Path of the Vampire forum

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--

Elizabeth Naarc: ]Does that name ring a bell? Mister Ripper’s question nagged at the back of her mind as the elder vampiress tended to her tulips this evening. By now, Tulips had gone out of season, but they still bloomed and flourished as if the summer was not coming to an end on her rooftop oasis in her tower of white.

With a name given to her, Elizabeth used her natural Telepathic abilities to see if she did know the male. Or at least, what she could find out about the male to try and determine what, if anything she knew about him. His lineage was well and truly his it appeared, being there was no sire she could trace back. Four childre, and from there stemmed others beneath them. A small lineage, but nothing to underestimate. To underestimate anyone would be foolish in her mind anyways. Especially since there was nothing known about the male.

Her lips pursed together in thought as Elizabeth’s mind reeled through the things she did remember. And past the blank spaces she had in her mind. The meeting of the elders. Who had all been there? The Worthington boys, Keara, Zachariah Staus, her sire Isabella, Mircea, Habren, Cobb, and the lady Quartermaine. Rebecca, wasn’t it? Ambrose Acheron had not been present, but that meant very little to Elizabeth. Her sibling wouldn’t have escaped the realms for about half a year after many of the other elders had. Still, judging by his knowledges, it would seem that the male had been relearning the things that had been lost to them all for some time. So, when had he escaped the realms, and why has he been avoiding kindred society?

The woman sighed and replaced the small trowel in the earth’s surface after pulling out a section of crabgrass from her rows of tulips. The weeds this year certainly were persistent, though, from what she could tell, Elizabeth had let the garden to its own some time before spring came. Her best guess would be that she let it go some time after her husband disappeared. The very month, she could not recall. It was overrun, but not horribly so.

Her hands found the palm of the other, then smeared together the dark black earth as she wiped her hands as clean as she could. With that, the thought of Ambrose Acheron was also wiped away, because Elizabeth was certain that she most certainly did not know this male and she should be focused on knowing those that were closest to her. Like Myk.

As the petite woman moved away from her tulips, to that of her Lily’s, she felt the invasion of another in her immediate area. Not only that, she ‘saw’ him as if he were standing right in front of her. “Hello.” Elizabeth said with a tilt of her head as she looked at the male, only, he didn’t seem to see her. Or hear her. And it didn’t seem as if he were physically looking at her. More like he was seeing through her. Seeing what she was made of. “Well, that certainly was peculiar.” Since her bout of forgetfulness, Elizabeth had never experienced that, and wasn’t certain if she had experienced before hand either. The male disappeared within a couple of seconds, leaving her alone once again.

Ambrose Acheron The vampire’s eyes narrowed as he felt himself being watched. The relic, it felt funny once more. He lifts the fox ear, burned to nearly a cinder from his chest and reaches out, his mind following the trail back to the source with ease. In his days the relics had been different, some of them less potent, some more. The times and the country perhaps made it so. It mattered little though, a useless memory for the moment. What he wanted to know was… Ah. The man who called himself Ripper had mentioned this one. Another Elder. Liz. That was the name he had given. Ambrose would need to be very careful in his dealings with this one.

“Elder… you are an elder too…” he sends out along the link after appraising her back in turn for her own moment of voyeurism. He can’t quite see her, but long after he severs the connection he feels her. Powerful. She has been out of the fade much longer than he and the rate at which her abilities have developed… or redeveloped is staggering.

She too is a ritualist, this he takes some small comfort in. Common ground is a tool he may find himself turning to. Especially since in his estimation a physical confrontation is unlikely to work out well in his favor. The Spaniards. The same was true then and which vampire has risen from that little skirmish? His confidence bolstered with the memories of the past he waits calmly to see if the woman will attempt to communicate with him or will she remain silent. Either way he is sure they are in a contest of wits at this point. Two predators circling one another.

Elizabeth Naarc: She heard his thoughts, as if he were still on the roof with her, right besides her. The woman expected such, she had learned he possessed the telepathic ability and suspected at some point tonight he would have reached out to her. Mister Ripper stated such. Though, he had said he had given Ambrose Acheron her telephone number, and in these nights, Elizabeth had almost expected him to call. It seemed to be the way people preferred to communicate, unfortunately.

What could she possibly say to such a statement? Elizabeth could deny it, but she was told by a great many at various points during her vampire life, that the woman’s jargon often gave her away. She could say nothing, much like she was doing now and hope he went away. Or she could admit to it and continue to converse in such a way. She minded not the invasion of her thoughts. It was a change from the silence she often found herself within. I am, yes. As are you, I am told. Elizabeth bypassed the lily’s she planted for her sibling Serendipity some years ago and made her way to the tea house.

She smiled when she saw the familiar yellow and white porcelain teapot her thrall set out each night, regardless of the fact the woman could not drink what she would make. I was informed that you would be reaching out by a mutual acquaintance. How may I assist thee, this evening? Elizabeth pressed her own gentle thoughts in his mind as she dropped a pouch of herbal tea in a matching cup, poured the water in and began to add her typical three spoons of sugar and one part milk.

Ambrose Acheron Ambrose listens, closing his eyes a moment and allowing his mind to free itself. He enjoys this method of communication much more than vocalizing or this thing Jose tries to teach him and the bequest of Adelita. Typing. He doesn’t understand. It is slower than talking and you need a computer or phone to do it. It seems a poor man’s way to communicate. Perhaps best left to the hearing impaired. This though, to speak one’s thoughts. This makes sense to Ambrose. This is the gift of the Smoking Mirror.

“I was coming here to meet with a group. Your sire was among them from what I can tell, the Drake woman. I have some small gift of premonition and saw a band following a crow. The crow is a psychopomp. It bridges life and death in much the same way we do. I knew that here in Harper Rock, death could not truly claim me. Were you in this group?” His telepathic speech is rougher than her own, less practiced and when he does speak snippets of images and memories flash within the words, not enough to get a clear picture, almost like those subliminal messages cut into some movies. A flicker, a hint.

