Homeward Bound

[Kasmandre]

Katzaniel and Sardin pass through the portal, feeling only the slightest lurch as the dragon's chanting falters. In the twinkling of an eye, they appear on Darkening Earth.

 

Appropriate to the name of the world, it appears to be quickly approaching dusk where they land, although the sunset is hidden behind the enormous skyscrapers that flank the wide stone path they appeared in the middle of. Before either adventurer has a chance to properly gain their bearings, though, a bright light bathes them from behind and they are assaulted with a cacophony of honking and screeching. Katzaniel turns to see a hulking metal thing bearing down on them just in time to yell a warning to Sardin and leap out of the way. Sardin turns a half second later, but in that half-second the metal behemoth has closed most of the distance between them. No time to get out of the way.

 

Just before the car can hit him, Sardin explodes into a whirlwind of sand which swirls around the steel thing as it passes through the cloud of sand and comes to a screeching halt on the other side. A second later, Sardin reforms, looking none the worse for the experience.

 

Meanwhile, a door on one side of the thing opens and a very upset man storms out with a odd looking metal device in his right hand. He walks right up to Katzaniel and starts yelling in her face, "You stupid freakin' morph! Don't you have enough sense to stay the hell out of traffic? I damn near hit you, and, I swear to God, if you so much as dinged my fender, I'll put you out of your misery!"

 

Katzaniel draws herself up to her full height, making sure that the man can see her spear. "Excuse me? You almost run me over and you blame *me*? If you don't get back in your little carriage, I do more than ding your fender!"

 

The man takes a step back, a little surprised at Katzaniel's outburst. Obviously, he expected her to back down meekly, but "backing down" and "meekly" aren't exactly familiar terms to Katzaniel. Still, he plunges on, more on bravado now than actual anger. "Oh, really? Well, let's see how much your little stick helps you when you've got a hole in your freak chest!" He raises the strange device, aiming it at Katzaniel's heart.

 

Before the situation could get any worse, though, a flash of sliver passes between the two of them and the muzzle of the man's device falls away, sliced off cleanly. The man stands there in shock for a moment, then looks down at his ruined gun, to Katzaniel, to her spear, and then to Sardin, who looked like he was looking for his excuse to cut off more than the man's gun barrel. This guy might not be the brightest torch in the castle, but he knew when he was outmatched. He sprints back to his car, slams the door, and speeds away, shooting fearful glances in his rear-view mirror.

 

Katzaniel watches the car speed away, then takes a look at their surroundings. It doesn't take long to note all the things that seem to have gone wrong. "Hey, what's going on? Where are the others, why did that stupid dragon put us down right in traffic?"

 

Sardin looks around, appearing very annoyed. He says something under his breath that Katz can't understand, but she feels it's safe to assume that it's a curse. she nods agreement, then says, "We've been here for long enough that they should have gotten the portal back open, if they're ever going to. No point in staying here, where anyone can see us. Let's find that Treme guy and his book and get out of here." Sardin shrugs and starts off the street, hardly able to help noticing the people staring at the unusual pair. They could hardly expect anything else after the show they just put on.

 

The tigertaur squints briefly at her companion's rude response, but follows. "Have you been in this place before?"

 

Sardin shakes his head absently, his attention more on the impossibly tall buildings that seem to be all over the place in this world. His partner follows his eyes, wondering what he's trying to say, but decides that none of the buildings would make for good cover. "Look," she says, rushing to walk beside him rather than behind, "I stand out here pretty badly in this form. I can take any cat shape, but I lose the ability to speak. Should I just shift? Do you know where you're taking us?"

 

Sardin stops for a moment and appraises Katzaniel's male upper body and tiger back, then glances back at the street. Katzaniel is right that she stands out here. But changing shape in public probably won't help things either. After another moment scanning the buildings to both sides of the street, Sardin starts toward a narrow alleyway. A quick glance down it reveals one inhabitant: a passed out wino. He gestures for Katz to follow. She does, eying the prone body suspiciously. Soon there is nothing on two sides of them but solid brick, and a third wall made of stacked garbage.

