by Brittany Adams

She was met outside of Moncada’s office by her appointed bodyguards, then led upstairs to her suite. She could barely suppress a small chuckle as the men took up positions on each side of her door. Surely, they weren’t crazy enough to think that she couldn’t escape if she really wanted to. She stepped into the sitting room of her opulent quarters and nodded with satisfaction as she looked around. This may well be her last night of existence, but she was still nobility, and Moncada made sure to provide her with all of the amenities befitting her station.

Alexis walked into the bedchamber and closed the door, then sat down on the bed and slipped into another meditative trance. More than anything, she wanted the Voice to either confirm or deny the path she had chosen to take with this trial. However, as it was earlier, her inner pleas were met with silence. She stayed in her trance for hours, waiting and hoping, but she was finally forced to give up as dawn stained the horizon.

The next night, Alexis entered the grand ballroom of the estate with her back straight and her head held high. The room was filled with rows of chairs, and at the front, the stage usually reserved for musical groups contained a row of seven chairs behind a long table, each of them filled with those who would be her judges. She recognized most of them by their faces, but knew only a few by name. She didn’t turn her head to look at the crowd that had gathered in the room, but she did notice that off to the side sat Archbishop Faddei of Austria, the one that had promoted her to Bishop so many years ago.

She stopped in the center of the cleared space in front of the platform and looked up at those before her. Her eyes and face were unreadable as she kept a tight grip on her emotions. Any slip up now could be fatal. Always the epitome of etiquette, she dipped a respectful curtsey to the panel and remained silent, for the accused in a blood court does not speak unless spoken to.

Archbishop Moncada opened a file in front of him and glanced over the papers contained within. He waited a few moments to create suspense then folded his hands on top of the file and looked at Alexis.

"Contessa Alexis Dread, childer of Lord Blackthorin Dread, a petition has been brought before us with accusations that you have failed at various duties and that you are no longer worthy of being Lasombra. What say you to these charges?"

Out of all the times she had attended these tribunals, she had only seen one other time when the accused was granted the right to face the judges, but she knew the expected response.

"The charges are false, Your Excellency."

The Archbishop nodded and continued, "You have been charged with failing to lead the pack, Res Divina Nigrum, the simplest of tasks for one of your abilities. What say you?"

Again, Alexis responded with the expected answer, "The charge is false, Your Excellency."

"Explain."

She chose her words very carefully as she took the first step down the road which she hoped would let her walk from this room at the end of the night.

"I was set up to fail by my sire and his former concubine. They subverted the pack members and pitted them against me. Lord Dread admitted to me after the pack was disbanded that it was impossible for me to lead them successfully under such circumstances."

She watched emotionlessly as the judges made notes of her explanation.

Moncada looked down at the file, frowning slightly as he took a pen and crossed items off of his list, items which were apparently too trivial for him to bring up. After a few minutes, he stopped and looked down at Alexis.

"You have also been accused of failing to perform the duties of an Archbishop and therefore, you were stripped of your title. What say you?"

This was the part of the trial that she knew would decide her fate. She mentally steeled herself as she made her reply.

"The charge is false, Your Excellency."

"Explain."

She allowed a bit of anger to creep into her voice as she recited the speech she had memorized as her answer to this charge.

"In a fit of insanity, the Cardinal stripped all title holding Sabbat in the area of Meridian of their titles. Immediately afterward, he disappeared so that none could challenge his decision. As a result, the city was retaken by the Camarilla, and our sect members there have been left in total disarray and confusion without proper leadership."

She noticed the stunned expressions on the faces of the judges as they conversed in whispers up on the stage. Behind her, she could hear the crowd mumbling to each other in disbelief at her pronouncement. However, Moncada remained calm. His only outward sign of surprise was a raised eyebrow as he spoke.

"That Cardinal is your sire, Alexis. You would betray him?"

