Path of the Vampire forum

Mircea moved carefully, bare-chested but for the swathes of white bandages that covered his abdomen and one shoulder, curling down over the same arm until it was simply missing above the elbow. The humans had cast curious glances at the man, discomfort at the sight of his fresh injuries and the obvious discomfort walking brought him, the difficulty he found in keeping balance with only one arm. So often people did not realise how much they relied upon their limbs simply to keep them upright; legs, of course, to hold their weight, but the arms... They were so often neglected, but now that Mircea found himself lacking, he wobbled and teetered as he walked, destination firmly in mind while his eyes swept back and forth in search of those who would finish him given the chance.

Finally he arrived, a pang of guilt as he crossed the building's threshold, but he had been invited to this place and his sword remained sheathed at his hip, carried only as a precaution and not with intent to do harm in this place. The man stumbled briefly, catching himself against the wall with a frustrated growl before continuing forward with determined, if unsteady, strides. Finally he was able to sink to his knees, fumbling with the fingers of his remaining hand to unbuckle the belt that held his sword in place so he could lay it on the floor beside him. Habren would worry if she awoke before he returned, she would call him fool for coming to this place, for even stepping onto the streets as he had, but eventually she would understand his need, he felt. Even if she did not, the need was too great to be ignored. Pushing the thought from his mind, his head lowered as the vampire began to breath deeply, calming himself with dark eyes closed to all but what was inside him. Finally, when all was gone and lost, he spoke softly.

"Mother of us all, Beautiful Night, I come to you, childe of your childe, blessed by your love and kindness to seek your favour. Mother, if it please you, I ask that you give me the strength to slay those who would kill us, the guidance to keep more of our blood being lost to shadow or sun and the wisdom to know when not to go to battle with the forces turned against us. If it please you and my death might halt this fight and keep my children, your children, alive and safe, then I ask that you spare them and take me from this world. Please, Mother... If you cannot do anything else, keep me from losing myself to this fight. Do not let the darkness consume me, I beg of you."

Even after he finished speaking Mircea made no move to rise or leave, instead pausing to reflect upon what had happened, what must be done and the requests he had made to the Mother. He knew She would hear him, from wherever he chose to speak with Her and that She would, in Her own way and time, answer him; he could only hope that the answer She gave was the answer he thought he needed, but the Mother was wiser than he and She alone would know what must be done and guide him to it. Finally, he shifted, eyes opening as his head lifted to reveal tear-stained cheeks. His blood had done him proud so far, two of his Phoenix's murderers were dead and several more were wounded, but so too were those of his house, himself included, but still... None were yet dead and so he retained hope that the Mother knew he did what he must and gave Her blessing for it to continue. He gripped his sword firmly, rising to his feet with only a slight waver as he did. Reattaching his sword belt was more difficult and the man was forced to use the wall to help him keep it in place before he could buckle it securely in place.

With that done, Mircea turned and moved swiftly, more steadily now that he was sure of himself and left the Dragomir Temple in to the night once more.

Movement came more easily this night, many of the bandages now able to be removed to leave the flesh clean of blood and injury, though some remained to cover his abdomen and Mircea was still lacking his left arm. Once again he had forgone a shirt that evening; he owned so few and they were so often ruined that it seemed to be expedient to simply not bother with one. As time passed, Mircea grew accustomed to the missing limb, able to adjust his balance accordingly so that this night, when he entered the Dragomir Temple, it was with more certainty of stride and less pain when he walked, the more... Intimate wounds healed and the vampire was no longer pained by the simple pressure of clothing against flesh.

Once again, his sword was removed from where it rested upon his hip and laid at his side when he knelt and began the familiar ritual of calming his body and thoughts, ridding himself piece by piece of his worries and fears. Echo had lived another night, though her wounds were still severe and limited her ability to sustain her strength, but it seemed that, between her own drive to live and the aid of the necromancers they had good relations with, the shadows would not take her yet. One by one when he awoke he had checked upon his line and found only one lost to him, a pang of sorrow and guilt driving deep into his gut at the realisation that she was not of this world any longer. Quiet came to him slowly as he breathed, eyes closed, glad for the quiet solitude. He loved his childer with all he had and all he was, and enjoyed being in their company like little else, but for this he needed to be alone and knew that few, if any of his line would look for him in the Temple. Finally, after what seemed like hours to the vampire but was probably little more than thirty minutes, he began to speak in the same gentle tones as the previous evening had brought.

