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t h e . w a y w a r d - e v e n t
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On the surface,
an Elysium of unsurpassed splendor. Beneath, something sinister lurks...
Florindo Elijah Robert
Marks Signed, Elijah Robert Marks ------------------ Larson You ask why I'm here, you look around you and see the weakness of the canites in this city and you ask why a Sabbat pack is here. You ask why I tell you to fear me, I'm not telling you to fear me, I'm advising it. If you choose not to take my advice that is your folly, your final death. *Turns to the hunter behind him* Ten years huh? *Claps three times slowly* Ten years *Half covers a laugh as he turns away dismissing the "mighty hunter"* But enough of this pointless bickering, Who is with me, who wants to rule this city as a king, as a god. The camarilla and the kine have ruled here to long. Follow me and cut the strings of your puppet masters. Follow me and help rule this place. ------------------ Elijah Robert Marks For a being who lives centuries, I suppose ten years is nothing. It was, however, little less than a third of my life, and far longer than most in my profession. I speak of the ones on the front lines, of course. There are "hunters" who are old men, but they do research and direct younger more foolhardy men into death for them. That you neither fear me nor respect me, is not surprising. Why should you? However, the contempt in your voice and eyes holds no meaning to me. What I did in my life was far more important to me than your petty wars with each other ever will be... I refused to be enslaved by petty tyrants and long-lived bullies who felt entitled because of the power they had over the rest of us. So your contempt, sir, means little. ------------------ Lord Vetrik Stradstum Children, with attitudes such as you have displayed you shall be forever locked into the position of pawn in an elder's game. Think that you know what your elders are planning? Fools you are then! The games of elders are games within games within games, and your rash words simply speed the rolls of dice. My part has been said, heed my wisdom if you wilt, else go back to your chess board. ------------------ Shadow Star Nikodemus Larson
Who are you f---ing Yoda? "Fools you are then!" I'd never calim to know the plans of my elders, if the clan founders want us to jump we'll all jump and never even realize we didn't want to. Now you can fight that or you can go about your business. It may not be turly your business but imagined freedom may be the only freedom we really have. ------------------ Neuromortis The distinct perfumes of incense and myrrh beckon from within the increasing gap--but over and above, the common denominator tickling the fancies of the collective brood outside brings not a few to the edge of restraint: Vitae. The chill night air holds little appeal in comparison to the melody this new siren proffers; the revelry of freedom becomes a slave once more to the wanton sense of need. All movement ceases. The newborn frame reveals a great hall of oaken flooring, dark and smooth with ageless tread of the varicultured. Great tapestries adorn the walls, woven in rich tales of old, celebrating the triumphs and tragedies of history--some who take this in will recognize the Fall of Carthage, the Slaughter of Amnes, the Ordaining at Capris--and countless others occupy those prone to nostalgia and sentimentality. A linen of deepest burgundy shows through between these masterworks of art, graced occasionally by the presence of candelabrae here and there. The glow from within caressing the cheeks of the stunned newcomers emanates from these, and the massive wheels hung impossibly from above on iron chains, each link of which the breadth of two splayed hands. Upon these wheels ivory candles perpetually forfeit themselves in the giving of their light... The room is not devoid of life--or, rather, unlife. Myraid booths pepper the voluminous space like bison in a fertile landscape--impressive in number, subsisting on the surroundings--and attractive of parasites. A plethora of status, the division between the classes of kindred by kind is uncountable. Impossibly...."peace." Wary, uneasy, cautious and insecure, on-edge and barely restrained peace. As the party takes this in, the more attuned to secret life beneath the seen feel the gentle caress of a nearby presence--there. Above the doorway, upon the wrought-iron cage of a defunct fire-escape--there. Even the learned elders will acknowledge the mastery exhibited in the dissolution of her form, the exquisite obfuscation of her presence--which, upon relfection, a few had previously sensed, but quickly dismissed with the appearance of so many new, and apparent, kindred. Her voice, a stringed instrument played to perfection in a melancholy key, soothes the bloodlust invoked by the scent so dear... "For you." Eyes from within regard you all, sizing you up, tearing you down, categorizing and filing you away as ally or enemy, predator or prey. Though chests swell, not a hand raises. Though some shy away furtively, not a one approaches. "Please--come in. Unburden yourselves for a time--the war continues, but even Sysyphus had his moments of respite as the rock... rollllled back down the hill..." The doorway awaits.
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