Post by Shah-Khohr of Ventrue on Mar 17, 2016 12:22:19 GMT -8
The pieces had been put together, at least as well as they could be. The boards showed their destruction, but at least read in a logical manner once again. The city was building towards something... something.... oh who really gave a shit?
The old Russian harrumphed through his beard and flopped into a chair. He felt old and tired and the vim of the chase was sour as old wine. Something was coming. He had held opposing forces at bay through force of will alone for so long. So many desires from so many kindred to tear at each other. They'd been held off, and now he simply didn't care. His plan could be salvaged, yes, but it was set back a year or more. There wasn't another to share the debt, to build the name, to travel the world seeking warriors and resources. And if his plans were scattered, why should he care about something so trivial as the well being of this frontier settlement? Few enough others did.
For the longest time his mantra had been simple. Find the infernal. Kill the infernal. Find the unclean. Kill the unclean. Find the heretics. Kill the heretics.
One didn't need to worry about city level politics when they were on a mission. One didn't need to worry about keeping the peace among the clean ones if all they did was eradicate the unclean. Why was this place different?
Because it was weak, maybe. Or broken. The place was like a woman who had been hit too often as a child and flinched whenever you moved too quickly. Only an uncompassionate brute wouldn't want to coo softly and wrap arms around her to tell her that everything would be alright. The bad men were away. Let me take away your ails.
Such it was with Seattle. Let me solve your problems. Let me see to your wounds. Let me purge the parasites among you. And yet a cancer had grown. It was OF Seattle and killing it all the same.
He just didn't care anymore. Let them do what they will. This distraction from the hunt wasn't profitable any longer.
