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Immortal Desires Detritus's GURPS World of Darkness PbP game.

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  #51  
Old 07-17-2010, 03:03 AM
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"The whole story," Gwynnis says. A shadow of pain crosses the Justicar's face for a fleeting instant, before she lets out a sigh.

"Where to start? Perhaps with a question. I'm given to understand that the Garou have a strong oral tradition of keeping their histories. What, I wonder, do such tales make of the White Spirit?" The Justicar's good eye drifts along the line of Garou before fastening upon Niobe.

"The histories state that you have slain sixty-eight of my Fianna ancestors," Niobe says, and her voice resounds with challenge and defiance during her reply. More than one of her companions raise an eyebrow at her answer.

"Sixty-eight Fianna," Gwynnis replies softly, then she closes her eyes in recollection. "I suppose that is about right. And what of the Silken Princess?"

"Her tale runs to thirty-nine."

"Over a hundred Fianna between us," the Justicar muses, a touch of sadness in her voice. "And do the histories state why these slayings started?"

"They are less than clear on that particular matter."

"Are they? I suppose that makes sense as well. However strong the oral tradition is, the true memory of events is bound to degrade, especially when they stretch back for nearly nine centuries, with antecedents a millennium ago and more. But I, I have the vantage of the long memory. I've lived through all these events. You may judge me after you have heard what's relevant to us here tonight."

"Time is at a premium," Diana says. "As fond as the Garou are of family history, we do have pressing matters to attend to before sunrise."

"I understand, yet I must prevail upon you to suffer the ramblings of an old woman for a short time. I must insist upon supplying the necessary context." Diana subsides without a word at the Justicar's level gaze.
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Old 07-18-2010, 04:57 PM
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((EDIT -- François and Leo will know that sidan is Welsh for silk, incidentally.))

"Sidana Quinnell, the Silken Princess, became Kindred at the very end of the year 1124, as the adherents of the White Christ reckon it. I had chanced upon her a few years earlier and was smitten, and for a time watched her from afar. By the end of my surveillance, she was in grave danger of being slain at the altar by her brother's hand, as she was to marry her family's greatest enemy after he had kidnapped her. I insinuated myself into the king's household, gave her the Embrace, and spirited her away to Glastonbury. Another mortal died in her place.

"We dwelt together in St. Michael's cathedral and abbey for the first decade of Sidana's new existence. She had always been such a gentle creature before her change, and I felt it best to keep her in the simple, spiritual life such as is found at an abbey. For the most part it worked, after the initial shock following the Embrace. In her breathing days, Sidana had professed the White Christ to be her savior, and she took comfort in the life the abbey provided.

"Yet in time, Sidana grew curious about the wider world. We left Glastonbury together, and made our way to Londinium. There we stayed for a third of a century, or thereabouts, but Sidana managed to fit in the occasional visit to St. Michael's as the years passed. I taught her what she needed to know to minimize suspicion among the brothers."

The Justicar pauses, and her Mask wavers and then alters. She appears as Sidana would just entering the prime of adulthood, then in her middle years, then as someone approaching a grandmotherly age. She looks down at her feet for a moment while wearing this elderly guise before restoring her usual appearance, the golden hair, the smooth, flawless face, both blue eyes shining in the low light of the booth.

"It was in Londinium where Sidana first met Meerlinda, who now sits on the ruling council of Clan Tremere. Sidana's early years in Londinium were perhaps the happiest years I ever had. For Sidana was the child I was never able to have, barren as I was in my mortal days. And Meerlinda was the surrogate for the sister estranged from me, borne of the flesh of my greatest rival in life, and offered as boon companion in recompense for her part in sundering the bond that should have developed between my sister and me.

"It could not last, of course. Wherever three Kindred gather together, some form of strife is bound to occur, and even two is a dangerous number. In this case, it was jealousy. Sidana eventually came to see Meerlinda as a rival for my affection. That Meerlinda did not see things thus seemed only to make matters worse, and my own explanations did not help either."
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Old 07-19-2010, 03:04 AM
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The Justicar pauses again, and lets out another sigh. She looks out across the hall for a moment before turning her attention back inside the balcony.

"It was not for a lack of trying. In hindsight, it was not the best approach, but I felt the need to explain certain events. For I was in Venice, not far from Goratrix's chantry in the Tyrolean Alps, when Clan Tremere was born. I it was who guided Meerlinda, already my friend for nearly two centuries, through the Change, and also who escorted her to Londinium, when the Normans landed at Hastings. I fear that Sidana only saw confirmation of her own take on the matter upon learning of these things, though.