"Gentle Mother, I come to you, childe of your childe, to ask again for your assistance. You have given me wisdom enough to see reason where my pride blinded me to it and for that I am eternally grateful and you have granted me life on this earth another night and for that I thank you also. You have taken one of my children into your arms last evening, however, our Dark Mirage, childe of Jareth Archer and through him of Habren Ashe and myself. I ask that you give her strength enough to return to us when she is ready for this world again and protect her spirit while she is not. She is blood of my blood and gave it freely in protection of my own, please, Mother, protect her in the Darkness. I will ask nothing for myself this night, Mother, for the aid to my childe is already than I should ask of you."

There were no tears this night as he reflected upon his words and requests to Her, hopeful She would smile upon them again this night. Rising from the floor came more easily this night, with only a small loss of balance as the vampire took to his feet again, but still attaching his sword was difficult, requiring the assistance of the nearest wall to hold it in place. If it had been only his hand that had been lost, he at least would have had most of the arm remaining for small tasks such as this, but with the entire forearm gone the remainder of the limb was all but useless to him. Mircea paused, giving a low bow to the Temple's altar before turning and striding out into the night once more, hopeful for the Mother's blessing for another night.

Mircea looked down at himself with the hint of a smile beginning to show as he strode through the entrance to the Temple for the third night in a row, glad again to find the solitude in this most unlikely of sanctuaries. This night he was noticeably different, having struggled his way into a plain black tank top, the fabric molding effortlessly to his muscles now that he had no wounds to worry about bleeding onto the material. Again his sword rode at his hip and, though the limb had begun to grow back, at least in appearance, it still hung mostly useless at his side as muscles were unconnected or still non-existent. Still, though, it was a progress, however slowly it seemed to come. Perhaps tomorrow night he might begin to gain some movement in the lower part of the limb, Mother willing.

That thought was pushed away as fingers nimbly removed his sword, as per his ritual, the vampire having become quite adept at removing it with only one hand over the past evenings as he had come and gone through the city since the injury had occurred. Mircea slipped as he knelt, trying to throw out the useless arm to catch himself and instead crashing painfully to his side with a swift curse before he struggled to right himself. The renewed frustration spoiled his concentration and the man struggled to regain it as the sword was set at his side and his eyes fell closed. It took longer this night to calm himself, each breath coming slowly, drawn deep before being released in much the same manner, the tension beginning to leave his muscles little by little until his worries were gone and he could speak with Her free of those burdens to muddy his thoughts.

"Wise Mother, I come to you again, childe of your childe, to seek your blessing. You have seen us all safely through the rising of another sun and I thank you for this. I have made another, gentle Mother, borne a childe of my blood who does go by the name of Ellis, though I do not know yet what path she will walk, I ask for your guidance to help her find her way and that you will bless me with patience and strength enough to see her through these early nights and not leave her to fend alone in these times. I fear for her, Mother, that those who hunt us will find her weak and of my blood and slay her before she is truly able to discover her potential. Please, Mother, watch over her and keep her safe."

Keep her safe... Mircea sighed to himself, halting in his speech, his head bowing lower so the longer hair fell to conceal much of his face. So many of his childer seemed to be borne of bloodshed or death, brought by him in times of strife rather than peace. Surely the deserved better than he had given them to begin their lives, better than to be borne into a warzone, better than to be made only to save another, better than to be killed only to sate his rage. Still, this was not all he had come to speak with Her about and so once again Mircea worked to still his thoughts and began again.

"Allies have been sent for and have come to me in forms I could not expect and would not seek, Mother. I pray that they appear with your blessing and guidance to aid rather than to mislead me and bring harm upon us. Please, Mother, give me wisdom enough to see the difference between the hand that gives and the hand that hides the blade to slay us."