 

Sardin turns to Katzaniel and stares her directly in the eyes making sure she understands what he's going to try to "tell" her. He folds his hands in front of him as if praying then opens them, then he shrugs. After repeating this a few times, Katz understands: he doesn't know where the book is. As soon as she figures that out, she curses. "Do we at least know where *we* are?" As Sardin shakes his head in negation, Katzaniel suddenly remembers something. "Wait, Scarlot mentioned a scroll that would tell us more. You've got that, right?"

 

Sardin reaches for his belt, then sighs and shakes his head again. He glances at Katz and realizes right away that she's got no place for a scroll. He makes the "book" sign again then a chopping motion. Katz doesn't need to see that one again. With no way of knowing if they're in the right place and no information on where to find the book, finding it would be nearly impossible. She groans, obviously torn. "Scarlot is going to kill us if we return without that book. If we caused this much commotion coming into this world, perhaps the others did too. Let's get to the nearest inn and see if we can't overhear something about them." Katzaniel effortlessly shifts into a large tomcat, black and orange with a white patch on the tail for easy identification.

[Katzaniel]

"Sir?" says the underling, looking timidly at his prince. He was weak and a fool, and if Ra'laerin had been longer in power and had had more followers, this meek boy would die for his arrogance, to address his superior - the superior - in that way.

 

He settles for a tongue lashing. "Yes, I am listening, boy! But you have no right to stop your report and inquire that of me. You will finish, and you will not say another word to me that is not part of your report. And you will go to the Chief tonight and request a punishment. Do not be too lenient on yourself, as I will know." Well, perhaps he did not settle for a tongue lashing. That particular servant had had it coming for a long time, anyway.

 

Ra'laerin sits on a gold-plated throne, ruby jewels set strategically upon it. It is not comfortable, but none of the others can be allowed to see softness. He comes as close to lounging on it as majesty allows - but not the other way around, as a lesser prince might have done. The report is the most boring part of his day, but a necessary evil. He waits patiently as the now red-faced vampire child in front of him stutters to a close, nearly trips over himself bowing, and skitters out the room. Then he stands and watches in satisfaction as the others in the room scramble to get up. At least they show the respect due him. Well they should, as most of them helped put him here only a few months ago. Especially Gorant, whom Ra'laering had appointed Chief. A good man, trustworthy. He alone could be forgiven any disrespect, but he never showed any.

 

"As I'm sure you all heard the boy say, two separate incidents occurred this week of humans nearly discovering this refuge. This state of affairs cannot remain. Have the guards doubled." Of course he knows that they can ill afford to double the number of men on guard duty, but it is all political manouevering. Be harsh at first and they will learn to respect you. Later, be gentle and they will grow to like you. Ra'laerin would give it a day or two and then release most of them. Of course there was a risk that some would think he was admitting a mistake, but risk was politics.

 

The newly-crowned Treme prince surveys his Throne Room as he lets the words sink in. Then he continues, letting his voice take a tone that will carry all the way to the decorative fountain tricking at the far end of the room. "Eight days ago I was brought word that the snivelling coward that is my predecessor was still alive." Ra'laerin spits out the word in distaste and continues. "Apparently he escaped, and apparently he had been in hiding for over two months before we discovered this grievous oversight. That is bad enough. Today I find out that he is still alive. How can he be eluding us? The Royal E'tai-old have failed us, and you, my E'hon-iat, must carry the burden." The prince uses the formal names of his guard and his elite force in order to get their attention, but he knows that that is not enough. He cannot afford to let the other vampire live and plot. "Bring him down within the next eight days, or one of you will be demoted." Ra'laerin sincerely wishes that it will not come to this, because in addition to sorely needing his worst enemy dead, he does not want to also begin throwing away his closest support group. But demotion is the worst threat he can make to them, and surely Fer-tas will not be able to avoid the now highly motivated E'hon-iat for long.

 

Ra'laerin moves now to leave. He will let them ponder that while he gets some rest. As he nears the door, however, the weak boy - the one who had talked back to him - pushes them open and runs headlong into the prince. Opening his mouth to degrade the foolish child, Ra'laerin stops as the boy folds himself almost in thirds in the most defensive bow he had ever seen, then fearfully announces his purpose. "Terrible news, Your Majesty." Opening his mouth again and closing it, the prince is glad that he is standing so that no one can see him. He considers telling his underling to stand up, but decides that he cannot handle that just yet. The news must be terrible indeed to cause the servant to come back into this room just minutes after angering his prince, and obviously before having served his penance. "Speak," he finally manages to say. He has nearly emptied his resources for dealing with bad news. He feverishly begins thinking where he can tap more manpower to handle whatever catatrophe has now arisen.