Alexis nodded, "Former Cardinal. He forfeited his title when he vanished. I caught a glimpse of him in the arms of a known Camarilla woman as I was leaving to come here. It is my opinion that he has betrayed not only me, but our entire Clan and Sect." She paused for a moment then continued, "I feel that he has followed the same path as the traitor, Giangaleazzo." She added the last statement as a well-rehearsed afterthought, knowing Moncada’s towering fury at Giangaleazzo for his treason.

She could barely suppress a grin as her statement had its desired effect. Moncada’s hands clenched into fists and he frowned darkly. He spoke with the other judges, and in a matter of minutes, a verdict was reached.

"Contessa Alexis Dread, in light of these revelations, it is our judgement that these allegations are false. You are free to go."

She nodded and started to turn to leave, but then she paused and turned back, "If I may ask, who brought the petition against me?"

Moncada glanced over to Archbishop Faddei, and his look told her all she needed to know. She frowned at the one she had once called ally and her eyes flashed angrily. Suddenly, she heard a long silent, yet familiar, voice in the back of her mind.
"Do it. Kill him. Do it."
Alexis didn’t even think, she just reacted. Before Faddei could make a move, she had taken the scarab brooch from her gown. She squeezed the head of the scarab and two wing-shaped blades shot out from the sides, then snapped together to form one semi-circular blade. In an instant, she crossed the few feet that seperated her from her enemy, and the blade was slammed into his chest, piercing his heart. She growled and jammed the blade in harder, then twisted it.

Faddei’s eyes widened as the poison on the blade spread throughout his body. Alexis used shadow tendrils to hold him in place as his unlife ended. She released him and pulled the blade from his chest, causing him to collapse onto the floor in a heap. She carefully cleaned the small dagger off on his shirt, then let go of the scarab’s head. The blades shot back into place and she pinned the brooch back onto her gown as she turned and faced Moncada. "He will no longer waste this court’s precious time, Your Excellency."

The Archbishop nodded approvingly and smiled, "Would you like the right of Amaranth on that one?"

Alexis shook her head, "No, thank you. The sting of the scarab is poison. However, I would take his title since he will be unable to perform his duties."

A couple of the judges laughed out loud while the rest simply smiled and grinned. Moncada controlled his laughter enough to answer her.

"Spoken like a true Lasombra. Yes, you may have his title, a title which should never have been taken from you in the first place."

"My thanks, Your Excellency. Now, I must take my leave and plan my return to the United States." She nodded to each of the judges, then turned and made her way back to her suite, her mind racing with plots and intrigues… now with the help of her Inner Voice.

by Malcus Dorroga

Welcome back. I should probably be saying that to myself, seeing as I’ve been away from the column for so long, but life does have its ups and downs, and mine was somewhere between the third and fourth circles of Dante’s E-Z Bake. Things have perked considerably since then, so I find myself before you yet again.

This month’s article will tackle a hefty subject: the Seeking. As all players of Mage know, seekings are spiritual missions of enlightenment, tests and trials to further Awaken a mage to the mysteries of existence. Seekings are a part of most ancient cultures, with an emphasis on finding your place in the world and coming into wisdom and age. For the mages of the World of Darkness, seekings are vital elements of growth, eye-opening events that lead to greater power and wisdom. However, as vital as seekings are, the task of running a seeking can be a real pain. With the release of Mage Revised, the task is made even more daunting by sheer virtue of the fact that there is NO information on these important events provided.

A seeking is, in flowery terms, a direct interaction between the conscious mind of the mage and his subconscious mystic awareness, as embodied by his avatar.  Usually in the form of dreams and vision quests, seekings test the mage’s growing enlightenment, pointing out obstacles to be overcome and walls to be broken.

In Mage, seekings serve a two-fold purpose. The first is the pursuit of self-perfection, or overcoming the weaknesses of a mage’s nature. All mages are human and, ultimately, flawed in character and spirit. Seekings provide a mage with personal insights and challenges that must be incorporated and overcome before further enlightenment can be achieved. The second is the pursuit of clarity. The path to Ascension is fraught with peril, and only a road of enlightenment can show the way. Seekings allow the mage to learn deeper and deeper truths about existence, overcoming preconceived notions and, eventually, his own restrictive paradigm.