With his final request made, Mircea fell quiet again, considering the words spoken that evening. Did he ask too much of Her? Perhaps, but if he did not ask, She would not give. Even now, She may not bless him with all he requested of Her, but he would hope that She would continue to smile upon them, especially the youngest amongst his house, his newest, his Ellis. If the Mother would keep her safe, he would give his life in return. The Mother, of course, knew the sacrifices Mircea was willing to make for the sake of protecting those of his blood and it was, perhaps, this that made her smile upon him.

Finally, having regained his composure, the man stood slowly, more carefully than he might usually have been to ensure he did not fall again before the frustrating effort began once more to return his sword belt to its proper place. Again he hoped that the next rising of the sun would see the Mother bless him with some small movement so he might find such things easier than he had these last nights. Indeed, it was this lack of movement that had lead to him opting for such an... Unusual shirt, for he simply had not been able to find a way of getting both cufflinks in place without assistance he had found himself too proud to seek. Still, it wasn't entirely horrible, even if it was not clothing he would usually have chosen for himself, though it seemed to do almost nothing to reduce the number of stares he had gained in the walk to the Temple when compared to those he had garnered when walking in a covering formed only of bandages.

Mircea watched as he moved the fingers of his hand, the muscles in his forearm working beneath the skin. It was a strange feeling, to know he could move and yet feel as though it was still not quite right, still clumsy compared to how he knew his hands could function; even now he wouldn't risk holding a weapon in the affected hand for fear his grip would be lost and it would cause damage to those he did not intend to harm. His frustration had been most evident before emerging onto the city's streets for the evening, while attempting to finally use both hands to dress and prepare, only to find the fingers of the still healing hand clumsy and unresponsive to his wishes. Not quite there, yet, but there was enough of a response at least to ensure that removing his sword as he entered the Temple was not as much of a difficult process as it had been over recent nights.

Once more, the vampire knelt quietly, laying his sword to rest to one side as he did and the nightly ritual of calming his thoughts began again. It came relatively easily that night, his own frustration with his failing body the most substantial influence to be forcibly ignored, with only a few other niggling doubts haunting him that evening before he could begin his quiet words.

Merciful Mother, I come, childe of your childe, to seek your assistance. My Habren fears that you will call me back to your embrace and away from her. I have tried to assure her with my own words and certainty, but she is uncertain of your plan for me. Please, I beg of you, give her the assurance she needs and only you can provide these nights. I will continue to do all I can, but I need your help in this. I must also confess myself confused, Mother... You have sent Elizabeth Thibodeux to me pleading that I attempt to broker peace with those who spill my blood, but I do not know her motivation for such, for she and I, nor her husband, have agreed upon anything of import in recent times. She comes to me again this night with little news of her successes in speaking with those who hunt us, though she seemed defeated in her missive to me, so I do not believe her attempt at peace will prove to be successful, regardless of her wishes or mine. Please, Mother, bless me with the guidance to know what must be done and the strength to do as needed, whatever the cost to myself."

The tears returned to him this night, swept hurriedly away with the back of Mircea's hand. It was one of the few times emotion outwardly showed that was not drawn from anger or lust, but instead from worry and uncertainty. Only here where none could see or in his own sanctuary where only Habren might know; elsewhere he needed strength, the knowledge that he acted in the right way, that his decisions were firm and correct and so he took these short, private moments to release some small amount of the tension that built within him to be released, even if only in a small, barely noticeable way.

As he stood, once again finding it slightly easier to secure his sword at his hip, Mircea could only be glad none were present to witness such failings of composure. He didn't linger for long that evening, preparing himself quickly for the return to the city's streets and the knowledge that they needed to prepare quickly for those who sought their blood. It might also pay to send Nikolae his gratitude for the use of the Temple these last nights to clear his head and speak to the Mother.

