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The Drowned Monastery IV & Bitter Crusade I
The moon was full and bright above them as they entered the flooded courtyard in their boats, the two guards on duty there had little time to react this time, as they were soon drowned in a sea fur and savage teeth. The wolves Volund and Sigurd had sommoned surging forward as the boats hit the stone stepes of the entrance way.
And the Company was not far behind them, Baradeus charging with Sigurd headlong into the heart of the drowned monastery, surounded by cainine allies on all sides. Mortius following close behind with his ghoul by his side, and Gregoire seemingly waiting for an oportunity to present itself for him to use his tallents in some way. Maelduin and Volund however chose to leap up the walls of the courtyard on to the turreted walkways above, where yet more thugish guardsmen where emerging. Maelduin leapt up to the top with the feral grace common to his wild and massively puerile kind, where as Volund, overconfident in his leap, yet equally puerile it had to be said, overshot his mark and flew over into the deep and bittingly cold waters of the nameless lake.
Maelduin was charged by two heavely armed guardsmen, with another figure behind, despite taking wounds he slew them both outright, olny to be captured by the eyes of the third, a handsome slender man in priests robes with flowing blond hair and cold blue eyes.
The handsome priest struck terror into Maelduin's cold heart, and he fell from the walls, landing near the boats.
His attacker leaped down after him, but maelduin had regained his witts, and fear had fled from his heart.
Rising up he struck his cainite opponent such a mighty blow that it smashed him brocken to the ground. Maelduin quickly knelt and severed his head from his body before he could heal himself, before dashing into the monastery to aid his companions.
Meanwhile inside the knave Baradeus and the wolves were battling a company of guardsmen, steadfast and determined men, skilled with their weapons. But they were facing a group of now seasoned vampires, all equally skilled in their own ways, and thus the battle was fierce. Everywhere cainie teeth crunched on bone and tore thruogh muscle and ligament, sharp steel bit into flesh, both living and undead, and into armour.
Baradeus and Sigurd stood at the forefront killing with nearly every stroke of their blades, claws, and fangs. A group of ten guardsmen soon became five or less, and as the lines blured, as the fighting became knot on the centre of the chamber, Brother Anthony Mortius, as usual, moved to the edges of the fighting like a carrion crow picking of those that became separated from their fellows. Two strong men met their deaths in his embrace, but not before being reduced to old men by Mortius' hoary magics, crippled by his priestly aid with but a word.
Gregoire watched all this, waiting for a time to intervine. But as he stood there he noticed a small black bat flutter down and land in the entrance way, before transforming itself into the form of a tall smilling cainite, young and beautifull of features, but as Gregoire looked into his eyes he knew only blinding terror. He could do nothing but cower before theform of Asmund, Count, and former Prince, of Viborg.
As quick as a flash Asmund stood over him, bending down with a sinister smile, as if to help him to his feet. But the Malkavian felt searing pain as the Count's long black claws dug deep into his flesh, and his was hurled with a sudden ferocity across the entranceway into the wall.
Crosing to gregoire's prone form, meaning to end this insect, he was stopped ony by Baradeus, having slain the last of the guards, shouting over to him in challange. Asmund seemed to ignore him at first, then suddenly he was toe to toe with Baradeus.
The Antonian Ventrue fought bravely and with great stretngh, but the Count nigh-on tore him to shreds with claws, before savagely tossing him into the roof, breaking both stone and bone. Baradeus fell prone befor him.
But at that moment, Maelduin, now in the grip of frenzy, roared into the main chamber, and seeing Gregoire as the nearest source of vitae charged for him.
Gregoire knew what was good for him and used the preturnatural speed of Celerity to escape him. Instead speeding straight for Asmund's exposed back with his dagger drawn.
He struck just as Asmund was about to devour Baradeus, and Mealduin, having regained control, was just behind him. Followed by Mortius and his deathly touch.
The count fell before the combined onslaught, finaly sucumbing to Maelduin's fangs just as the wolves began to devour the dead.
As Maelduin drank in his old blood and his soul memories flooded his mind.
A handsome young noble, a bright future before him.
The terrible fangs of a vindictive Nosferatu biting deep, both draining and changing him.
A mishappen creature now, an object of fear and revulsion.