An often-asked question is, "Why hold a seeking?" There is a case to be made that enlightenment should be acquired during the process of daily living, since that is the place where a mage acquires all his or her experience. However, seekings are necessary for this very reason, allowing a mage to use and ponder the knowledge he has gained without the prejudices of "the real world" affecting him. Seekings are a dynamic reflection of a mage’s inner struggle, and no real world act can truly reflect that.

During a seeking, a mage is tested in three main ways. First, a mage’s personality is challenged. The mage is often put in situations that conflict with her personality, forcing her to develop her strengths and overcome her flaws and weaknesses. Without development of the self, true understanding of the outside world can never come. Second, the mage’s beliefs are often put to the test. All mages hold to some set of beliefs about how reality works, whether they are hermetic or virtual, religious or spiritual, and a seeking seeks to test those beliefs. Mages who cannot look past their paradigm, or who cannot expand it to encompass some hitherto unthought of aspect of reality, do not develop properly. Finally, a mage’s power is tested. Her ability to wield the power of the universe is an important part of being a mage, and one who cannot handle the greater powers of mastery do not get very far.

Sooner or later, a player is going to ask for permission to raise his or her Arete. This causes problems immediately for the ST and the game as a whole.   Seekings are personal matters best run one-on-one, and a player who decides, at the beginning of a session, that he just has to raise his rating right then and there can derail a whole session. It also puts the ST in the impossible place of having to craft an important personal event on the fly. To avoid this problem, players and Storytellers need to work together and plan ahead of time to ensure the success of the story.

Players should give their Storytellers at least two weeks warning that they’re almost ready to go through a seeking. This gives the Storyteller time to get his stuff together while the player earns those last few experience points. It also allows he player and the Storyteller to discuss potential goals of the seeking, to brainstorm ideas and work up a basic framework.

Storytellers who want to get an early start on the planning process should note how each character is acting during the session. Note little personality flaws and quirks, the characters’ interpersonal relationships, and their use of magic.   Take particular note of how they act within their Nature and Essence. Finally, as a player’s experience total starts to stock up, answer three questions:

1) Do the characters display any constant behaviors or tendencies that can be considered weaknesses?
2) Is the character living up to her Nature?
3) Is the character living up to her Essence? 

When the time comes to actually plan the seeking, decide whether you will test the mage’s personality, his faith in his paradigm, or his use of power. In many cases, a seeking will test more than one of these, but the major focus should be on one. This allows you to keep a focus while branching off.

Seekings should be structured with the essence of the mage’s avatar in mind. A dynamic avatar is not going to set up elaborate puzzles that have a specific set answer, so don’t set up the seeking as such. Primordial essences tend toward surreal, cosmic moods that use a lot of old symbolism and mythic threads.  Pattern essences tend to work through logic and puzzles, reinforcing old lessons while introducing new ones. Dynamic essences are unpredictable and chaotic, and their seekings reflect this with wild events and odd, Dali-esque visuals meant to expand the senses. Questing essences focus on a foreseeable goal and test just how the mage reaches that goal.

Seekings can focus on all kinds of goals. They can lead to overcoming a personality weakness or resolving an inner conflict. Many seekings expand the consciousness of the mage, bringing her one step closer to a major universal truth. Seekings can help to develop, or even overcome, a mage’s paradigm. Seekings can also focus on reality, aiding the mage in telling reality apart from his own powers.

The actual goals of a seeking should be set early on, but two rules come into play here. First and foremost, the players should not know what the goal actually is. While little hints can pop up here and there, and false ones can be scattered like water, the final goals you have set out should only be evident at the end of the session. Second, be flexible; a player may come up with an even better answer than you envisioned, and should be rewarded thusly. Finally, remember that the player is laying down a lot of experience on this, so the mood should be one of learning, not competition.