In truth Ambrose believes he knows the answer to his query. The woman’s speech is definitely English or noble born English descent not two or three generations on American soil. His people’s soil. She is not one of those pale skinned devils who came to Mexico and destroyed his people though, and she has information he needs. What little he has gathered is not enough for him to grasp exactly how things are working with the realm of his god Tezcatlipoca and the realm of flesh.

Not near enough. He will have to be careful not to expose what his is, but at the same time he needs to put himself at risk to earn her trust to lead him down the path of knowledge.

Ambrose, Tizoc, no matter the name, the vampire must be very cautious. He must feign just the right amount of ignorance coupled with just the right amount of knowledge. A tightrope. He has taken the first steps and there is no turning back.

Elizabeth Naarc: She stirs while she listens to the thoughts of the male, taking in everything he appears to know and things he desires to know. The mention of the Crow makes her smile even more before his final question makes the woman think. There is a long bout of silence between the two of them before the woman finally replies. Yes, and no. The statement may seem difficult to decipher and it initially is.

Isabella arrived before I did. I was part of a coven and was unable to leave when she had. Elizabeth thinks about his idea of premonition; the gift of insight and it makes her laugh. So much, that he might actually hear it in his own head. She is not laughing at him, but at their odd similarities. Elizabeth was thought to had been gifted with such a thing, which was the very reason her sire had chosen her. Some would say the woman was quite mad at her peaks of insight, but she seemed to be attuned to some unseen force that was higher than her or anyone she knew. She arrived before me, as I had things to do while still in France. Elizabeth assured Isabella that she would follow and that they would once again be reunited, but her own personal affairs had to be sorted first, along with the kinship she had made while in the coven.

The Crow, she has been missing for some time. Elizabeth tells him, her thoughts quieter and more somber at the admission of this. When her tea is stirred, the woman sets the spoon in front of her and stares down at the light brown drink. The group met some time ago. I do not believe you were there. Four years ago, I think it was. She looks around the garden, noting the work that still needs to be done before fall arrives, waiting for his confirmation on her final statement before continuing onwards.

Ambrose Acheron He sits back, waves a hand to his thrall, Jose to come closer. Her words, they tell little, at the same time they are quite revealing. She is hesitant to disclose everything. She seems to want verification. Ambrose reaches out and takes Jose’s wrist in his hand, his other coming up to meet it, obsidian dagger held loosely. He draws the blade across flesh and motions Jose over to a nearby goblet, releasing his wrist.

”I was… detained… slightly longer than the others who made the trip it seems. I left New Orleans after the Great Fire and headed to New York. Hearing tell of the troubles taking place with Britain and France and with the hunters beginning to gather I received a vision of the group we mentioned and proceeded toward Harper Rock. I made it within sight but was met by a group of hunters who had been following me. They took me in the daylight hours.”

At this he allows the images of the memories to flow between them. The men with their torches, their guns and their swords. Ambrose fighting them off as best he could, flesh burning after being dragged into the sunlight at noon. The smoke erupting from his skin obscuring his vision as he lashed out wildly blade cutting into mortal flesh, the scent of blood driving him wild with hunger and bloodlust. The smell of the gunpowder going off and the dull thud of bullet meeting flesh. Eventually the vampire down on one knee and the sound of a sword being drawn from scabbard.

The last thing he heard was his own voice… “Coahoma…” Then there was nothing but the fade.

”I awoke only recently. I believe the fissures between the realms made it possible for me to return…”

Elizabeth Naarc: Detained. Elizabeth just nodded her head at that. From what she remembered, her sibling, her sire’s sister, and other elder had been detained months after everyone else had escaped. Sans, Ambrose, it seemed. Elizabeth has heard of New Orleans, but knows not where it is exactly, just that it is part of North America. And oddly enough, when the male mentions a Great Fire, the woman is suddenly on high alert and actually pushes the table away from her seated body. There is no reason why the woman has this reaction in regards to the two words, she simply just does. It seems to happen with one word, more than the other; that being ‘fire.’

Blue orbs dart around the garden, ensuring that there is no fire on the grounds, the woman even standing to make certain she can see every single nook and cranny of the garden grounds before she settles and reseats herself. The tea having been spilled now, one of the empty cups broken when it hit the floor from the abrupt push of the table, and the sugar set tipped on its side.

She offers nothing about her own death that had her in the realms for a great many of decades, simply because this is a piece of information, like so many other things, that has gone missing. If you are seeking out my sire, she may or may not respond. She...hibernates often. That was a nice way of saying the woman slept often. In fact, most elders have either found themselves in the fade from what she was told, left the city to travel, or find it hard to stay awake. Perhaps a side effect of being part of the fade for so long. Or, perhaps it was because this time was so overwhelming. Many elders are currently...missing. A kind way of putting her true thoughts out for him to hear. I believe there are but two others that are around from time to time. They tend to be quiet. We all do. It bothered her not that the kindred of these times seemed to run the show, especially since so many of them held a huge disdain for the elders. What is it you are specifically wishing to know, Mister Acheron? Elizabeth moved the old cup of tea aside to grab a second, undamaged cup and poured water in that one after placing a bag of chamomile in the porcelain cup.

Ambrose Acheron And there it was. The question he had been waiting for. Not about her sire, no. He had appraised her and could locate her sire now at will. The one question ‘what do you want to know’. That question was a powder keg.

Ambrose of course wanted to know everything. He wanted to see everything that had happened throughout his years in the fade. He wanted to know exactly what was going on with the barrier between the realms and why. He wanted to know why there were so many vampires willing to risk exposure to humans and why was the code not being followed. Ambrose wanted to know everything. Yearned to.

”We should meet Elizabeth. Is there a good place and time?”

A risky proposition. She was stronger than he and Ambrose knew it. Still, there were things that might come to light upon meeting face to face. One thing he is hoping for is a sign from the god of the midnight sky. His sense of premonition seemed to work best when faced with some physical manifestation of what he needs to do. He is hoping being in the presence of another older vampire may provide the catalyst for one of these visions.

