head but acquiesced. Throwing the thing over his shoulder he ran toward the back wall and then leapt, catching hold of the ledge and then hoisted himself up, using the Blood to empower his strength and steady his grip.
The Saracen laid the girl to rest upon the wall to greet the sun. out of the corner of his eye he made out the shape of a cloaked figure huddling not far from where he knelt.
“You, there!” – Abdul-Malik said, before he recognized the hem of the cloak.
“Vendramino?” – he asked the figure.
The figure continued to shudder.
“Did you do this, friend?” – Abdul-Malik, toeing the remains.
He was immediately ashamed of his callous act and promised to make a special prayer for her Franj soul.
“Why would I do that?” – Vendramino, his lie obvious
“There is a dying nun and a corpse, are you responsible?” – Abdul-Malik
“I was trying to help?” – Vendramino, whimpering
“How does this help?” – Abdul, again kicking the corpse and again feeling awful for it.
“I don’t remember… there was a girl and screaming… and then fire…” – he muttered, growing quieter as he spoke
“Did you do this?” – Abdul pointing at the body and congratulating himself on not desecrating it further.
“No!” – Vendramino lied
Abdul shook his head as a father might when lied to by a child.
“We will speak of this later, friend.” – Abdul, disappointedly
Vendramino bowed his head guiltily. What had happened to him? What happened when he took that Animal’s soul into himself?
He felt like taking a bath suddenly.
“What’s with the hand?” – Abdul asked, changing the subject
Vendramino looked down at his scarred flesh. The wound had already healed but the flesh remained oddly blackened.
“I touched it and it burned me.” – Vendramino
“It? What it?” – Abdul
“The Mortal.” – Vendramino
“Curious, she did not burn either myself nor Kyrillos.” – Abdul
As Abdul looked down to check on Kyrillos and the girl Vendramino unceremoniously kicked the body off the wall.
Abdul’s gaze shifted between his friend and where the body had laid three or four times as if he were trying to process what he had just witnessed.
“Monster.” – Abdul, before stepping off the wall to join their friend.
Vendramino shrugged and joined him.
“Wh… where is he?” – the Nun
“Who, my dear?” – Kyrillos, setting the girl down to rest against the wall.
“The man who saved me? He protected me from that monster.” – the Girl
“I did not see him, my dear.” – Kyrillos, honestly.
“When the Knights had spoken of the Night Demons I dared not believe them, but now I know… they told us the truth. They tried to warn us. We must go, warn others.” – the nun
“What are you talking about, sister?” – Kyrillos
“What, no, I am not a nun, but a lay-sister of the Order of the Hospital of St. John. I am called Eloise. Please sir, you must protect yourself.” – Eloise was manic.
“Tell me about these knights, Eloise.” – Kyrillos
The girl suddenly relaxed when he spoke, his power over her undermining her natural emotions by making her want to please him.
“What? Oh, they are knights, and their leader is a Frenchman, I forget his name.” – Eloise
“Would you know it should you hear it again?” – Kyrillos
“I don’t know, why?” – Eloise
“Is he called Gauthier?” – Kyrillos, suddenly excited
“I… Yes, do you know him?” – Eloise
“I do know him, he is touched by the Lord Almighty! Do you know where he is now?” – the Byzantine’s eyes gleamed in the night.
“I… I don’t know. I think he said something about the Monastery of the Apostles, it’s in the shadow of St. Andras’s Church.” – Eloise
The old man smiled and Eloise was afraid.
25th of October, 1217, 1:34am
The Pisan Quarter
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
Teresa found herself missing her friends. She had come to the city in the company of Maria D’Agostino, whom had excitedly taken up residence in her family’s home within the Genoese Quarter of the city. Teresa herself was treated like an honored guest and given a sumptuous suite below ground. It seemed as though the family had been planning this move for some time. And it was nice to be treated to such finery and with such distinction after so long in the dirt with corpses.
Now though, she was walking through a sea of mortals, something she had not seen since Constantinople. She had been ‘asked’ by Maria to find her own place in the city. Anywhere in the city outside the Genoese Quarter. The city was seemingly swarming with the undead. She could feel them everywhere as she walked the night. A gaunt man with no hair and no shoes spider-climbed his way up a shadowy wall in the Pisan Quarter, a woman with fiery red hair hidden beneath a veil flitted through a crowd that formed around a vender who was selling something full of spice and fragrance that made her stomach turn.
And then there was Sabela. She was standing not far from Church of St. Sabas watching a boy who was dancing for change. She seemed mesmerized by his movements. Or maybe she was just hungry.
The shadows clung to the queen as she slid through the crowd until she was directly behind the neonate.
“Sabela, I had thought you too prudent to follow us into the city.” – Teresa whispered.
The young vampire jumped.
“Lady Teresa, you… You startled me.” – Sabela, her hand upon her chest as if to still her dead heart.
“My apologies, skulking becomes a survival tool after some years within the long night.” – Teresa
“It’s nothing, milady. I’m glad you took my advice and came into the city. Did you come alone or with your companions?” – Sabela
“Neither, childe, I came with my patron, Maria D’Agostino, though I do not believe my presence in her home will be long endured. I am currently searching out a place to stay while I am in Acre, I’m sure you understand.” – Teresa
“Of course I do. One cannot expect a lady of your standing to sleep in a crypt for long.” – Sabela
“And you? I was under the impression from our previous conversation that your sire did not wish for you to venture into the city.” – Teresa, her tone motherly.
“What Etienne doesn’t know cannot hurt him.” – Sabela, with a wink, a smile and a giggle.
Teresa found herself smiling as well as the girl’s cheeriness was quite infectious.
The Dancing boy seemed to have finished his set and was collecting his change. Teresa and Sabela moved on with the crowd, though the Lasombra did note that the red headed vampire remained behind with the boy, her hand on his shoulder and her eyes upon his neck.
Good for her.
They wandered the streets, enjoying the ambiance and the people, though the living did seem to be growing more and more scarce as the hour drew later and later.
Eventually they found themselves, once again, not far from the Church of St. Sabas and once again they felt the presence of one of the undead. But this one they knew on sight.
“Hail, Lord Kyrillos!” – Sabela, cheerily waving toward the bearded little fat man.
The Malkavian stopped in his tracks and turned toward the voice, smiling once he saw the young vampire and her companion.
“Sabela, Lady Teresa, it has been too long.” – he said, honestly.
He and the Queen embraced politely, as family might. It was a gesture that Sabela found odd for those who were not of the same Blood.
“Who is the girl, Kyrillos?” – Teresa, looking at the dazed mortal.
“She was the unfortunate victim of Wilhelmina, I rescued her and am taking her under my wing. Now do not look at me like that, milady! She is no slave, on the contrary, I intend to make her my protégé, perhaps even my steward.” – Kyrillos, who was acting uncharacteristically energetic.
“And the others?” – Teresa, noting the absence of their companions.
“Ah, our heathen friend is creeping about here somewhere, as for the Venetian…he was feeling ill and retired until tomorrow night, though he did promise to track you down as soon as he could. I, on the other hand, am in search of our Crusader friend, whom I hear is in the city! I shall have him this time I think, Teresa!” – Kyrillos, his eyes glinting in the moonlight.
“Well that explains your liveliness. Shall we join you, Kyrillos?” – Teresa
“Please do! We are now heading to the Monastery of the Apostles, where it is said that the Frenchman lays his head while within the city!” – Kyrillos gestured wildly as he spoke.
And so they made their way to the monastery in the company of a Madman and his newfound companion. The Assassin they counted as an ally hidden from their sight but close at hand as they went.
When they reached the gates of the Monastery they found them closed and chained shut and, alarmingly, warm to the touch, as if they were still baking in the noonday sun. The Darkness within the Black Queen begged her not to enter those gates but she soldiered on in spite of it, pushing the gate open in spite of the heavy chain. Kyrillos applauded softly at the ease with which she displayed her unholy strength.
“Can we think about this for a moment, please?” – Sabela, her voice small but strong
“Think about what, childe?” – Kyrillos, patronizingly
“We are about to go into a monastery where Crusaders are known to be!” – Sabela
“Yes.” – Kyrillos, again.
“No! I won’t go!” – Sabela
“You Are Coming!” – Teresa, her eyes darkened as she commanded the young Ravnos.
“No, I’m not!” – Sabela, her brow furrowed resolutely.
“Please, Sabela, we could use your eyes and wits in there.” – Kyrillos, his voice confident but pleading, none of them would have said no to him in that moment.
“Fine, but only because I can hide amongst your corpses should things go bad.” – Sabela, petulantly.
The interior of the walls was a beautifully manicured courtyard, frescoes and statues of the Christ and his apostles decorated the walls and paths. The Monastery itself was a squat two story building that was also decorated with murals depicting the sainted friends of the Messiah.
At the center of the far wall, before a large statue of St. Paul upon his donkey was a gaping hole in the cobblestone path. The cobbles themselves were stacked haphazardly nearby. It seemed as though whoever looted the shrine did so with the intention of replacing them.
They approached the hole cautiously, unsure if they were alone. Even Kyrillos’ senses were hampered by the throbbing pain radiating from the very ground of the holy place.
“Halt!” – a voice from the shadows of the monastery.
They turned to see two Knights, marked as belonging to the Order of St. Thomas, striding across the courtyard, their swords drawn.
“What are you doing here?” – one of the knights
“We are here because of the girl, who was wandering lost and bloodied. We escorted her here post haste.” – Kyrillos
“Why are you really here?”
Kyrillos took an instinctive step back, the motion was one that Teresa had never seen the Byzantine make, it was one that reeked of fear.
Unseen, Abdul-Malik slipped behind the knights and toward the monastery proper only to find himself unable to go step upon its cobbled patio. No matter how he tried, the Blood itself seemed to be refusing to allow the action, recoiling from the very stones.
He turned back and saw that his friends were being corralled into the far corner.
“I don’t understand what you mean, we’ve come here on a pilgrimage, as Acre is the closest the Holy City that we are allowed until the Saracens are sent back to whatever hell they come from. We have not been here a night and we found this poor girl raving about monsters. We came to the gate and found it unlocked, we only wanted to help the child.” – Kyrillos, his words like honey.
The knights sheathed their swords.
“I apologize for our frightening you. I am Brother Duncan, this is my friend, Brother Karl, the gate was to be locked when the sun went down and we were unaware that it had not been. Please, of course you are welcome here, we only ask that, in honor of the sainted men for whom this monastery was built, that all visitors recite the Lord’s prayer at the shrine to St. Paul.
Duncan motioned over to the statue of Paul upon his Donkey.
Though his words and demeanor were gentle, the canniness of his request was evident. He was commanding them to kneel before the holiest place in the entire city. Something that the Damned were unlikely to comply to.
These men knew and from the look on his friends faces they too had figured it out.
Kyrillos stepped forward and fell to his knees in supplication. The ground beneath him burned him through his clothes, the others soon followed, Teresa steadied herself on her left hand and the faintest wisp of smoke floated up from her palm, but the three of them did as they were instructed.
Abdul-Malik watched as the one called Duncan drew his blade.
“Brother Karl, something is here.” – Duncan
Karl turned and his eyes widened. They could see him.
“Damn these accursed holy-men.” – Abdul-Malik cursed under his breath.
He searched about him for something that would allow him to protect himself and found nothing save a torch which he grabbed up and tossed it toward the knights.
They stepped back from the torch and the one called Karl swiped it from the air with his sword but in the instant they looked away the Saracen allowed his blood to carry him away like the wind, passing through the gates and out of the sight of the living.
Kyrillos covered Eloise with his own body as the knights turned back toward them.
“You Bow Before Your Master!” – Kyrillos
His voice resonated within the minds of all those present, but compounded and grew within those of the knights until they heard nothing else. In an instant their fiery passion and much vaunted faith were snuffed out.
Their arms fell to their sides as their intense stare faded into a dull gaze.
“Who do you serve?” – Kyrillos
“Our Lord and Savior.” – the two in unison
“What is his name?” – Kyrillos
“Lord Kyrillos.” – the two, their voices still dull
Sabela shuddered while Teresa was simply jealous of the power he wielded.
“How do they know his name?” – Sabela asked her
“I am all they know, my childe, they would remember my name before their very own.” – Kyrillos answered over his shoulder.
“ask them what happened here.” – Teresa
“Yes, what laid here before?” – Kyrillos
“The Cross of Our Lord, stained by his Blood, which has rested here since St. Paul gave it to Acre’s first Christians.” – the two, as if reciting a list to a vender.