This brings us to another issue that’s always been prickly with Mage players: the failure of a seeking and the spending of experience points. Many mages fail their seekings, unable to overcome some need for revenge or an inability to grasp some universal concept. In these cases, what happens to the experience points a player has spent months saving up? Some Storytellers have ruled that the experience points buy the seeking itself, and the failure to complete the seeking results in a loss of the experience points. Others give the experience back to the player out of a sense of fairness. My own take on this is somewhere in between: the players receive back half the experience points to save, while the other half MUST be spent immediately to improve the character’s skills or buy off flaws. My reasoning is simple; even if one does not achieve true enlightenment on a seeking, most mages will still come away with a few small lessons. At the very least, they’ll know what their weaknesses are.

Plan to run a one-on-one session for the seeking. Tell the player in question to show up early for the next game, if possible, or tell everyone else top show up late. If you can swing it, it might even be preferable to run it between sessions so as to minimize the disruption.

Seekings most commonly take three forms. Dreamscapes are seekings that take place while the mage is asleep, and they are the most common form. Dreamscapes rely heavily on symbolism and mythic threads most of the time, allowing for surrealism and oddity that warps the sensibilities and brings the mage to a new plateau. Mindscapes are meditative seekings, and are fairly common for pattern essences. They rely heavily on inward focus and personal drama. Finally, there are Walkabouts, rare seekings that take place in everyday life. Walkabouts are usually reserved for shamans and spiritualists, and occasionally take place in the Umbra.

When Storytelling the Seeking, start with what the mage knows and slowly warp it. A mage in a dreamscape may start in her living room, only to open the door onto a field of battle. The descriptions should be vivid, even more vivid than usual, and symbolism should stand out. Walk the mage through the seeking slowly, letting her think about each and every event and course of action.  Seeking should never be rushed; considering the experience point layout the player has saved up for, she deserves your best. Each seeking should culminate in a defining moment, that single second of insight and decision that decides whether the mage succeeds or fails. Play up this moment, especially if the player succeeds.

The seeking is simply another facet of your story, and possibly the most important one for many Mage players. It is a story element not entered into lightly by either side, but ultimately rewarding.

NEXT MONTH: The revised version of Mage provides players with something they’ve been clamoring for: resonance mechanics. However, in my opinion, they fall well short of adequate, a seemingly a half-hearted attempt. I’ll look at resonance and suggest an alternative system for it.

by Hastur the 7th

The Quagmir is a clan of kindred, like the nosferatu, that cannot show themselves too humanity. There founder. Unknown too this day, diablerized a vampire elder. The prince of the city, a malkavian, ordered the vampire bound and tossed into a nearby swamp. After a few days in the swamp, the vampire pulled himself from the slimy mess. But he had become a hideous, slime drenched corpse! Horrified by the change, he went and killed the prince and went on a murderous rampage. Creating other vampires of kind. The lower generations look more human like. But they still stink.

Nickname: swamp things.

Sect: Quagmirs exclusively inhabit the sabbat. A lot of bad blood exists between the quagmir and the malkavians. For obvious reasons.

Appearance: Quagmirs of generation 8 or less look like bad smelling slime drenched corpses. Quagmir of lower generation look like normal people except they have green hair and rotten teeth. Both types smell bad.

Haven: as one would guess. Quagmir prefer swamps, sewers, toxic waste dumps and landfills as havens, these places help hide their terrible stench.

Backgrounds: most quagmir are outcasts and shiftless bum’s, a few are rich people that offer their elders a lucrative lifestyle for a time.

Char creation: most quagmir have high strength. Almost none have high social attributes. Common backgrounds include herd, mentor, and resources.

Clan disciplines: potence, dominate, vicssitude

Weakness: all quagmir of 8t generation or higher have an appearance of zero. No quagmir has any social attribute above three. All quagmir automatically botch seduction roles due too there smell.

Organization: all quagmir are lone wolves. They abandon their childer upon embracing them. Leaving them too fend for themselves.

Bloodlines: a small group of these wretched vampires live in the camarilla, but these are few and far between.

Quote: whew! What’s that smell? Oh wait, it’s only me! Hahaha!

Stereotypes

Assamite: there are advantages too smelling like shit. Remember that.

"I am not touching that one!"

Brujah: don’t push me buddy! Ill kick your ass

"Get your smelly fuckin ass outta my haven!"