 

"A half-human, half-cat creature and what appears to be a human have apparently magically arrived downtown. We don't know the details of their appearance, only that they caused a major commotion. Five humans were witnesses, and the two were apparently heard saying the word 'Treme'." The boy said all of this from his crouching position, kneeling with his head on the floor and his hands both balancing and protecting himself. Ra'laerin wonders idly who sent the poor fellow to make this announcement, then wonders again, angrily. Someone who had seen this firsthand, yet could not face his own Prince to tell him? Perhaps someone who simply knew they had to get back to important duties, while this boy had nothing else to do. At any rate, no time for that.

 

"They know of the vampires, even worse they know specifically of the Treme, and they are bringing attention to themselves. A poor combination." Turning to a man from his elite force, he orders that two guards be taken off duty and told to find and interogate the human witnesses. They could use the blood magic to erase their memories or simply kill the humans at their own discretion, but they must do it fast. The E'hon-iat runs out of the room to give the orders. They would know to find whomever had initially brought the news, and hopefully before sundown the humans would be dealt with. The other two creatures, though, were a major problem. "Do we know the current location of the intruders?" barked Ra'laerin to the messenger.

 

"Yes, sir!" For the first time since entering the room, he looks up. "What should I do, sir?"

 

"You? Nothing aside from what you were already told. Leave us now." He waits until his instructions are followed, then turns to his force. Mentally tallying their strengths and his other sources, he makes a decision. Of twenty E'hon-iat and some hundred E'tai-old, he needs as much as can be spared from the other urgent tasks. It is terrible that this happened today, adding to all his other concerns, but mysterious and magical travellers who speak of the Treme in front of humans... it is almost worse than the fact that Fer-tas is not yet dead. "Three of you," he says. "Twenty guards if you can find that many. Danger piles up on us. We will not fail."

 

The vampires in the room repeat in unison his last words. It is a mantra of the Treme. One or two do not seem to believe it, though, and Ra'laerin takes note of which and promptly turns on his heels and leaves the room. So much to reflect on, so much to do. And he must not fail.

 

---------------------------------------------

 

Katzaniel and Sardin, having reached a consensus of action, head out of the alley. The tigertaur, in tomcat form, silently reflects on her new partner. Extraordinarily quiet, she would have assumed him incapable of speaking except that he had sworn aloud earlier. Well, if he wanted to communicate with sign language, so be it. She wouldn't let the lack of speech between them bother her. Padding along beside him, she thinks forward. Where to find a suitable inn or tavern, and how to fit in there?

 

Those thoughts, however, are forcibly interupted by the arrival of the vampires. They appear human, but are dressed in some sort of uniform, and are sneering. Of the two dozen, three or four are baring fangs. Sardin assesses them while Katzaniel, unable to express herself any other way, allows the fur on her back to stand up. These guys are obviously here for the two of them, and they obviously mean to kill first and ask later. Barely even thinking about it, Katzaniel jumps forward, shifting to a more dangerous form in midair. She opts for her favourite, a tiger, choosing thick muscles over flexibility or speed, and letting instinct take hold.

 

Katzaniel barely notices Sardin in the ensuing fight, except to avoid hitting him. She is dimly aware that he is using magic and that it seems to be working, as the number of vampires is falling faster than her kills can account for. She quickly finds that the creatures are tougher than she expected, requiring a lot of ripped flesh and torn ligaments before slowing down. She also gets hit more often than she is used to, but ignores the pain, joyously clawing at one and then another of the enemies. It had been some time since she'd had hunting this good.

 

The fight, for the tigertaur, is a mess of limbs and brief images. The face of one vampire, slashed wide open, as he falls backward, his scream frozen in the moment of death. Sardin dashing in and cutting down two at once just at her left, his face stony and dangerous. Another of the Tremes, obviously higher ranking, interupted in the middle of casting some spell, intestines spilling from one of her attacks, fear and anger fixed forever on his features. Sand flying everywhere as Sardin appears from its midst and slices at one, who grabs at his throat and falls, his head lopsidedly rolling away. And then, irrevocably, the victorious grin of the Treme who delivers her death blow. Blinding pain shoots through her and she realizes that he has used something like the weapon that the man in the carriage had had. Magically enhanced, probably. It explodes inside of her and she can feel nothing but the urgency of the wound, see nothing but his grinning face, dispicable and doomed. She would get better, somehow she would survive, and she would track him down and kill him. That face is unforgettable. But the pain is domineering, and she does forget. In the instant that is forever, Katzaniel forgets the image, forgets the fight, forgets the mission, forgets everything. There is only the agony that defines her very being.

