The Death of Fools
Goll could not but watch as they stood over Calypso's torpid form and discussed. So much for them to decide now, so much for them to debate on. These would-be Masters of the Ordo Dracul saw themselves as somehow a cut above the rest of the vampires, as though their position lent them some inherent power that they could wield over him. Fools. Fools and jesters who sat on thrones of tin wearing crowns of brass while their mirror-castles shattered around them in a cascade of blood and pain. Goll could not make them see, did not have the faculties to force them to understand, that all too soon the Moroi would not serve the Ordo. Could they not see it!? Would they simply refuse to bare witness to his childers' exodus!?
They were fools to think Goll simple. The poor Hound could not understand what was going on around him. They all believed that Goll only knew strike, parry and repeat. But Goll had sat at the feet of the Great Ladies. Goll understood the happenings of the Vampire world better than most because he understood the motivations. The beast, the ever snarling and gnashing aspect of the Vampiric condition, would always motive at Vampire's every action no matter how small. And now, looking down at the torpored form before him, Goll's beast cried out for blood. It cried for the blood of Calypso, who had come so close to destroying the Precepts. Calypso who would have sacrificed anything and anyone to save his own neck.
The beast called for the blood of the other GrandMasters, those who had ignored Goll's warnings time and again. They were locked in their internal disputes so tightly that they would not understand that their was something more important than personal philosophy, more important than who sits on the tallest chair on any given night. Goll understood the need... Goll had signed his lives, and the lives of all of his Childer to come, to the Impaler. He had been promised a place in this world and a chance for his line to thrive... and these fools would dash all of it against the rocks for temporal power.
As Exodus bent low to awaken the Dragon Slayer, Goll felt again the pull of his beast. A bloodline that had been created for the pure purpose of destroying his Master. The Hound could not stay around them without feeling the rage burn in him. He had found that problem with Georgia... but at the same time there was...
These could not be adressed now. Goll simply watched as the GrandMasters dressed down the creature that called himself Calypso, watched as he skirted each of their questions. Goll watched their faces as they interogated him, watched to see if any wavered in the least. But at last Goll saw true resolve in their eyes - for all of their dancing and pretty words, they knew what Calypso had done and they would see him punished.
And then he noticed in - the rage in Dominion's eyes. Goll knew that look, knew it all too well as Goll's own beast yearned to roar with approval. We are Monsters, yes, we are Monsters.
Perhaps... perhaps Goll would meet them in Maymont. Goll would go... and he would guide the Dragon with all of the strength he posessed. His Master would be pleased.
They were fools to think Goll simple. The poor Hound could not understand what was going on around him. They all believed that Goll only knew strike, parry and repeat. But Goll had sat at the feet of the Great Ladies. Goll understood the happenings of the Vampire world better than most because he understood the motivations. The beast, the ever snarling and gnashing aspect of the Vampiric condition, would always motive at Vampire's every action no matter how small. And now, looking down at the torpored form before him, Goll's beast cried out for blood. It cried for the blood of Calypso, who had come so close to destroying the Precepts. Calypso who would have sacrificed anything and anyone to save his own neck.
The beast called for the blood of the other GrandMasters, those who had ignored Goll's warnings time and again. They were locked in their internal disputes so tightly that they would not understand that their was something more important than personal philosophy, more important than who sits on the tallest chair on any given night. Goll understood the need... Goll had signed his lives, and the lives of all of his Childer to come, to the Impaler. He had been promised a place in this world and a chance for his line to thrive... and these fools would dash all of it against the rocks for temporal power.
As Exodus bent low to awaken the Dragon Slayer, Goll felt again the pull of his beast. A bloodline that had been created for the pure purpose of destroying his Master. The Hound could not stay around them without feeling the rage burn in him. He had found that problem with Georgia... but at the same time there was...
These could not be adressed now. Goll simply watched as the GrandMasters dressed down the creature that called himself Calypso, watched as he skirted each of their questions. Goll watched their faces as they interogated him, watched to see if any wavered in the least. But at last Goll saw true resolve in their eyes - for all of their dancing and pretty words, they knew what Calypso had done and they would see him punished.
And then he noticed in - the rage in Dominion's eyes. Goll knew that look, knew it all too well as Goll's own beast yearned to roar with approval. We are Monsters, yes, we are Monsters.
Perhaps... perhaps Goll would meet them in Maymont. Goll would go... and he would guide the Dragon with all of the strength he posessed. His Master would be pleased.