And before long a Prince among the Cainites, as well as Count among the kine.
Using his quickly learned arts of Obfuscate to hide his features, and rarely moving among his people.
Years passing and a thirst for knowledge, a power that may lift his monstrous curse, a nameless power that dwelt beneath the earth.
But the people of Viborg could stand his depredations no longer, and spurred on by a fiery church, stormed his castle and burned it to the ground.
To the world he was finaly dead, and not a mourner in sight.
But Asmund retreated to an abandoned place, and made a deal.
In return for 100 inocent souls every 10 years, the powers that he placated restored his beauty, breaking the curse of Nosferatu.
Slowly at first, but then more brazenly, folk were taken from the road. The inocent for his cells, and the coming sacrifice, and those who were already strong fom the blood of other cainites, all the better, once bound, to be his arms and hands outside the monastery.
The task was almost complete when outiders started stickning ther noses in...
As Mealduin drank, enraptured by the amaranth, Gregoire noticed scream coming fom deeper in the building.
In a rare moment of compassion, he ran off to find the souce, as the horrid screams grew ever louder.
At last he found the dungeons and a sight that was extreme even to one as jaded as him.
Almost a hundred people, young women, girls and boys, the old and the weak. Asmunds "inocent souls", and two remeaning guardsmen cutting deeply into their throats. Boddies of children lay torn open on the slippery red stones, some moaning in their death throws, and the frenzied screams of those about to die ringing from the walls, having watched the brutal deaths of their fellow captives.
Mortius arrived having followed Gregoire, and together they soon dispached the last murderous servants of Asmund.
Though Gregoire did feel a certain measure of guilt for his needlessly heroic actions.
Taking anything they could, including some old manuscripts of a dark nature, they leaft the drowned monastery before any of the survivors saw to much of their faces.
Baradeus was still to wounded to even walk and had to be carried to the boats, all had sustained wounds save Mortius, and only five of the twelve-strong wolf-pack they had brought in with them still lived. Not including Skoll, the great old wolf whom Volund had won the loyalty of, and then made strong with his blood.
After returning to their quaters in town they went to Prince Alaric's town manor, where he held court.
They briefed the wrapt Prince on what had transpired and what they had learned, with Sigurd coroborating they stories.
The greatfull prince, after reprimanding Maelduin sternly for comiting the amaranth, paid them in ful and offered them the hospitality of the town till they wished to depart.
So finally ended the frightfull and harrowing tale of the Drowned Monastery.
The Itinerant company traveled south, into the Holy Roman Empire.
Three years passed, quiet years.
The Year was 1202 anno domini.
And once again it was winter puerile fucking winter, again.
Dragovich Basarab had brought news of a potentialy easy and quick hire, one that could easily lead to much more grand and lucrative hires if they played their cards right.
He had come from the Republic of Venice, where Narses, Ancient prince of Venice, and Archbishop of Nod, was holding a council.
For the Fourth Crusade had been called by pope Pious XI, and the crusaders were gathering in Venice for the Venetian navy to fery them to ther destination.
The destination however was the problem.
Many prominent cainited, servants to even more prominent elders, were gathering beneath the aegis of Narses to decide where to direct the mortal crusaders toward.
Yeah!
Solid!
Chieh Hsia!
The silvered tongue of Dragovich had put them forward as experienced and independant vampires who might offer usefull opinions on the matter, espescialy as they had recently traveled to Jerusalem and the Holy Land themselves. But it seemed that some of the other hires done for those in high places paid off as well. Dragovich told them that they had been recomended by both Lord Nicholas of London, one of Mothras' many seneschals for whom they had done a hire, and Lady Magdalenna Castelucci, childe of Narses, whom Gregoire had met and offered their services to during an elysium in Jerusalem.
As they travelled south, five days before they arrived in Venice, Mortius began having strange dreams...
Dreams of walking through a shatered city of scorched walls and broken spires, ash falling from the sky, and covering the ground.
A figure was ahead of him, cloaked, and beckoning him to follow, But always out of reach.
They arrived in Venices grand porst by merchant vessel after 48 hours at sea, and it was a local festival in honour of one of the saints.
Flowers hung in garlands from mooring posts and shop fronts as they made their war through the narrow streets and over small bridges.