 

She lets go.

[Katzaniel]

Sardin sees the vampire takes aim, but is unable to fight his way past the three others blocking his way. He shouts a warning, but the words tear from his throat a moment too late. He watches Katzaniel slump and then fall, still unable to get to her. From a distance, all he can do is slow the process down, but if he can get to her, he knows, he might be able to provide some real healing.

 

The enemies are reinvigourated from the defeat of the great tiger, but they have dwindled greatly in number since the start of the attack. Sardin slashes and dodges furiously, trying desperately to end the fight in time. Eventually, though, he feels Katzaniel's life-force slip away. Heart pounding in anger and frustration, Sardin nearly lets himself get hit before he starts to concentrate once more on the fight.

 

Finally it is down to himself and one remaining vampire. Fitting, somehow, that it should be the one who had shot Katzaniel. He was obviously an officer of some sort; a darker suit, a higher neckline, three black stripes on his forearm. And a satisfied sneer. He aims his gun and starts to speak, but Sardin doesn't want to give him the chance to shoot any more than he wants to hear what the vampire has to say. He lets himself become a swirl of sand, then reforms a little to the side, striking neatly with his blade to lop of the man's head. The glances around, once, quickly, to make sure none of the others is moving. Then he turns to his fallen companion.

 

While he had been fighting, he sees, the body had morphed into that of a man. The same man, he sees, who had often appeared as Katzaniel's upper half. Skin dark, hair short and tightly curled, even in death he grasps a spear. He is wearing nothing but a loincloth and a necklace made of teeth. Sardin wonders briefly what sort of history had given this man the tigertaur shape and brought him back to a human in death, but he knows there is little time for such concerns. He needs something from the body - he always takes something from the body - so he grabs one of the teeth from around the man's neck, and fits it into his belt.

 

---------------------------------------------

For a long time the body lies there. It does not move, as nothing in the alley moves. But inside, a titanic struggle is taking place.

 

A sliver of being is questing for understanding, trying to sift through the confusion and memories that are nearly overwhelming it. The first battle is the simple fact that existence continues after it should not have; the utter certaintly that a deathwound had just been suffered, and yet life is still going on. That small spark fails to understand why, but it does not drop back into the void. That is the first victory.

 

The second is in not giving way to the surge of memory. There is precious little to comprehend, only a series of moments that does not seem to string together. A hot, sweaty grapple with a menacing tiger. Death, painful and horrible. But not death. It remembers too a battle, very much like this one, between two sparks of life. The memory of failing, receding, waiting. And now, suddenly, being brought forward again. It is probably the memory of that first battle of wills that allows the sliver to fight and win this one. Consciousness is slipping away, but that had happened once before, and it, without really knowing what it is, knows that it doesn't want to recede again.

 

And so the second battle, a spark against the nothingness, is won. Deep within thought, a subtle change takes place. This is when the ancient magic completes its cycle by enacting the change on the physical realm: the dead body shifts, for one last time. Very slowly, it changes into a form it had not had for centuries. A dark-skinned man emerges in the tigertaur's place.

 

The third battle is that for control. There were ways of controlling one's muscles, long ago forgotten. The silent struggle continues, and, long after Sardin has left the alley, finally the man opens his eyes. The sudden rush of sight almost overwhelms him again, but victory is becoming a habit now. Strength is returning, and this bit of life has come past the point of return. Whether he wants it or not, the witch doctor of old has managed to survive the bullet that killed the one he fought so many years before.

 

He doesn't remember immediately, though. Or rather he doesn't sort out the meaning of the memories so quickly. He is confused, remembering only fragments of the physical fight that nearly killed them both, the magic that somehow caused them to share the same body, and the fight of wills for control of that body, which Katzaniel had won. He remembers nearly nothing of the next centuries, up to the moment when he felt the tiger's lifeforce fade away.