Followers of set: something here stinks worse than even we do!

" How sad, they so want too fit in, and what applications this has…."

Gangrel: we don’t share havens, so our paths don’t cross often.

"Quagmirs? What the hell is a quagmir?"

Giovanni: look at them, they aren’t the only ones with money you know

"If you’re so damn rich, then you can afford a bath!"

Lasombra: they’re our bosses. They accept us.

"Their idiots. But they do good work. I like em!"

Malkavians: they are the sick bastards that did this too us. We will make them pay!

"Yeah, we got one thing too say too that: DINGLE KNOCKER! HAHAHAHA!

Nosferatu: our brothers. They know the pain of ugliness and bad smelling.

"We feel your pain. Come visit anytime!"

Ravnos: illusionists. Bet even they cant cover this smell up!

"Ill say! Phew! What died in here?"

Toreador: how beautiful, how happy they must be, how I envy them.

"You have a lot too envy. Now please go wash up!"

Tzimisce: their pissed because we know there flesh crafting skills.

"We will find out who taught them too you. Then you will pay."

Tremere: gee, people hate you more than us! What is up with that?

"I thought I told you too leave."

Ventrue: damn Richies. Let this happen too us.

"Why do you blame us. It’s your own fault your clan is like this!

Caitiff: they don’t smell! That’s just not fair!

Camarilla: its there fault this happened! Why did they let this happen!

Sabbat: Bunch of crazies, but at least they don’t turn us away. Unlike some people!

by Seth van Esschoten

Rather, this is my twist on what appears to be bad press that Hunter is getting. Not immediately when Hunter got released, but when it reached a broad audience, a lot of the opinion regarding game mechanics on alt.games.whitewolf was not very happy. Many people were upset at the apparent frivolity White Wolf took in trying to splat or categorize the Hunters into Creeds with Virtues and what have you. This was done in all the other games, but there appears to be a feeling that splatting was needed for Hunter. This, my friends, may sound like a lot of role player dissent in regards to where White Wolf is going. But it actually appears to be a good omen.

Lets look at the bare facts. We would all love to believe that White Wolf is full of people concerned with the more esoteric things in life, but this isn’t true. White Wolf is a business. They need to make money, and we want them to so they can continue to create and modify the games we love so much. In just a business sense, it is wise to always try to aim at the lowest common denominator. In this case that denominator is the beginning role player and Storyteller. So we have splats available to them to help them join those of us that are more comfortable with the WoD.

So what does that mean to the aforementioned "more comfortable" you ask? Not really much, actually. To us, it’s business as usual. I believe that a lot of the people rebelling against the splat in Hunter have matured in the roleplaying and just don’t know it. One of the main points that the creators of the World of Darkness have tried to instill in us is that their books and their rules are only guides for us to do with as we please. This said, it becomes obvious, at least to me, that the Creeds and Virtues of Hunter are there only to help us quantify the unquantifiable. Technically, as long as the game isn’t degenerated to something the players and Storyteller dislike then anything could go.

At first these thoughts of mine spawned an idea that I’ve since decided against. I thought it would be worth while for White Wolf to release an advanced player version of the games. To most of the experienced players that are looking for a good story, it is really irrelevant which Tradition a mage belongs to because what makes the story interesting is the interactions of different characters as people, not as a member of a Tradition. I’m sure it would be possible to play the games without the use of the categories for our characters. But to do this doesn’t require another book, it just requires the freedom that White Wolf has "granted" us with their games.

by Enantiodromos

My response is: Just say no.

And I quote: "The main difference between the Enlightened scientist and his Tradition counterparts is that he remains completely unaware of his use of magic." That’s fucking amazing. He can use the Awareness talent on his fellow technomancers, but not on himself, I suppose is the point. Mages cannot "abandon" foci until Arete 6, now. But they can spend Willpower and use magick without foci at a higher difficulty regardless of their Arete or the day of the week. Unless they’re Technocrats, in which case they can’t do this, either. This is not so much a weakening of Revised as a failure to improve an absurd situation.