A young and comely maiden came up to them and handed them each a flower saying that it was a local custom before skiping off.
As she did so Mortius collapsed from one of his waking visions, shaking on the ground spasmodicly, as if possesed by the dreaded down syndrome
The vision he recieved followed on from his previous dreams, but this time he cought up with the man, in a burned out chapel. The figure turned and pushed back his hood, steping toward Bother Anthony, golded light spilling out from his face, yet not burning Mortius' dead flesh.
As the light spilled out the city around him changed, and dirt and ash disapearing as the the now golden city gleamed in near divine glory, domes arches wide roads and proud towers.
The shining figure, to bright to look at directly, put his hand on Brother Anthony's shoulders.
"Remember, all save the angels above is but shadows and dust, shadows and dust..."
Mortius awoke surrounded by the Company and their retainers, who helped him to his feet. "The angels..." were all the words he could muster.
Dragovich led them to the location where they were to be met and led to the house of Narses.
After a wait, a finelly dressed woman aproached, recognising Dragovich, and seemingly Baradeus.
She introduced herself as Anna Sgorina, of Constantinople. And after exchanging greetings with Baradeus, she led them to the Prince's villa.
Through high decorative gates and a large torchlit garden of privets and rose bushes, into the excuisite villa.
The guards of the City millitia where everywhere, their red uniforms imaculate.
After giving their names to a finely dressed servant, they were led through the house, past fine libraries filled with scrolls, huge oil paintings and stone busts from times gone by. Till they came to a wide bookcase, the servant felt in one of the shelves and pressed a latch.
The bookcase swung open, revaling a brightly lit staircase, they were led down and through more chambers if possible more opulent than those above. Mosaics covering the floor, inlaid with gold and prescious stones. Shining icons and religious-themed fine art adorned the walls, all soblty twisted to fit the beliefs of the Cainite Heresy.
They were ledt into a long camber lit by a huge caldelabra hanging from it's roof. There was a long polished table and many chairs in the centre of the room. Around the table sat many disparate and finely dressesd cainites, and at their head, in rich black and robes mimicking Church ataire, his skin
as pale as alabaster, and hair as grey as ash, sat Narses.The shadows around him as black as the void itself.
The characters presented them selves formally citing their names, clans, and lineage.
Mortius was greeted as a brother, and permitted to his his ruby ring. Baradeus was dismissed with a wave of the hand, and the others greeted with indiferance.
Ther took their places and listened to the argumants and positions of those present...
AMICI NOCTIS
The Christian western Lasombra are represented by two members of the clan's much feared inner order.
They are Tommaso Brexiano, and his aide, the darkly beautifull Lucita of Aragon.
They argue for a direct assault of the city of Jerusalem, relive the crusaders that have been holding out in Acre for reinforcements, and return the capital to the crusader kingdom, before it's to late.
HARDESTADT'S VENTRUE
Clan Ventrue is represented by Lanzo Von Saschen, widely seen as an agent of the German elder, and his aides, Aimery de Versey and Roland du Rocher.
They argue for an assault on Egypt, thus dividing the Arab world in two, and putting a stop to grain shipments to muslim forces in Outremer.
The fact that Egypt is the least defended of Arab lands lends some weight to their argument.
ARAB LASOMBRA
The eastern, and largely muslim, branch of clan Lasomba, the Qabilat al-Kayal, is represented by Khadijah Saadeh, a Christian Arab female.
She hpes to prevent the crusade from happening at all, promising trade conscesions and treaties, saying that peace is in the interest of all.
BYZANTINES
The Cainites of Byzantium contain all clans, but they are represented here by the Brujah Anna Sgorina, who urges that the crusaders come to the aid of their brothers in Constantinople, whos lands were under constant pressure. Promising ritch reward from a gratefull Byzantium and aid from it's armies to then liberate the Holy Land.
If possible, the Byzantine delagation is treated with mose derission that the Qabilat al-Khayal.
CAINITE HERETICS
Narses stays out of the direct disscusion but his seneschal Guilelmo Aliprando represents Venice and the Heresy. Officially neutral, he intercedes only when things get to heated, reminding those present to beheave decently.
THE ITENERANT COMPANY
??????????????
