Post by Marcus Fai on May 29, 2005 13:12:16 GMT -8
The rain fell lightly on the leaves above, the soil soft under foot from the droplets that slipped through. City sounds faded into nothingness as they traversed the acreage of spruce and pine surrounding.
The warlock walked alone on a path he had so many times.
Life repeated it-self.
Try as he might it always came around again. Each footfall a deeper impression as hill became valley, valley into beach.
Looking across the wind swept waters into the galaxy of house lights across Lake Washington, he mused. Here where solace and contemplation resided, Life repeated.
His last few words with Moira before her end - heated and hatred; the label Sabbat given to him – disgust and disgrace; Words of betrayal shared – fear and rage; Kind words shared with elder beauty – Joy and Planning. Why could he not separate life from plan, how is joy to find shelter when all is planned.
The warlock rested upon a large tree that having once fallen laid out inches from the water, finally in a mighty act of defiance arched skyward towards the stars, strong and resolved never letting its past determine its future.
Each gust of wind swung the tree dropping the warlock’s feet momentarily into the water beneath.
He watched the ripples trace outward from toe and heel fading into nothingness at a distance pondering his life. Moments of history traced his mind…<br>
- The fields of Uganda, crescents moon reflecting off lake Victoria. Cautiously sweeping away the dirt from the recently unearthed village of Kitara.
- Finally reaching the Barren desert of Key sari. Alone in a void of life, darkness surrounding, and all senses numb save the harsh sands tearing across his face and eyes. Each one a skeletal hand of a mortal he burned in Hitler’s fires.
- Crouched behind a dried patch of grass watching the storm explode in torrents of lightning, an army of Mages pressing onward over the bodies of so many Tremere. Blood curdling in his veins knowing he caused it, despising it, yet understanding the need for it.
- His mother’s hands washing the dust from his face, beautiful and brown her eyes floating above him.
Remembering the Love…
Love, the age-old question. Ever elusive and unanswered even by one as old as he.
Her face swelled across his mind, images of his mother interlaced. She was so kind, desiring to listen. Experience comforted him that she was not manipulating him, just actual concern and interest.
As a hundred pleasant memories were relived a visage from hell arose. Alexis, the fire haired demon, bewilder of mind, trickster of magic, being used by her, feeling love for her soiled every though and hope he held. How he despised her, yet recognized her in begrudging appreciation. So rarely was the warlocks mind invaded that pride allow him to forget he himself was vulnerable to others machinations. He knew what it was to direct others and his analytic mind churned in an effort to assay the angles the methods and means of why he felt, why he even cared.
Hours passed, as did thousands of scenarios, reasons, plans, and excuses. Then as rapidly as his obstinate mind grinded fact it all stopped and there he sat upon the diligent tree, feet lapping in the water his mind a void save one memory that shoved all the others into his depths unrelenting as the starving hound who has caught a scent of fresh blood on the horizon.
The Nightmare was over; the warlock was free from a self-imposed oubliette.
Four hundred thirty nine years almost to the day. The mortal heart that stopped in the moments before death beat again. Victor for once did not know what the future held for him and for once he would let it happen as any mortal would.
The warlock walked alone on a path he had so many times.
Life repeated it-self.
Try as he might it always came around again. Each footfall a deeper impression as hill became valley, valley into beach.
Looking across the wind swept waters into the galaxy of house lights across Lake Washington, he mused. Here where solace and contemplation resided, Life repeated.
His last few words with Moira before her end - heated and hatred; the label Sabbat given to him – disgust and disgrace; Words of betrayal shared – fear and rage; Kind words shared with elder beauty – Joy and Planning. Why could he not separate life from plan, how is joy to find shelter when all is planned.
The warlock rested upon a large tree that having once fallen laid out inches from the water, finally in a mighty act of defiance arched skyward towards the stars, strong and resolved never letting its past determine its future.
Each gust of wind swung the tree dropping the warlock’s feet momentarily into the water beneath.
He watched the ripples trace outward from toe and heel fading into nothingness at a distance pondering his life. Moments of history traced his mind…<br>
- The fields of Uganda, crescents moon reflecting off lake Victoria. Cautiously sweeping away the dirt from the recently unearthed village of Kitara.
- Finally reaching the Barren desert of Key sari. Alone in a void of life, darkness surrounding, and all senses numb save the harsh sands tearing across his face and eyes. Each one a skeletal hand of a mortal he burned in Hitler’s fires.
- Crouched behind a dried patch of grass watching the storm explode in torrents of lightning, an army of Mages pressing onward over the bodies of so many Tremere. Blood curdling in his veins knowing he caused it, despising it, yet understanding the need for it.
- His mother’s hands washing the dust from his face, beautiful and brown her eyes floating above him.
Remembering the Love…
Love, the age-old question. Ever elusive and unanswered even by one as old as he.
Her face swelled across his mind, images of his mother interlaced. She was so kind, desiring to listen. Experience comforted him that she was not manipulating him, just actual concern and interest.
As a hundred pleasant memories were relived a visage from hell arose. Alexis, the fire haired demon, bewilder of mind, trickster of magic, being used by her, feeling love for her soiled every though and hope he held. How he despised her, yet recognized her in begrudging appreciation. So rarely was the warlocks mind invaded that pride allow him to forget he himself was vulnerable to others machinations. He knew what it was to direct others and his analytic mind churned in an effort to assay the angles the methods and means of why he felt, why he even cared.