 

Exercising his new-seeming abilities, he sits up. His presence in the alley and the bodies of the many vampires causes him to remember the very recent past: The fight with the Treme. There was a man at his side, then. Wasn't there? The thought slips away as the witch doctor suddenly sorts out those earliest memories. He had been a man, once. He had lived in a village, using magic to heal the villagers, until the tiger had begun raiding their livestock at night. But his memories were faded, incomplete. What had his name been, then?

 

He struggles to recall that detail, but can't. As he looks at the bodies littering the alley, however, he does begin to remember more about the years between then and now. In his mind's eye he sees Katzaniel when she decides to take on that name. He sees her applying for membership at the Pen Keep. He sees her in Scarlot's office, and he sees her with Sardin as they are sent on this quest. That must be the man, then. The witch doctor sits in the abandoned alley for a long time trying to fit together these pieces of memory.

 

Finally he decides he must act. First, though, he needs a name. He is not Katzaniel anymore, rest her soul. Perhaps a derivative of that, though. He will go by the name of Aniel. Standing up, Aniel wobbles a bit. Control is not complete, yet. He experiments a bit: taking a step, lifting his arm, moving his head. He masters those actions, then takes it farther. Soon he is walking around quite normally. But now what? Deciding to act is not a decision on how to act!

 

His choice is taken from him as he hears a sound on the other side of the alley. Glancing around and thanking Ya'rr, the god whose name inserts itself into his head, that he had had time to regain control of his muscles, Aniel ducks behind a garbage bin just moments before three men come in sight.

Edited December 13, 2005 by Katzaniel

[Katzaniel]

Aniel's breath sounds loud in his ears as the men enter the alley. He closes his mouth, discovers that he can breath through his nose, and then ponders the potential for quieting the beating of his heart. Odd, how I'm remembering things. Breathing should be natural - I must already have been doing it - and yet I had to think about before I realized I could breath through either mouth or nose. He looks at his hands, awed by the spiderweb of fine lines running down them. I may move my limbs, even walk, but my own skin is foreign to me. I swear by my god, but remember nothing beyond his name. And then I can't even remember my own name. The witch-doctor's reverie is broken by the voices of the newly arrived group.

 

"Damn. Guess we gotta deal with the bodies, then."

 

"Wonder how they died? Those freaks must be tougher than they sounded - and Ra'laerin won't exactly be pleased. Looks like the whole troupe didn't even manage to bring down one of them."

 

"I suppose we'll have to be the ones to bring the news to him."

 

"Yes, Xoam, and the sooner the better! Ma-kir'n, cast a distintegrate spell on the corpses. Since that takes a while to complete, Xoam, gather up anything that identifies these as Treme. I'll take care of the keep-away."

 

"Yessir."

 

The next sounds are footfalls, though thankfully none close to the garbage bin, and melodic muttering. Twice Aniel is alarmed by the sound of a dagger being unsheathed, but none of the vampires seems to have any idea that he is there, and shortly after a grey mist fills the air around him, Aniel can hear them leaving.

 

He waits a moment and then darts out. Instinct tells him that he needs to get a tooth from one of the bodies. I have magic that can use that tooth for something, he thinks, I suppose that's why I wear a necklace of teeth. I wonder what I do with them? He kneels by one and tugs, cursing by the name of Ya'rr that it is so difficult, but securing one nevertheless. He casts about for something on the clothing that might allow himself to pass as a vampire if need be, but Xoam had done his task well. There were no badges, no identification at all. To the casual passerby, each of the corpses could just as easily have been human. He glances down at his own body - and realizes for the first time that he is wearing nothing but a loincloth. Well, normal human clothing would serve him just as well, then. He quickly strips the corpse and dresses.

 

By that time, the keep-away spell is starting to have an effect, and Aniel is feeling the inexplicable urge to leave the area. He knows why the urge assails him, but it seems like a good idea anyway. And he has moved relatively fast - perhaps it isn't too late to see which way the vampires have gone, and follow them. It may be useful to know the location of their hideout. Shaking his head clear of the smoke that is thickening around his head, Aniel trots out into the street.