Mircea moved freely that night, driven by some inner strength that had been absent over previous nights. Blood splatter decorated one side of his face and neck, though was mostly hidden by the black dress shirt that covered his form that evening. His sword was held bare in his hand already as he walked through the door, crimson gleaming in the light as it struck the blade. He knelt carefully, shifting the blade so no blood fell to the floor of the Temple before he could extract a piece of plain, white cloth and begin to carefully clean the blood away, staining the material as he did. It took a few minutes before the vampire was satisfied with the state of his weapon, convinced that no blood had seeped into the grooves where blade met hilt and it could once again be sheathed smoothly. Fingers of both hands moved nimbly that night, releasing the belt quickly to lay it, as usual, at his side, the now stained cloth folded neatly and laid atop one thigh.

The cleansing had done much of the work to clear Mircea's mind, providing him with something to concentrate upon instead of the thoughts that spiralled through his head during the rest of the night, causing doubt and questions and worries to rise within him where they had no place during these quieter times. Eyes closed and head bowed slowly as words began to fall softly from his lips.

Kind Mother, forgive my appearance before you this night. I did not intend to insult you in this manner, but as I travelled to this place I did happen upon one of those who spilled my Phoenix's blood and now hunts us and could not let him pass uncontested. I should have liked to slay him where he stood, Mother, but honour does not allow me bleed a man dry while he does nothing to protect himself and so I was forced only to slit his throat."

He paused, a shudder rolling down his spine as the man fought to regain control of the building lust for blood. Always Mircea had relished in battle when it had come to him, even when he had firstly sought peaceful resolution and the knowledge that he had spilled blood that night for that battle drove him on, called for him to spill more, to show the power he held and bring his enemies to their knees. It was a hunger as unavoidable as the need he had to feed upon the humans, but this at least could be controlled, directed, even denied when needed, but even that became more difficult after he gave in, even a little. Carefully, quietly, he began again, attempting to distract himself from such thoughts.

"Mother, I come to you for guidance once more. I fear I have done our Leiren wrong and do not know how to undo it or if the time to mend what is broken is not already passed. Rumours fly, whispers come to me that she did betray us all to those who hunt us, that it is she who is responsible for the wounds we have suffered and for Echo's condition these last nights. I thank you for watching over her and keeping her safe as she heals and ask that she does not suffer much longer before she is herself once more. Leiren though... I do not know what to do, Mother, please help me. Give me the strength I need to approach her when the time to do so is right, the wisdom to know when it is so and the guidance to hold better control than I have in recent times. I know she has not always done right by my blood, but I fear I acted rashly and out of anger instead of wisdom. Mother, I ask that you guide me in this matter and help me see the way."

Mircea lingered for longer this night, pushing unkempt hair back from his face as his head raised once more and fingers curled upon the sword at his side before he rose steadily to his feet. He shrugged one shoulder, mildly irritated by the way his shirt clung wetly to him as the blood upon it dried. Still, he would be out of the public eye and able to strip out of it before too much more time had passed and so, with that thought forefront in his mind, Mircea moved swiftly from the Temple and once more to the city streets, ensuring his sword was securely in place and ready to be unsheathed just before he stepped from the doorway.

Please consider this to have taken place the day before the timestamp. I failed at writing yesterday

Mircea's fingers felt clumsy that night, uncoordinated and disconnected from his thoughts and desires as he set down the items he carried. Three small things, identical and of equal importance to him as he set them down to one side before turning his attention to removing his sword. Something had been different the previous night, some strange feeling coming over him that he couldn't place, which he had since determined was the beginning of the curses that had been placed upon him, yet to be shaken by the coming of dawn. His fingers fumbled upon the sheath and it fell to the Temple floor with a clatter, swiftly followed by a growl rolling up from the vampire's throat. It was several moments before his frustration abated enough for the man to move again, sinking to his knees and straightening the sword at his side once he had; this was not the place to become so angered and lose control and Mircea would not allow himself to show such blatant disrespect as doing so would be.

His hair was tied back that night, braided close to his scalp so that, from the front, the man looked as though he had simply cut away the majority of his hair and now wore the curled locks short and close to his head. Time seemed to pass slowly as the man breathed slowly, evenly and shut down his thoughts to once again allow him to concentrate solely upon what was to come in the next moments. Not until then, when he thought of naught but that did he begin to speak softly.

