[WoD] Snow Angels

[Erzsebet]

A smile and tiny curtsy greeted the Prince. Her voice was lightly accented; Eastern European, but unclear of exactly what country. A distinct tone of sarcasm was present, but her smile was deceptively...cheerful. Tzimisce could present a more, humane face when needed. And now, it was needed.

"Tis a pleasure to make your aquaintance, your highness. I hope we didn't create too much of a scene." The girl remained in place, tempted to move towards the Prince, but wary in this group of enemies. A gentle nudge to their sides caused the beasts to bow in greeting.

"Please forgive my Szlachta, they're not as cultured as we are."

[Gabriel Rodermark]

A polite Tzimisce was nothing out of the ordinary. For all they were a monstrous lot in their practices, they demeanour and manner towards others was often restrained and rather noble. This alone wasn't enough to redeem them in the eyes of the Camarilla, however. To them, the Masquerade was a petty, trifling thing that only weak vampires clung to. While this girl may still have retained an appearance akin to human, her clans blood dictated that she would have abandoned all humanity long ago.

Having not travelled widely outside of western Europe, I could not place the accent with which she spoke. Surely, she was newly arrived to the city. Perhaps it was her intent to present her brood before me, mocking the tradition of Hospitality.

“What business do you have in my domain?” the Prince asked, direct and to the point.

[Erzsebet]

"Well, it is New Years."

The smile slipped into a smirk. A tiny hand gestured to the art displayed around the room.

"Are we Tzimisce not allowed to enjoy the artisians of London?"

[Katarina Gordislava]

The shadows cast by the szlachta seem to thicken, coalescing into the form of a woman. Shorter than the beasts, she stepped to the side, her long black dress clinging to her thin body.

"Rodermark," the Archbishop of Moscow purred. "We wish to ring in a New Year." Her accent was light, and the capital letters on New Year were noticed by all of the poseurs. The two Brujah in their leathers and attitude were making the mistake of staring at her.

Katarina stared back, deep into their eyes. "Kill." She infused the word with power, Dominating the fledglings into a murderous mood.

[Gabriel Rodermark]

There was a new attraction now, something more fascinating than all the art work in the gallery. The party had been crashed by none other than a Sabbat regent, a member of clan Lasombra. While clan Tzimisce twisted flesh and bone to their will, the Lasombra twisted minds. The only decent thing to come from their bloodline was the turncoat Prince of Milan named Giangalazzeo, who had cast aside his allegiance to the Sabbat, destroying many of his former peers in the process. Though they did not look it, they were almost as inhuman and predatory as their ghoulish allies.

The ghouls that had guarded the door had swarmed from the entrance to the main hall, looking the exits behind them. In the hall itself, the vampires on the first floor all began to crowd towards the confrontation – whilst those on the walkways above strained to see what was happening. Some began a quick descent of the staircases, feeling some obligation to help in any combat that might ensue.

The Anarch Brujah lurched forward, as though possessed by the Beast. Quick to intervene was the hulking Sheriff of London, another Brujah whose strength was widely known and respected. While his presence unnerved many of those in attendance, it also eased them to think that they had some brawn to match their brains. He dealt with his clan mates as he dealt with everything – efficiently and in as clean a fashion as possible. They would not be awed by him and so he cast their heads down against the ground in an effort to knock them unconscious, spitting a little blood against the polished floor. Gabriel glanced briefly at their fallen forms, before his eyes returned to those still stood before him.

“There is nothing to be achieved here, Katarina. Nothing but your final death. Go. Now.” Rodermark's words rung with majesty, his Presence palpable. As he spoke, his guards and Scourge came to his side.

[Jude]

Bad to worse to much worse to oh god. I watched as the Lasombra wraith slipped out of the shadows and into the harsh light of the gallery. I turned Sansa away from the truth, holding her firmly in two hands. She looked at me in confusion, in fear, some part of her mind seeming to understand that what she had seen was not in fact what I had seen, what had caused me to look so panicked.