Kyrillos was gob smacked, it was no wonder no vampire had set foot within the walls for a thousand years.
“Where is the Cross now?” – Kyrillos
“Sir Gauthier and his Fellows took it…” – Karl
“…We do not know where…” – Duncan
“…He will send his sign when it is safe.” – Karl finished
Kyrillos smiled devilishly.
“Then we shall wait.”
10th of October, 1217, 10:52pm
Vendramino’s Chamber
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
The Cappadocian had made a cozy little vault for himself within the catacombs beneath Prince Etienne’s Caravansary. It was deeper than those of the Baron and his cronies, too deep for the sun to ever grace its shadowy threshold, which was obscured enough to ensure that trespassers were few. This was not to say that it was far removed from the surface, in fact there were three passages that led from his little nest of skulls and bones to the surface, one of which had been crafted by his (now dead) servants and was known only to him.
The antechamber was shadowy and contained only a single small wooden door that was invisible from the corridor, hidden as it was behind an earthen wall. That wooden door led into a smallish alcove attached to the vampire’s proper haven. Like the rest of the catacombs this room was filled with the skulls and bones of the dead, though they had been chosen and placed by Vendramino and his slaves upon taking up residence. He slept upon a large pile of pillows that were arranged in a recess within the deepest wall in front of which he had placed a massive writing table with an abacus and his most recent ledgers. To the left and right of the ledgers were two sconces crafted from the skulls of those whom had been buried here centuries ago.
Currently the candle to the left had reached its end and was beginning to gutter out, sending flickering shadows across the faces of those who had gathered there.
The old necromancer himself sat slumped in his chair, his brow darkened as he concentrated upon something that he was working in his hands. Though he grunted in agreement as the others spoke, his heart wasn’t in the conversation.
Kyrillos was in a dower mood, as he had been since reaching the Prince of Ash’s court. He’d been promised the riches of the Levant but found his hands tied from so far outside the city. He’d made good contacts to be sure and had been in correspondence with an Egyptian trader for a fortnight but the work was slower than he’d anticipated.
Teresa stood in the deeper shadows of the alcove. She had become paranoid since her arrival in Acre as her Oath to Silvester weighed heavier on her each night as her loyalty to her allies challenged the power of his blood.
Abdul-Malik sat cross-legged not far from where Vendramino himself sat. He wore the white robes of a priest and sat upon a small silken mat. He had, since their arrival, been the very image of tranquility. His unshaven face positively serene as he watched his European allies converse.
They were currently gossiping, whispering to each other in the odd way they did, slipping effortlessly between three or more languages. It took some getting used to but Abdul-Malik had come to find the cadence almost melodic and extraordinarily soothing.
He kept this observation to himself.
“Sherazhina informs me that Sanchez has been keeping himself busy in Kronstadt. Josephus is furious with him, casting curses at him nightly.” – Teresa, from the shadows.
Vendramino smirked.
“I pity the young Patrician, for he is doomed.” – Kyrillos, chuckling
Though she did not laugh the shadows that surrounded Teresa lightened and seemed to dance almost whimsically.
Abdul-Malik was less amused with than the others, but he usually was when it came to the Spaniard’s antics.
“I’ve heard that the Prince is not happy.” – Vendramino, offhandedly.
“Why now? Has the Baron overstepped his bounds again?” – Kyrillos, his voice heavy with disgust for both the Baron and the Prince.
“I heard that there was a murder two nights ago.” – Vendramino, sipping from a chalice of brackish looking liquid.
“What matter is that of the Prince? I am sure that there are many murders in these barbaric lands.” – Kyrillos
Abdul-Malik raised an eyebrow.
“Please, my heathen friend, do not take offence.” – Kyrillos, his voice made it clear that his intent was the opposite of his words.
“Non taken, Infidel.” – Abdul-Malik, patiently, anyone who did not know them might assume that their barbs were affectionate.
“Rumor has it that the mortals were loyal to and under the protection of the Church.” – Teresa
“I too heard this, and that it appeared that they were murdered by Crusaders under orders from one of the Cainites who have come to rest in these catacombs.” – Abdul-Malik, fully joining the conversation
“I’m sure that the Fiend is to blame.” – Kyrillos
Teresa wasn’t so sure.
“Teresa you’ve become acquainted with the Prince’s issue, yes? Why don’t you ask her?” – Kyrillos
“Should I see her I might.” – Teresa did not take kindly to the presumption of her mad friend.
“I think you’ll see her sooner than you would expect.” – Kyrillos
The Queen furrowed her brow, not understanding the strange bit of divination before she noticed the others were looking expectantly at the entryway behind her.
She listened closely and then caught what they had already noticed: the sound of footsteps on the stones.
The shadows held no secret from her and she saw the girl before the others. She stood there in a violet gown, not unlike her own. The girl had taken to dressing herself in the European way and had attached herself to the Black Queen.
“Lady Sabela, what an honor. What brings you to my humble home?” – Vendramino, standing to his full height.
“I’ve come to ask the Lady Teresa and you, her allies, a great favor.” – Sabela
“What would that be?” – Vendramino, positively salivating at the thought of having the Prince’s own childe under his thumb. It was clear that the prospect was forefront in all of their minds.
“I am sure you heard about the family that was murdered not a mile from here two nights ago?” – Sabela
“In fact that was the subject of our conversation just now.” – Teresa
“The family in question was Muslim, though they hid themselves within the Christian fold.” – Sabela“Then what is the problem, girl?” – Kyrillos, his tone grandfatherly
“By my sire, Prince Etienne’s decree, those who accept his hospitality have no right to do harm to any who fall under his protection, not just the Christians. The fools responsible didn’t just kill those poor souls. They had their way with them first. The women were raped before being killed. The children used for sport. This is a land in turmoil and these monsters have… enraged my sire as well as those Muslim vampires who make their havens in the lands beyond.” – Sabela, her outrage gave her words weight.
For his part Vendramino, though he was interested in what was being said, was still preoccupied by the project he held half hidden in his hands.
Abdul-Malik was angry, his mask of tranquility was gone.
“As my esteemed friend, Kyrillos, is so fond of pointing out, they were just mortals.” – Teresa
The girl looked upon the woman she’d looked up to with no small amount of horror.
“But, you must help me find the culprits. My Sire, your Prince, demands satisfaction in this.
“The girl is right of course, Crusaders were involved. I say we look into it for her.” – Kyrillos, his voice and demeanor were downright paternal.
“What business is it of ours if Mortals go about killing one another?” – Teresa, perplexed
“You heard but did not listen, Woman, Vampires did this!” – Kyrillos
“We must feed, mustn’t we?” – Teresa
It was Kyrillos’ turn to be perplexed, as he always was when it came to communicating with her matters concerning mortals. He decided to take a different approach.
“Teresa, surely you’d like to curry favor with her Sire.”
She considered his words.
“No, I do not wish to risk dirtying my hands with the blood of an immortal over the blood of a mortal. But I won’t stop you.” – Teresa
There came a knocking from the outer room and they all, save Vendramino, stood as one.
“May I intrude?”
It was the Prince’s Majordomo, Duqaq ibn-Jamil.
The Toreador was tall and lithe and wore the finest local fashion. Sanchez would have hated him. His features were vaguely Arab, though he came off as a European.
“Please do.” – Vendramino, looking up from his work
“I couldn’t help but notice that you were speaking of the latest scandal.” – Duqaq
“Yes, we were just trying to explain that killing a family, even a Muslim one, isn’t such a good idea in this climate.” – Kyrillos
“You heard that they were Muslim? There was no proof of that. It appears, at least to the prince, that Kuritz simply went mad.” -
“Kuritz?” – Abdul-Malik
“Yes, that’s the name of the Ventrue that is being accused of the crime. We cannot be sure but they were seen riding out toward the homestead the night before the massacre and haven’t been seen since.” – Duqaq
“I still don’t understand why you’re talking to us about this” – Teresa
“According to the Lady Sabela you are honorable creatures and, as outsiders who had no connection to the Accused, you may be trusted to locate him. You would need to leave tonight of course, and must not tell anyone but report to me when you find him. My master wishes that we keep this between us.” – Duqaq
Kyrillos and Abdul-Malik nodded in agreement, perhaps for the first time since they’d met so many years ago.
“I would like to go with them, Duqaq.” – Sabela
“You are your own woman, Sabela, and you are the Prince’s childe. I would not dare to presume to tell you that you could not go if it was your wish. But I must warn you to watch your words, as I do not believe your sire would forgive you this bit of gossip.” – Duqaq
The seneschal gave them directions as best he could and hurried them along before disappearing whence he came.
They did not hear him go.
“Will you go, Lady Teresa?” – Sabela
The Lasombra was torn between the prospect of a Prince’s boon and her own apathy over the crime.
“I do not know. What say you, Vendramino?” – Teresa
Vendramino stood for the first time since dusk and placed his new candelabra on the desk.
“I’m in.”
11th of October, 1217, 1:37am
Some miles east of the Caravansary
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
The starless sky hid nothing of the horror they discovered in the burnt out husk of a house. The smell of cooked flesh and blood was still on the wind even two nights later. The scent of blood was strong but not overwhelming, it was probably faint enough for mortals to miss entirely.
The skeleton of a house was black and gray. Almost nothing survived the fire.
They had seen this many times before but it wasn’t easy. Only Vendramino seemed unaffected by the carnage.
“Look here.” – Teresa, her voice small.
She pointed to the hand of a child, still clutching a charred doll, lying some distance from the house itself.
They searched the wreckage for nearly an hour before finding any evidence of what happened to the knights. Tracks led further east into a stony outcropping; they would have been completely hidden had it not been for Kyrillos’ keen senses.
They followed without speaking, the trail becoming nearly invisible while they crossed stone and then suddenly becoming clear again, leading directly into a small box canyon.
“Do you see that?” – Teresa
Kyrillos nodded
“see what?” – Sabela
Not far from where they stood was a pile of dismembered corpses, their bloodless and rotting carcasses already being scavenged upon. Nearby was a single suit of armor, its chest plate caved in by a wooden stake that seemed to pin it to the scorched earth, a greasy black stain marking the presence of what must have once been Kuritz.
“We should leave.” – Sabela, turning to leave
“You have nothing to fear, girl. You are unlikely to die in our presence.” – Vendramino, approaching the grease stain.
Kyrillos heard the sound of crumbling stones somewhere behind him. It was nearly imperceptible. The kind of thing one heard in a canyon.
“I like to think he screamed like that poor girl he hacked to pieces as the sun rose even though I know it couldn’t have been.” – The voice was lyrical but strong. Not unlike a stern mother.
They turned to see that the way they came had been filled by armed warriors. They were Muslim by their dress and Vampires by the way the Coterie’s skin crawled.
“I count eight.” – Teresa whispered.
“Eight?” – Vendramino
“The wall.” – Teresa
Sure enough, there were two men standing upon the walls of the canyon with a third crawling upon the stones themselves.
“You are brave, the four of you coming without an escort.” – the speaker, her face covered by a veil.
“Come Franj, tell us why we shouldn’t stake you and leave you for the sun as well?” – The woman
“We are here to find those responsible for murdering that family in cold blood.” – Kyrillos, who made his presence known.
In response someone spat blood at him. It was clear that they were unhappy, but despite the spittle he saw a few sheath their swords.
“They came here with me, Hanifa bint Nasir.”
The voice came from behind Vendramino, but it was a familiar one. Abdul-Malik stood in his shadow, his white robes seeming to glow in the night.
“I don’t know you.” – Hanifa bint Nasir
Her men weren’t so sure though, they seemed to fidget as they looked upon the undead imam.
“Of course you do, Hanifa. I am Abdul-Malik Ibrahim al-Rashid and you know who my Patron is. These Franj are off limits. They have come here for the same reason you brought this down upon the twice dead warlord that lay at our feet.” – Abdul-Malik
“You speak for the Infidels?” – Hanifa, suspiciously
“I cannot speak for the Prince’s childe but these Europeans have been my compatriots for some time and I can ensure you that they share your hunger for justice in these matters.” – Abdul-Malik
Sabela stared daggers at the Saracen. Teresa had ensured her that her identity would be kept safe should they encounter the Ashirra.
The Muslim woman nodded, acknowledging the truthfulness of Abdul-Malik’s words. None seem surprised by Sabela’s heritage.
“Tell the Prince that honorable war is one thing, but slaughter will not go unpunished. Remind him that we will respect the truce as long as he controls his domain.” – Hanifa
Just like that they were gone. No sign of their presence remained at all, even to the sharp senses of Kyrillos.