"There came a night when Sidana issued me an ultimatum. Or at least as close to an ultimatum as she dared; I still held a certain amount of sway over her. But amid the gentle phrasings and the deference that the childe shows her sire, a demand was unmistakably present. Sidana was leaving the city, and bade me choose between Meerlinda and her. My silken princess had learned that even Kindred are susceptible to manipulation through the bonds of affection. I could not refuse her, so we left for France. For Paris.

"Ah, Paris. The city holds a special place in the hearts of Toreador everywhere. Yet it was not always so. The final third of the 12th century was an exciting time to be there, for it was in this time when the city begin to take on the character it has tonight. And Sidana and I both had a hand in the city's development, as did a number of our clan mates.

"The fracture in our relationship began to heal during that first decade in the city. Sidana had continued to look in on St. Michael's abbey in Glastonbury. Visits in person were impractical, but she frequently walked the abbey's grounds in astral form. She was even able to make herself perceptible to the most psychically attuned members of the abbey, and spoke with them in the guise of an angel.

"Then one night, Sidana did not waken. She had fallen into the deep sleep our kind enters after suffering extreme physical or emotional injury. She bore no injury, but I knew that she had taken one of her astral sojourns to St. Michael's. Fearing what I would find there, I laid down and made the trip to the abbey myself."
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Old 07-21-2010, 04:12 PM
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((There's probably one more post of approximately the length of this one, maybe a bit longer, before the Justicar finishes her story, then the game can resume.))

The Justicar closes her eyes, and the shadow of pain returns to her face, lingering where it did not the first time it appeared. Her eyes are momentarily ablaze after she opens them. There's an undercurrent of tightly leashed anger in the even pace of her words, and it's evident that she's exerting a great deal of self-control to keep from looking at the Garou.

"Even fearing for the worst had not prepared me for what I was to find. The cathedral and monastery had been razed, burned to the ground. Everyone in the village, whether monk or villager, had been brutally slaughtered. The attackers were quite thorough in this regard." A momentary crack in the Justicar's self-control develops, and she directs a gaze like a sword thrust at Niobe.

"The attackers were Garou," Gwynnis continues, averting her eyes once again. "Their psychic fingerprints were everywhere, obvious even though I was in astral form. Perhaps stronger because I was in astral form. There were sixteen of them, all told. I don't think they even tried to conceal their presence, afterwords," the Justicar says ruefully. "They either didn't know about us, or didn't consider us to pose any sort of threat to them." Gwynnis shakes her head, and glances along the line of Garou. Paavo then speaks into the lengthening silence.

"There are... differing theories amongst the Garou concerning how to deal with both mortals and the Kindred."

"I don't doubt that," the Justicar replies, "and I don't wish to accuse anyone here in connection with events that happened so long before you were born. The mere fact that I can regale you with tales from ancient history confirms the existence of the differences you've spoken of. Yet there was a band of Fianna warriors who held a rather austere view on the nature of relations between themselves and the humans living in Glastonbury and the surrounding countryside over eight centuries ago." Niobe stirs but does not speak, a mixture of emotions on her face, and Gwynnis tries so hard not to look at her she may as well be staring.

"That region has a strong connection with the realm of Arcadia," Diana says, a troubled look on her face. "No doubt that motivated them at least in part, although..." and here she trails off. Gwynnis spares her a quick glance before continuing.

"Caught unawares, Sidana had frozen with anguish upon learning of the massacre. I at least had the foreboding of Sidana's descent into torpor, and when I came upon the scene, my blood grew hot. It took a considerable effort to bank that anger into a slow burn. When I finally managed it, I collected sword, spear, and dagger, and I went on the hunt."
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Old 07-29-2010, 02:13 PM
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"I first made my way to Londinium, before beginning the hunt in earnest, to prevail upon Meerlinda to join me. She refused, and it came to bitter words, but she remained steadfast in her refusal, no matter how I pleaded, cajoled, or reminded her of her own ancestral ties to Glastonbury. She even tried to dissuade me from 'rash action,' as she called it, but when she came to realize that I would not be swayed, and knowing how dangerous my mission was, she did finally present me with two gifts: the ability to waken at the instant of sunset, and the ability to become a psychic cipher while I slept. I accepted these gifts with such grace as I could muster at the time, and went into the wild.

"Thus fortified, and armed with the weapons of the Pendragon's heir, the hunt was surprisingly easy. I slept in the earth, and with each new sunset I thanked Meerlinda in my heart for the gifts she bestowed upon me, and repented my part in the harsh exchanges between us. The predators were unaccustomed to being prey, especially prey to a Kindred hunter who did not exhibit the daytime vulnerabilities typical of our ilk. I became The White Spirit in truth, vanishing by day and avenging the slain mortals of Glastonbury by night.

