[Requiem] Now, its personal...
Thomas held the tool gently, painstakingly applying his maker's mark to the silver urn. It would bring little comfort, he knew -- but it was the only method he had to pay the proper respects. Hopefully, an item of extraordinary beauty would provide a fitting home for the Crone's remains, and facilitate the memories of her Requiem and Destruction when looked upon.
In all, the night had gone well, despite the tragedy with which it concluded. His plans for the leadership of New York were coming to fruition. After several months of taking authority solely in his own hands to gain the confidence of the city's leaders, Thomas was effectively stepping back, leaving true power in the hands New York's Primogen and Prisci Councils. His own "Kerzian Council." The Experiment would be a success -- decisions made by the Councilors and implemented by the Prince. A microcosmic legislature and executive. The delegation of responsibility had begun, and would continue so long as the Primogen did not balk at their newfound prerogative.
But however positive the results of his Experiment were, the night was overshadowed by her.
Inanna, and her VII.
According to the Reverend, VII took particular remonstrance with the Carthians, of all Covenants. And tonight they had destroyed one of his citizens in the midst of his Court. This was now personal. Thomas suppressed a snarl as he penned the note to his Harpy and packaged the urn that he hoped would hold the remains of the young Kindred's sire. He closed his eyes and sent his mind back to the cramped upper room where Samantha lay, knowing her Requiem was drawing to a conclusion, struggling with the visions wrought by the power of the weapon that continued its mortal work inside her.
Thomas Kent, once the premier craftsman and artisan south of Boston, thought again to the silver blade, now hanging peacfully in its scabbard on the wall. It bore no mystical properties, but just as with the urn, he handed it to Felipe, that the Crone might use an object of beauty to commit an act of destruction. Hoping that, when thinking back on that night, in the midst of the horror and pain, there might be an ounce of comfort that such a heinous act was brought to bare by an tool of exquisite creation.
Casting his mind farther back, the Prince of New York relived the sensation of hatred and abhorrence that ran through his veins when the Crone's flesh was pierced. The revelers at the Crone gathering seemed eager to rid themselves of the feelings set upon them by the attack - horrified and disgusted at the revulsion they felt. But Thomas - Thomas held onto it. Gripped it, and remembered it. Replayed it in his mind, over and over.
He thought of his conversations with Rebecca, about the effect his Requiem had on his sense of emotion. Dulling them, turning them to a pale imitation, a poor conterfeit of those felt in the days when he could sit and watch a sunrise over the Long Island Sound. But this hatred - this pure, unadulterated rage - there was nothing pale or counterfeit about it. It was the purest emotion he had felt in two centuries.
Recognizing the sadness of that realization, but unable to muster anything beyond mere disappointment, Thomas instead reflected on the sensation once again, and the rush that such a powerful emotion could levy upon him.
In all, the night had gone well, despite the tragedy with which it concluded. His plans for the leadership of New York were coming to fruition. After several months of taking authority solely in his own hands to gain the confidence of the city's leaders, Thomas was effectively stepping back, leaving true power in the hands New York's Primogen and Prisci Councils. His own "Kerzian Council." The Experiment would be a success -- decisions made by the Councilors and implemented by the Prince. A microcosmic legislature and executive. The delegation of responsibility had begun, and would continue so long as the Primogen did not balk at their newfound prerogative.
But however positive the results of his Experiment were, the night was overshadowed by her.
Inanna, and her VII.
According to the Reverend, VII took particular remonstrance with the Carthians, of all Covenants. And tonight they had destroyed one of his citizens in the midst of his Court. This was now personal. Thomas suppressed a snarl as he penned the note to his Harpy and packaged the urn that he hoped would hold the remains of the young Kindred's sire. He closed his eyes and sent his mind back to the cramped upper room where Samantha lay, knowing her Requiem was drawing to a conclusion, struggling with the visions wrought by the power of the weapon that continued its mortal work inside her.
Thomas Kent, once the premier craftsman and artisan south of Boston, thought again to the silver blade, now hanging peacfully in its scabbard on the wall. It bore no mystical properties, but just as with the urn, he handed it to Felipe, that the Crone might use an object of beauty to commit an act of destruction. Hoping that, when thinking back on that night, in the midst of the horror and pain, there might be an ounce of comfort that such a heinous act was brought to bare by an tool of exquisite creation.
Casting his mind farther back, the Prince of New York relived the sensation of hatred and abhorrence that ran through his veins when the Crone's flesh was pierced. The revelers at the Crone gathering seemed eager to rid themselves of the feelings set upon them by the attack - horrified and disgusted at the revulsion they felt. But Thomas - Thomas held onto it. Gripped it, and remembered it. Replayed it in his mind, over and over.
He thought of his conversations with Rebecca, about the effect his Requiem had on his sense of emotion. Dulling them, turning them to a pale imitation, a poor conterfeit of those felt in the days when he could sit and watch a sunrise over the Long Island Sound. But this hatred - this pure, unadulterated rage - there was nothing pale or counterfeit about it. It was the purest emotion he had felt in two centuries.
Recognizing the sadness of that realization, but unable to muster anything beyond mere disappointment, Thomas instead reflected on the sensation once again, and the rush that such a powerful emotion could levy upon him.