“We’ve got what we’ve come for.” – Abdul-Malik
“Should we take the armor as proof?” – Teresa
“Yes.” – Vendramino, who was in the process of collecting the ash remains.
Teresa reached down to pull the stake out of the armor only to find that it wasn’t a stake so much as a pike as long as a man.
“I think I’ll keep this.” – Teresa even as she hefted the armor and threw it onto the Venetian’s wagon.
11th of October, 1217, 4:23am
The chambers of Duqaq
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
Dawn was approaching as they reached the Caravansary, but wasn’t so close that they were pressed to return to their own vaults.
Duqaq made his haven above ground, within the caravansary itself in a suite of rooms that were well appointed but overstuffed with all that he had acquired over the course of centuries. Vendramino noted that he was Christian despite his Arabic dress and customs and that he was far older than his prince.
The advisor was currently seated comfortably in an Arabic style chair as if it were his own personal throne, his handsome features stretched taught, his jaw clenched hard enough that his long fangs pressed into his lips as he listened to their recitation of the night’s events.
“The excesses of the Franj are angering the native Ashirra. I have no doubt that the Banu Haqim are already amongst us and have received word that mortals within the city have also begun to clash. I wonder if perhaps the Muslims do not need to make war as the Christians seem all too eager to destroy themselves.” – Duqaq, his eyes unfocused
With a gesture he dismissed them, thanking them as an afterthought.
11th of October, 1217, 4:50am
Somewhere beneath the Caravansary
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
Blood marked the stones of the passage before Kyrillos, though there was precious little light in this particular branch of tunnels but the stench was tantalizing.
Along either side of the entrance to their territory were two human corpses, their heads drawn together into a macabre keystone, their bodies flayed open, ridged and fused to the stone of the tunnel walls. Four arms were eternally outstretched, each hand holding a dying ember in a dish that could only be bone. The light they cast wouldn’t have been enough for a mortal to see by but the message was clear: this was Basarab territory.
Kyrillos couldn’t help but shudder.
There was movement in the darkness beyond the grisly threshold and then a massively large figure dressed in Magyar armor emerged from it, gliding with a horrible and unnatural grace.
“What.”
“I have come with a proposition for your master.” – Kyrillos, quietly.
“Wait here.” – the guard, vanishing once again into the darkness with no discernable locomotion.
Kyrillos didn’t wait long before there was more movement.
The being that emerged was immediately recognizable as Vintila Basarab.
“What do you want?” – the Fiend
“I wish to open up trade negotiations between our domains.”
“And why would I ‘negotiate’ with one of Hardestadt’s ‘vassal-clowns’?” – Vintila
“War is hell, and merchants make particularly robust allies.” – Kyrillos
“Of course, because when I think of bloodshed and conquest I often wonder how much it would cost for my men to spice their supper. No, if I were to have need of spice I would slay a spice trader and take what I wanted.”
Kyrillos nodded, he had already redirected his shipments from the region and from those under the rule of Vintila, and sent word for others who wished to continue doing business with him to do the same. The Fiend had simply made sure that he would cement those rerouting.
Without a word he walked away, even as the fool laughed mirthfully at his own wit.
23rd of October, 1217, 6:08pm
Ruins to the south of the Caravansary
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
It had been nearly two weeks since the destruction of Kuritz and the assembled Cainites had become restless. To stave off the violence that was sure to ensue and to help quell any talk of some who wished to depose the Prince of Ash, Etienne announced that he would be holding a midnight tournament in grand European fashion.
When the prince announced that all duals would be to first blood or submission the Baron von Achern, Lanzo von Sachsen and a few others laughed derisively. The announced games included both armed and unarmed single combat, a javelin throwing competition, as well as a general melee. Since the games were announced and individuals signed up the betting had begun, with Kyrillos at the center of it.
He found it strange that so many played at being mildly offended by the prospects of violence while simultaneously placing bets on who they believed would be victorious. Any successful merchant could tell you, hypocrisy was lucrative.
Javelin throw, with many of the knights stepping forward to launch their volley for truly impressive distances, some hitting targets at distances that would terrify a mortal. Teresa stepped up and threw her javelin farther than most of the others, though hers wouldn’t be the best throw that night, it silenced many of the idiot knights who were insulting her lack of a prick. Though she was sadly out thrown by three others.
Vintila threw last, having joined the competition only after realizing that Teresa herself had already thrown. He sent one of his men off to retrieve his javelin, a heavy looking spear that looked vaguely bonelike, in its head was a jewel that looked much like a human eye, which swiveled to look upon each of its master’s opponents.
The Tzimisce surveyed the field.
“I will not throw this spear without a target!”
As if on cue one of his ghoul-knights ran out into the field, a heavy burlap bag thrown over his shoulder. When he reached the first of the javelins he up ended the bag, releasing the captive within.
The man stood naked, shaking and afraid.
“Run.” – the knight
After a moment of confusion the man’s eyes went wide when he saw Vintila charge him, spear raised over his head. He ran as far and as fast as his legs would take him even as the fiend let loose.
The spear caught the man between the shoulder blades, fastening him to the ground.
The crowd was mostly silent, save for Vintila’s own men who cheered raucously despite the fact that the man had not even reached the nearest cluster of flags. Vintila had come nearly dead last.
The crowd parted for the Prince as he stormed forward. Vintila bowed to the crowd and then turned to leave before Etienne could reach him.
The second game was a series of single combat exhibitions, the first being fought by Baron von Achern and Count von Sachsen who were both chomping at the bit to loose their fury upon one another. They lashed out with a fury that startled even the undead, landing blows that would demolish lesser monsters but neither seemed capable of landing a single decisive blow.
And then someone did. With a mighty heave the Baron launched von Sachsen back nearly twenty feet to the cheers of the crowd. Those cheers turned into gasps though, when Lanzo leapt back to his feet, his teeth bared, his eyes flashed with fury, his sword left behind as he charged his foe, lost completely to his beast.
Von Achern, for his part, was ready, bringing the pommel of his sword down upon the frenzied vampire’s head, crushing him into the ground instantly, the sound of cracking bone audible over the raucous crowd. Van Sachsen’s men came forward to drag their master away, his skull caved in but healing. He wouldn’t be able to walk again until sundown.
Vendramino’s bout began and quickly ended without the drama of the one between the two Warlords. He devastated his opponent in short order, leaving the Gangrel sprawled out and bleeding in the sand to the shock of all who did not know him. There was no applause, as no one was sure what had happened.
“He was a plant.” – Aram Hovannes said, furious.
“Are you accusing the Prince of Schaasburg or the German Baron of being a cheat, Lord Hovannes?” – Kyrillos asked incredulously
The Ravnos handed over his money purse and stormed off, disappearing again into the crowd.
Throughout all of this the crowd was alive like it hadn’t been since they had arrived. Sabela stuck close to her sire, who was under a great deal of scrutiny, his brood-mate Aram Hovannes was always so close, always watching. Tonight was no different, he had been pacing and mumbling angrily under his breath since the Tzimisce barbarian had murdered the Muslim in cold blood.
“The display disturbed me too, Sire.” – Sabela
“It’s not that, Sabela. If I do not succeed soon in finding the source of the aura that protects Acre my sire, Varsik, will install Aram as Prince and I will have left you an orphan too soon after your Becoming.” – Etienne
“That is… troubling, Sire.” – Sabela, understating her fear.
“You are comfortable with the Transylvanians, yes.” – Etienne could change subjects so quickly it hurt.
“I have made a sort of alliance with Teresa, yes, but I wouldn’t call them friends.” – Sabela
“Perhaps you would like to… suggest to them that… Lord Jurgen may find an ally in exchange for protection.” – Etienne.
“I will make the offer.” – Sabela, nodding as she slipped into the crowd.
“Nothing too blatant, my dear, I would hate…” – but she was already gone.
“To be accused of treason.” – Etienne, to no one in particular.
Maria D’Agostino watched the jousting from the crowd, her ghoul-cum-husband sitting at her side. Neither seemed particularly diverted.
“The Prince is a fool if he thinks that such activities will make any of us forget his obsolescence.” – Maria, her ghoul-husband nodding obediently.
“It’s a farce of the worst variety and yet these fools indulge the bumpkin Prince.” – she continued
“I couldn’t agree more, my love.” – her ghoul-husband cooed sycophantically.
“Wouldn’t you agree, Lady Teresa?” – Maria, turning to look at her companion.
Teresa knew that it was a calculated slight, as she, herself, had just participated in the Javelin throw.
“Yes, though I understand the drive behind the festival, poorly executed though it may be. The need to keep one’s subjects’ passions in check is no trivial thing.” – Teresa, still bitter that she lost the competition.
“So you believe the Frenchman a suitable Prince? I myself believe that the Second Kingdom of Jerusalem should be ruled by one of clearer pedigree. That such a place is in the hands of a Clan so low as the Ravnos makes me queasy.” – Maria
Teresa nodded. The thought had occurred to her.
“At the same time, though, I’ll be damned if I let the retched Magyars rule it. The very thought of the Ventrue holding sway over any part of the holy land…” – Maria, trailing off as darkness danced in her eyes.
Teresa nodded, while she was not as hostile to the clan of kings as a whole, the thought of von Achern being granted any more status or titles left her cold.
“Should there be a changing of hands here within Acre, can I count on you to stand at my side? Having the childe of the Leader of the Amici Noctis would lend a certain weight to my claim of Primacy.” – Maria
The question was rhetorical of course, she had already been given assurances by Teresa’s sire Silvester. Darkness coiled around the Black Queen’s heart as the Italian spoke.
“Of course, Lady Maria, you have the full support of the Friends of Night. In fact my sire believes that a changing of the guard in the Holy Land is long overdue. That the second kingdom should be brought into the Sea of Shadows and that you are uniquely suited to making that happen.” – Teresa assured her.
It was then that Teresa decided that Maria D’Agostino would never rule the second kingdom.
Abdul-Malik slipped through the crowd, not invisible but unnoticed to those around him. He had made a habit of following someone new each night, learning what he could about them. Tonight he’d been following the Tremere who had caused the ruckus in Magdeburg some years earlier.
The Usurper seemed to be watching Teresa, as if he were hoping to have a word with her. He didn’t notice when the Assamite approached him, jumping visibly when a hand was placed on his shoulder.
“What?! Where did you come from?” – Thierry, trying to calm himself.
“You seem very nervous, Kilian.” – Abdul-Malik
the young vampire’s eyes widened slightly.
“How do you know that name?” – Kilian/Thierry
“We met briefly in Magdeburg.” – Abdul-Malik
“You are a friend of the Lady Teresa.” – Kilian, Realization brightening his face.
“I am and I noticed that you seemed alone and might need someone to talk to.”
“It’s just nerves. That bastard Basarab has been tormenting me. It’s made me jumpy. It seems that our families have a history.” – Kilian.
“How could Teresa help you with this problem?” – Abdul-Malik, honestly curious.
“It is not so much Teresa as Lord Jurgen that I wish to make contact with. Though it requires some more study, I believe I have worked out a way to use the Aura that surrounds Acre against the foes of the black cross and if Teresa could inform her Lord that I would happily grant him that power in return for amnesty… but I must go now. I am not safe here.” – Kilian, his eyes fixed upon Vintila Basarab who was watching him hungrily.
“Say hello to Jervais should you see him, yes.” – Adbul-Malik
“I haven’t seen him since my banishment, but I’ll do what I can.” – Kilian’s final words were more bitter than the Saracen expected.
24th of October, 1217, 1:04am
Ruins to the south of the Caravansary
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
Finally they came to the last of act this tournament; the grand finale if you will: In the center of the ruins a large pile of armor and shields had been assembled, standing as tall as a man and wide enough for a half a dozen warriors to stand upon. Around this makeshift hill stood 12 participants. The rules were simple. No one was to be destroyed and the last man standing upon the mountain of armor wins.
Once the trumpet sounded the battle began. Within moments two different vampires were staked and three were overwhelmed by their beasts. others were limping away, holding their guts or severed limbs.
It was down to only four when everything came to a screeching halt. Quite literally.
The roar was louder even then the mass battle taking place at the center of the crowd, over the sound of the roaring crowd and the manic betting. It was so loud that everything came to a stop as everyone turned to look.
The horrible shriek came from the Prince’s raised perch. The prince himself stood ramrod straight, staring north.
“It’s gone, it’s gone!” – the Prince shrieked over and over again.
It took the crowd a moment to comprehend. Vendramino was one of the first to piece it together before a whisper cut through the crowd.