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--

Elizabeth Naarc: The idea of meeting someone she didn’t know brought tension and apprehension to the woman. This time last year (not that she would remember it), the woman would meet with anyone and everyone, just about. Mister Ripper implied that in their discussion earlier this evening. A good place? Any place could be good if the time was right. It all depended on the night of the week and how often humans frequented it. But, she knew the perfect place. Tonight would be fine, if you have no other plans. Elizabeth started out before she rose once again and moved to one of four lock boxes that were buried beneath shrubs of all sorts. Ingredients for an Erienne’s was pulled out, because, let’s face it...he was a stranger and she was going alone. And while Elizabeth was certain she could manage to fight him off and even escape...she was ever the cautious one these nights. [/i] There is a mansion that is abandoned.[/i] Elizabeth knew the mansion and knew it well. It had been in the Noble Bloodline prior to their demise centuries ago. Every hidden wall was as familiar to her as the back of her hand. [/i]Near the wilderness. But I have never encountered a fae creature near the property. [/i] She assured the male as Elizabeth found her way inside the elevator in her tower. As she moved to a different floor to find the altar, Elizabeth pressed the image of the Mansion she spoke about in his mind, much like he had with his own memories minutes ago. Shall we say at half past the approaching hour? The woman asked as she stepped off the elevator and moved to the altar, awaiting his answer before she wasted her time and resources.

Ambrose Acheron Tizoc sits a long moment considering. He raises his hand out and Jose places the near-full glass into his waiting palm before scampering off to stop the bleeding. He drained the glass and cast it aside ignobly. He studies the scene her mind presses into his and then pushes the same into Jose’s mind. To the thrall he asks “Do you know where this is?”

Jose gives him a silent nod as he holds a rag against his wrist.

“Good, come here.” Ambrose grabs Jose’s arm as he approaches and drags his tongue over the wound, sealing it. “Have the car ready for me.”

He watches the thrall make his way toward the fadeportal to the south east and then answers Elizabeth telepathically. “The timing may be tricky, but I believe I can be there at the appointed time. If not I should only run a sparse few minutes late. My thrall will be driving me, a skill I have not yet mastered. Will that be a problem?”

Elizabeth Naarc: The woman smiled at the inquiry and shook her head. Not at all. Elizabeth would be punctual, regardless of how late the male might actually be, but first thing was first. The will, and then changing her attire. What she wore at home, while acceptable, was not so much, outside the garden grounds. The woman began by tossing in the required components to bring the demi-fae to her and then offered it more of the ingredients required to appease it. With the will cast, the woman thanked the demi-fae who snarled and snapped at her before she left the altar area and moved to her penthouse.

The woman was not dressing to appease the male she was meeting with, but to appease herself. She had learned first appearances were very important when she was brought into the Noble fold by her siress, Isabella Drake. The tiny woman choose a long, eggshell white sweater dress, black leggings and black calf length boots, along with various relics and trinkets to compliment her outfit. There were rings that did various things, necklaces that did more than the rings she wore and earrings that whispered things in her ear from time to time. Some necklaces had been turned into charms that she wore around her wrists, because wearing more than two necklaces just looked odd.

Once the woman was sorted, her mind connected to her phone to keep track of the time. Elizabeth moved back to the garden grounds and took in all its beauty and hard work in the last few months before a short, sharp ringing noise informed her that she had better leave or she would be late. The woman stood and then teleported herself to the front door of the mansion where she entered and moved to the left of the building and in a room that was once a sitting room. Elizabeth claimed a seat on a lounge chair that had seen better days and desperately needed a paint job, but none of these things mattered to her as she sat down. Ruined clothes just gave the woman another reason to go shopping.

Ambrose Acheron The streets were dead in Newborough as Ambrose slid into the back seat of the suburban, Jose already waiting in the driver’s seat. The engine comes to life and the thrall backs the vehicle out from the factory parking lot and begins heading north. Soon the crime and trash ridden streets of the slums begin to turn to more industrial area. Ambrose hates the smell of the air in the city. It reeks of the worst aspects of humanity. The destruction of the world around them and the lack of empathy for life , even that of their own kind.

As the blocks pass by and the crowds thicken he realizes they are now north of the river and into Honeymead. The suburban turns east and heads past residential towers, pubs and shops before Jose once more turns north.

As the thrall navigates the streets of Harper Rock Tizoc thinks to himself quietly. This would be the first elder he has met in person since his awakening. She has been awake longer and seems as powerful as Tizoc had been before entering the embrace of Tezcatlipoca. He is aware his outfit is not the best for such an occasion but at the same time niceties are not and have never been his strong point.

It is not until they pull onto the lonely street the mansion resides on that Ambrose looks through Jose’s eyes without raising his own gaze from his hands. “Yes, that’s the place.” The words are spoken softly and Jose visibly relaxes having done his job well. The thrall’s life is one of fear and hope. He is ambitious and Ambrose has promised to make him a living god soon. ******* that up, that ain’t gonna happen.` He pulls over and shuts off the engine as the approach the building, gets out of the SUV and gets the door for el hefe.

Tizoc steps out looking at the familiar mansion. He had met a fellow ritualist here, she had performed a rite on him. The way she did it was different than how he performs it. Less blood, the gods were not appeased, it was more a force of will the way the modern ritualist had performed the rite and she had wasted more supplies than necessary. It had worked though. Tizoc could not complain on that front.

Walking up the long driveway he finally approaches the door and reaches out, his hand, blood still beneath the nails, pushes open the portal and he steps through, looking around.

Following the newest of the footprints in the dust of the floor in the dilapidated mansion, Tizoc heads to the left, coming quickly upon the woman in the lounge chair and knows without question she is the one he has come for. He also immediately feels the settling of the work of a ritual falling over him as he enters. She is a cautious one. Had he not felt it, the scent of the blood of the tattooed warrior and that or the mystic would have been a dead giveaway. He steps toward her, stopping a goodly distance away though, not coming into range either or them could close too quickly. He wears a pair of jeans and a blue jersey with a stylized number 13 on his chest and back in white. A pair of blue Jordans complete the outfit. He is unadorned of any jewelry as if showing purposely his lack of relics though his clothing is plenty baggy enough to conceal anything he needed it to.