"One by one, the band of Fianna responsible for the slaughter began to fall. The first were openly contemptuous of me, and their underestimation of my prowess proved fatal for them. Those I encountered later were warier, but I had grown stronger in the interim." Gwynnis closes her eyes, and her next words are barely audible.

"Garou vitae is a most potent elixir," she says, and suddenly her aura appears to you, pale yet like a thing alive. Desire, pain, anger, remorse -- these emotions are all evident upon the Justicar's face, and echoed in her aura. It flickers rapidly during the momentary silence, then it vanishes just as suddenly as it had appeared. Gwynnis opens her eyes again, and turns her attention to Niobe when she speaks.

"You drank the blood of the Fianna?!"

"Yes, I did," Gwynnis replies, sounding a bit annoyed. "It was war, and a very personal one at that. I roamed the countryside far and wide in astral form as I made my way from London, and found no evidence of any other attacks. Honor demanded no less, that I must claim their power for my own, for the attack was aimed squarely at we who dwelt in Glastonbury." The Justicar clenches her jaw, and pauses to compose herself once again.

"You have only my word, but I swear to you, neither before or since this hunt have I partaken of werewolf blood. Indeed, I had slaked my thirst for blood, for vengeance, while one member of the band of sixteen Fianna still lived. I left for France having never encountered her face-to-face, and undoubtedly it was she who passed along the tale of this first hunt of mine.

"It was nearly a year to the day since Sidana had descended into torpor when I left Wales, and it was her need that drew me back to her side. I sensed that she was about to waken, and she did so within a week of my return to Paris. I considered withholding what I had done, hoping to spare my gentle princess further anguish, but after one look in her eyes, I told her everything.

"Sidana had changed after she awoke. Before the attack, she had never been more than a spearmaiden of indifferent competence, and often treated her training sessions as little more than a game. After emerging from torpor, though, she became assiduous in the honing of her spearcraft. In short order she grew into being a worthy sparring partner for me. We sharpened each other's skills in a mirror image of the way my own sire had used the staff to train me in swordplay.

"Our first major engagement together against the Garou took place during the Black Death. There were some who had evidently decided on a program of aggressively culling the human herd, and we fought with them on both sides of the English Channel. There were more tribes than the Fianna involved that time around, but we ever sought them out first and foremost. There were wars -- the Hundred Years' War, and the Thirty -- and more natural disasters, culminating in another major campaign after the Great Plague and Great Fire in London, and the Fianna were always in the forefront of our consciousness during these times."

The Justicar's eyes turn increasingly inwards after her exchange with Niobe, but she suddenly turns a dagger-sharp look towards the red-haired Garou, forestalling Niobe's reply.

"I am nearly finished. Indeed, the story itself is complete, and it is my hope that you understand, when you pick at old scabs, and finger ancient scars, just how deep the wounds beneath them run. That attack had a profound influence on the Kindred that both Sidana and I became. The Fianna made us both, or have as much claim on that as any other, and the very power of your own blood was turned upon you. One might even be moved to say that there is a certain poetic symmetry there, given the roles that the Toreador and the Fianna play in their respective cultures.

"The astute observer will perceive another such symmetry. It is likely now the case that the power of elder Toreador blood will be turned upon the clan, yet the opportunity exists for the Fianna to help repair that which they tore asunder so many years ago. I had thought my own grievances buried and forgotten, but they were merely held in abeyance, lying dormant through the judicious avoidance of confrontation. When Sidana fell, it was as losing my right arm, and a great deal could be forgiven, were the Fianna party to her restoration."

A silence descends upon the booth, one that Rebekka finally breaks.

"Anneke never told me any of this," the Prince says in a near whisper.

"She never knew, my Prince, at least not beyond a very superficial level. Once the floodgates holding back those memories open, they are impossible to close, and it is not a pleasant remembrance. We may consider it further penance for my earlier indiscretion."
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Old 07-29-2010, 03:34 PM
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Francois says nothing, but has a skeptical animosity across his features, whether real or feigned is anyone's guess.
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Old 08-03-2010, 04:55 AM
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((Goddammit these last couple of posts have ballooned...))

"That's quite a story," Diana finally says. Niobe and Gwynnis have locked gazes, their faces both cool but neither overtly hostile. The Justicar waits for the span of two mortal heartbeats before turning her eyes away from Niobe to answer.