“the aura was gone.”
24th of October, 1217, 8:14pm
The Chamber of the Baron von Achern
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
Kyrillos and Abdul-Malik stood, waiting for the Baron to acknowledge them. Vendramino could not be reached, as he had fled for the city the night before, leaving many of his possessions, which were being collected even as they stood there waiting for the petulant man in knight’s armor standing before them pretending to be too busy to acknowledge their presence.
“Where is the Venetian?” – Baron von Achern asked as he looked over a map of the city.
“He is already within the city, he left within an hour of the aura’s vanishing.” – Kyrillos
“Good, that means that he’s had a head start. I wish for each of you to go into Acre and find your ally and with him I want you to lay claim to as much of the city as possible in the name of the Black Cross to better ensure my dominance over the city when I make a play for power when the fool Etienne falls.” – The Baron
“And the Relic?” – Abdul-Malik
It is of little consequence. You are only to attempt to obtain it should it appear that the fiend should take it as his own prize." – The Baron.
“But Thierry believes that he may be able…” – Kyrillos
“Yes, I know of the Usurper’s theories, but I have no time for sorcerous chicanery, Lord Kyrillos.” – The Baron, dismissively.
After a few moments of silence they meekly dismissed themselves from the Baron’s presence and silently vowed to themselves that they would find a way to bring him low.
24th of October, 1217, 9:36pm
The Gates of Acre
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
Sabela stood at the gates of the city. They were earthen and plain, nothing like she expected them to be, after so many years of imagining those walls and what they must be made of, this stone façade was the greatest of letdowns. She placed her hand on the wall and felt the heat of those walls. Whatever magic had been here had left its mark but was gone.
“Do not go into the city, Sabela, let the Franj desecrate that holy place, no good can come from entering the city walls.” – Etienne had said
Steeling herself, Sabela stepped across the threshold and was still somewhat surprised when she didn’t erupt into flame. It was truly gone.
The city was a wonder. It had been so long since she’d seen so many people in one place wander the streets so openly.
The streets were well lit with great braziers and wall mounted sconces, so that night shoppers could peruse the wares of the night markets. Venders shouted out their bargains as the streets, crowded with shoppers and entertainers and so very many children playing. Windows in every building were left open, light pouring out of them to light the streets further.
It was a glorious thing to behold and it saddened her when the tears came, staining everything in red.
This place had never seen the torments visited by the Get of Caine. They were all so defenseless.
She wept again at the thought of it.
24th of October, 1217, 9:51pm
The Venetian Quarter
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
Kyrillos found himself in the Venetian quarter in hopes of finding his old ally but found only a merchant’s square and a fine looking inn, with no sign of Vendramino in sight. After some time he came to realize that he saw no sign of any vampire within the quarter at all.
The idea of the virgin territory thrilled the old merchant. He spent money in each of the stalls, exorbitant money, letting everyone get a good look at him as if he were some visiting dignitary. By the time he’d entered the inn he had already made an indelible impression.
He walked around the tavern as if surveying a gallery. He feigned warming himself by the fire. He hovered over the patrons and finally made his way to the innkeeper.
“What do you want?” – the innkeeper, unhappily.
“Do you have a room?” – Kyrillos
“Best in the Quarter.” – the innkeeper, who didn’t seem so agitated once he actually spoke to Kyrillos.
“Then I am sure that it should be mine.” – Kyrillos, grandfatherly
“I would love for you to have it, sir, but it is currently being rented by a knight for his mistress.” – the innkeeper.
“What is your name, good sir?” – Kyrillos
“Joshua, sir.” – the innkeeper’s gruff demeanor had been utterly subverted by a more subservient one.
“Joshua, I am Kyrillos Dimities, and I would like to purchase a stake in your business.” – Kyrillos, dropping a coin purse onto the bar with a heavy clang.
The barkeeps eyes narrowed slightly, the Byzantine’s hold over him stretching almost to the breaking point.
“Why do you want this?” – Joshua
“I am…overseeing a project involving certain investments I’ve made and may need to put roots down for the foreseeable future and while I do not wish to purchase a home I am loath to rent.” – Kyrillos.
“I told you I do not have a room open upstairs.” – Joshua, absent mindedly pouring the man a drink.
“But you do have a cellar of some sort?” – Kyrillos, who took the cup but did not drink.
“Of course.”
“Is there a room there? Someplace that I may have privacy?” – Kyrillos, biting his knuckle ponderously, opening it in the process.
“Well, of course, but I can’t imagine why you would want to take it as your room.” – Joshua
“I have my reasons, good sir. If you would not mind my proposition, let us drink on it.” – Kyrillos, handing the barkeep back the red tinged cup of wine.
Joshua held the bag in his free hand, he felt the weight of it. It was worth a year’s wage. It was an easy choice.
He drank the wine. It made his head feel light and his blood rush like it did when he was a child. He giggled a bit as he licked his lips.
24th of October, 1217, 10:30pm
The Pisan Quarter
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
Abdul-Malik walked unhappily with the Franj city in the heart of the Muslim world. He had made circles around the city, completely unnoticed, as was his like. Since he’d left his cohorts though he felt the presence of others of their kind, though he had not seen them. Of the source of the now gone Aura, he found no evidence. The buildings themselves though hummed with the power of the faithful. Certain streets were barred him due to the power of faith that radiated from the very cobblestones. He had never in the entirety of his long night felt such faith.
He comforted himself with the thought of the righteous fire that must leap upon any of the undead who come within sight of a truly holy site such as Ka’aba.
As he entered the harbor many of the sounds of the city fell away. The sea seemed to glow in the night, reflecting the moon and stars like a rippling mirror. It was truly a sight to behold.
Somewhere, he heard someone yelling obscenities in Latin and French.
He followed the voice to find a lowly beggar sitting upon a pile of rope pointing at an ancient tower at the end of the pier.
The madman was currently in a fit of laughter but soon was taken up with rage and throwing rocks at the tower.
“Sortir de ma tour, salauds! It is mine, by right, and I’ll not have you squatting in it!” – the beggar who was one again caught up in a fit of laughter.
Abdul-Malik stood there and watched the fool shout. It was fascinating the way a battlefield is fascinating after the battle was over. All the dead and dying lying there and one cannot bring oneself to look away.
Finally, in spite of himself, the vampire stepped forward.
“Why do you shout so, my friend, surely you have no quarrel with this tower?” – Abdul spoke as if to a child or to one who was feebleminded.
“What do you want Saracen?” – the madman asked, angrily
“I simply do not understand the need to throw stones at the tower, I am a stranger in this land and am unfamiliar with the custom.” – Abdul
“It seems our kind have been here all along, my friend, and they have been squatting in MY TOWER!” – the madman
It was then that Abdul noticed the flash of the moonlight glistening off his fangs.
The madman was undead, as surely as Abdul himself was.
“I bid you ado, Saracen, but now I must clear my home of the vermin!.” – the beggar, standing, his robes falling open as he did so.
Without another word he bowed dramatically to Abdul-Malik and then turned to trudge toward the Tower as dozens of rats seemed flood out from the tower, as if fleeing some coming catastrophe.
24th of October, 1217, 11:08pm
Not far from the palace of the Patriarch
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
Vendramino waded hungrily through the mass of humanity that surrounded him. He’d taken up his haven the night before within the castle itself but found his sleep listless and filled with horrific visions. It seemed that in the holy land even those in power had Faith.
Preposterous.
He had, however, also heard of the Venetian Quarter and had already made the decision to make his haven amongst the Italians there. It may not be home. But it would be a close facsimile.
He smelled blood! Everywhere! He would need to feed soon but knew that should he kill he would not be allowed to stay. Where were the dead bodies? Where were the mass graves? He didn’t know and that frightened him. What if he did not find them?
As he neared the eastern wall, close to the compound of the Teutonic Order, he heard the scream of a young woman. The dark thing that nested in his dead heart stirred and he found himself running far more swiftly than any mortal toward the sound.
He found himself colliding with a woman, her clothing and hands were covered in shimmering crimson fluid, the flesh of her neck was torn leaving a beautiful topographic map of her pain and terror. His hunger leapt to the fore, the thing inside him shrieked for her blood, slamming on its cage of bone and flesh. He felt his hands wrap around her dainty little shoulders too tightly, his right hand becoming slick as it was splashed with her blood.
“The Cavalieri at the Monastery of the Apostles were right! There are monsters in the night! You must help me!” – she wept.
It had been so long since he’d tasted living blood. So long since he quenched that cold hunger with the burning Vitae of the living.
“The cow is mine!” – growled a voice from the shadows, in german.
Vendramino looked deeper into the alleyway and saw the source of the bark. It was Wilhelmina, the childe of the Gangrel Baron that he had cut down the night before. Her eyes were wild and alight like a cats and her posture was decidedly not human. She was currently perched upon the back wall of the alley, her long and wicked claws dug clearly into the stones.
He had never seen her in such a state.
“Do I look to stand in your way?” – Vendramino asked
The cow wept against the old monster’s chest, unable to comprehend his words or intentions.
He took her in his left hand and turned her toward the beast that crouched before him, using her to distract the Animal as he quietly drew his sword. Though he did not have any quarrel with Wilhelmina personally her actions were a threat to his plans.
The neonate charged the mortal her eyes wide and her clawed fingers spread wide. As she flew forward he threw the woman to the ground to his left. The gangrel followed its target, revealing her neck.
Vendramino unleashed a mighty swing, the sword biting deep into her neck, severing her spinal column before lodging in her larynx.
She fell limp upon the apoplectic woman.
Vendramino toed the Gangrel and found her to be nothing but a corpse, even as her blood worked to knit her neck back together he knew that she would not rise again, at least not on this night.
He kicked her over onto her back and dropped to his knee. A cursory glance told him that the mortal had fallen unconscious in the melee but the fluttering of her youthful heart told him that she would live. The wound, though it bled profusely, was superficial.
The Gangrel had already regenerated but her dead eyes, which remained those of a cat, stared blankly into the middle distance.
Blood! His beast called. Vitae! The dead girl was filled with it and as a corpse would make nary a sound as he dined.
He had not tasted the blood of another vampire since Constantinople and a part of him missed its sweetness…
He looked up to discover that their altercation had gone completely unnoticed by the mortals who walked not a dozen feet away. It seemed that Wilhelmina, even in her Frenzy, had chosen a place from which to pounce carefully.
As he thought on it he tasted blood. It took him a moment to realize that he had bitten the torpid vampire and he was gulping down her fury laden Vitae. He had lost control to the Specter that animated his dead flesh and felt empowered by that. He watched as the Specter broke her bones as he fed, as if to wring out every drop of her immortality.
And then it did. He saw her soul become unmoored from her corpse and dissolve into his own. That fury he felt as he drank infused him, empowering him even as her body withered. As he came back into himself and regained control of his limbs the Specter seemed unwilling to return fully to slumber and he thought that, perhaps that was the price to pay for giving into the thing.
He turned to the girl whom he had used for bait and for the first time noticed that she was dressed as a nun, her vestments marked by the sign of the Hospital of St. John.
Vendramino smiled at his good fortune, as he had at his feet his first agent in the city.
He reached down to cup her head so that he might give her a bit of blood and heal her wounds when there was a flash of white hot pain. He wrenched his hand back and saw the seared flesh and the trail left in his flesh from where her hair had touched him.
The Specter was there again, taking away control of his body and fleeing from the nun. He was over the wall before he was able to wrest control back from the enraged thing.
It seemed that he had been marked in more ways than one by his Actions.
24th of October, 1217, 11:23pm
Not far from the palace of the Patriarch
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
Kyrillos and Abdul-Malik had met in the Market square at eleven o’clock as they had planned so as to find their mutual ally and hopefully find a way to press the advantage of their allegiance and relative power within the city walls.
Though they were loath to admit it, Vendramino was the most skilled when it came to such endeavors. They had wandered the older portion of the city for a few moments before being drawn by the scent of spilt blood.
Though both had fed this very night their curiosity had been piqued nonetheless.
What they found, deep in the shadows of the outer wall, was a young girl, dressed in the colors of the Hospitalers of St. John with a gaping wound in her neck. Next to her lay the withering and ashen corpse of one of their own kind.
“What did you do, Assamite?” – Kyrillos, only half joking
“Why must I have done this? This is messy and too in the open, and please, honored friend, refrain from calling me that vulgar epithet.” – Abdul-Malik, his voice measured as if speaking to an ailing old man.
Abdul stooped low and fanned the girl’s face with his robe until she began to come to her senses.