He says nothing for the moment, just watches her through eyes such a dark brown they near black.


Elizabeth Naarc: Her vampiric hearing picks up steps before she sees him, but Elizabeth doesn’t move from her position. There is no need to. The mansion is protected, and in doing that, she too is protected. The only fighting that could be done tonight would be with words, that is, if there was a need to even fight at all.

His ensemble is surprising, but then again, isn’t. Her sire might be the epitome of a time long ago, but Elizabeth has adapted from long gowns, encrusted jewelry and silly trinkets to things that were essential. Times had changed and so she had to as well. The Noble lineage was not the house it once was under the rule of Isabella’s sire. Those that escaped the realms had to forge their own names and destinies.

What does surprise her is the male’s physical appearance. Not the clothing, but he himself. If this was in fact, Ambrose Acheron. When Mister Ripper had slipped the name in her ear, Elizabeth did what Elizabeth did best. Research.

She says nothing about this for the time being. Instead, the woman simply smiles and tips her head. “Good evening.” She says casually, as if meeting an old time friend, or family member. “Your thrall delivered you in one piece, I see.” Her lips twitch before forming an amused smile. She stands and moves to a bookshelf in the room, the tips of her fingers skimming over the various novels that mean nothing now. Those that meant anything had been secured by her years ago and kept in a safe place. What remains are tales of fancy and nothing more.

“How the times have changed, have they not?” She says, not quite indicating what it is she is talking about. Maybe the novels on the shelves that are bound differently than those of today, or maybe she is talking about their lives. It is open for him to decipher her true meaning; if there is one at all.

Ambrose Acheron He walks when she does, not toward her, but keeping the same distance between them as she moves, not furthering or closing the gap in the slightest nor allowing it to be lengthened or shortened. He stops when she does and inclines his head slightly to the side at her greeting. “A lovely night. Some things have remained the same,” he says to her, a definite Central American inflection in his voice. “Eirene`s Will? The blood used to difficult to acquire… it seems that we are becoming careless again.”

His eyes remain on hers, unblinking. He breathes only to speak, his motions are exact, methodical, no motion wasted. He doesn’t shift his feet but there seems a coiled tension about him though everything about his posture says he is at ease. Then again with the two of them being telepathically gifted, no bodily motion is necessary.

He assumes she has recently cast the ritual but knows that may not be the case. Just one of the many advantages of having the home turf as Jose calls it in any meeting that could prove violent.

“How did it become this bad?”

Elizabeth Naarc: She is amused by his response. Elizabeth is a firm believer that nothing remains the same, even if it appears to feel that way. Still, she does not reveal her true thoughts on the matter. She just simply rolls her shoulders, neither agreeing or disagreeing with the male.

“Bad?” This makes Elizabeth tip her head the other way and look him over. There were a few things in that seemingly simple question that informed Elizabeth that she did not know him, and that he has not been out of the fade as long as she or the other elders have been. If he had been, would he be asking such a question? Wouldn’t he know the answer?

“I suppose it could have started with Cobb, or those Blood stealers. It is difficult to say what exactly made life like this. There is no one clear answer. Everything that is done has a reaction, yes?” The tiny woman picked a book out of the shelf and opened it up to skim it before tossing it to the chair she had just been sitting on.

“I believe it started with Cobb.” She says with a nod before continuing on. “When one of your own kind betrays so many, others see nothing wrong with doing such a thing. If vampires can betray vampires, then humans can attempt to do whatever they want, when they want, can they not?” She is only giving him bits of a story, bits of their history, but that is intentional. Elizabeth didn’t mind sharing what she knew (to an extent), but she certainly didn’t share what she knew for free. Knowledge was power, after all.

“Do you remember Cobb?” She asks him, feeling out more to the male than what he has shared already.

Ambrose Acheron “The survivor. The betrayer. Ripper mentioned him and the blood thieves you spoke of. I did not know Cobb. I came from New York to Harper Rock and never made it. I was intercepted by hunters.”

Ambrose keeps his eyes on her even as the book pirouettes through the air to land on the chair. The look on his face is placid and tranquil but it is obvious he is wary of her. “I only escaped the fade very recently.” He doesn’t expound on just how recently, he knows the first wave of elders emerged 4 years again or so from speaking with Ripper, he knows that some of the elders however are still mostly trapped, functioning as guides now, but he doesn’t mention this either.

Luckily he had not met them in his travels before meeting his gruesome albeit temporary end. He has yet to meet anyone who may know of his bloodline’s speckled past. Still this one is a telepath and although Tizoc may not have reached true mastery of any path, including his own, there was nothing to say she hadn’t and nothing saying she hadn’t acquired the knowledge to alter her aura, or disguise her true power. It sounded paranoid but there had always been rumors of the potency of mastery leveled powers and rumors that they had been attained.

While Ambrose didn’t truly believe this was the case there was enough supernaturally wrong with this city that he wouldn’t be too surprised.

“Did he teach fledglings to be as careless as these ones I have seen?”

Elizabeth Naarc: She says nothing as Elizabeth continues to look through the titles of the books, listening to him. She has an active mind, and has to do things to ground it from time to time. Sitting around talking and listening was not stimulating enough for the telepath. “Mayhaps you saw him then. In the fade.” She said without any tone to her voice. The woman is indifferent about her part in sending Cobb to the realms. The suggestion she made makes Elizabeth wonder if that is a possibility and she grows even more cautious. Who knows what Cobb is really up to these nights?

