Godaric: Mariyah
Adapt yourself to the things among which your lot has been cast and love sincerely the fellow creatures with whom destiny has ordained that you shall live.
-Marcus Aurelius
Constantinople, 983 AD
-------------------------------------------
I arrive at the meeting in her evening "entertaining" haven. My soldier's boots and garb seem well out of place. Her chambers are adorned with art, perfumes, and silk...all the trappings of her lands and vices. I have not even bothered to remove my kit or cloak before the scent reaches me. It can only be described as equal parts civilization and hedonism, the perfume blending with the opium.
She is lounging on padded cushions with the brass pipe playing between her fingers, surrounded by attendants. Her pale complexion and hair matches my own, but her slender features mark her as from the East, where my blood is of the West. Her beauty is exotic and stunning.
She laughs a little when I step in. The laugh has mirth, but I do not mistake the tone. I've heard the same laugh from matrons in the arena and the Ventus Nex's spies.
"Hell's fire...handsome but rough is how they described the Wolf of Vibius. Your reputation did not do either claim justice. Enter and be welcome."
I am surprised that she speaks my language so passably. I respond with the Greek of the city.
"I come as requested Lady al-Khafid, in the service of the Dominus Noctis Imperator. My patron requested that I perform a task for his most effective and valued Speaker."
She orders her servants to depart. They do so as if commanded to by an angry God, though her tone is as sweet as honey. She moves her own words to the tongue of the Greeks.
"Not the unlearned brute that some would have led me to believe as well. Interesting indeed. Well my learned Barbarian, we shall see if you are suited to the task at hand..."
Constantinople, 1032 AD
-------------------------------------------
I stand in the Chamber and Forum of the Imperator. The Mystikoi monks record the proceedings at a rapid pace as the Lancea+Sanctum priests continue their diatribe on her. She bears no cracks to her composure, but she has reason for concern. They want her dead. Despite her loyal service to the city, her favorite pastime has become the social demolition of many of their clergy. The Dominus Noctis Imperator must follow tradition and prestation. He cannot save her, not publicly. She has gone too far.
She captivates me. I can hardly fathom it, but her civilized hedonism is the counter to my own state and tastes. Beyond her flesh there is the juxtaposition of her monstrous abandon coupled with her grasp of civility. She is a monster, but one far different from me. We have shared much, and I would not see her gone from my Requiem.
I speak up. The Imperator flashes a slight smile. The Ventus Nex raises a surprised eyebrow. Galen of Alexandria gives a slight shrug, but little knowledge escapes his sharp ears. He knows of the Speaker and I.
"I will only tolerate her exile."
The Presbyters begin to balk and chatter. I rebuke them as my talons come forward, a simple threatening point to note to them that now is the time for silence. They know I listen to their council, but they also know I watch the walls that keep them safe. I have rarely spoken on events beyond my station or office, thus my words are often heeded those times when I do so. I take this rare opportunity to spend such a coin and back it with my dangerous reputation.
"She will pass safely beyond these walls. Whatever state that the Lady Al-Khafid is in upon her departure from the Jewel of the East shall be the one you bear as well,for I will be certain to show as much zeal or temperance as your most holy example provides."
I see the fear in their eyes. I see the smirk on her face and the sense of relief wash over her. I will miss her but she will be safe.
Constantinople, 1187 AD
-------------------------------------------
She plays her fingers along my scars. She always bears that smirk, as she traces along the gift the Roman officer gave me along my right eye, the gladius cut along my chest, and the spear wound along my left arm.
"Are you truly glad I am returned to you my learned Barbarian? You must know that I care for you most. Do I not show my affections appropriately?"
I scoff slightly as she scolds me.
"You certainly cannot be angry with me. I do not begrudge your affections and attention to the fetching Varangian woman, though she is far from civilized."
I smile a wolfish grin in response.
"I do not begrudge you your Roman Decimus, or even the Moor who claims you as his love. They lack a key quality."
'What is that pray tell?"
"They are not me."
She laughs at my statement, grabbing my hair playfully.
Berlin, 1944 AD
-------------------------------------------
I sit in the bunker after my meeting with the Prince. My face still bears the results of my last feeding, a messy ordeal. I wear the uniform of an officer of the day, medals, boots, and dress coat to match. However my surroundings and the blood on my face would suggest I am a prisoner or a madman. I flex my claws and idly pick them along the stone floor as I take measure of the situation.