 

Unfortunately, he trots right into the view of three men who, after observing their expressions, he determines to be the three vampires that had just left. He realizes that they must have waited to make sure their spell was working. Trying not to show that anything is up, he looks away and continues forward. Within a moment they are crowding him, though, one with a hand on his shoulder and another clasping his wrist, and all so close that he has no room to maneouver.

 

"And who might you be?" one of them sneers. "The human? Why are you still here, and where's your friend?"

 

"What do you mean?" Aniel stutters, unsure how to respond.

 

"Oh, don't be a fool. You'll only make this more difficult for yourself." The hand around his wrist tightens, and Aniel winces with the pain. He cries out, pain of any sort seeming a new sensation.

 

The vampires exchange glances, and the witch-doctor finds himself being steered into a second alleyway. He tries to resist, even tries crying out again, but most of the passersby ignore him. Only once glances toward the group, and him furtively, before deciding not to interfere, and scurrying away.

 

Aniel is thrown to the ground. Immediately, one of the men crouches and ties his hands behind his back, then forces him down again and kneels on his chest. Looking into the man's thin black mustache and beady brown eyes, Aniel finds breath hard to come by, and chokes out the words, "What do you want with me?" It is an honest enough question, for even if were willing to concede to them that he was one of the "freaks" that they had mentioned, he still didn't know what they were after.

 

The mustached one shrugs. "Information. Since you're obviously going to be difficult about this, you can start with why you were in that alley."

 

"I was drinking," Aniel starts to say, but the weight on his chest is bearing down. He can feel his bound hands digging into his back, and the cords on his wrists cutting into his skin. He gasps a breath.

 

"In an alley full of corpses?"

 

"I ... I didn't...." A slap across the face brings a streak of darkness across his vision. More pain.

 

"Answer me, goddammit! Who are you?"

 

"I...." The darkness comes again, this time bringing silver dots, and a second streak, white inside of black. The vampire on his chest punches Aniel heavily on the cheek. Breath... Need to breathe.... What is all this searing pain? He coughs once more and passes out.

Edited September 17, 2007 by Katzaniel
Consistency (I had said Aniel was naked, but earlier I said he was wearing a loincloth)

[Katzaniel]

OOC: Careful - this is my second post in close proximity. If you haven't read this for a while, make sure to read the above post first.

 

IC:

 

The deposed prince grows frustrated. He still has a great many contacts, and though they can describe these two strange people and their magical appearance in the city in detail, none of them can tell him anything of real importance about them. They apparently have some connection with his former band - but to what "Treme guy and his book" could they have been referring?

 

Fer-tas is not one to grapple long with indecision. He will locate them himself, and he will question them. Perhaps they can be of mutual use to each other. And, if not, he can not be put far behind his current situation. The longer he stays in hiding, scared to face Ra'laerin, the less likely his claim will have merit. He has to do something.

 

The vampire draws his blade, and without hesitation uses it to open a vein in his palm. He lets the blood drip into a smooth wooden bowl before closing his fist and sheathing the dagger again. With his other hand, he swishes the blood around, then fixes the picture of his quarry in his mind, and chants the words that will show them to him....

 

 

---------------------------------------------

 

Sardin had felt Katzaniel's life-force slip away, the same way he had felt the loss of each of the nomads that had been under his protection. The near-Shaman cannot properly feel sorrow, for he was not made to feel, but he is chafed by his inability once more to protect one whom he had sworn to protect. He is disinclined to worry about the book that they'd been sent to retrieve, because obviously something had gone wrong, probably the others could handle it on their own, and Scarlot would expect him to return... but how? Should he even go back? Sardin continues to feel the urge to protect, and so he does feel compelled to find his way back to the Pen. At the very least, its members should be made aware that they have lost one of their friends, a strong fighter and a guildleader as well. Furthermore, as a member of the Alliance of Vagabonds and Vanguards, Sardin can do a lot more good back there than here. And so he wanders the streets, looking for some clue that might lead him back home.

 

 

---------------------------------------------

 

There. That building was the inn owned by Mikil, a Treme still loyal to himself. Fer-tas grabs his cell phone and asks his friend to detain the shaman. It isn't hard to describe the cloth and leather in which the man is dressed, and he gives his current speed and location as well. Within moments he is watching Mikil pull Sardin aside. Luckily, his only response is a nod before following the vampire into the inn. Hopefully the man will continue to co-operate as much.