To cross in the Umbra, you now take damage. Everyone’s heard that part. But did you know, the higher your Arete, the more damage you take? Nothing makes it more obvious that the Mage revisors made no effort to think before they made up rules. Why didn’t they just make it a Strength + Occult roll? Furthermore. They’ve implied over and over that the Ascension war is over and magick, by sleeper mandate, is dying out. There’s so much wrong with this, that I’ll just restrict myself to saying that the name for Mage Revised should have been "Sleeper: the Huddling in Listless Ignorance." The abilities list is no better or worse than Mage 2nd ed, just revised. (That is, it’s got equally many glaring gaps in it. Now, there’s nothing remotely like empathy or Lore, for example.) The sphere descriptions are slightly adjusted in places, but nothing that really changes Mage magick. And not much of anything is more clear. Though it didn’t catch my eye at first glance, as someone else pointed out, the Mage Revised book is even less complete for running a game than Mage 2nd ed.

You’d have to be a no-life jackass with nothing to do with his time except criticize game hacks, to buy this book, if you had much of an impression of it beforehand.

by Chase Feonsdotter

Every night she drinks wine and cream,
And dresses in fine, silken lace.
Coverlets pulled up tight to her chin,
She dreams of another place.

Faraway whispers of starlight and mist —
A place she’s only been in her mind.
Where fairies dance on the waves of the sea,
With the wishes she’s come for to find.

Waken the dawn,
Chase away the night magic with it’s light.
Child of the moon creep away;
Run and hide with mother midnight.

And the angel now opens her eyes to the day,
Blue as the sky above.
Tonight you will dream of your kingdom again,
And sup upon dreams, light, and love.

by DeeLacy

Bryon walks through the rain as he often does, the cold winter rain, along the path he has walked so many times before. Deja vu…

Elizabeth is in her home, compulsively smoothing the furniture and setting pillows to just the right angle, as she waits for Bryon to arrive. There is black drapery over all her furniture, and black veils on the mirrors, mourning for Gregory Dorn. She can’t get his image out of her head. Gone, ash. And Spencer, too, but… Gregory….

The bell rings. "Come in," she calls.

Bryon knocks softly on the door. Elizabeth can hear him at the door, and see the door from where she stands… she estimates where his head is… and projects the thought…. I said, come in.

Bryon opens the door and steps in, not looking at his sire yet but carefully removing his jacket.

"Yes, take that off, you’re dripping," she says.

He hangs his coat on the coat rack and straightens himself. "Hello, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth smiles at him. "Good of you to come. Bryon darling." She smiles, but there is unmistakable tension at the corners of her mouth. She is deeply unhappy… not angry… sorrowful.

Bryon smirks uncomfortably. "Yes, thanks. It’s been a while."

"Come sit… tell me what you’ve been doing all this while," she invites. Bryon looks a bit suspicious, but drifts over to the sofa. He keeps his eyes firmly on her now, whereas before he wouldn’t look at her. Elizabeth sits down next to him and slips her hand into his, giving it a light squeeze. Her other hand rests against the black fabric she’s draped over the sofa, fingers brushing it softly.

"Well… I’ve been running around the city mostly… drinking. I have spoken to the ‘anarchs’ on a couple of occasions…" Bryon is nervous beyond the usual, as he looks down curiously at the black covering the furniture.

"What happened when you met with the anarchs?" Elizabeth asks, scanning Bryon’s surface thoughts as he answers. She sees blood-red rain, and two unfamiliar girls’ faces, one whose name is floating in his thoughts but she can’t quite hear it. She sees the handsome Anarch who has been blood hunted, and his Nosferatu ally.

"They talked a bit about what they had done. About makin’ a stand, the usual. But they did something, it seems." Bryon looks at Elizabeth, at her hair. "How are you?"

Elizabeth shakes her head slightly. "They did something? What do you mean? They’ve done… several things."

"They got Ms. Semingsworth." Bryon swallows once, thinking of the catatonic state the Ventrue primogen has been in ever since she and her ghoul were rescued from their anarch captors.