“My child what has happened here?” – he asked, in latin
“What? I don’t know.” – she responded faintly in Italian.
“We must take her somewhere.” – Adbul.
“Excuse me for a moment.” – Kyrillos said as he blew greasy ash from the corpse, his eyes narrowed as he looked upon the remains.
Her hair was blond but filthy, her features fine but weathered. He knew should she still have her eyes they would be an earthy brown. Her body, which even now was curling into itself had been lean and strong. a wound to the left side of her neck showed how she might have come to this state though he had never heard of any vampire, let alone a Gangrel, die directly from such a wound.
Her face, upon which he had tried desperately not to look, was serene in its final repose in a way that it had not been in the few months he had known her. It was the face of a girl just coming into her womanhood, a mortal’s face…
“It is Wilhelmina, Childe of the Baron that Vendramino faced last night.” – He said quietly, sadness coloring his voice.
Adbul-Malik did not like it when the old Lunatic spoke like that.
Kyrillos turned and without a word scooped up the mortal girl, who was once again losing consciousness, in his arms.
“You would make her a slave?” – Abdul-Malik asked judgmentally.
The Byzantine sneered unconsciously.
“You do not think highly of me, nor should you be one to judge, you who own at least one slave that I can think of.” – Kyrillos
“Only because you gave him to me last night as part of my winnings.” – Abdul-Malik
“It was only fair, as I offered your services to his master should Vendramino lose.” – Kyrillos
The Saracen clenched his jaw and pretended not to hear what the Malkavian had said.
“Take care of that won’t you?” – Kyrillos, motioning toward the still withering corpse, whatever sentimentality had infected him moments before apparently gone.
Abdul glared at the back of his head but acquiesced. Throwing the thing over his shoulder he ran toward the back wall and then leapt, catching hold of the ledge and then hoisted himself up, using the Blood to empower his strength and steady his grip.
The Saracen laid the girl to rest upon the wall to greet the sun. out of the corner of his eye he made out the shape of a cloaked figure huddling not far from where he knelt.
“You, there!” – Abdul-Malik said, before he recognized the hem of the cloak.
“Vendramino?” – he asked the figure.
The figure continued to shudder.
“Did you do this, friend?” – Abdul-Malik, toeing the remains.
He was immediately ashamed of his callous act and promised to make a special prayer for her Franj soul.
“Why would I do that?” – Vendramino, his lie obvious
“There is a dying nun and a corpse, are you responsible?” – Abdul-Malik
“I was trying to help?” – Vendramino, whimpering
“How does this help?” – Abdul, again kicking the corpse and again feeling awful for it.
“I don’t remember… there was a girl and screaming… and then fire…” – he muttered, growing quieter as he spoke
“Did you do this?” – Abdul pointing at the body and congratulating himself on not desecrating it further.
“No!” – Vendramino lied
Abdul shook his head as a father might when lied to by a child.
“We will speak of this later, friend.” – Abdul, disappointedly
Vendramino bowed his head guiltily. What had happened to him? What happened when he took that Animal’s soul into himself?
He felt like taking a bath suddenly.
“What’s with the hand?” – Abdul asked, changing the subject
Vendramino looked down at his scarred flesh. The wound had already healed but the flesh remained oddly blackened.
“I touched it and it burned me.” – Vendramino
“It? What it?” – Abdul
“The Mortal.” – Vendramino
“Curious, she did not burn either myself nor Kyrillos.” – Abdul
As Abdul looked down to check on Kyrillos and the girl Vendramino unceremoniously kicked the body off the wall.
Abdul’s gaze shifted between his friend and where the body had laid three or four times as if he were trying to process what he had just witnessed.
“Monster.” – Abdul, before stepping off the wall to join their friend.
Vendramino shrugged and joined him.
“Wh… where is he?” – the Nun
“Who, my dear?” – Kyrillos, setting the girl down to rest against the wall.
“The man who saved me? He protected me from that monster.” – the Girl
“I did not see him, my dear.” – Kyrillos, honestly.
“When the Knights had spoken of the Night Demons I dared not believe them, but now I know… they told us the truth. They tried to warn us. We must go, warn others.” – the nun
“What are you talking about, sister?” – Kyrillos
“What, no, I am not a nun, but a lay-sister of the Order of the Hospital of St. John. I am called Eloise. Please sir, you must protect yourself.” – Eloise was manic.
“Tell me about these knights, Eloise.” – Kyrillos
The girl suddenly relaxed when he spoke, his power over her undermining her natural emotions by making her want to please him.
“What? Oh, they are knights, and their leader is a Frenchman, I forget his name.” – Eloise
“Would you know it should you hear it again?” – Kyrillos
“I don’t know, why?” – Eloise
“Is he called Gauthier?” – Kyrillos, suddenly excited
“I… Yes, do you know him?” – Eloise
“I do know him, he is touched by the Lord Almighty! Do you know where he is now?” – the Byzantine’s eyes gleamed in the night.
“I… I don’t know. I think he said something about the Monastery of the Apostles, it’s in the shadow of St. Andras’s Church.” – Eloise
The old man smiled and Eloise was afraid.
25th of October, 1217, 1:34am
The Pisan Quarter
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
Teresa found herself missing her friends. She had come to the city in the company of Maria D’Agostino, whom had excitedly taken up residence in her family’s home within the Genoese Quarter of the city. Teresa herself was treated like an honored guest and given a sumptuous suite below ground. It seemed as though the family had been planning this move for some time. And it was nice to be treated to such finery and with such distinction after so long in the dirt with corpses.
Now though, she was walking through a sea of mortals, something she had not seen since Constantinople. She had been ‘asked’ by Maria to find her own place in the city. Anywhere in the city outside the Genoese Quarter. The city was seemingly swarming with the undead. She could feel them everywhere as she walked the night. A gaunt man with no hair and no shoes spider-climbed his way up a shadowy wall in the Pisan Quarter, a woman with fiery red hair hidden beneath a veil flitted through a crowd that formed around a vender who was selling something full of spice and fragrance that made her stomach turn.
And then there was Sabela. She was standing not far from Church of St. Sabas watching a boy who was dancing for change. She seemed mesmerized by his movements. Or maybe she was just hungry.
The shadows clung to the queen as she slid through the crowd until she was directly behind the neonate.
“Sabela, I had thought you too prudent to follow us into the city.” – Teresa whispered.
The young vampire jumped.
“Lady Teresa, you… You startled me.” – Sabela, her hand upon her chest as if to still her dead heart.
“My apologies, skulking becomes a survival tool after some years within the long night.” – Teresa
“It’s nothing, milady. I’m glad you took my advice and came into the city. Did you come alone or with your companions?” – Sabela
“Neither, childe, I came with my patron, Maria D’Agostino, though I do not believe my presence in her home will be long endured. I am currently searching out a place to stay while I am in Acre, I’m sure you understand.” – Teresa
“Of course I do. One cannot expect a lady of your standing to sleep in a crypt for long.” – Sabela
“And you? I was under the impression from our previous conversation that your sire did not wish for you to venture into the city.” – Teresa, her tone motherly.
“What Etienne doesn’t know cannot hurt him.” – Sabela, with a wink, a smile and a giggle.
Teresa found herself smiling as well as the girl’s cheeriness was quite infectious.
The Dancing boy seemed to have finished his set and was collecting his change. Teresa and Sabela moved on with the crowd, though the Lasombra did note that the red headed vampire remained behind with the boy, her hand on his shoulder and her eyes upon his neck.
Good for her.
They wandered the streets, enjoying the ambiance and the people, though the living did seem to be growing more and more scarce as the hour drew later and later.
Eventually they found themselves, once again, not far from the Church of St. Sabas and once again they felt the presence of one of the undead. But this one they knew on sight.
“Hail, Lord Kyrillos!” – Sabela, cheerily waving toward the bearded little fat man.
The Malkavian stopped in his tracks and turned toward the voice, smiling once he saw the young vampire and her companion.
“Sabela, Lady Teresa, it has been too long.” – he said, honestly.
He and the Queen embraced politely, as family might. It was a gesture that Sabela found odd for those who were not of the same Blood.
“Who is the girl, Kyrillos?” – Teresa, looking at the dazed mortal.
“She was the unfortunate victim of Wilhelmina, I rescued her and am taking her under my wing. Now do not look at me like that, milady! She is no slave, on the contrary, I intend to make her my protégé, perhaps even my steward.” – Kyrillos, who was acting uncharacteristically energetic.
“And the others?” – Teresa, noting the absence of their companions.
“Ah, our heathen friend is creeping about here somewhere, as for the Venetian…he was feeling ill and retired until tomorrow night, though he did promise to track you down as soon as he could. I, on the other hand, am in search of our Crusader friend, whom I hear is in the city! I shall have him this time I think, Teresa!” – Kyrillos, his eyes glinting in the moonlight.
“Well that explains your liveliness. Shall we join you, Kyrillos?” – Teresa
“Please do! We are now heading to the Monastery of the Apostles, where it is said that the Frenchman lays his head while within the city!” – Kyrillos gestured wildly as he spoke.
And so they made their way to the monastery in the company of a Madman and his newfound companion. The Assassin they counted as an ally hidden from their sight but close at hand as they went.
When they reached the gates of the Monastery they found them closed and chained shut and, alarmingly, warm to the touch, as if they were still baking in the noonday sun. The Darkness within the Black Queen begged her not to enter those gates but she soldiered on in spite of it, pushing the gate open in spite of the heavy chain. Kyrillos applauded softly at the ease with which she displayed her unholy strength.
“Can we think about this for a moment, please?” – Sabela, her voice small but strong
“Think about what, childe?” – Kyrillos, patronizingly
“We are about to go into a monastery where Crusaders are known to be!” – Sabela
“Yes.” – Kyrillos, again.
“No! I won’t go!” – Sabela
“You Are Coming!” – Teresa, her eyes darkened as she commanded the young Ravnos.
“No, I’m not!” – Sabela, her brow furrowed resolutely.
“Please, Sabela, we could use your eyes and wits in there.” – Kyrillos, his voice confident but pleading, none of them would have said no to him in that moment.
“Fine, but only because I can hide amongst your corpses should things go bad.” – Sabela, petulantly.
The interior of the walls was a beautifully manicured courtyard, frescoes and statues of the Christ and his apostles decorated the walls and paths. The Monastery itself was a squat two story building that was also decorated with murals depicting the sainted friends of the Messiah.
At the center of the far wall, before a large statue of St. Paul upon his donkey was a gaping hole in the cobblestone path. The cobbles themselves were stacked haphazardly nearby. It seemed as though whoever looted the shrine did so with the intention of replacing them.
They approached the hole cautiously, unsure if they were alone. Even Kyrillos’ senses were hampered by the throbbing pain radiating from the very ground of the holy place.
“Halt!” – a voice from the shadows of the monastery.
They turned to see two Knights, marked as belonging to the Order of St. Thomas, striding across the courtyard, their swords drawn.
“What are you doing here?” – one of the knights
“We are here because of the girl, who was wandering lost and bloodied. We escorted her here post haste.” – Kyrillos
“Why are you really here?”
Kyrillos took an instinctive step back, the motion was one that Teresa had never seen the Byzantine make, it was one that reeked of fear.
Unseen, Abdul-Malik slipped behind the knights and toward the monastery proper only to find himself unable to go step upon its cobbled patio. No matter how he tried, the Blood itself seemed to be refusing to allow the action, recoiling from the very stones.
He turned back and saw that his friends were being corralled into the far corner.
“I don’t understand what you mean, we’ve come here on a pilgrimage, as Acre is the closest the Holy City that we are allowed until the Saracens are sent back to whatever hell they come from. We have not been here a night and we found this poor girl raving about monsters. We came to the gate and found it unlocked, we only wanted to help the child.” – Kyrillos, his words like honey.
The knights sheathed their swords.
“I apologize for our frightening you. I am Brother Duncan, this is my friend, Brother Karl, the gate was to be locked when the sun went down and we were unaware that it had not been. Please, of course you are welcome here, we only ask that, in honor of the sainted men for whom this monastery was built, that all visitors recite the Lord’s prayer at the shrine to St. Paul.
Duncan motioned over to the statue of Paul upon his Donkey.
Though his words and demeanor were gentle, the canniness of his request was evident. He was commanding them to kneel before the holiest place in the entire city. Something that the Damned were unlikely to comply to.
These men knew and from the look on his friends faces they too had figured it out.
Kyrillos stepped forward and fell to his knees in supplication. The ground beneath him burned him through his clothes, the others soon followed, Teresa steadied herself on her left hand and the faintest wisp of smoke floated up from her palm, but the three of them did as they were instructed.