I made a quick decision, to bite the bullet, or rather the neck. One arm around her neck, I pulled her closer. The bite, the sensations of it, it would lull her into a kind of trance, it would blind and deafen her to the chaos that was about to erupt. Already full of regret, I sank two fangs in and felt, as her body crumpled against mine, a rush of her blood.

[Sansa]

Sansa watched silently as the man and the woman were dispatched with ease, her mind a whirling vortex of confusion and soothing thoughts. Jude pulled her around to face him, a hand on each side of her face, and she read fear in his eyes.

The look he was giving her did not match with what she thought she’d seen, and she started to tremble. As she opened her mouth to whisper, even as the guests lining the balconies started to move toward the stairs, he brushed her hair away from her neck and kissed her. There was a little pain and then… ohh God there was pleasure. She melted against him, clutching at the front of his shirt with her slim hands as he held her up.

She didn’t even notice when the hanging sculpture started to come down, falling three stories down to the floor of the hall.

[Erzsebet]

"How can we go when the real fun is just begining?"

A chittter is heard from above - smaller misshapen forms seem to ooze from the shadows of the upper levels of the hall, amassing around the anchors of the sculpture. More of the tiny creatures were crawling in through windows, now burst open.

The Tzimisce had always enjoyed fairy-tales and works of fiction, and it was evident in all that she had created. Their forms were that of misshapen humans, made smaller, with long ape-like arms and tiny wings on their backs. Ghoulish "flying monkeys", straight from a childs imagination, clamoured over the walls and railing.

The girl takes a small step back, as the sculpture comes smashing down the floor between the Sabbat and the Regent. The crowd begins to scatter, in a panic as the szlachta move forward, grabbing anyone who got in their way.

[Katarina Gordislava]

Katarina fixed her eyes on the Regent as the crowd scattered behind him and the sculpture came crashing down. “Perhaps not, my Prince.”

She curtseyed, and stepped backwards, slipping into the realm of Darkness she knew so well. She would leave the szlachta monsters to their work. Ezserbet had refused to emerge from Hungary unless the Lesombra had agreed to send a representative, and tonight was so pivotal.

She had been forced to come, of course. The Cardinal was still angry about that sham of a war that the humans called ‘cold.’ Well, that had taught her not to promise a nuclear holocaust unless she could really back it up.

Tonight was the first step of many. No doubt she would have to make sure Ezserbet got out safely as well – lose a Tzimisce of such power and Katarina would be lucky if her final death was not at the hands of her own Bishops.

[Jude]

Calamity fell from the sky. The Sword of Damocles rushed downwards and shattered across the hall. It draws me out of the embrace, away from the two fresh wounds on Sansa's neck. Her body is like a marionette in my hands. I make a move for higher ground. I turn, however, into the face of a pair of szlachta, who have already begun to spread across the upper tiers. They moan and warble and lurch towards us with hungry swiping claws.

“Back! Back you little bastards!” I yelp.

All of a sudden, the two monsters become completely convinced that if they were to go burrowing into one another's stomach, they would find a tasty tasty treat. They turn on each other and howl hungrily, trying desperately to tear upon each others guts. While they're distracted playing find the spleen, I pull Sansa's limp body towards the staircase at the end of the walkway. It's like she's had one too many glasses of champagne and is completely at ease with the impending doom swarming all around her.

[Gabriel Rodermark]

The advance of the Tzimisce fiends is just what the Prince's Scourge has been waiting for. While the Sheriff seems methodical in his disposal of the enemy, the Scourge seems far more likely to batter anything and anyone that gets in his way. While the Sheriff carries firearms, the Scourge – a Gangrel – is armed with a broadsword which he wields with all the ferocity of a Celtic warrior.

Other kindred advance to aide in the effort to repel the Sabbat minions, though many attempt to flee for safety – their loyalty to their Prince now fully evident. Cedric Helmsworth ducks into the shadow of a large painting, which is promptly slashed down its centre by the wayward blade of the Scourge, as he cleaves in two the torso of one szlachta.