We shall see...
BEGIN!
The moon was full and bright above them as they entered the flooded courtyard in their boats, the two guards on duty there had little time to react this time, as they were soon drowned in a sea fur and savage teeth. The wolves Volund and Sigurd had sommoned surging forward as the boats hit the stone stepes of the entrance way.
And the Company was not far behind them, Baradeus charging with Sigurd headlong into the heart of the drowned monastery, surounded by cainine allies on all sides. Mortius following close behind with his ghoul by his side, and Gregoire seemingly waiting for an oportunity to present itself for him to use his tallents in some way. Maelduin and Volund however chose to leap up the walls of the courtyard on to the turreted walkways above, where yet more thugish guardsmen where emerging. Maelduin leapt up to the top with the feral grace common to his wild and massively puerile kind, where as Volund, overconfident in his leap, yet equally puerile it had to be said, overshot his mark and flew over into the deep and bittingly cold waters of the nameless lake.
Maelduin was charged by two heavely armed guardsmen, with another figure behind, despite taking wounds he slew them both outright, olny to be captured by the eyes of the third, a handsome slender man in priests robes with flowing blond hair and cold blue eyes.
The handsome priest struck terror into Maelduin's cold heart, and he fell from the walls, landing near the boats.
His attacker leaped down after him, but maelduin had regained his witts, and fear had fled from his heart.
Rising up he struck his cainite opponent such a mighty blow that it smashed him brocken to the ground. Maelduin quickly knelt and severed his head from his body before he could heal himself, before dashing into the monastery to aid his companions.
Meanwhile inside the knave Baradeus and the wolves were battling a company of guardsmen, steadfast and determined men, skilled with their weapons. But they were facing a group of now seasoned vampires, all equally skilled in their own ways, and thus the battle was fierce. Everywhere cainie teeth crunched on bone and tore thruogh muscle and ligament, sharp steel bit into flesh, both living and undead, and into armour.
Baradeus and Sigurd stood at the forefront killing with nearly every stroke of their blades, claws, and fangs. A group of ten guardsmen soon became five or less, and as the lines blured, as the fighting became knot on the centre of the chamber, Brother Anthony Mortius, as usual, moved to the edges of the fighting like a carrion crow picking of those that became separated from their fellows. Two strong men met their deaths in his embrace, but not before being reduced to old men by Mortius' hoary magics, crippled by his priestly aid with but a word.
Gregoire watched all this, waiting for a time to intervine. But as he stood there he noticed a small black bat flutter down and land in the entrance way, before transforming itself into the form of a tall smilling cainite, young and beautifull of features, but as Gregoire looked into his eyes he knew only blinding terror. He could do nothing but cower before theform of Asmund, Count, and former Prince, of Viborg.
As quick as a flash Asmund stood over him, bending down with a sinister smile, as if to help him to his feet. But the Malkavian felt searing pain as the Count's long black claws dug deep into his flesh, and his was hurled with a sudden ferocity across the entranceway into the wall.
Crosing to gregoire's prone form, meaning to end this insect, he was stopped ony by Baradeus, having slain the last of the guards, shouting over to him in challange. Asmund seemed to ignore him at first, then suddenly he was toe to toe with Baradeus.
The Antonian Ventrue fought bravely and with great stretngh, but the Count nigh-on tore him to shreds with claws, before savagely tossing him into the roof, breaking both stone and bone. Baradeus fell prone befor him.
But at that moment, Maelduin, now in the grip of frenzy, roared into the main chamber, and seeing Gregoire as the nearest source of vitae charged for him.
Gregoire knew what was good for him and used the preturnatural speed of Celerity to escape him. Instead speeding straight for Asmund's exposed back with his dagger drawn.
He struck just as Asmund was about to devour Baradeus, and Mealduin, having regained control, was just behind him. Followed by Mortius and his deathly touch.
The count fell before the combined onslaught, finaly sucumbing to Maelduin's fangs just as the wolves began to devour the dead.
As Maelduin drank in his old blood and his soul memories flooded his mind.
A handsome young noble, a bright future before him.
The terrible fangs of a vindictive Nosferatu biting deep, both draining and changing him.
A mishappen creature now, an object of fear and revulsion.