Abdul-Malik watched as the one called Duncan drew his blade.
“Brother Karl, something is here.” – Duncan
Karl turned and his eyes widened. They could see him.
“Damn these accursed holy-men.” – Abdul-Malik cursed under his breath.
He searched about him for something that would allow him to protect himself and found nothing save a torch which he grabbed up and tossed it toward the knights.
They stepped back from the torch and the one called Karl swiped it from the air with his sword but in the instant they looked away the Saracen allowed his blood to carry him away like the wind, passing through the gates and out of the sight of the living.
Kyrillos covered Eloise with his own body as the knights turned back toward them.
“You Bow Before Your Master!” – Kyrillos
His voice resonated within the minds of all those present, but compounded and grew within those of the knights until they heard nothing else. In an instant their fiery passion and much vaunted faith were snuffed out.
Their arms fell to their sides as their intense stare faded into a dull gaze.
“Who do you serve?” – Kyrillos
“Our Lord and Savior.” – the two in unison
“What is his name?” – Kyrillos
“Lord Kyrillos.” – the two, their voices still dull
Sabela shuddered while Teresa was simply jealous of the power he wielded.
“How do they know his name?” – Sabela asked her
“I am all they know, my childe, they would remember my name before their very own.” – Kyrillos answered over his shoulder.
“ask them what happened here.” – Teresa
“Yes, what laid here before?” – Kyrillos
“The Cross of Our Lord, stained by his Blood, which has rested here since St. Paul gave it to Acre’s first Christians.” – the two, as if reciting a list to a vender.
Kyrillos was gob smacked, it was no wonder no vampire had set foot within the walls for a thousand years.
“Where is the Cross now?” – Kyrillos
“Sir Gauthier and his Fellows took it…” – Karl
“…We do not know where…” – Duncan
“…He will send his sign when it is safe.” – Karl finished
Kyrillos smiled devilishly.
“Then we shall wait.”
20th of November, 1217, 11:04pm
Etienne’s Chambers
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
It had been a tumultuous month since the fall of the Aura. In the first few nights the city was inundated by the damned and it seemed that chaos would reign without the direct of the Prince within the city.
It wasn’t long before factions began to form, of which there were three that came to the fore. The first was one that formed around Heinrich von Achern and despite the fact that many of the undead crusaders and pilgrims owed fealty to the Baron (or more specifically the Black Cross that he represented) the Baron’s own refusal to enter the city weakened his stance amongst the other elders vying for power.
The Second, far more dangerous faction was built around the Genovese Lasombra Maria D’Agostino, who as one of the European vampires who had been in Acre the longest was able to rally a great many around her. In fact rumor had it that certain elders amongst even the Black Cross were backing her.
The final faction was the smallest and weakest and was formed around the absent Prince by way of his childe. She had few supporters, and fewer who could do so openly.
Kyrillos was one of those supporters. He along with his cohorts within the Transylvanian Delegation had all agreed to back the Prince, mostly due to the Baron’s arrogance and the fact that Basarab had thrown in with Maria D’Agostino. Well, that and they’d taken a liking to the young Charlatan.
But that wasn’t the only thing happening in Acre.
The mark of the holy knight, Gauthier de Dampiere, had been felt by every vampire in the region even though most did not know the name. Sir Gauthier was the one responsible for the disappearance of the True Cross and the Aura it generated. In his fervor to protect the relic he had left the city open to the deprivation of the damned.
Kyrillos wished to thank the holy-man personally. Unfortunately he was nowhere to be found.
Kyrillos wasn’t so lost of course. He had his contacts within the Teutonic Order, of which the Black Cross belonged, the Order of St. Thomas, and the Hospital of St. John. Though none of them were aware of the knight’s location he had been made aware of the disappearance of many of the most devout and skilled warriors from all of the orders who had, it appeared, left no word except that they were following Gauthier on his holy quest.
A few weeks ago Duqaq had become aware of Kyrillos’s search and had informed him that he was not alone in his search, as both Thierry of Tremere and Vintila Basarab had also been looking for knight, or more specifically, the relic he carried with him. The seneschal did not do this out of good will of course, but to pay the debt he owed Kyrillos and the others, and he promised to pass on any other information he could when he learned it.
When he arose tonight he learned that he’d been summoned to the Prince’s chambers, something that had not occurred in the months that he’d been in Acre. He immediately contacted Vendramino and learned that too had been summoned.
Something wasn’t right.
They traveled together with Abdul-Malik to the caravansary where they were made to wait in the courtyard of the Caravansary. They found themselves once again in the presence of the Prince’s childe. They stood by patiently but not quietly, as they gossiped and talked of business in their own domains.
Vendramino in particular had been having an issue with his childe, Ignacio, who had been acting as Seneschal for the past year and seemed to believe that he had free reign over his sire’s city. The old Venetian was contemplating utilizing Abdul-Malik’s services in dealing with him.
Abdul-Malik, for his part, ensured the Necromancer that he could deal with the young vampire without resorting to murder.
Soon though their own conversations were overwhelmed by the shouting taking place in the next room. It seemed that they were not summoned by the Prince but by Aram Hovannes, the Prince’s broodmate and the Prince himself was pleading.
“I’ve done my best, brother, the relic-” – Etienne
“Enough! You have forgotten your place, Etienne, forsaken Varsik’s interests in favor of your own role as an information merchant! I know of your dealings with the Muslims, Etienne, as does Varsik and if you do not recover the cross Varsik has sworn to renounce you and your place on the throne of Acre!”
The door to the prince’s chamber swung open violently as the coterie returned to their conversation. Aram stood there, seething but attempting to regain his composure. He looked at each of the vampires present as if gauging what they had heard before his eyes turned to the newcomers in the caravanserie.
It seemed that the Transylvanians were not the only ones summoned here tonight. There stood Maria D’Agostino and Teresa de Balgrad, who acknowledged them with a curt nod and a small smile. Soon after others came as well. Both Ventrue lords, Lanzo and Heinrich were in attendance, as were Basarab, Thierry and Sabela. It seemed that every vampire with any power had been invited to this gathering.
Once everyone had arrived Aram took his place behind a small dais to the right of the Prince’s chamber door. Etienne de Fauberge stood meekly at his side, his eyes downcast, his presence diminished.
“I am Aram, Childe of Varsik of Jerusalem, who is the sire of Etienne de Fauberge, the current prince of Acre. My sire sends good tidings as well as the gift of a challenge: Whosoever should recover the city’s relic and presents it to Varsik shall earn the friendship of the most powerful Christian vampire in the Holy City. An honor that, I need not remind you, is not one to be sneered at.” – Aram, let his words sink in.
“Let us have something to Divert us!” – he added, his jocularity cold and sterile.
The envoy of Varsik turned and strode from the dais, leaving the prince to soak in his own misery.
The others began to mix and speak in hushed whispers as cups of warm blood were passed around and jugglers and dancers made their way through the crowds but, like Aram, any friendliness or warmth is a façade.
The Baron soon found Kyrillos and Vendramino in the small crowd.
“This is our chance, my friends. We shall take Acre in the name of Jurgen and the Black Cross, I want you to act as my whips in this, go forth and find out what it will take to see myself supported as the Prince of the second kingdom! This could be a great boon for the Transylvanian Delegates, as I can put in a good word with Jurgen should you help me become prince” – Von Achern.
They agreed, knowing full well that he would do no such thing, and that it was unlikely for anyone to agree to von Achern’s taking the city.
20th of November, 1217, 11:30pm
Outside Etienne’s Chambers
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
“This is not good for Etienne, you understand this.” – Duqaq
Sabela did know and she was terrified. Had she done this? Had her scheming set her sire up for this fall?
“Yes, I do.” – she said
“What would you be willing to do to save him?” – Duqaq
Sabela didn’t know how to respond.
“Your sire has made it clear to me, and I believe to others as well, that he is willing to break away from Varsik, if only he had a powerful enough patron to back his move. Do you think you could use your contacts amongst the Black Cross’s Transylvanian Delegates to open up the necessary communication with someone like Jurgen? Your sire would be most grateful.” – Duqaq
“How did you know?” – Sabela
“About your friends? Please, childe, I’ve been doing this for some time.” – Duqaq, smiling warmly.
He reminded her of her mortal brother when he did that.
“But isn’t Jurgen’s own childe attempting to take control of the city?” – Sabela
“I believe that the Sword-Bearer will understand the benefits of having one such as Etienne holding power so close to Jerusalem in his name.” – Duqaq
Vendramino and Abdul searched for Thierry, whom they wished to offer safe haven. They found him staring daggers at Vintila, whom it seemed was ignoring the others and was whispering commands to his Revenant retainers.
“Thierry, my friend!” – Abdul
“Yes, Thierry, it has been too long.” – Vendramino, reaching out to embrace the Tremere.
“What do you want?” – Thierry, suspiciously.
“We have something we wish to discuss with you.” – Vendramino
Teresa discovered Kyrillos and Sabela speaking quietly in the shadows and joined them.
“So you will help me, then.” – Sabela
“I will do what I can.” – Kyrillos
“Could I be of assistance?” – Teresa
They looked up and smiled.
“I wondered when we would see you again, old friend.” – Kyrillos
And they plotted.
21st of November, 1217, 1:23am
The Caravansary
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
Over the last two hours Sabela and her foreign allies spoke to those present about backing the Baron in his bid for power. Their arguments were elegant and logical and when they were done not one of the assembled Cainites would ever trust the second kingdom to the him. Through their careful wording they ensured their own protection should the Baron ever become suspicious of their motives but the effect was the same nonetheless.
Teresa was speaking with the Lady D’Agostino when the massive doors of the Caravansary swung into the stone walls with a deafening clatter. There, in the center of the gateway and wrapped in a cloud of dust and backlit by a full moon, stood a robed figure.
Teresa had met this figure only once before, nearly two months prior but their was no mistaking her for anyone else.
She was called Hanifa bint Nasir, and she was not alone.
Surrounding her stood seven other vampires, each looked more dangerous than the last.
“Blessings on the House of the Prince of Acre! We have come to enjoy your Hospitality.” – Hanifa, in heavily accented Latin.
Her men stood beside her and though their weapons are sheathed it was clear from their body language that they were willing to fight.
Shouts and hisses arose from the mass of ‘civilized’ undead within the caravansary. Von Achern and Von Sachsen both strode forward with their hands upon their weapons, their fellow warriors at their sides. The Princes guard steps forward as well, their blades drawn but the prince stood, suddenly free of his ennui and demanded that they stay their swords.
“These Ashirra have come to this place in good faith and that is they shall will be treated appropriately!” – The Prince
And then he addressed the newcomers
“You have my protection as long as you keep to the laws that all here acknowledge, Hanifa bint Nasir. May the peace of God be with you, always. What has brought the blessing of your presence to my domain?” – Etienne
The Muslim vampire stepped forward and nodded her head respectfully before speaking:
“Just this, my Prince, Varsik is a Christian in a Muslim city, and he should be cautious of dictating terms. This is a time of war between faiths and placing a hateful lick=spittle or Franj warlord as sultan would be a provocation. After all, I am told that Varsik is a trader and should well know that roads can be closed and hospitality revoked.” – Hanifa.
She spoke to the Prince but it was Aram that she was truly addressing. A fact that was not lost upon the Persian Merchant who glared hatred in return.
There was another, deeper bow and a quick flourish of her robes her and her coterie were gone.
It seemed that the prince had more supporters than they had initially assumed…
18th of December, 1217, 9:36pm
The Caravansary
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
It had been weeks since Aram’s decree. A light snow fell from the cloud-choked sky, leaving a dusting of snow that made the Delegates homesick as they sat beneath a wide awning. Kyrillos and his allies were there to be the eyes and ears of the Baron but the truth was that in the process of covertly backing his authority they had become fond of the Prince of Dirt. They were the only vampires of any import within the city who bother to show up. It seemed as though the Prince was, in fact, doomed.
In the distance the sound of hoof beats seemed to be drawing ever closer. At first it was only Kyrillos who heard it but soon others were on their feet as well and Etienne was ordering his guards to open the gates.
Into the gates rode ten knights, some mortal, some damned, but all of them wore the heraldry of the Order of Bitter Ashes.
The lead knight dismounted and bowed deeply before the Prince.
“I am Sir Michael of Gangrel and these are my brethren within the Order of Bitter Ashes who, like me, are sworn to spend their Long Night in search of the Cup of Kings.” – Sir Michael
Etienne seemed almost beside himself. Though he had heard of the Order he never believe that they would come to his domain.
