#unspecified muse so WOE

[sae-mian]

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NIRA'SAE /// MINASHA

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GOT ME STARTED /// TROYE SIVAN

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"He's got the personality not even gravity could ever hold him down, He's got the sexuality of a man who can take a room and drown it out"

[artsynanotech]

Dark Ages, Part One

It’s time, dearest readers, for a change of pace. While I’ve no doubt some of you find my grandchilde’s musings entertaining, I can’t help but feel that this record he’s been keeping is lacking something. What could it be? Perspective, I think.  Every week it’s “Wah wah, woe is me! How terrible my life is!” As if he doesn’t have a sire that spoils him rotten at every available moment. If Isaac’s behavior is any indication of how Cainites are rearing neonates these day’s it’s no wonder this city’s going to shit. But I digress. I came to tell a story, not bore you with complaints. Our tale begins during the Saturnalia festival of 1314, in the city of Constantinople. I was living near the University at the time. It wasn’t the shining beacon of higher learning it had been a century before, yet it was still a beacon for private tutors and several members of the clergy who kept the academic tradition as best they could. I’d managed to cultivate a small group of my own students, bright young scholars of art and history, with whom I enjoyed discussion and debate just as much as the convenient source of vitae they provided.  I had intended to spend the evening out on the town, enjoying my city’s celebrations. Alas fate had other plans for me. Some time ago my coterie and I required assistance from one Myca Vykos, which he provided in exchange for an unspecified favor. It appeared the time had come to pay back that debt. I received a letter from Myca with instructions for myself and my coterie. We were to help escort one of those dreadful Tremere upstarts, Goratrix, to the clan’s headquarters at Ceoris. Whatever crimes he’d committed against his clan warranted a hefty punishment, and Myca believed whatever punishment he received there would be worse than anything Goratrix’s Tzimisce enemies could level. It seems rather round about, I know, but a debt is a debt.

My coterie at the time included myself, Sister Genevieve of Clan Lasombra, and Sir Erik von Welf, formerly of the Templars and now of Clan Cappadocian. Dear Genny was something of a bitter and spiteful witch (something I am certain she would take as a compliment), so I sought her out first. I wanted to get the unpleasant bits of the night out of the way first. It certainly doesn’t help that the church she calls home has, perhaps, the most dour and depressing atmosphere I have ever visited. Genny was not happy to see me when I called on her. She did agree to help fulfill our debt, however, which is all I could really ask for. Visiting Erik was a much more exciting affair. I found him in the middle of a practice match with some of the city guard, who he bested with little to no effort. He’s a wonder to behold, our Erik. Not even the pale complexion and gaunt features of his clan could sully his glorious masculinity. I do so enjoy our visits. Unfortunately he did not seem too keen on the idea of traveling on such short notice, but I assured him the journey wouldn’t be that bad. After the necessary preparations the three of us departed by carriage to our first stop: Timisoara. We were to meet Myca’s agents there and receive Goratrix from them. The journey itself was fine. The arrival? Simply atrocious. It was raining out, the only inn with vacancy was mediocre at best, and Goratrix wasn’t even there. Myca’s agents – an insufferable pair of Muslims – apparently lost custody of him to a gang of bandits. Goratrix is compelled by his clan’s blood to return to Ceoris, but he himself has no desire to go. Apparently he’d hired the bandits to stake him and keep him safely holed away in a fortress an hour away from the city. So then Genny, Erik and I had to go traipsing off through the rain after him.

It was absolutely miserable work, what with the rain and the mud and the overgrown roads our carriage could just barely traverse. There were spotters in the forest surrounding the fortress. Genny was able to raise a hellish bubble of shadow around us to hide from them, but there was an open field we had to cross before getting to the fortress itself. Erik obfuscated himself and went on ahead. Genny used her obtenebration again, this time to raise a giant black tentacle as a distraction for the guards so she and I could sprint up to the entrance. Well I sprinted, with Genny in my arms, which she was absolutely thrilled about. We slipped inside after the guards ran out to fight the tentacle. I hefted a slab of rock to bar the door shut behind us (that would keep the guards who ran out from coming back.) We made quick work of the bandits who remained inside. They wouldn’t be a match for any of us on our own, let alone all three together. So that, at least, wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Erik raised some of the corpses we left in our wake to help with some of the more mundane aspects of exploring a dilapidated stone building: exploring new corridors, moving debris, etc. Impressive as it was, I was honestly surprised Erik could keep on the Path of Christ with behavior like that. I don’t much think the Lord above approves of such things. But it made Erik happy, so I suppose wasn’t all that bad. He’d been such a mess since the fall of the Templars. I wouldn’t deny him the joy he finds in the academia of death. Eventually we found the room where the bandits had hidden Goratrix. One of them pulled the stake out when we did, saying something about how Goratrix was going to kill us all. Which I suppose was partially true, as Goratrix drained that sorry excuse for a human dry the moment he was free. Goratrix himself was happy to go with us – no doubt a result of that blood compulsion – but I couldn’t help but feel something was amiss about him. I didn’t get the sense he was lying when he said he wouldn’t flee, but the whole encounter just seemed too easy. Was it too easy? Well, dearest readers, you’ll just have to wait and see! You’ll have my company for the next several weeks instead of my whiny excuse for a grandchilde, and I assure you, the pleasure is all mine.