The fall of the sculpture has kicked up a cloud of dust and debris that seemed to blanket a large area of the room in a choking cloud. Just as Katarina had vanished back into the shadows from whence she had came, so kindred began to vanish in the haze of dirt – the power of their blood the only thing allowing them to see and sense one another.

Although he had an impressive team of guards and aides, the Prince himself was – regrettably – not a fighter. His blood allowed him to move quickly, to dodge and parry, but his strength was not in combat. His ability to awe and influence, however, was of benefit – particularly with regards to the szlachta, who could quickly be turned away or better yet against one another.

[Sansa]

Sansa was leaning heavily on Jude’s arm, feeling as though she had not a care in the world. As her companion dodged what appeared to be creatures from The Wizard of Oz, she caught a glimpse of the cacophony of chaos below. It appeared to be some sort of dance…

Dreamily, she touched the railing of the staircase she found herself at, as Jude practically leapt up the stairs two at a time with her in tow. “Some party,” she murmured, smiling.

[Erzsebet]

The szlachta to her left caught hold of one unfortunate party-goer, ripping the man apart and lunging for more. The one to her right hung close at her side, keeping an eye on his mistress. The chittering "monkeys" were jumping down from the ceiling, landing on the stuck-up Camarillas in a frenzy and tearing around the hall like mad-men.

Erzsebet watched the goings-on with a look of utter glee. She hadn't had this much fun in...well, ages and ages. The sudden howling from above caught her attention, and she scowled at the pair ascending the stairs. None of these kindred knew how much effort she had put into shaping her pets, now they were turning them against each other! Tiny hands curled into fists at her sides.

One loud command in her native tongue to the closest beasts sent them scrambling towards Jude and Sansa - at least five of the smaller creatures, followed by the other bodyguard-beast. That would teach them to destroy her hard work!

[Katarina Gordislava]

As Ezserbet allowed her bodyguards to abandon her, Katarina spun back into existence next to the diminutive Tzimisce. Furious, for a variety of reasons, the Lesombra clenched her fists at her sides and stood with her back to her ally. Ezserbet would probably resent the fact that Katarina was guarding her - but who could blame her? Katarina resented it as well.

She had a view of the doors that led out into the antechamber, but they were swarming with ghouls and the children of Caine as they alternately scrambled in and out of the hall. A pair of ghouls leapt at her, but the Archbishop clapped her hands and used her skill in Potence to knock the ghouls back with a sonic wave.

Surely he wouldn't be too much longer.

[Jude]

We rise above the dust cloud, only to see the patchwork Tzimmie is pointing right at us. The voices groan in disappoint as another wave of beasties comes bounding after us. Luckily, we have a head start. Already on the third floor and heading for the fourth, it should take some time for them to catch on. What I don't count on, however, is the sudden appearance of flying monkeys. I shriek as one swoops blindly past us.

Sansa almost slips out of my grip, as I duck to avoid another dive-bomber. Desperate times, desperate measures. Another veers in towards us, but suddenly becomes infinitely terrified us his own nose and howls in terror as he tries to violently remove it from his face, sending him tumbling down to the ground in a frenzy. Waves of madness radiate from me, and the monkeys are all tuned in. One becomes fascinated by the idea of dancing along to walkway handrail, another becomes convinced that he is a domesticated household feline. I don't feel any control over it all, but its glorious to watch their mad antics as I pull Sansa up the last flight of stairs...

[Gabriel Rodermark]

Beasts are creatures of emotion, not rationale. As such, they are highly susceptible to the charms of Presence – a skill which Gabriel, as a ruling Prince, had become more than adapt at utilizing. It appealed to the raw emotions, inspiring anything from terror to complete obedience. In the case of the Tzimisce warghouls, Rodermark chose the latter. His aura pulsated with Presence, and as he moved through the maelstrom the creatures began to swarm to him, all inexplicably drawn to him and away from those they were attacking.