"It is what happened. You most likely don't know this yet, but it is impolitic for our kind to lie to those whom one is indebted to. I lost precise count during the Black Death, but I cannot deny that my history with the Garou is written in blood. If it helps, I've easily slain three Kindred for every Garou I've destroyed."

"You sound violent to the point of being unstable," Daniel says, a dubious note in his voice. Gwynnis smiles.

"My dear fellow, I've held the post of Justicar for three quarters of a century over the course of two different stints. We are the ultimate mikados of our kind, judge, jury and, if need be, executioner, wherever we go. I've already put one of the Kindred of New Orleans to the Final Death just this past week, and that is a larger number than the Garou I've destroyed in the past three centuries. And this is not counting my time as Sheriff, a lesser version of Justicar, with jurisdiction over only one city, in London and Boston.

"Killing is an art," the Justicar says with her lopsided grin, "like anything else. I do it exceptionally well. As I no doubt should, having had so long and so many opportunities to perfect my craft. And tonight, I have pledged to pursue my art in the protection of those raising a Garou holy site on Kindred soil."

"There is that," Paavo says to Diana. Caroline arches an eyebrow and Gwynnis's last statement, but says nothing.

"Do the Fianna histories contain anything of the White Spirit destroying or otherwise molesting other caerns, Niobe?" Niobe gives Diana a long look before giving a tight-lipped shake of her head in negation.

"Nor is there any such mention within the histories of the Stargazers," Paavo says. "Nor of the Silent Striders, or the Glass Walkers, or the Silver Fangs, unless I've badly missed my guess."

"It is a strangely impressive application, in its own way," Caroline says to Diana, "no matter how abhorrent we find it. If she can do it so it feels like hell against the vermin you're bound to attract tonight, it would be pretty helpful." Gwynnis gives Caroline an appreciative nod.

"I think it's a mistake to let that Wyrm-riddled creature anywhere near the caern site," Niobe says. Rebekka and Daniel make near-identical winces, but it's Paavo who replies.

"The seed of the Wyrm lies within each of us, Niobe. It manifests itself in the destructive urges of our Frenzy, as you should already know. Ask yourself how you would fare after having wrestled with it for 1500 years before passing harsh judgment upon the White Spirit. I would not name her one of Gaia's avengers for the deeds she's confessed to, but it's quite clear to me that she has battled against some of our brethren who had slipped more firmly into the Wyrm's grasp than it is comfortable for us to admit."

Another silence falls after this last statement before Diana speaks.

"We're wasting time here in this booth. Sunlight comes closer with each passing minute. We must go to the cemetery. Caroline, New Orleans is your city, at least as far as the Garou are concerned. You'll coordinate the Garou patrol efforts and be our liaison with the Kindred."

Caroline nods in acknowledgment. Gwynnis says something about needing to speak to Anneke about her deployment in the field and breezes out of the balcony. Roman cocks his head and widens his eyes for a moment before shaking his head like he's trying to get a crick out of his neck.
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Last edited by Detritus; 08-09-2010 at 02:29 PM. Reason: retconning to keep Caroline in the balcony
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Old 08-03-2010, 11:33 AM
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Francois turns to Paavo, and speaks with an urgency in his voice. "Might I ask what is this worm you speak of?" There is a slight mispronunciation of the word Wyrm as he says this. "In all truth, if our Justicar is riddled with some...disease...it would be prudent to know, both for your cause, and my own."
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Old 08-05-2010, 06:03 PM
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"Not worm with an 'o'," Paavo says with a little smile, "but Wyrm, with a 'y'." The smile leaves his face when he continues speaking.

"A great deal could be said about the Wyrm, but to encapsulate, in Garou theology, the Wyrm is the embodiment of decay, corruption, and destruction. It is an article of faith among many of my kind that vampires, the Kindred, are among the greatest agents of the Wyrm."

"You have to admit, the White Spirit is a creature with a blood-soaked history," Daniel says, looking towards the balcony exit. "And this is in addition to certain others that the Kindred have seen fit to be present tonight." His eyes drift over to Leo.

"The Nosferatu clan is a member of good standing within the Camarilla," Rebekka says quietly, but in a tone that brooks no disagreement.

"That won't be particularly persuasive in convincing my brethren that you aren't agents of the Wyrm," Daniel retorts.

"I've met a number of the Kindred, whether they knew me for what I am or not," says Caroline. "Many more than any of the other Garou present, I would wager. The taint of the Wyrm is not completely absent, yet I sense nothing worse than can be found in many mortals, or even some of our brothers and sisters. That includes both Leo and the White Spirit."
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Last edited by Detritus; 08-09-2010 at 02:30 PM. Reason: retconned to restore Caroline as the speaker in the final paragraph
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