“Please, you may come and make haven here within my home and are granted the right to feed within the entirety of my domain, what brings you to the Second Kingdome?” – Etienne, calling for a servant to proffer the Brothers a cup of blood.
The knight politely declined.
“We have been charged with coming to Acre to secure a fragment of the True Cross, for this is too unsettled a land for it to remain in and we would see it safe.” – Sir Michael
The Prince’s face fell.
“Then you came too late, for the Relic is gone these two months, and no one knows where too.” – Etienne.
The knight raised his hands to the sky as if to ask beg God for something.
“Then we accept your offer of Hospitality until our mortal Brothers can gain their rest. We are grateful for your generosity.” – Sir Michael, slowly returning to his brothers to tell them the news.
18th of December, 1217, 10:32pm
The Haven of Baron von Achern
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
Von Achern was furious, twelve nights prior a small army of Magyar knights had set of to procure their own holdings within the holy land, among them was a small cohort of Basarab knights. The Expedition never made it to their destination.
The Baron was thoroughly convinced that their loss was nothing more than a cover up so that Vintila’s own agents could establish a Tzimisce stronghold within the holy land.
“It’s sacrilege!” – He roared at Vendramino.
The Venetian did not disagree.
“To make matters worse, the coward King, Andras has become ‘disheartened’ in his crusade and threatens to return home!” – von Achern.
“But wouldn’t that mean that Vintila would be forced home again?” – Vendramino
The Ventrue glared at the Cappadocian and, feeling his free will becoming unmoored the necromancer averted his eyes.
“It would, but so would I!” – the Baron through his goblet at the aged vampire, who for his part stood there quietly, contemplating all the ways he could ruin the warlord.
He made a note to have one of his spectral servants torment the Baron when he had a moment alone.
“No, I shall return to the King and do what I can to persuade him to stay, but even I will not be able to hold him here long. You and your… cohort must find the Cross or, at the very least, find some leverage with which Lord Jurgen’s influence may be made permanent or we shall go home empty handed.” – von Achern, bitterly.
20th of December, 1217, 3:58am
The Genoese Quarter
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
They gathered here, beneath the D’Agostino counting house in the small hours of the night, not to plot against their prince. They did not think of Etienne much at all in fact. This was the Court of Maria D’Agostino, who had already begun to act as the Prince of the City of Acre, while leaving Etienne to his Caravansary.
Teresa, acting as the Genoese ’Prince’s’ Majordomo, was privy to those who had sworn their fealty to her. The most powerful of those vampires were Vintila Basarab, who glared daggers at Teresa but didn’t seem to worried, as he assumed she would choose to stay behind here in the ‘second kingdom’; and Count Lanzo von Sachsen, whom had truly surprised the Black Queen, who had assumed that he would back the Childe of the Sword-Bearer no matter his personal feelings.
Thierry, too, was found paying homage to the Prince of the Genoese Quarter. Though she dared not say anything to him, she knew that he had been asking her allies for their help in making restitution to Lord Jurgen.
And then others began to arrive, those whom the ‘prince’ wished to join her court and bolster her political might, Teresa recognized few of them until someone walked into the chamber that shocked her. It was her fellow princes, bearing gifts of historical tomes, gold, and living vessels, which they presented to their prince with great fanfare.
The message was clear.
Von Achern, and the Black Cross, were finished in the Second Kingdom.
Once everyone is settled and those who wished to have been well fed Maria stood to speak.
“I believe I should begin by stating that I attend to support Aram’s seizure of the prince’s title at the next full moon, four days hence. The Charlatan will think he rules, but I have the most important of the kingdom’s true masters behind me, as you can see, and my hand is strengthened by the recent agreement signed between House d’Agostino and Lord Basarab, for his master, Voivode Rustovitch. But it would be sealed if you join me, swear your fealty and become rulers of the Holy Land! Etienne cannot hold the throne, Aram is a heritic loyal to a heretic, and von Achern kisses the toes of the barbarian Magyars. None are true Leaders. Swear to me!” – Maria
Perhaps Teresa had spent too much time with Kyrillos, but she had become too good noticing the glint of madness in the eyes of those around her. Lady Maria, while canny and a master of mortal politics, seemed to have a hard time recognizing the differences between the living and the dead in that same arena and was completely oblivious to the fact that many of those who stood by her did not seem particularly steadfast as they did so.
As she scanned those that had come here tonight she saw by the twinkle in his eye that Kyrillos had noticed it too and in that moment realized what her companions were up too.
Slowly members of the court came forward to kiss her ring and swear fealty the Venetian and Saracen both choose to stay back while the Byzantine turned and strode out without a word.
“I apologize, Lady Maria, but I am unsure of my next action. I am old and set in my ways and will need a few nights for which to weight my options. I am sure you understand.” – Vendramino nodded politely and turned to leave. Abdul-Malik followed after him.
“We should kill them where they stand!” – Lanzo
“No, Lord von Sachsen, They are our guests and are free to go. We trust they will soon see the truth.” – Maria
20th of December, 1217, 4:41am
The Venetian Quarter
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
The Byzantine walked alone in the chilled night toward his haven a part of him hoping for some poor miscreant to dare to mug him. None did of course and he soon reached the Inn under which he rested.
And there, in the shadows, someone was waiting for him.
“Master Duqaq, what brings you into the city so close to dawn?” – Kyrillos
“I would speak with you where we may have some privacy, Master Dimities.” – Duqaq, conspiratorially.
“Well then, join me in my home.” – Kyrillos
Only once they had made their way beneath the inn and into the Slaver’s personal quarters did Duqaq begin to speak again.
“I thought that, perhaps you would like to know the location of the True Cross.” – the Seneschal
“Truly? You have found the…Relic? Is it still in the hands of the Knights?” – Kyrillos
“Yes but first you must promise me something.” – Duqaq
“Anything” – Kyrillos
“Under no circumstances is the holy army to move against Jerusalem. The Crusade must return home before setting foot in the holy land, and must instead make their assault on Egypt.” – Duqaq
Kyrillos narrowing his eyes.
“It seems coincidental, but I must tell you that I have heard this request before. In Venice, there was a man there, called Roland, who also wished for the Crusade to march on Egypt and you force me to ask: Why? But more importantly: what makes you think I have that kind of power?” – The Malkavian asked
“Kings are adviced by Barons and Dukes and priests and monks, who in turn are often too fond of the blood of Caine, you cannot tell me that one so powerful as yourself do not hold sway over at least a handful of such figures, or, if not you, then your friend Teresa, whom I know holds a great deal of power over the Hungarian Nobility.” – Duqaq
Kyrillos thought on the vampire’s statement, stroking his beard as he did so.
“The Lady d’Agostino has many such friends and whispers into their ears of taking the Holy City, should she usurp the throne it is a certainty that her rapacity would grow even stronger. Surely you would want to stand in her way?” – Duqaq
“Of that we agree, and I further agree to do everything in my power to turn the tide of the army, should your information bear out. But now I must demand an answer as to why we should attack Egypt.” – Kyrillos
“It is the weak link in the Saracen’s empire.” -Duqaq, unconvincingly.
“There was a Follower of Set in Venice who suggested the same strategem.” – Kyrillos, matter-of-factly
“I do not deny that our interests are the same, though surely, just because the serpents want does not make it inherently wrong? In either case, you will find the Knight who took the cross in the Tower of ’Atlit, where the Teutonic Order planned to build its fortress. There you will find the Hound of God.” – Duqaq
20th of December, 1217, 5:43am
The Genoese Quarter
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
Vendramino was ecstatic by the results of the Lasombra’s little get together. Her future Primogen; Thierry and Teresa were already against her and Basarab was, at his core, a coward. True, Lanzo’s defection had surprised him, but that should not be a problem.
“It is strange, Abdul, we were with Lanzo von Sachsen in Venice thirteen years ago and we respected his honor and wisdom. It is strange to think that even a few years could change one of us so much.” – Vendramino, to his invisible friend.
“If you keep speaking to me I will be found out.” – Abdul-Malik
“Someone’s coming.” – Vendramino whispered
Around the corner strode the Count angrily, though he came up short when he saw Vendramino standing, propped against his cain in the moonlight.
“What are you doing here?” – Lanzo demanded
“We wanted to have a word with you, Count.” – Vendramino, menacingly.
From behind the Ventrue Abdul-Malik made his presence known.
“It has been awhile, no, we haven’t seen each other since Zara, I believe.” – Vendramino
The Ventrue paled slightly and bared his fangs. Zara it seemed was a sore subject for the warlord.
“We’ve been in Acre for months, Giovanni.” – Lanzo
“But we haven’t had a chance to speak.” – Vendramino
“We’ve spoken enough.” – Lanzo, his beast flashing in his eyes.
“But we were allies once.” – Vendramino
“You were a fool childe then and a fool now. What would a pawn of the Baron have to do with me?” – Lanzo, snarling.
Vendramino’s own specter strained against its bindings, he found himself bearing his own gnarled fangs.
“I would have you rescind your endorsement of Maria d’Agostino and I will allow you to continue to exist as you have.” – Vendramino, dropping all pretenses.
“You’d have me Endorse von Achern?” – Lanzo, incredulously
“No.” – Vendramino
Lanzo looked very confused.
“We would like you to endorse the Prince when it comes time to take sides. The Transylvanian delegate believes that it would behoove us to ensure the stability of the region, and in our mind Etienne is the only one who can ensure that.” – Vendramino
“And if I do this you would ‘continue living as I see fit’?” – Lanzo, now more annoyed than confused, but calming.
“Then how about this, If you back the prince I can assure you that any trade to your domain will go smoothly for as long as the Shadow of the Black Cross falls over Transylvania. That merchants and traders will flock to your domain and that bandits fear it. I will make you far richer than you are now, Count von Sachsen.” – Vendramino
Lanzo’s eyes grew wide. Despite his attempts to pretend otherwise, he’d heard of Vendramino Giovanni. Everyone Loyal to Black Cross had, as he was one of the wealthiest vampires East of the Holy Roman Empire.
“You are telling me, that you, a vassal of Jurgen of Magdeburg, Sire of the Baron von Achern, are offering me access to your secure trade routes and contacts across Gods Creation to back the sitting prince to further embarrass the Baron?” – Lanzo
Vendramino nodded.
“We have ourselves a deal.”
20th of December, 1217, 9:05pm
The Caravansary
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
Sir Michael was deep in prayer when he became aware of the presence in his room. He opened his eyes and turned to see a young girl of beauty like he’d never seen before standing before him.
“Sir Michael, I apologize for interrupting your prayers. I am Sabela, Childe of Etienne, and though it pains me, I must beseech you a favor.” -
“What is it my childe?” – The Gangrel rose from his knees as he turned to look at her fully.
“My sire, who has been so gracious a host to you and your brothers, is in mortal peril, as forces from outside this holy city work against him. I beg you: Please give your support to him in the coming nights, even should he lose Praxis the backing of one of such distinction as your own could be the difference between his leaving the domain peacefully and being left for the sun.” – Sabela pleaded, blood tears in her eyes.
The Gangrel’s eyes darkened as he listened to the fledgling speak.
“I am sorry, Sabela, but I forswore the rigors of vampire politics many years ago. I am here to secure the Fragment and nothing more.” – his voice was flat but compassionate.
The young vampire wiped at her eyes and curtsied to leave. But as she reached to door of his chamber she turned.
“and should I help you find the fragment? Then would you be willing to weigh in on our fate?” – Sabela
He looked into her eyes and saw her fear and pain.
“I will.” – Michael, in spite of himself.
“Then I will tell you what I know.” – Sabela, wiping the blood from her face.
21st of December, 1217, 9:54pm
The Tower of ’Atlit
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
Sabela had informed the others of Sir Michael’s offer to help them in exchange for the True Cross just before dawn. Kyrillos demanded that they travel with the knights, obviously driven more by his obsession with the Frenchman than his want to help further the cause.
“I have heard that King Andras has decided to return home. It seems that our time here has nearly come to its end.” – Kyrillos
“No, the Baron has convinced him to go in search of Holy Relics. Of course the Baron is simply using the expedition to find those poor knights who vanished a month ago.” – Vendramino
“But surely the Baron won’t be able to travel by day.” -Teresa
“Ah, but that’s the rub. He’s convinced the king that travelling by night will allow them to pass through Saracen lands unharmed.” – Vendramino
“Ah, tricky that Baron.” – Kyrillos.
“Indeed.” – Vendramino
They shared a chuckle.
