Post by Wade Garrett on Mar 17, 2010 20:56:18 GMT -8
In the catacombs of a crumbling castle in Eastern Europe, buried deep in the heart of a mountain with a history as ancient as it is impressive, is a library. Massive, filled with shelves that tower above any normal person's height, each shelf crammed with eldritch tomes. But the most unusual thing about this library is its construction. The shelves, tables, chairs, candelabras, and ladders are all alive.
They are alive because they were all once normal human beings, a part of nature. But a monstrous will took them, molding and shaping and melding them into their current shapes as if they were clay, putty to be shaped. The will involved in remaking them to this image has made sure that they are all kept alive with doses of its own ancient blood, keeping them from aging or rotting. The right set of ears, if it listened carefully, might hear the dim hint of a thousand different voices all crying out in eternal agony.
The monster that caused all of this now lounged in one of its fashioned chairs, taking in the painful din as a soothing white noise as it absorbed the pages of its latest acquisition. The book was a treatise on a rare form of blood magic tht the creature had wrested from the Chantry of one of the hated Tremere, an adversary that was now separated into parts to be used for some later design for its library.
The monster was known throughout the world as Sascha Vykos. Known... and feared. Over a thousand years old, it was one of the great researchers and historians of cainite history. It's mind was ancient and alien. It's power, terrible and insidious. Once it was a 'he' rather than an 'it,' but the Vykos had long since transcended the mortal concerns of gender. It could and would be whatever gender it chose, or often something entirely alien and androgynous and strangely beautiful. Tonight it was almost mannequin-like in its features, alabaster and practically luminescent.
It was in the process of its memorization of this newly-acquired blood magic when it felt a presence nearby. Something ethereal and insubstantial, but definitely nearby as the presence seemed to whisper at Sascha's mind. Sascha called upon the powers of its senses to better identify the entity that would be so foolish as to try to invade its mind. Focusing its will, it located the spirit. Concentrating, it began calling to mind other magics, powers that would injure and entrap this foolish thing, magics that would make it scream.
And then a single word managed to penetrate through Vykos' defenses.
"...master."
Ah. Jack. Ever the dutiful agent. Jack was one of the fickle elders current favorites. Sascha relaxed slightly, allowing its mind to open just enough for its templar to speak.
"Master. I have come to report, as per your orders."
"Speak, Jack. Tell me of Detroit." Vykos gently stroked the arm of the chair, which had once been a set of young boys, albino triplets, gone now from the world for a hundred years. It's fractured mind had long since lost any concept or right or wrong, now understanding only pain and pleasure. Vykos' strokes sent shivers of enjoyment through it, and it vibrated with happiness.
"I have arrived in the city, master. I have made contact with many of the locals. They have proved quite passionate, focused more on their internal squabbles than the actual problems in the city, which I have found quite interesting--"
"Yes, yes. I'm sure," Vykos interrupted impatiently. Jack was an extremely insightful investigator, but sometimes his fascination with emotional states was a distraction rather than an asset. His fingers ceased their stroking and began drumming along what used to be a young man's forehead, just above a still very functional eye. One of the bony clawed fingers absently jabbed into the eye, sending shockwaves of anguish through the chair. It had no vocal chords with which to scream, nor limbs to flail about. All it could do was shudder in agony. If Sascha noticed any of this, it didn't seem to care. "Tell me of the Archbishop."
"As you surmised, it appears that Archbishop Hawthorne simply disappeared, to be replaced by a man calling himself William. He is likely an agent of Cardinal Venere Carboni. Since his arrival, the threats from Montreal and Atlanta have appeared to cease. There are problems with nearby Camarilla, and as the consistory believed, there seems to be a very real infernal threat permeating the city."
"Fascinating. Have you delivered my message to the Archbishop yet?"
"His Excellency is a busy man. I have not yet been granted an audience with him, but I have been promised said meeting this friday at their next Esbat."
"While you are investigating the infernalism problems, keep an eye on the Archbishop. Keep me appraised of his allegiances and behavior. I want to know how important he is to Carboni. Is he an invaluable resource or merely another expendable asset? And how likely is it that this infernal presence has permeated the local cainites? Find out about the status of the Inquisition in the city. After their recent purge, why is this demonic presence still in Detroit? Did they leave it alone deliberately or was it merely incompetence?"