Elizabeth nods, a lock of hair falling in her eyes. She brushes it aside. "And they caused a havoc in a children’s rest home…." Bryon looked surprised. "You did not hear that? It was in the news… as an incident caused by PCP."

"I don’t think they took credit for that in front of me… I don’t remember at least."

"Ah. And then… they seem to have got… more serious. They captured and destroyed, on camera, two of our clan, and a Ventrue and a Tremere. Did they claim that in front of you?"

Bryon looks confused. "No…" He swallows again, in slow-motion. "No. I… haven’t heard of that."

Elizabeth looks away, feeling almost unable to control her sadness, as she speaks. "They killed Gregory." For a long moment she is lost in thought of her fellow Toreador elder, his deep brown eyes, his beauty, his depthless creative mind; of the love she held for him, unrequited for decades, the memory of their short time of mutual passion so long ago.

Bryon’s fingers twitch. Elizabeth holds perfectly still as red tears slide down her marble cheeks. Bryon blinks rapidly, then takes off his glasses. "I’m really… sorry. I… how?"

"The dawn," whispers Elizabeth.

Bryon sighs, and seems to not know what to do with himself. He looks around, at the floor. Elizabeth stays still… after a few moments her tears dry, leaving a faint red trail on each cheek. "Can I help somehow, maybe? I dunno what else to say." Bryon moves a little closer to her on the couch.

Elizabeth feels his movement, and squeezes his hand again, still held in hers. "You can… if you found out enough to help us against the anarchs?"

Bryon grits his teeth. "I told them what you wanted, what you said."

"And their answer, was clearly, no."

"They’re not going to give up. No."

"They have done too much for forgiveness, now," Elizabeth says. "Too much for amnesty. Too much even for banishment. They will be executed. Two have been already." Bryon nods. Elizabeth continues, "They could have ransomed their captives; they could have tried to use them to win their goals; that was not their desire, was it?"

"I don’t think they care that much. Casualties in the war."

"They were fooling you all along… using you, your idealism." Bryon looks at her as she speaks. "I know you, Bryon. This is not what you would choose. This… slaughter…."

Bryon is silent, staring at her a little. "No. It isn’t. But… there isn’t much of an alternative. The Gangrel want to live in the woods… I don’t want that." He paused. "I’m rambling. I can’t stop them."

"Do you prefer their war to our peace?" Elizabeth asks. Bryon looks up at the ceiling. She continues, "Is it the better alternative?"

"I could say the peace was tyranny and you could say the opposite. Discussion feels futile to me right now. And I say you’re right, so don’t bother. All I can do is try to understand. From one side or the other," Bryon sighs.

"Well, you are right. It is tyranny. The alternative is never-ending bloodshed… the choice is to be ruled, or to die. If one can continue to exist… one can find a space in that existence… goals, meaning… a sense of purpose."

"It’s fucking hard."

"Yes, it is very hard. The alternative is easy… mayhem… bloodshed… spray the streets with red, from kindred and kine alike," Elizabeth says darkly. "That is what these anarchs are doing. You can see that, you must. They are only spreading chaos. They wish freedom, and what do they do with it? Would you have all kindred so?"

"So what do you want me to do?" Bryon leans his head back against the wall. "That’s one of the things I’ve learned, you know, to like the color red."

Elizabeth hears this… thinks of the red rain, and the girl she saw in Bryon’s mind, the one whose name had echoed. "Yes. Who is she, the girl in your thoughts? Have you finally found a replacement for Aela?"

Bryon looks at her with one eye. "What the hell do you mean?"

"You know what I mean, Bryon." Elizabeth focuses her will on him and scans his thoughts again, listening for the name. Bryon does not answer, just stares at her for a few seconds. Elizabeth hears the name she seeks, echoing, this time she grasps the sound. "I should say… you know who I mean. Cynthia… pretty name."

Bryon twitches. "I dunno, they had found her somewhere and she didn’t have anywhere to go." He looks away from Elizabeth. "Yeah. Cynthia."