“Do you suppose he’ll find the Knights Basarabi?” – Abdul
“Who knows, but it’ll keep him busy while we finish our business.” – Kyrillos chuckled.
“Laugh now, for if this is the True Cross that we chase, it shall scour Curse of Caine from your dead flesh with fire and light!” – Michael
“We know what it can do, sir knight.” – Kyrillos, remembering the fireworks that occurred when they arrived so many months ago.
“Quiet, the tower is in view.” – one of Michael’s brothers.
They were miles south of Haifa and had travelled for hours to reach the tower. The structure itself had once been part of a larger fortification which now lay in ruins across the road.
“If we aren’t careful they will see us for sure.” – Kyrillos.
Though Vendramino was spotted while still seated upon his horse the others were able to slip into the castle due to the power of their blood. But it was all for naught.
The moment that Abdul-Malik stepped over the threshold he heard a voice shout.
“Evil is afoot! Protect the Cross!” – Gauthier
Arrows flew over out of the window toward Vendramino and the knights. Kyrillos felt the power of the cross and realized the danger they were all in.
“Stay your swords, we shouldn’t risk eternity for the cross.” – Kyrillos whispered to Teresa.
After the sound of many men stomping above them a barrel of oil slammed down the stairs where it exploded into a gout of flame that covered the floor and walls.
“RUN!” – Abdul, who appeared from nowhere and then rushed passed the Byzantine.
Teresa too turned to run but grabbed her friend first, throwing him over her shoulder as she went.
Once they were clear of the tower Kyrillos scanned the horizon and saw Gauthier watching the tower burn.
“Soon, sir knight.” – he whispered.
“Where are the Knights?” – Teresa
“There!” – Abdul, pointing toward Gauthier.
Sure enough there was Sir Michael and his band riding directly toward the vampire hunter. When they finally reached the holy man the Gangrel dismounted and strode forward.
“Can you hear them?” – Teresa
“Yes: Sir Michael is introducing himself to Gauthier and explaining his mission. Gauthier is refusing to give up the cross.” – Kyrillos translated
They watched as Michael drew his sword, a few of Gauthier’s men did as well. They had seen this before but couldn’t look away. And then something happened. Michael fell to his knees and offered his blade to the Vampire Hunter.
“He’s offered him his service until they leave the Holy Land.” – Kyrillos continued
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” – Vendramino
“I wish I were.” – Kyrillos, as they watched the knights leave together.
“What now?”
20th of December, 1217, 10:24pm
Not far from ’Atlit
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
They had chosen to follow the knights in hopes of finding an opening. What they came upon made them wonder if perhaps, they were cursed.
In the distance they saw a band of knights approaching Gauthier and his men. They flew the standards of the Black Cross, The Teutonic Order and the personal standard of King Andras himself.
Beside the king rode Baron von Achern and one of his childer, Brother Altus as well as their ghouls.
The four Cainites closed in so that they could better hear the coming confrontation.
As Gauthier approached the kings men the effects of the True Cross could be seen on the faces of the two vampires. Von Achern was able to keep his composure but in the face of his own damnation Brother Altus fell from his horse and skittered away. The ghouls too seem uncomfortable but stand fast by their lord.
“What is wrong with your man, Baron?” – the king
“I do not know, your majesty.” – von Achern lied, but sent out one of his knights to search for Altus none the less.
“Most Christian King, I beg your protection. I carry a relic most holy and flee from devils in crusader’s garb! They seek to take this thing from we, which I have pledged to protect with my life. Brothers of the German Hospital, the Temple and of St. Thomas have died to get me to you, milord!” – Gauthier called in breathless Latin as he bowed before the king.
The king did not seem to hear anything, deafened as he was by his own Avarice.
“This Relic, what is it, knight?” – King Andras asked, his smile wide
“A fragment of the Cross of the Passion, milord.” – Gauthier, uncertainly
“Truly?” – Andras
“Yes, sire, brought by the Apostle Paul to Acre and kept safe their until this very fall, when the devils came with…with the crusade.” – Gauthier was focusing upon the Baron now, his eyes narrowed.
The Baron’s eyes flashed as his own greed took hold of him.
“Our Order can protect the Relic, King Andras. This brave knight should relinquish into your care.” – The Baron stammered.
“DEVIL!” – Gauthier screamed as he rose and drew his sword.
He could see the Baron’s true form now.
“SHOW YOURSELF TO THINE KING!” – He commanded the vampire
Baron von Achern recoiled from the knights power as his features twisted under the weight of his beast. He fell and landed on his back as he hissed. His ghoul raised his own blade to slay the knight but is too slow as the Frenchman pivots and cleaved through the ghoul’s throat.
The blood flows out of the dying night in great gouts, splashing the frantic vampires face. The blood proves too much and his beast takes over. The Baron was gone, replaced by a ravenous monster who roared inhumanly.
The King recoils from the hellish display as von Achern hisses and charges the knight, but each time he gets close enough to actually attack Gauthier his fingers ignite in small white flames and he’s forced to retreat.
Gauthier for his part swung his blade wide and it flashes white as it made contact with the Baron’s throat. The Ventrue’s form fell to the earth, separate from its head which rolled into the brush before both erupted into white flame like Jerome so many months ago.
“We should have stepped in.” – Kyrillos
“Why? Isn’t this what we wanted.” – Teresa, hollowly.
“No, we wanted him ruined, not destroyed. Lord Jurgen will be furious.” – Vendramino.
They turned to leave and saw a curious sight. Not far away, even as the Tower burned in the distance, it backlit a figure in the night who was also watching the events below.
It was Vintila, his figure unmistakable in the firelight.
The Tzimisce smiled cruelly in the firelight before turning to go. As they lost sight of him there was rushing of air like the flapping of wings and they were alone.
In that instance Vendramino realized that for all their successes in Acre that Vintila Basarab had one.
24th of December, 1217, 12:00am
The Prince’s Chambers
The Domain of Etienne de Fauberge
Prince of Acre
The Prince was exhausted, spiritually speaking, his shoulders seemed to support the weight of the True Cross itself as he stood before those present.
They stood themselves. Duqaq, the prince’s seneschal ad Sabela, his adored childe, along with those who would speak in von Achern’s place, specifically Kyrillos of Temeschburgh and Vendramino of Schaasburg.
“It is long past time to let go of pretense, my Frankish friends. Toi rule this city one needs two things: knowledge of this blessed and cursed land, which I have, and the support of a great Lord, which I do not. My sire is nothing but a schemer in pilgrim’s dress, and his mouthpiece, Aram, is ready to feed me to the dogs. I know of your Liege’s ambitions, and my friend, Duqaq, has told me of yor own resourcefulness. His faith may be in the god Set, but I trust his Judgment.” – Etienne
The look on Duqaq’s face was one of shock and fright. But before the Serpent was able to respond the Prince placed his hand on his aid’s shoulder.
Neither of the Transylvanians were surprised by the ‘revelation’.
“Come now, my friend, I told you it was time to let go of pretense. Surely you didn’t hope to fool a Charlatan? You have no need to worry as I trust you more than any number of self righteous Christians, but we will speak on this another time, my friend. The matter at hand is whether Lord Jurgen will accept my vassalage.” – The prince, turning to look at Vendramino.
“Yes, Prince Etienne, we will ensure that Jurgen honors our agreement.” – Vendramino\
From outside the sounding of a horn could be heard.
“Well, my friends, it seems as though my brother has called for the convocation to commence. Let us go face my fate together, yes?” – Etienne.
The Courtyard had filled with the damned and their servants, as word had spread that Etienne would be deposed drawing vampires from all across the Levant.
Etienne stepped out into the crowd to the jeering of those present. As the Prince came to stand before Aram at the dais another horn sounded, though none could say for sure from where.
“Hear me! I speak for Varsik of Jerusalem, childe of Bashir! Etienne de Fauberge, childe of Varsik and former Prince of Acre, for your failures and betrayals, I declare you diposed and myself prince in your place. Furthermore, you are banished from this domain. I give you until dawn to leave the city.” – Aram declared.
“No.” – a voice, calm and quiet despite carrying over the entire crowd.
It was the prince.
“My sire cares not for God but rather for the treasures of Mammon. I renounce him, and I accept the title of Acre’s Prince under the Vassalage of Lord Jurgen, sword-bearer of Magdeburg!.” – He concluded.
The crowd parted as the prince spoke. Taking sides as he sparred with his blood brother. Many stood with Aram, but only three of any real status: Maria d’Agostino, Vintila Basarab and Teresa de Balgrad.
Where Etienne stood so too did Vendramino Giovanni, Kyrillos Dimities, Abdul-Malik Ibrahim al-Rashid, Duqaq ibn Jamil, Lanzo von Sachsen, Hanifa bint Nasir, Thierry of Tremere, Sabela, as well as Sir Michael, who kept his promise to be here on the full moon.
Realizing that she’d been outmatched Maria bowed her head and stepped across the line to lend her support to Etienne, glaring at Vendramino Giovanni as she did so.
Teresa followed, smiling subtly as she did.
Vintila realizing he’d been defeated stepped into the crowd and vanished, leaving Aram alone.
Aram glared at those who stood assembled against him and then at his bloodbrother.
“This is not over, brother!” – Aram, as he turned to storm out.
“Yes, Aram, It is.” – Etienne as the gates closed behind the Persian.
29th of March, 1219, 1:05am
The Slaughtered Lamb Inn
The Domain of Rudolph Brandl
Prince of Prague
For months Gauthier de Dampiere’s sleep had been plagued by vivid and horrific visions of the days to come.
He saw great mountains of flesh and blood rolling over the countryside. He saw men of the cloth burning in their beds and vampires dancing on the corpses of thousands.
He saw the Knight who rose from the field of battle as a blood sucking fiend rising again, a god amongst the damned. And throughout it all he saw his own doom.
It was not a place or a action that he saw in these visions but a man. It wasn’t a warrior but a merchant, a man in the twilight of his life, with a great black beard and eyes the color of the cloud covered sky, and his skin was as pale, marking him as a demon. He spoke kind words and was gentle with his touch but his eyes were cold and cruel and seemed to see right through Gauthier, as if the Knight were nothing more than a trinket to be bought or sold.
Tonight was no different. He’d tossed and turned as the moon reached for its zenith before awakening with a fright.
He sat up ramrod straight in his bed and peered into the darkness that surrounded his bed.
He was not alone.
“Show yourself!” – he demanded but there was no answer
He reached for his blade but grasped naught but air.
“Oh, you won’t be needing that, sir knight. I took the liberty of securing it so that we might speak without the threat of violence.” – came a voice from the shadows, deep and soothing.
He knew it well.
“You are my doom.” – Gauthier
“I don’t think that that is true at all. I like to think that I am your savior. Surely you know what awaits you? Old age and enfeeblement. Already your fellows whisper that you’ve gone mad. That your visions are not but the whisperings of a devil.” – the voice
“Quiet demon! I command you to show yourself!” – Gauthier
A figure stepped from the shadows and the knight recognized him in an instant.
“I am sorry, sir knight, where are my manners. I am Kyrillos Dimities, Count of Temeschburgh, and I have been following your exploits for many, many years.” – Kyrillos
The creature looked at the knight as if he were some prize that had been won.
“How long have you haunted me, Demon?” – Gauthier, climbing to his feet.
“Oh, I first learned of you in Venice, some fifteen years ago and stayed with you in Zara and saw you again in Constantinople. After that I lost track of you for many years but found you again in Acre. Without you, my allies would not have been able to secure the city as successfully as we had. Thank you for that.” – Kyrillos
The implications fell upon Gauthier like a great weight but he moved forward anyway. He would, if he had to, tear the Demon apart with his bare hands.
“Ah, ah, ah, Gauthier, we mustn’t fight.” – Kyrillos
The demon’s voice struck Gauthier, leaving his mind numb and his limbs heavy but Gauthier moved forward, begging God for strength and feeling the warmth of his savior’s love bolstering his strength.
“I will destroy you Hellspawn!” – Gauthier
“You must sleep, sir Knight!” – the Demon, his eyes flashing in fear.
It was then that Gauthier realized that the demon’s words were a spell, enchanting him to slumber. But though he was awakened to the reality of his situation it did not protect him from the demon’s effect and he felt his limbs once again grow heavy, too heavy to lift as his mind was flooded once again with visions and nightmares.
“I will… des…troy…you.”
The last thing Gauthier de Dampiere would hear before he died was the grandfatherly monster whisper tenderly into his ear:
“I’m sure you will. After all, you will have forever to try.”
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