And before long a Prince among the Cainites, as well as Count among the kine.
Using his quickly learned arts of Obfuscate to hide his features, and rarely moving among his people.
Years passing and a thirst for knowledge, a power that may lift his monstrous curse, a nameless power that dwelt beneath the earth.
But the people of Viborg could stand his depredations no longer, and spurred on by a fiery church, stormed his castle and burned it to the ground.
To the world he was finaly dead, and not a mourner in sight.
But Asmund retreated to an abandoned place, and made a deal.
In return for 100 inocent souls every 10 years, the powers that he placated restored his beauty, breaking the curse of Nosferatu.
Slowly at first, but then more brazenly, folk were taken from the road. The inocent for his cells, and the coming sacrifice, and those who were already strong fom the blood of other cainites, all the better, once bound, to be his arms and hands outside the monastery.
The task was almost complete when outiders started stickning ther noses in...
As Mealduin drank, enraptured by the amaranth, Gregoire noticed scream coming fom deeper in the building.
In a rare moment of compassion, he ran off to find the souce, as the horrid screams grew ever louder.
At last he found the dungeons and a sight that was extreme even to one as jaded as him.
Almost a hundred people, young women, girls and boys, the old and the weak. Asmunds "inocent souls", and two remeaning guardsmen cutting deeply into their throats. Boddies of children lay torn open on the slippery red stones, some moaning in their death throws, and the frenzied screams of those about to die ringing from the walls, having watched the brutal deaths of their fellow captives.
Mortius arrived having followed Gregoire, and together they soon dispached the last murderous servants of Asmund.
Though Gregoire did feel a certain measure of guilt for his needlessly heroic actions.
Taking anything they could, including some old manuscripts of a dark nature, they leaft the drowned monastery before any of the survivors saw to much of their faces.
Baradeus was still to wounded to even walk and had to be carried to the boats, all had sustained wounds save Mortius, and only five of the twelve-strong wolf-pack they had brought in with them still lived. Not including Skoll, the great old wolf whom Volund had won the loyalty of, and then made strong with his blood.
After returning to their quaters in town they went to Prince Alaric's town manor, where he held court.
They briefed the wrapt Prince on what had transpired and what they had learned, with Sigurd coroborating they stories.
The greatfull prince, after reprimanding Maelduin sternly for comiting the amaranth, paid them in ful and offered them the hospitality of the town till they wished to depart.
So finally ended the frightfull and harrowing tale of the Drowned Monastery.
The Itinerant company traveled south, into the Holy Roman Empire.
Three years passed, quiet years.
The Year was 1202 anno domini.
And once again it was winter puerile fucking winter, again.
Dragovich Basarab had brought news of a potentialy easy and quick hire, one that could easily lead to much more grand and lucrative hires if they played their cards right.
He had come from the Republic of Venice, where Narses, Ancient prince of Venice, and Archbishop of Nod, was holding a council.
For the Fourth Crusade had been called by pope Pious XI, and the crusaders were gathering in Venice for the Venetian navy to fery them to ther destination.
The destination however was the problem.
Many prominent cainited, servants to even more prominent elders, were gathering beneath the aegis of Narses to decide where to direct the mortal crusaders toward.
Yeah!
Solid!
Chieh Hsia!
The silvered tongue of Dragovich had put them forward as experienced and independant vampires who might offer usefull opinions on the matter, espescialy as they had recently traveled to Jerusalem and the Holy Land themselves. But it seemed that some of the other hires done for those in high places paid off as well. Dragovich told them that they had been recomended by both Lord Nicholas of London, one of Mothras' many seneschals for whom they had done a hire, and Lady Magdalenna Castelucci, childe of Narses, whom Gregoire had met and offered their services to during an elysium in Jerusalem.
As they travelled south, five days before they arrived in Venice, Mortius began having strange dreams...
Dreams of walking through a shatered city of scorched walls and broken spires, ash falling from the sky, and covering the ground.
A figure was ahead of him, cloaked, and beckoning him to follow, But always out of reach.
They arrived in Venices grand porst by merchant vessel after 48 hours at sea, and it was a local festival in honour of one of the saints.
Flowers hung in garlands from mooring posts and shop fronts as they made their war through the narrow streets and over small bridges.