"Generous Mother, I must again confess myself confused. Gifts have come to me and I do not understand their meaning and , though one has been given to me, I am uncertain if it is to be trusted. Elizabeth has sent them each, but I do not know her motives. Again and again she comes to me speaking of her hand in my previous return to the shadows and, though she insists that my blood had hand in her death and she has made her penance for the sin, she continues to ask what might cease my anger with she and her husband. These gifts are the latest, Mother and though I know her words of one to be truth, never before have I laid eyes upon the other; I do not know its intention to help or harm. I hope she comes to me with your blessing and guidance, but if she does not, I ask that you ensure her schemes in this become clear to me while time enough remains to act against them."

Mircea had not been a trusting man in many years, at least not of those who did not bear his blood and this woman, Elizabeth Thibodeux, as she now called herself, had betrayed him once already while hiding behind the mask of friendship. He considered a repeat of the act a very real possibility, however much she attempted to convince him otherwise, but now... He simply didn't know what to believe and so guidance became necessary to ask for.

As he rose and set his sword in place once more, Mircea took greater care to retrieve the additional items brought with him, juggling the items briefly before managing to settle them in his hands and turn to the city's streets once more.



Mircea paused, barely fifty yards from the western wall of the Temple, kneeling upon the grass in a patch of shadows cast by nearby buildings and the park's trees. Once more, he fumbled to set his items down without causing any damages before reaching for the first of the three. As soon as Elizabeth's gifts had arrived Mircea had begun to think, wondering upon the best place for the first and had been simply unable to decide and so, as a wise king had once suggested, he had split the gift thrice, gaining smaller pieces of the whole to be spread as he desired. With a moment's concentration and a small effort of will, the man's hands began to change, bones and flesh shifting, becoming longer and wider until he was able to turn to the ground before him and dig a small hole with ease before allowing his hands to return to their natural state. Carefully, the first of his gifts was taken and laid in the hole, before being carefully surrounded by the displaced soil to keep it in place.

"Nurturing Mother, I ask that you watch over this offering and see it grow strong so it might provide protection those those of my blood who find their sanctuary near this place."

He rose then and moved swiftly, walking south towards the bridge that crossed the river until he found a suitable, if small, parkland just south-east of the Metronome club where human rogues and thieves were often to be found. Again he knelt and placed the second of three gifts into the earth and again he asked the Mother watch over it so it might grow and protect those who found their homes nearby.

West and then north followed next, though green was difficult to find in this part of the city, Mircea eventually found a suitable location and, for the third time that night, knelt and made his plea. The graveyards, home of the crypts some called home yet remained unprotected, but there was an alternative in Mircea's mind for those places that could be seen to upon another night. For now, heather had been placed, as given and instructed, outdoors and near to the havens of his childer so it might keep them safe through difficult nights, both soon to come and in the distant future.

Finally, as satisfied with his efforts as he could be, Mircea turned once more to the east and began to walk, sword close to hand as always.

Please consider this to have taken place the day before the timestamp. I'm still catching up from the fail day >.<

Mircea moved swiftly, almost with a spring in his step that night and a fierce smile upon his features. Mud and dirt covered much of him and his hair was in disarray, wild around his face; his shirt, too, had been torn in places, showing cuts and grazes beneath to match the ones upon his hands, arms and one cheek. Even slightly battered as he was, Mircea could not be discouraged as he moved through the Temple to fall swiftly to his knees before the altar, his sword removed as he had walked down the aisle. As much as he wished to shout, to simply scream the words caught just barely upon the tip of his tongue, the man forced himself to pause and calm his thoughts, determined to show the proper respect, much as he struggled to do so. Eventually, however, after what seemed an age, Mircea was able to allow the words to fall quietly from his lips, his joy still evident in the tone his voice held.

"Generous Mother, I have received your gift this night. I fear that I do not know the words to say to properly speak of my gratitude for this blessing and I can only hope that you are able to witness and understand the depth of my joy and gratitude. I swear to you, Mother, I will use this gift as wisely as I am able and will not see her leave my side again. I must confess that my faith wavered, thinking her lost to the sands of time and greed of men, but you have shown me the truth and I do not think I shall stumble again now that she is with me. Please, Mother, be assured that I shall take care of her as I ever did. Thank you, Mother, for this is surely what I most needed these nights."