“That is a question that cannot be answered in one singular answer. No, Cobb taught no one anything except to betray those you are closest to.” The woman pulls a book out of the shelf and begins to turn through the pages. “People of today are careless in general. There are more modern vampires than those of the old ways. It is they who make the rules we live by now, and it will be they who will send us to the realms again.” It is a truth Elizabeth has come to accept, which was why she spent so much time at home with those she cared for. Perhaps the next time she sees the realms, she will not be able to leave them as easily as most do when they die, so making the time she had out of the realms with them count, mattered the most to the blonde woman.

“Your standards are too high, Mister Acheron. Or your expectations are, that is.” She fingered through the book more until she got to a specific page and ripped the piece out of it, tossing it to the same location as the other. “Society has changed. The sooner you accept this, the easier life will be. Trying to change things or force your views will only get you in the hot seat. No one wants to hear the ramblings of another elder. We tried for a couple years without any success.” She moves from the bookshelf, folding the piece of paper into a small square and pocketing it in her sweater dress before stopping at a window and looking out at the wilderness that surrounds the grounds. “Most of us keep to our families, but even then...most of us have resided to being nothing more than figments of the modern one’s imaginations.” She shakes her head and then lifts her shoulders in a shrug.

“There was hope. Of a united front at the beginning. With Cobb and the blood stealers. But the city has not worked together in a while. It tends to work against everyone these nights. Decisions and choices we have made has made it so.” The woman stares at the darkness out the window, not looking for anything, but simply in a slight trance as she collects her broken thoughts and memories.

Ambrose Acheron He listens somberly to Elizabeth. These were words spoken before, back before the holocaust. Before he had lost everything but his life and but a fraction of the powers he had possessed. He doesn’t know the history of the area very well, but he can see already how hopes of unity had been shattered.

Ambrose takes a few steps nearer, coming in range where they could reach one another if the ritual had not rendered any attempted violence impotent. “They still honor their sires do they not? Why have so many been turned? Where are their sires and why are they so careless? A sire must teach his childer.”

Ambrose is not really shocked though having seen the minds of the human pool one had to choose from. None of them were as hearty as back in his time, not cared for wisdom, they cared for physical stimulation and immediate gratification. Everything was electronic, nothing was manual. Ambrose had missed out on the advent of the greatest era of technological advances known to man but how have the people changed?

Elizabeth Naarc: The woman waved a dismissive hand at the idea of honoring someone’s sire. “Some.” She replied, short and to the point. She had her opinions on why some did not, but that didn’t mean her opinions were right. She even had some childre that had forged their own paths a couple years ago and didn’t give her the time of day.

“When some of us escaped the realms, a few were not so picky. Perhaps out of fear, or selfishness. I know not, but I know of one who sired dozens within the first month. Power, maybe.” Chad Worthington was the individual she had been thinking of. Elizabeth was picky, painstakingly so. Before Cosi, her last siring had been over a year. And before that, another year had passed. She feels no overwhelming need to have a large brood, just a brood she enjoys spending eternity with.

The woman turns from the window to look at the male. “Where is your sire?” It is a rhetorical question, not one she was actually looking for. “Some have died. Many, in truth. Some slumber, and some leave for short durations of time to try and live where there is no second chances should death find them. Some die there, some return in fear of mortality striking us outside of Harper Rock.” She shrugged her shoulders. “A sire should teach his childre, but people of today are set in their own ways before being sired. After, makes little to no difference.” The woman moves around the room, her eyes on the male. This isn’t meant to be threatening, but the woman simply does not enjoy sitting or standing in one place for too long. “If your brood does all the things you think are important, then count yourself a very lucky man, Mister Acheron.” Her tone changes slightly when she says the given last name, uncertain if that really is his last name. What she researched about the last name seems to imply not, but then again she had only looked into the last name and its roots for an hour at most.

Ambrose Acheron What is in a name? A rose by any other name, a vampire perhaps by any other name? Names are fluid to the immortal. They are things for humans to use to label things. The gods are named by men, not by their own mouths. “Acheron, it was the name of a man who taught me much. He died. My name does not fit into these times. It would be difficult for their tongues. The language is dead now, much as my sire. He taught me what he could, his was a dying culture.”

He doesn’t go into his history any more than to picture his times with Ambrose, the kindness of the ancient vampire to bring him into his small circle, teaching him of European history, mythology, the religions of the area. Hundreds and hundreds of years of knowledge. Ambrose has been a kind soul. A gentleman vampire if there ever was one. Unfortunately he had not had the ability to instill his memories into Tizoc and all that knowledge passed into the fade in the Great Fire of 1788 in New Orleans. He shows her them talking from the evening sitting at an elegant wooden table, forgoing even feeding for nights at a time to engage in discourse about the great beyond, the gods, the science of their age, business, their lives.

Even in feeding Ambrose had been gentle, making certain to make his vassals as comfortable as possible and taking great pains to assure they woke the next morning with only the thought they had drank too much the evening before, always he left the unharmed. Then the hunters had come. They bore the tattoos of the paladins but none of them seem to match the tattoos of today’s breed. At first the vampires of New Orleans had been careful, picking off stray fledglings in dark alleys when they were careless enough to be caught feeding. As more and more vampires were caught, seen and exposed by the hunters and their minions, the vampires had realized there were wolves among their herd of sheep.

History will tell the fire started at 1:30am on Good Friday in 1788 in the home of one Vincente Jose Nuñez, Army Treasurer. It does not tell us that Mr. Vincente Jose Nuñez was the thrall of a fellow Spaniard, the vampire Estaban C. Ramirez and that he had been the acting ruler of vampire society in New Orleans in all but name for the past fifty years when he immigrated there in pursuit of a certain Aztec Bloodline that had been harrying his coven.

It does not tell us of his siring proclivities, that he was addicted to siring and that it took only his feeding to turn a human. No, it simply says the Fire started in his thralls home at 619 Chartres Street, corner of Toulouse and burned down 856 of the 1,100 buildings that made up the city of New Orleans at the time. It omits the damage this did to the scions of the night. Of the near 75 vampires who had been in the blossoming colony, 5 survived. It wasn’t just the fire that got them though. It started with the attack on vampire prince Estaban which led to the burning down of the home, his death, and the panic of 30 vampires in the city at once who were connected to their sire.