Elizabeth strokes the exposed side of Bryon’s neck with her thumb as he looks away. She smiles slightly. "So you took the little lost anarch girl under your protection?"

Bryon wants to tell her to shut up. Cynthia. They’d made him embrace her… it was that or let her become Nosferatu. Pretty Cynthia, he couldn’t do that to her…. "Yeah, you could say that."

"Why does talking about her make you so hostile, darling?" Elizabeth can always pick up on such things in his voice, in his posture.

"You sound accusing. Aren’t you?" Bryon ’s eyes flit back to her.

"Accusing of what? Do you feel guilty for finally getting over that Aela, then?"

Bryon ’s eyes glaze a little, then he shakes his head sadly. "Getting over Aela, sure. ‘Finally’? It’s only been three months." Ah, Aela… first vampire lover… he would never ‘get over’ her. He promised himself that silently.

"Why do you feel guilty over Cynthia?"

"Never mind." Bryon sighs.

"You don’t want to discuss her. Very well — on one condition. I wish to meet her.
Bring her here tomorrow night."

Bryon stares with open wide eyes at the table before him. "What?"

"You heard me."

He runs a hand over his face. "All right."

Elizabeth smiles slightly, and leans over, kissing his cheek. "Thank you."

Bryon looks at her sideways, shivering a little. He puts his hands on his knees, thinking, looking confused but serious. Elizabeth watches him, looking into his thoughts one more time. What am I gonna tell her… Cynthia. He shakes his head. "All right, all right. Tomorrow?"

Elizabeth touches his chin, turning his face to look into his eyes. Bryon looks into her dark, deep eyes. "Yes, tomorrow," she tells him. He nods. She releases his chin, pulling her hands onto her lap, withdrawing from him slightly. "I’m losing you…. It had to happen. Why so soon, though…? Why…?"

Bryon bites his lip. She looks at him longingly as he speaks. "I…. You know I care about you. But don’t do that. You know that as well."

"Don’t do… what?"

"Try to make me sorry for you. Because of that. I am sorry. I don’t pity you, but I’m sorry for what’s happened."

"Someday, Bryon… someday… when you sire a Childe… then you’ll know." Elizabeth paused. "I don’t want your pity. Of course."

Bryon shakes his head. "I’m tired of these games." He felt the bond pulling at him, tugging him toward her. He resisted with an effort.

"I’m just… tired. I loved Gregory… for so, so very long. It’s still hard to understand that he is gone, forever… but he is. And you don’t much care. I see that." Elizabeth stands up, off the sofa and walks to the edge of the room, looking into one of the black-mantled mirrors. She stands there, the black gauze making her unable to see her reflection except in the dimmest way… staring into the mirror. She whispers, "you should probably leave, now."

Trying to tell if she can see him approaching in the mirror, Bryon stands and follows her. Elizabeth senses his approach, but doesn’t move.

Bryon puts his hand on her shoulder. She still doesn’t move. Bryon can feel her trembling slightly even though she is very still. "Maybe I wish I did care. Maybe… I wish things were like they used to be."

Elizabeth speaks in a very low voice, the effort to keep her voice even gives her a slight vibrato. "They can always be. No matter how far you go, you can always change your mind and come back to me. It…. The hope gives me something to cherish… now that I’m alone…."

Bryon squeezes her shoulder gently. He looks around at the black surrounding them. "Maybe I should go."

Elizabeth stays still, looking into the darkened mirror. "A lot of maybe’s."

Bryon imagines her for a moment smiling wickedly into the unreflective surface — the longing for her, the love he does not want to feel, is overwhelming. It is so hard to leave. So hard to take his hand from her shoulder and walk away. He sighs, turns around, and walks over to the door to pick up his jacket, still wet. Elizabeth turns to watch him go, looking impassive.

As he touches the doorknob, Bryon says, "I do miss you, you know." He opens the door and steps outside.

"I miss you too," she says as he shuts the door behind him. Elizabeth walks to her bedroom, closes the door, and lies down on the bed, face down. She folds her arms above her head and just lies there, a position that would suffocate a human, face buried in the pillow, but of course she does not have to breathe.