I have barely recovered from my sleep and cannot recall the last year, a frenzied blur of violence and feeding, lost to the Beast and Fog. The bombings woke me too soon, and the Beast had it's price at the expense of soldier and citizen alike. I find it hard to care, though the Prince did not see things the same way despite sharing the blood of our Clan. He was not so irritated to not call upon my debt though. Ever the pragmatic one he was, one of the only ancients such as myself to survive Bohemia's revolt and a century marked by "Magdeburg Mercy." He is a killer as I am, and would have me at his side rather than leave.
I hear two soldiers approaching, with the slight measured steps of a third. The armed men unlock the door and lead a woman into my chamber. Her skin is pale, and hair dyed brown, but even the conservative fashions cannot hide her eyes. Her face tears through the Fog like a razor. She bids them to depart in German, and they do so...like they were commanded by an angry God.
She leans down and kisses me, the blood of a score of men still adorning my lips and mouth. It is equal parts tender greeting, passion, and predatory gesture.
It truly is her.
"You have seen better days my learned Barbarian."
I smile, my wit returning to me. She has always had that effect upon me.
"At least the uniform is fetching. I fear the Austrian painter's eventual failure will ruin Dress Grey for at least a century though. You however look like a house frau."
Her withering look at my statement suggests she shares both my opinions. She motions me to the door. I stop her, my hand on her shoulder.
"This new Germany is doomed. Death falls from the sky, and no force can face twin fronts from so potent a collective of foes. However, I cannot leave. The Prince has called upon my Oaths. I must stay and repay his hospitality. The Northman has my word, even as he profits from the slaughter and spends the lives of others to keep his own safe."
She smiles a little and then two others, obviously under her thrall, enter with a crate of some measure.
"I have no intention of letting you die for that creature. Your Oath prevents you from leaving of your own free will..."
She produces a sharpened rowan shaft from the container and smiles.
"...but it says nothing of others taking you from here. The Prince owes me, and as such you cannot do harm to one under his rule and prestation without his leave. You cannot stop me from taking you from here...or you break your Oath."
"This is a most unlikely rescue."
"Certainly, but no matter who would or might come for you, they simply lack one quality love...
...they are not me."
I barely begin to laugh when she slides the stake into my chest.
-Marcus Aurelius
Constantinople, 983 AD
-------------------------------------------
I arrive at the meeting in her evening "entertaining" haven. My soldier's boots and garb seem well out of place. Her chambers are adorned with art, perfumes, and silk...all the trappings of her lands and vices. I have not even bothered to remove my kit or cloak before the scent reaches me. It can only be described as equal parts civilization and hedonism, the perfume blending with the opium.
She is lounging on padded cushions with the brass pipe playing between her fingers, surrounded by attendants. Her pale complexion and hair matches my own, but her slender features mark her as from the East, where my blood is of the West. Her beauty is exotic and stunning.
She laughs a little when I step in. The laugh has mirth, but I do not mistake the tone. I've heard the same laugh from matrons in the arena and the Ventus Nex's spies.
"Hell's fire...handsome but rough is how they described the Wolf of Vibius. Your reputation did not do either claim justice. Enter and be welcome."
I am surprised that she speaks my language so passably. I respond with the Greek of the city.
"I come as requested Lady al-Khafid, in the service of the Dominus Noctis Imperator. My patron requested that I perform a task for his most effective and valued Speaker."
She orders her servants to depart. They do so as if commanded to by an angry God, though her tone is as sweet as honey. She moves her own words to the tongue of the Greeks.
"Not the unlearned brute that some would have led me to believe as well. Interesting indeed. Well my learned Barbarian, we shall see if you are suited to the task at hand..."
Constantinople, 1032 AD
-------------------------------------------
I stand in the Chamber and Forum of the Imperator. The Mystikoi monks record the proceedings at a rapid pace as the Lancea+Sanctum priests continue their diatribe on her. She bears no cracks to her composure, but she has reason for concern. They want her dead. Despite her loyal service to the city, her favorite pastime has become the social demolition of many of their clergy. The Dominus Noctis Imperator must follow tradition and prestation. He cannot save her, not publicly. She has gone too far.
She captivates me. I can hardly fathom it, but her civilized hedonism is the counter to my own state and tastes. Beyond her flesh there is the juxtaposition of her monstrous abandon coupled with her grasp of civility. She is a monster, but one far different from me. We have shared much, and I would not see her gone from my Requiem.