The hunters took the chance to capitalize on the ensuing panic in the vampire community.

Ambrose and Tizoc had been discussing opening a store on the main street when the fire reached the plantation style house owned by Ambrose. Coahoma, Tizoc’s childe was the first to notice the blaze. She took her thrall and ran out to do what she could to stop it’s approach. The fire that burned the house down was not a true part of the initial blaze spreading through the city, but instead brought in the hands of tattooed raiders. Spaniards.

Tizoc and Ambrose had been too late to help Coahoma. By the time they noticed what was going on and bolted outside the hunters were already doing their grisly work. Having cornered her in one of the slave quarters and setting it ablaze the hunters were waiting with gun and blade to end her when she made a run for it. As Ambrose and Tizoc raced from the plantation house so to did Coahoma erupt from the burning structure, her face a mask of terror. Into the awaiting slaughter she ran before Tizoc’s shocked eyes and the hunters did their work. They bit into her flesh with blade and sent blossoming eruptions of pristine flesh, the flesh of Tizoc’s love, with bullets.

The two males rushed to her aid and into the same, they were quickly surrounded and fighting desperately but in vain. Only the fire saved them as buildings crashed down, scattering the hunters and allowing the two a chance to flee. Ambrose had stopped then. Looking to Tizoc with an odd expression before turning back toward the mortals, already rushing up to give chase.

Knowing that Ambrose had chosen to stay, Tizoc fled he was the last of his line. He had to survive..

The vision in Elizabeth’s mind dwindles away as Ambrose finishes sharing what he is willing to at the moment. “That is the man whose name I wear.” He speaks the words almost as if saying them to himself.

Elizabeth Naarc: Ambrose starts explaining himself, but the truth is, Elizabeth doesn’t care what his name actually is. She just wants to let him know she isn’t as vain as others may be when he encounters them. To find his practice to be foul would make her a hypocrite. After all, in her early years she wore the name of many while traveling with her coven and sire for secrecy reasons. Even now, she has been out of the realms for almost a handful of years and knows that at some point she will no longer be able to be Elizabeth Naarc, or Mary Watson either. This fleeting thought makes her wonder at the same time, if her bound partner has given this much thought. They could perhaps get away with another decade as their vampire name, or human aliases, but after then…

Her thoughts come to a screeching halt when Ambrose starts sharing his memories with her using an ability Elizabeth is all too familiar with. Elizabeth stands in the room, fingers rubbing at the inside of the sweater dress, as she feels that tinge of anxiety again. The need to get away. For the memories to stop being shared. Her feet take her back to a wall and she stands there, eyes wide with fear as they search for something. An escape from the room is what she is actually looking for, but Ambrose wouldn’t know that.

Blue saucers bounce from side to side, sweeping the width of the room, as she looked for the fire Elizabeth was so certain was in the room. Even though the memories are decades, no centuries old, just the mere image of it seems to bring out apprehension, fear and distress.

The woman is ready to leave...only she can’t teleport out of here. The ritual has prevented her from such a thing. Something the woman forgot in her time of great distress, even though she placed the spell on the building they were in an hour or so ago. Since that doesn’t work, Elizabeth tries something else. She attempts to shift into her animal form, that of a white raven, but finds that unsuccessful. “We are trapped.” She hisses at him before she takes shelter behind the lounge chair she sat on when he arrived. “We will burn alive!” The woman’s fingers press into the back of the chair with great force that the weight under her fingers and hands start to make the chair crack and split from her anxiety. “I cannot teleport. Or shape shift.” Her eyes finally land on the male, or in his general direction at least, where behind him there is a shattered plane mirror, adorned in brass that had seen better nights. Most of the glass is either missing, dusty, or dirty from the weathered elements, but once the woman’s eyes lock on the mirror she stands there in a trance like state, her head arched to its side.

The woman cackles after a long pause, her bright blue orbs darkening before she finds Ambrose once again. “There is another way.” She says, both cheerfully and manically, her eyes bouncing back to the mirror, seeing the woman she once, centuries ago, within it. “If we head out through the secret way, we can lead them into a trap and slaughter them all!” Elizabeth jumps up and down excitedly before clapping her hands together. “The earth will run red with their blood, but will feast upon it and life will be restored once again.” The woman is obviously a -very- different woman to the one Ambrose encountered initially. “Come. Come.” Elizabeth leads him out of the room and to another where there is another bookcase. She cautiously looks at him, and then pulls a couple different books, which has the bookcase slowly swing open with a heavy, sick groan. “Shall we slaughter them all, or let one live to tell the tale?” Obviously, his past has become her reality and it was hard for her to break out of that.

Ambrose Acheron The Aztec gods are a study in duality. The two brothers, the feathered dragon and the jaguar are good and evil, light and dark, life and death, truth and illusion. They are locked in eternal struggle which brings about the end of an age when one falls. They begin their battle anew to start the cycle over again. Cyclical.

This is the mind of Ambrose at that moment when he sees the all too familiar look on Elizabeth’s face. That look has been on the face of countless sacrifices over the priest’s life. In one instant two thoughts occur. Two lines of thinking would be a better way to describe it. There is the cruel side that wants to dominate another vampire, to continue to show her these things and watch as her mind shatters. Parallel to that is the protective nature Ambrose has being the progenitor of his line. All of his contact with other vampires outside of one has been his childer. The exception he had fallen in love with due to the creature he believes is a siren. He has the urge to protect her. That look can not be faked and Ambrose struggles between the two. He tells himself then that he needs more information from her than she has yet shared.

Thus the dark and light come to an agreement using selfish mix of logic and justification.

There is the issue of being led out of the safety of the ritual’s effect… by an obviously insane elder who is stronger than himself… and ranting on about killing everything. This could be slightly… delicate. He plays his part though for the moment. He watches and remembers the books pulled and then the false wall swing open with a groan.

He follows. What else can he do?