"I understand, master. I will update you on all of these matters during my next report."
With a nod from Vykos, the astral image of Jack was instantly gone. Vykos turned back to its book.
They are alive because they were all once normal human beings, a part of nature. But a monstrous will took them, molding and shaping and melding them into their current shapes as if they were clay, putty to be shaped. The will involved in remaking them to this image has made sure that they are all kept alive with doses of its own ancient blood, keeping them from aging or rotting. The right set of ears, if it listened carefully, might hear the dim hint of a thousand different voices all crying out in eternal agony.
The monster that caused all of this now lounged in one of its fashioned chairs, taking in the painful din as a soothing white noise as it absorbed the pages of its latest acquisition. The book was a treatise on a rare form of blood magic tht the creature had wrested from the Chantry of one of the hated Tremere, an adversary that was now separated into parts to be used for some later design for its library.
The monster was known throughout the world as Sascha Vykos. Known... and feared. Over a thousand years old, it was one of the great researchers and historians of cainite history. It's mind was ancient and alien. It's power, terrible and insidious. Once it was a 'he' rather than an 'it,' but the Vykos had long since transcended the mortal concerns of gender. It could and would be whatever gender it chose, or often something entirely alien and androgynous and strangely beautiful. Tonight it was almost mannequin-like in its features, alabaster and practically luminescent.
It was in the process of its memorization of this newly-acquired blood magic when it felt a presence nearby. Something ethereal and insubstantial, but definitely nearby as the presence seemed to whisper at Sascha's mind. Sascha called upon the powers of its senses to better identify the entity that would be so foolish as to try to invade its mind. Focusing its will, it located the spirit. Concentrating, it began calling to mind other magics, powers that would injure and entrap this foolish thing, magics that would make it scream.
And then a single word managed to penetrate through Vykos' defenses.
"...master."
Ah. Jack. Ever the dutiful agent. Jack was one of the fickle elders current favorites. Sascha relaxed slightly, allowing its mind to open just enough for its templar to speak.
"Master. I have come to report, as per your orders."
"Speak, Jack. Tell me of Detroit." Vykos gently stroked the arm of the chair, which had once been a set of young boys, albino triplets, gone now from the world for a hundred years. It's fractured mind had long since lost any concept or right or wrong, now understanding only pain and pleasure. Vykos' strokes sent shivers of enjoyment through it, and it vibrated with happiness.
"I have arrived in the city, master. I have made contact with many of the locals. They have proved quite passionate, focused more on their internal squabbles than the actual problems in the city, which I have found quite interesting--"
"Yes, yes. I'm sure," Vykos interrupted impatiently. Jack was an extremely insightful investigator, but sometimes his fascination with emotional states was a distraction rather than an asset. His fingers ceased their stroking and began drumming along what used to be a young man's forehead, just above a still very functional eye. One of the bony clawed fingers absently jabbed into the eye, sending shockwaves of anguish through the chair. It had no vocal chords with which to scream, nor limbs to flail about. All it could do was shudder in agony. If Sascha noticed any of this, it didn't seem to care. "Tell me of the Archbishop."
"As you surmised, it appears that Archbishop Hawthorne simply disappeared, to be replaced by a man calling himself William. He is likely an agent of Cardinal Venere Carboni. Since his arrival, the threats from Montreal and Atlanta have appeared to cease. There are problems with nearby Camarilla, and as the consistory believed, there seems to be a very real infernal threat permeating the city."
"Fascinating. Have you delivered my message to the Archbishop yet?"
"His Excellency is a busy man. I have not yet been granted an audience with him, but I have been promised said meeting this friday at their next Esbat."
"While you are investigating the infernalism problems, keep an eye on the Archbishop. Keep me appraised of his allegiances and behavior. I want to know how important he is to Carboni. Is he an invaluable resource or merely another expendable asset? And how likely is it that this infernal presence has permeated the local cainites? Find out about the status of the Inquisition in the city. After their recent purge, why is this demonic presence still in Detroit? Did they leave it alone deliberately or was it merely incompetence?"
"I understand, master. I will update you on all of these matters during my next report."
With a nod from Vykos, the astral image of Jack was instantly gone. Vykos turned back to its book.