The Sheriff and Scourge, meanwhile, moved on the Sabbat puppetmasters. A spray of bullets spat out of the dust cloud, headed right for Katarina, as the Sheriff moved with Celerity enhanced speed. The Scourge had formed monstrous claws of his hands, and bounded – almost foaming at the mouth – towards Erzsebet. Though it is unlikely that either kindred possesses the strength to completely overcome the Sabbat mistresses, they are formidable opponents who should act as excellent distractions, preventing their opponents from holding much command over their wayward creations.

Gabriel, now encircled by a ring of beasts, draws out a small firearm and begins to unload the clip into the willing, waiting bodies. Other vampires come quickly to the slaughter, exerting their own influence over the creatures, compelling them to stay put as they are, one by one, delivered to their death.

[Erzsebet]

The smaller vampire shrieked in surprise, raising her arms to block her face from the Scourges' attack. His claws dug in deep, taking a large chunk of flesh from the girls' forearms with them as he pulled back for another swing. She ducked, and lunged at his waist, cursing him under her breath. The pair tumbled to the floor, wildly lashing out at each other with clawed hands.

Erzsebet was not a fighter by any means, and usually left this type of thing to her ghouls. Her cries had swung the remaining salachta-guard back in her direction, but he had to wade through the kindred to get to her. Where were the other Sabbat Katarina had promised?!

Her other pets were being destroyed by the Prince - she had expected losses, but nothing of this magnitude. The Archbishop would get an earful if they escaped from here in one piece.

[Katarina Gordislava]

Of course, the big guns, literally and figuratively, were most likely behing held up at the door. Katarina, in Tenebrous form again, cursed as the Gangrel Scourge pulled the Tzimisce to the ground. But then the Sherriff was upon her, and while she could not be harmed by his bullets in this form, she was sure that he might figure out something else.

She blanketed the quartet in a Shroud of the Night, effectively separating them from the rest of the mayhem and enclosing them in darkness. The Scourge was her next target, but Ezserbet seemed to have been able to separate from the large Gangrel and for a few moments all was silent and still under the Shroud.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

Bright light flashed within the foyer. The man in black clapped his hands together. A purple halo spread from his skin as he remained motionless for but a moment, before tearing his hands apart and once more hurling twin electrical bolts into the chests of advancing ghouls. Already eight had fallen, and the others were advancing towards him like lambs to the slaughter. When one managed to get too close, the warlock drove an open palm against the ghouls solar plexus and sent a debilitating shock through his body, sending him falling backwards, trembling.

The two Brujah Anarchs who had attempted to crash the Camarilla gathering had managed to rouse themselves from unconsciousness, but upon bolting from the main hall ran directly into the waiting arms of the Tremere sorcerer. All three stumbled at the collision, though it was the man in black who was first to react, once more pouring the lethal energy of Levinbolt into their already frail bodies. With this obstacle overcome, he forced his way into the gallery proper.

“Archbishop!”

His voice was only barely audible beneath gunfire. Fighting his way in had left Sergei in fatigue. At the first sign of conflict the Nosferatu patrolling the surrounding area had come to the aide of the Camarilla, and had succeeded in ambushing the Tremere antitribu warlock on the gallery steps. He had dispensed of them, for the time being, and the ghouls, in due time – but felt now that he had only a little more of Levinbolt's magic in him. He needed blood. Now.

“Archbishop!” he called again, as a terrified Toreador fled past him, tripping over the fallen Anarchs in a desperate attempt to escape. He paid her little mind, instead focusing on the scene before him with heightened senses, trying to pick out the location of his superiors.

[Sansa]

On the fourth floor of the gallery Sansa stumbled into a tall statue as Jude lost his grip on her. She smacked her forehead into a marble breast, and toppled over backwards, borrowed boots twisting uncomfortably underneath her.

Jude was saying something, and she frowned as she tried to understand him. It sounded like they were both underwater, and she put a hand to her head where a lump was rapidly swelling. But it didn't seem important to concentrate, and she lost focus and examined the sculpted toes of the statue she'd fallen in front of.

A chittering creature thumped to the ground beside her, and swiped at her arm. Sansa blinked, the pain she felt overcome by the residual effect of the vampiric Kiss. The slashes on her forearm welled up with living blood, and then the monster was gone, booted away by Jude.