--The following was a live chat roleplay--

Elizabeth Naarc: She takes Ambrose down a narrow corridor that is dark, dirty and riddled with cobwebs. The two pass a couple of closed doors, but she pays them no mind. Elizabeth knows exactly what is behind each door, and that is not the place she intends to take him. No, instead she takes Ambrose Acheron down a set of stairs and to what one would consider a basement these nights. A cellar, mayhaps back then.

In this dark, damp place are long boxes of all makes of wood. Some cedar, some pine and some unidentifiable, but it’s obvious what housed these boxes at one point. Bodies. And in a corner of the room was a makeshift altar made of stone. The memories of events flood in her mind and in his, unintentionally, as Elizabeth relays what she remembers in the final hours known as ‘The Last Stand,’ for their kind. Only, a few weren’t here the night prior to their demise. Some had their own private affairs and had been killed elsewhere. A small piece of what was missing formulates in her mind and is restored; Elizabeth had been with the Worthington Males, the brothers that night. Half-brothers to be exact. Why? She couldn’t remember, but their faces are now shown to him and known to him as if he had met them before his own demise elsewhere.

Age, and knowledge had been on the side of her, her sire and sibling. Isabella had done her best during the early morning of the day to keep the mansion safe with a variety of rituals, something she shares with Elizabeth after they escape the fade two centuries later, while Elizabeth fights on the Worthington property; Chad’s to be exact. The woman was quite the tactician back then, using her skillsets to manipulate and trick the minds of the humans that were coming for the males. There is a strong feeling of protection that flows through the story that’s being retold, but who or what she is protecting is not known. Elizabeth proceeds onward, skilled in the ways of the blade, unlike these modern times. However, she prefers to use her abilities to advance herself towards the male’s, trying to alert them to the impeding danger, since both are sleeping. She knows where they are, which room belongs to which male; Elizabeth preferring to go to that of the youngest brother’s room first. If he survives, then she has been successful in her mission; the other would be nice to save, but not a necessity in the dark haired woman’s mind at that time. She is almost to the stairs in the large estate, but is being slowed by the weight of her attire for that time. Elizabeth having preferred to keep something similar to that of the Elizabethan Era, even centuries later. There are modifications to keep with the time, like the hoopskirt and bodice, but the sleeves she wears are the bell shaped, such like the time she was familiar and had grown up in as a human. Not because the woman is overly fancy of the style, but because they hide her small blades quite well within them.

A small blade is pulled out from her left sleeve as Elizabeth pauses to shred the skirt to a short, but still somewhat acceptable lady of this time. It might have been seen as stupid and illogical, but this is the house she is raised in, under the dominate and watchful eye of her siress’ sire. A male that the woman holds great distaste and disdain for. Proper and chaste was always their way of life, because the house of Noble had always upheld the old codes and a way of life that so few were gifted to be part of. They were the cream of the crop (in his eyes) and should behave as such at all times.

It is this moment in time that Elizabeth is slaughtered. In trying to save the one man that means more to her than her entire lineage, and even her own life, she has failed. Both Worthington’s are killed not long after she has crumbled to nothing more than ash at the bottom of the staircase, just ten feet, if that, from the younger one’s door. They are never woken and fall victims to a fire that had been started by a careless hunter that had knocked over a candle in another room while slaughtering the thralls of the Worthington males. Servants of vampires are just as tainted as they are, apparently. The latter of the knowledge isn’t shared with him, it is just what she remembers being told, as Elizabeth had been killed minutes before the fire had been started.

The old memory seeps through and breaks the trance Elizabeth is in, bringing Elizabeth back to current time. She turns to the stranger in the room with her, fingers rubbing on the inside of her sweater dress as she looks at him. “Is this what you wished to know?” She asked him in a tone that was barely above a whisper.

Ambrose Acheron Striking similarities between the death of the woman before him and his own untimely demise are not lost on Tizoc. The time and location were different, but the method exactly the same. “Did they have tattooes?” is all Ambrose can think to ask. In his own memory the tattoos of the assailants remain vivid, burned into his mind along with every aspect of that few minutes that took the life from him he was trying to build and scattered its ashes to the wind.

Their stories are similar at points, so to are the similar to the death of Coahoma and the real Ambrose Acheron. Why could these younger fledglings not see this was what they had to look forward to in their carelessness. Where they, as immortals doomed to repeat the cyclical story of death and rebirth as Tizoc’s gods were? Is this the way it is meant to be, humans destroying them as Tezcatlipoca does his brother, the sun god, over and over and over again throughout eternity? Questions flow through his mind and he wonders, but he knows it will be as the gods will it and too much time thinking on the hows and whys can lead to inaction in the now. Hence the long pause before he even looks up to Elizabeth. “There are tattooed warriors now too are there not?“

He had learned a little of the history of the European covens from Ambrose before his old friend had died at the hands of the hunters. He knew a little of the legends of paladins and blood thieves and to him, the resurgence of these groups marked a dark future ahead for their kind if they continue to draw attention to themselves as they seem to have been doing as he resided trapped in the Shadow Realm.

At the same time the question is to break Elizabeth from her current frame of mind, give her something to ponder on rather than the ghosts of the past.

Elizabeth Naarc: The woman tries to recall the hunters from the morning hours she had encountered before being overthrown by the rabid mob of hunters. “No. I do not recall.” She shakes her head, uncertain. She does not remember looking for those things, Elizabeth only remembers focusing on the most important thing at the time prior to her death. The youngest male. “Yes.” She nods her head. “The paladins. They have a place in the city. A church, I have heard.” She says, her tone at its regular inflection. “Near the caverns.” She finishes the thought before rolling her shoulders. “Or, at least their leader owned the church. Though, no one has seen him in some time. Tytonidae had probably disposed of him in some way or another.” She rolls her shoulders, then takes a few steps back towards the door. The woman is suddenly uncomfortable with being down here, even if but a few seconds ago this was the place she believed she was the safest at.

“Shame you and your sire never arrived. Mayhaps things would have ended differently.” The blonde hair woman focuses her gaze on him now and not the remains of what had been centuries ago.