A young and comely maiden came up to them and handed them each a flower saying that it was a local custom before skiping off.
As she did so Mortius collapsed from one of his waking visions, shaking on the ground spasmodicly, as if possesed by the dreaded down syndrome
The vision he recieved followed on from his previous dreams, but this time he cought up with the man, in a burned out chapel. The figure turned and pushed back his hood, steping toward Bother Anthony, golded light spilling out from his face, yet not burning Mortius' dead flesh.
As the light spilled out the city around him changed, and dirt and ash disapearing as the the now golden city gleamed in near divine glory, domes arches wide roads and proud towers.
The shining figure, to bright to look at directly, put his hand on Brother Anthony's shoulders.
"Remember, all save the angels above is but shadows and dust, shadows and dust..."
Mortius awoke surrounded by the Company and their retainers, who helped him to his feet. "The angels..." were all the words he could muster.
Dragovich led them to the location where they were to be met and led to the house of Narses.
After a wait, a finelly dressed woman aproached, recognising Dragovich, and seemingly Baradeus.
She introduced herself as Anna Sgorina, of Constantinople. And after exchanging greetings with Baradeus, she led them to the Prince's villa.
Through high decorative gates and a large torchlit garden of privets and rose bushes, into the excuisite villa.
The guards of the City millitia where everywhere, their red uniforms imaculate.
After giving their names to a finely dressed servant, they were led through the house, past fine libraries filled with scrolls, huge oil paintings and stone busts from times gone by. Till they came to a wide bookcase, the servant felt in one of the shelves and pressed a latch.
The bookcase swung open, revaling a brightly lit staircase, they were led down and through more chambers if possible more opulent than those above. Mosaics covering the floor, inlaid with gold and prescious stones. Shining icons and religious-themed fine art adorned the walls, all soblty twisted to fit the beliefs of the Cainite Heresy.
They were ledt into a long camber lit by a huge caldelabra hanging from it's roof. There was a long polished table and many chairs in the centre of the room. Around the table sat many disparate and finely dressesd cainites, and at their head, in rich black and robes mimicking Church ataire, his skin
as pale as alabaster, and hair as grey as ash, sat Narses.The shadows around him as black as the void itself.
The characters presented them selves formally citing their names, clans, and lineage.
Mortius was greeted as a brother, and permitted to his his ruby ring. Baradeus was dismissed with a wave of the hand, and the others greeted with indiferance.
Ther took their places and listened to the argumants and positions of those present...
AMICI NOCTIS
The Christian western Lasombra are represented by two members of the clan's much feared inner order.
They are Tommaso Brexiano, and his aide, the darkly beautifull Lucita of Aragon.
They argue for a direct assault of the city of Jerusalem, relive the crusaders that have been holding out in Acre for reinforcements, and return the capital to the crusader kingdom, before it's to late.
HARDESTADT'S VENTRUE
Clan Ventrue is represented by Lanzo Von Saschen, widely seen as an agent of the German elder, and his aides, Aimery de Versey and Roland du Rocher.
They argue for an assault on Egypt, thus dividing the Arab world in two, and putting a stop to grain shipments to muslim forces in Outremer.
The fact that Egypt is the least defended of Arab lands lends some weight to their argument.
ARAB LASOMBRA
The eastern, and largely muslim, branch of clan Lasomba, the Qabilat al-Kayal, is represented by Khadijah Saadeh, a Christian Arab female.
She hpes to prevent the crusade from happening at all, promising trade conscesions and treaties, saying that peace is in the interest of all.
BYZANTINES
The Cainites of Byzantium contain all clans, but they are represented here by the Brujah Anna Sgorina, who urges that the crusaders come to the aid of their brothers in Constantinople, whos lands were under constant pressure. Promising ritch reward from a gratefull Byzantium and aid from it's armies to then liberate the Holy Land.
If possible, the Byzantine delagation is treated with mose derission that the Qabilat al-Khayal.
CAINITE HERETICS
Narses stays out of the direct disscusion but his seneschal Guilelmo Aliprando represents Venice and the Heresy. Officially neutral, he intercedes only when things get to heated, reminding those present to beheave decently.
THE ITENERANT COMPANY
??????????????
We shall see...
BEGIN!