Mircea all but shook with the tension in his body, the primal want to run, to fight, to do... Something physically exerting and yet still he took pause, rising slowly with sword in hand to set it back in place, taking another few moments to inspect the damage done to his clothing with a laugh. Another shirt ruined, it seemed. His fingers flew swiftly over the buttons, undoing the shirt before he shrugged out of the tattered, dirtied white material, revealing more scratches over his back and shoulders. He turned then, the fabric balled up in one hand as he moved back out into the city, pausing briefly to deposit it in a nearby rubbish bin before all but running to where he next wished to be.

There was work to be done and news to be told that night, all of it, Mircea was sure, good.

Though Mircea's steps that evening did not contain the sheer, unrestrained joy of the previous night there was something quieter to him this night. A surety and determination that had been lacking in previous visits to this place, a confidence he had not quite possessed since rising beneath the Necropolis so many months ago was finally restored after endless nights of searching for that which was missing. Finally he had it and it seeped into everything he did, refreshing the man who hadn't even realised he was still, in some ways, dead beneath the old church. His leather coat whispered against the back of his legs, the heavy material comfortable where it fell from his shoulders and shifted as he walked, but he shrugged out of it when he reached the Temple's altar, removing the black leather hat to match soon afterwards. It was, perhaps, a conspicuous look, but close the Necropolis as he was there were many people in leather at night and Mircea enjoyed the warm material too much to mind being conspicuous that evening and so the hat was set at his right side and the coat neatly folded at his left.

A new scabbard rode at his hip that night, shorter and broader than the one present on previous nights, faded and battered with age, but clean and, as the vampire's fingers moved over it, obviously well loved. He knelt then, laying the sword on top of his coat, at his side and within easy reach should he find need for it. Calm came to him easily that night, though he could not seem to help trailing his fingers lightly over the sword's hilt, seemingly without notice as he began to speak.

"Kind Mother, she is as wonderful as I remember her being. I did not realise how thoroughly she was missed before you returned her to my side. I have done all I can this evening to see her restored and, though she is not yet returned to when we first came together and she and I do not yet have the relationship we once did, already I feel closer to such a thing than I have since you returned me to this world. Thank you, once again, for this greatest of gifts, Mother. I only ask that you grant me the wisdom and guidance to use it wisely so it might serve your wishes, whatever they may be."

Still his fingers caressed the hilt beside him, as if afraid to let it from his sight or reach and they curled around the weapon with barely a thought as he rose. The sword was secured in place at his side with more ease than any other blade he had possessed in this city, his hands seeming to know how to work without the need to look and ensure the belt was secured properly. He stooped then, collecting his hat and coat and, settling the former comfortably on his head, turned back towards the door and the city streets as he eased back into the coat, ensuring the heavy leather fell to conceal the weapon at his side.

Please consider this to have taken place the day before the timestamp. Playing catch up again.

Mircea had to pause outside the Temple that night, lingering in the street near the entrance to quiet some of his thoughts. The knowledge and image of Habren waiting in their bed for his return kept invading his mind, curling a smile upon his lips, but he would not go before the Mother with such thoughts in his head and so he lingered, trying to concentrate on the burning pain of his latest wound, hidden by the swathe of clean, white bandages covering his right shoulder. It would heal rapidly, or that was what Habren had told him when she inspected the wound earlier in the evening, but the bleeding had still needed to be stopped. When the pain and irritation of his wound was at the forefront of his mind, he finally entered the building, once again shirtless as he moved down the aisle. Already that night one shirt had been ruined and the man was reluctant to see another go the same way so soon if he happened to bleed through Habren's bandaging.

His sword rode on the opposite hip that night, set to be wielded with his left hand instead of the injured right arm, much as it annoyed him to do so, Mircea was more than capable with his weaker side. His jaw clenched, teeth gritted as he worked the belt free and set it down at his right side as he knelt. Once again his hair was tied back, drawn up in a rough tail to keep it from falling into his eyes earlier in the evening. He knelt in silence, closing his eyes, but keeping his back straight that evening, having already decided that bowing his head and shoulders drew too much discomfort to concentrate as he felt he should. Finally words spilled softly from his lips, a small smile evident in the tone of his voice.