Ambrose Acheron Not likely, he thought. Had Eztli arrived, he likely would have beaten the hunters to the punch by cannibalizing the small group. His sire had been the owner of a voracious and nigh unquenchable thirst. The name Isabella, European and more specifically Spanish sounding to Tizoc’s ears would have spelled conflict for certain had Eztli heard it. Though Ambrose hated the Spaniards, his hatred was a cold one, calculated revenge made for a longer life. A message Tizoc received loud and clear with the sudden annihilation of his entire lineage but himself.

No, much better that his sire had not made it at all.

He would have been happy to have Ambrose return though. Ambrose was a bastion of secrets and knowledge. Lessons and tales that left you thinking were the old scholars specialty.Tizoc looks up to Elizabeth and almost opens his mouth to tell her about Eztli but stops. Instead he shows her only the image of his sire’s face.

Did you ever come across this man? Either back before the fade or after?

The Tozozontli line had been small, but infamous. Entire cities had blood hunted them into extinction throughout Central America and South America and even up into the Southern United States. They were thought extinct even back then after Eztli and his brood were discovered and destroyed. Still, the thought that perhaps Eztli might have made his way back brings an inner panic to Tizoc.

Eztli had been many a vampire’s bogeyman.

Elizabeth Naarc: “No, I am sorry.” The woman shook her head, positive she had never seen that man before. The truth was, even if she had, Elizabeth might not have remembered it. “I do not recall him at the meeting when most of us emerged. Though, that is not to say that he is not here now. He may have emerged some time after, like a few others. I have stayed close to my home front the last year or so. I have missed some things. He may be one of them.” She tried to offer him some hope in that sentence, if that was what he was looking for. “I do not recall meeting anyone in my entire time in the fade either.” That wasn’t true, but she believed it to be true. Elizabeth had spent a great deal of time with her ‘uncle’ Zachariah Staus whilst looking for her own sire, but that memory had been wiped from her memory bank when she was taken hostage by the group of men in a lab in the city.

The woman turns to leave the room, but pauses to look at him with an angling of her head. “Anyone else you wish to inquire about? Or something else you desire to know?” The woman moves out of the room and stands in the hallway, eyes looking at one door in particular over the other as she waits for him to ask her questions or to rejoin her.

Ambrose Acheron “Yes… the names of the movers and shakers in the city. Who my Brood need to know, who they should steer clear of.” The question is loaded, there is much that Ambrose needs to know and even more he simply desires to know. “Where can I find the missing rituals. The shops I have visited, they only have a few of them.”

Those are the two most pressing things on the vampire’s mind at the moment. He has always been a collector of knowledge of the occult variety. The modern age seems to have all but washed it away.

Elizabeth Naarc: Names. Elizabeth would have laughed if the situation was funny, but losing one’s memories was far from funny. “Who they need to know should depend upon an individual level and interest, yes? I do know, there is a woman...in a mansion-this one to be exact. A ritualist is here. Her name is Aeryn. She can perform any missing rituals until you can find what it is you are looking for in that regard. I would check the auctions. On the line. No, online. Not on the line. Oh, I forget. You turn on a computer or use your cellular device and there is an auction house. People sometimes sell duplicate tomes.” She smiled at him, offering what knowledge she had retained and knew of personally.

Ambrose Acheron Online, yes that is what Jose had said… he remembers now. Still, technology can wait. He has more pressing concerns. “What of the vampires? Who are the factions now? The leaders, Who runs the area? Who rules?” Ambrose comes from a line which dominated most of Central America for centuries, but fell to the Spaniards. Always though there were several Bloodlines and Factions vying for power, dominance.” The new vampires, they seem mostly scattered, even his own childer are this way, purposeless, disinterested in unity within the bloodline. Ambrose is surprised at the level of general anarchy amongst the fledgling populace of the city. Even for Americans they are rebellious, pointlessly so it seems to him.

“Is there any semblance of order within our ranks?”

Elizabeth Naarc: The night is growing weary on the woman, so many questions demanded of her, but so few has she asked in return. So few things he has shared with her about himself and his own lineage. “Are we not in control of our own self and being? There was a power once. A council. You had not returned then. A while ago. The date escapes me.” Elizabeth recalls who was there, just not the month or year that it took place-just snippets of conversations. “Cobb had tried to kill us all again with a weapon. It exploded. A trap. No, a machine. A bomb.” Her blue eyes glaze over as she presses her mind to remember the exact details once again. “He is what started the casualness of death among our kind. Twice, he tried to kill us for his own insane plans. And today, centuries and years later, we have followed in his footsteps. We are the monster we hated for so long. We killed the monster and became the monster. Is it not ironic?” She blinked and tipped her head, her voice becoming more defined than it had been at the recollection of the events that happened not long after her escape from the realms.

“No one person is in control of the city, Mister Acheron. No one group either. As I said before, people tend to keep to themselves or their own family and affairs. Your best bet would be searching the crownet for answers in regards to factions and things like factions. There is no order, not entirely. There was order, but order has been destroyed by disorder.” Elizabeth moves away from the other elder. “I have other things to attend to. The Crownet is an area where you can find answers I was unable to provide tonight. But be wary, most of it is pointless dribble.” Elizabeth tipped her head to the male before teleporting herself to the front door of her family home.

Ambrose Acheron No order… no ruling class… chaos and anarchy. He supposed the gods factored little into the mindset of these new heathens. They were godless, purposeless and alone. He tries to envision himself without the warmth of his deities and comes up empty. Crownet. He has been on there, requested other elders get in touch to no avail.

For the first time in a long time fear grips the heart of the elder. His brood breaking away, disappearing, no one to turn to, nowhere to turn to, to flee to. Trapped like the proverbial rat in a sinking ship. He says a quiet prayer to Tezcatlipoca and turns toward the stairway, walking slowly back up it while letting everything sink in.

This Aeryn… he will need to speak with her. He has plans involving a ritual he has not yet managed to acquire.