I speak up. The Imperator flashes a slight smile. The Ventus Nex raises a surprised eyebrow. Galen of Alexandria gives a slight shrug, but little knowledge escapes his sharp ears. He knows of the Speaker and I.
"I will only tolerate her exile."
The Presbyters begin to balk and chatter. I rebuke them as my talons come forward, a simple threatening point to note to them that now is the time for silence. They know I listen to their council, but they also know I watch the walls that keep them safe. I have rarely spoken on events beyond my station or office, thus my words are often heeded those times when I do so. I take this rare opportunity to spend such a coin and back it with my dangerous reputation.
"She will pass safely beyond these walls. Whatever state that the Lady Al-Khafid is in upon her departure from the Jewel of the East shall be the one you bear as well,for I will be certain to show as much zeal or temperance as your most holy example provides."
I see the fear in their eyes. I see the smirk on her face and the sense of relief wash over her. I will miss her but she will be safe.
Constantinople, 1187 AD
-------------------------------------------
She plays her fingers along my scars. She always bears that smirk, as she traces along the gift the Roman officer gave me along my right eye, the gladius cut along my chest, and the spear wound along my left arm.
"Are you truly glad I am returned to you my learned Barbarian? You must know that I care for you most. Do I not show my affections appropriately?"
I scoff slightly as she scolds me.
"You certainly cannot be angry with me. I do not begrudge your affections and attention to the fetching Varangian woman, though she is far from civilized."
I smile a wolfish grin in response.
"I do not begrudge you your Roman Decimus, or even the Moor who claims you as his love. They lack a key quality."
'What is that pray tell?"
"They are not me."
She laughs at my statement, grabbing my hair playfully.
Berlin, 1944 AD
-------------------------------------------
I sit in the bunker after my meeting with the Prince. My face still bears the results of my last feeding, a messy ordeal. I wear the uniform of an officer of the day, medals, boots, and dress coat to match. However my surroundings and the blood on my face would suggest I am a prisoner or a madman. I flex my claws and idly pick them along the stone floor as I take measure of the situation.
I have barely recovered from my sleep and cannot recall the last year, a frenzied blur of violence and feeding, lost to the Beast and Fog. The bombings woke me too soon, and the Beast had it's price at the expense of soldier and citizen alike. I find it hard to care, though the Prince did not see things the same way despite sharing the blood of our Clan. He was not so irritated to not call upon my debt though. Ever the pragmatic one he was, one of the only ancients such as myself to survive Bohemia's revolt and a century marked by "Magdeburg Mercy." He is a killer as I am, and would have me at his side rather than leave.
I hear two soldiers approaching, with the slight measured steps of a third. The armed men unlock the door and lead a woman into my chamber. Her skin is pale, and hair dyed brown, but even the conservative fashions cannot hide her eyes. Her face tears through the Fog like a razor. She bids them to depart in German, and they do so...like they were commanded by an angry God.
She leans down and kisses me, the blood of a score of men still adorning my lips and mouth. It is equal parts tender greeting, passion, and predatory gesture.
It truly is her.
"You have seen better days my learned Barbarian."
I smile, my wit returning to me. She has always had that effect upon me.
"At least the uniform is fetching. I fear the Austrian painter's eventual failure will ruin Dress Grey for at least a century though. You however look like a house frau."
Her withering look at my statement suggests she shares both my opinions. She motions me to the door. I stop her, my hand on her shoulder.
"This new Germany is doomed. Death falls from the sky, and no force can face twin fronts from so potent a collective of foes. However, I cannot leave. The Prince has called upon my Oaths. I must stay and repay his hospitality. The Northman has my word, even as he profits from the slaughter and spends the lives of others to keep his own safe."
She smiles a little and then two others, obviously under her thrall, enter with a crate of some measure.
"I have no intention of letting you die for that creature. Your Oath prevents you from leaving of your own free will..."
She produces a sharpened rowan shaft from the container and smiles.
"...but it says nothing of others taking you from here. The Prince owes me, and as such you cannot do harm to one under his rule and prestation without his leave. You cannot stop me from taking you from here...or you break your Oath."
"This is a most unlikely rescue."
"Certainly, but no matter who would or might come for you, they simply lack one quality love...
...they are not me."
I barely begin to laugh when she slides the stake into my chest.