Hours passed, as did thousands of scenarios, reasons, plans, and excuses. Then as rapidly as his obstinate mind grinded fact it all stopped and there he sat upon the diligent tree, feet lapping in the water his mind a void save one memory that shoved all the others into his depths unrelenting as the starving hound who has caught a scent of fresh blood on the horizon.
The people of Seattle were still active at this early in the morning even as shops lay dormant, Victor was confident that the Masquerade would not be infringed upon by a man and woman relaxing by the waterfront. The unnatural presence of their being left them undisturbed as passers-by often chose to cross the street instead of crossing near them.
The last weeks were wonderful, so many of his plans had not gone exactly as planned, but instead had gone so much better. Henrietta was promoted to keeper, an action he had not expected yet worked in his favor, and Alexandra had resigned as Primogen allowing her more free time, something he planned to make use of. Matty was now Primogen of his clan, something Victor had wanted for some time, a grand opportunity to aid him and hopefully a chance for his clan to teach him and for him to learn some control. Satiavati had been taking much of the cities troubles out of his hands.
Existence was on a pleasant turn and now he sat gazing at the stars with a woman who with her mere presence warmed his heart, bringing back the oldest of memories. Mortal thought, a remembrance of life in the sun, and the cherishment of family from love not duty.
Why she did it he could only vaguely understand, why he allowed it he still struggled with and why he returned it only time will tell as he placed his hand over hers that rested so gently upon his thigh. Genuine concern was all the emotion she displayed, so alien to him, so refreshing and he broke. They spoke of mortal ties of lineage and relatives. The predominant nature of his feelings for his brother overwhelmed him, Cedric was family eternal his tie to mortality, and it was his head he had to sever and present to his Tremere brethren to prove fealty. Each tear forced itself from his heart to his eyes and escaped as a gentle stream tracing the curvature of his cheek arching to his mouth where they rested desperate for the freedom of the earth below. He lightly clenched her hand and shared with her a secret beginning a dark shame that she accepted without pause just as she had learning they fought on opposing sides in so many wars, that he had killed and allowed to be killed so many of her countrymen.
What angel is she that she can look past the dank and infernal deeds, move beyond the histories apart and still reach-out in honest concern. Though he never had asked her too, she had become his confessional, his mother, the one woman who held in him, in the void of his being a candle illuminating the child that never grew, the mortal who died for power and forgot everything before it.
So much needed to be done, said and acted upon for the once stoic kindred who followed the waves in years stood aside letting the mortal chase the light in days and hours. Every moment became precious every wasted instant a lesson to unlearn.
His tears received a last push, an instant from dropping to the freedom below and as the tension of a single droplet of blood released, her gentle hand wiped across his face. The droplet rested with her, as did the heart from which it came
The last weeks were wonderful, so many of his plans had not gone exactly as planned, but instead had gone so much better. Henrietta was promoted to keeper, an action he had not expected yet worked in his favor, and Alexandra had resigned as Primogen allowing her more free time, something he planned to make use of. Matty was now Primogen of his clan, something Victor had wanted for some time, a grand opportunity to aid him and hopefully a chance for his clan to teach him and for him to learn some control. Satiavati had been taking much of the cities troubles out of his hands.
Existence was on a pleasant turn and now he sat gazing at the stars with a woman who with her mere presence warmed his heart, bringing back the oldest of memories. Mortal thought, a remembrance of life in the sun, and the cherishment of family from love not duty.
Why she did it he could only vaguely understand, why he allowed it he still struggled with and why he returned it only time will tell as he placed his hand over hers that rested so gently upon his thigh. Genuine concern was all the emotion she displayed, so alien to him, so refreshing and he broke. They spoke of mortal ties of lineage and relatives. The predominant nature of his feelings for his brother overwhelmed him, Cedric was family eternal his tie to mortality, and it was his head he had to sever and present to his Tremere brethren to prove fealty. Each tear forced itself from his heart to his eyes and escaped as a gentle stream tracing the curvature of his cheek arching to his mouth where they rested desperate for the freedom of the earth below. He lightly clenched her hand and shared with her a secret beginning a dark shame that she accepted without pause just as she had learning they fought on opposing sides in so many wars, that he had killed and allowed to be killed so many of her countrymen.
What angel is she that she can look past the dank and infernal deeds, move beyond the histories apart and still reach-out in honest concern. Though he never had asked her too, she had become his confessional, his mother, the one woman who held in him, in the void of his being a candle illuminating the child that never grew, the mortal who died for power and forgot everything before it.
So much needed to be done, said and acted upon for the once stoic kindred who followed the waves in years stood aside letting the mortal chase the light in days and hours. Every moment became precious every wasted instant a lesson to unlearn.
His tears received a last push, an instant from dropping to the freedom below and as the tension of a single droplet of blood released, her gentle hand wiped across his face. The droplet rested with her, as did the heart from which it came
The Nightmare was over; the warlock was free from a self-imposed oubliette.
Four hundred thirty nine years almost to the day. The mortal heart that stopped in the moments before death beat again. Victor for once did not know what the future held for him and for once he would let it happen as any mortal would.