"Just Mother, another of those who hunted us has fallen this night, in part by my own hand. It is the first true test of Ileana and I and I do feel we are almost as well together as we have ever been. Time will improve the understand, I think, but we did take the coward's arm clean off before he did shoot me in the back and my Habren wounded him also, though she had feared she would not be well to fight in these nights. She misses her book, Mother, and I fear she needs it dearly to restore confidence in herself and her abilities and so I ask you to watch over it, see it safe until she is ready to have it returned to her."

He lingered, pausing to consider if there was anything else he wished to ask for that evening, but, deciding he had said enough, he rose slowly, reaching across himself to pluck the sword from where it lay with his left hand, reducing the amount of movement he had to make with the injured shoulder as much as possible while he settled the weapon back in place, a frown flickering over his face at the uncomfortable position, never quite managing to place it somewhere he was entirely happy with when it came to drawing the sword quickly should he have need to do so. Finally, giving up satisfaction as an impossibility that night, Mircea turned on his heel and strode once more into the night. Perhaps he would stumble upon another he sought to bleed on his way back to Habren's side.

Please consider this to have taken place the day before the timestamp. Still playing catch up >.<

Habren had been correct in her assessment of his injuries the previous night, though that no longer surprised him, the woman having had ample practice both in their first existence and their more recent time away from the shadows. With the rising of the sun and a day's rest, Mircea's wounds had healed, leaving only a faint scar yet to fade and leave him unscathed, but that would surely be gone even by the time his evening's wanderings were complete. He wore crimson to the Temple that night, the bright shirt startling against his skin beneath the heavy leather coat left unbuttoned despite the coming winter.

Once again, the vampire went through the nightly ritual of disarming himself and kneeling before the altar, his coat spreading out on the floor behind him as he began to clear his head of all but the most important thoughts to him that night, ridding himself of the worries about the continued bloodshed, his regret towards Leiren and concern for his youngest childe to leave naught but what he intended to speak of before allowing the first words to fall from his lips.

"Guiding Mother, I fear that I am too late and cannot do right by my Amaranthia. I do not think she has yet forgiven me abandoning her when she was ill and needed me at her side, but I knew not what to do but find one who may be able to help us. Even now I believe she considers Habren to be a trickster and I a fool for succumbing, but such is not the case, Mother and I know not how to convince her of this. When first she needed me I did not enough to help and lost her for it and so, when secondly she was threatened, more recently than this, I did act rashly and from instinct more than thought and saw us all slain once more for my recklessness. I know not what she needs from me in these nights, nor what to offer her. I miss her, Mother, her company as much as all else and would, I feel, give almost everything to have her look upon me as she once did instead of with the distaste of these nights. Please give me guidance to make amends with her, Mother, for I do not wish to lose her thrice. I am not so strong as that."

Mircea's shoulders shook that night as he spoke, his face all but hidden by the fall of hair that served to hide the freely flowing tears, all but sobbing as he finished. It was several long moments before the man even began to move and prepare to leave, his fingers shaking as he lifted his sword and struggled to secure it in place. Had he been called to violence, to fight alone or in an army, Mircea would have no fear, for he knew himself capable, but in this... A fatherhood of sorts, but not quite so, he had felt out of his depth from the first night, though he had tried to find his way, often enough stumbling in the dark and now, in a time and place he did not understand, with five directly holding his blood, Mircea found the balance ever more difficult to maintain and, in trying, had seen the eldest of the women slipping from his grasp, further and further away and still he did not know how to reverse it. There seemed only one thing she would accept and it was not something he was either capable or willing to give. Beyond that, the man felt lost.

Mircea swiped at his eyes, roughly clearly the tears from his face as he stood abruptly, but paused partway to the door, hesitating for a moment before he turned back to the altar to leave a short, neat note upon it, decorated with a wax imprint of a wolf, defiant as it howled at the full moon behind.



That done, he turned once more for the door, taking a deep, steadying breath before striding back out into the city at large.