 

As Fer-tas hastens to his car, he allows himself to wonder why his magic can detect only one of the strangers. What has happened to the morph? If he has died, then his body should have appeared. So Fer-tas concludes that either the half-man has gone back to his own world, or is somehow being protected from his spell.

 

When he arrived at the inn, Mikil gladly handed over his charge and lent them a room. "Creepy bugger," he whispered to his liege, "Won't say a word to me. I wish you luck in getting some use of him."

 

Silent, was he? Fer-tas ponders that, includes it in his calculations of how best to approach the man. He is clearly not unco-operative, as he follows with a mild curiosity on his face, and sits down in the chair that Fer-tas offers him.

 

"As I hope you can see, friend, I mean you no harm. I only have hope that we can help each other. Perhaps, toward that end, you can tell me something of what you want from the Treme?"

 

Sardin shakes his head, sadness registering on his face. He holds up two fingers, then uses his other hand to show one being knocked down. With the remaining finger, he points at himself. Then he shrugs, shakes his head again, and makes a gesture with his thumb pointing over his shoulder.

 

"Your friend is gone? Back home?"

 

The tan-clad man shakes his head again, and repeats the cutting-down signal.

 

"Dead?" A nod. "No, not dead, my friend. If he were dead, then the magic that had shown you to me would have shown me his body."

 

Sardin's brow furrows. He shakes his head adamantly. Dead, he is saying. I know that he's dead. He waits a moment, then repeats the thumb sign. I just want to go home.

 

"How? A fight with the Treme?" Another nod. "They have magic, you know. Perhaps they did something to make you think your friend was killed?"

 

Less certainty. Fer-tas ploughs in. "They must have captured him, then. Warded him. You want him back, right?"

 

Of course. Uncertain, still - I wonder why he's so sure that he's dead? - but concession. Doubt clouded Fer-tas for a moment. Perhaps he had done the spell wrong? Perhaps his contact had improperly described the morph, making it impossible for him to find him? Perhaps the man was dead.

 

"Look, I don't know what you know. And I guess I can't guarantee that your friend is alive. Maybe they only warded the body. Maybe my spell went amiss. But I think there's a good chance that he is ... and even if not, I can still help you. You want to get back to your world, right?" Agreement. "I have magic that can accomplish that. If I tell you where the Treme hideout is, will you go there for me? Find out some information if you can? Get you friend, if he's still alive. And then return to me, and I'll send you home."

 

Hesitation, then a final nod. Fer-tas leans closer and details his desires to the stranger. He can only hope that he won't be betrayed.

 

Edit: Tense.

Edited July 16, 2006 by Katzaniel

[Katzaniel]

Aniel is wakened by a light cough. Groggily, he opens his eyes. It takes a moment to register his surroundings: he is laid out on a bed of some sort, propped up; he is in a small room, separated from the door by a guard, hunched over on an uncomfortable-looking chair, reading a book. Aniel deduces that it was the guard, apparently a Treme, who had coughed, but he is not paying any particular attention to his prisoner; apparently, he has not realized that Aniel is awake, but any movement would surely lose him that advantage.

 

The witch-doctor continues looking around, careful not to move his head too much or too quickly. There isn't really anything else useful: no windows, nothing within reach that could be used as a weapon. His only advantage is the partial inattention of the guard. That, and a vampire tooth tucked into his pocket. He can feel the teeth from his necklace resting under the neck of the coat he wears, so it seems that they didn't search him too carefully. He closes his eyes and grimaces, though, failing to remember how these teeth had served him in the past.

 

With nothing else to do, Aniel lays his head back, then closes his eyes a second time. Think! he admonishes himself, then allows his thoughts to wander. The only clear recollection of himself that he has is the fight in which Katzaniel brought his regular life to an end. The fight in which he had turned himself into a lion to fight the tiger that had been raiding their village. Without quite understanding it, he realized that it must have been his shape-shifting magic that had somehow put himself into the tiger's body - deep inside, for his consciousness had usually been overridden by Katzaniel's. Nevertheless... that fight... it was the one example he had of his prior abilities. He knows from that fight that he can change into the shape of an animal. Does the spell need any material components? Could he perform it here? Would it do him any good? Does it have anything to do with the teeth?

 

As he concentrates on those thoughts, the solution slowly comes back to him. Most of his spells do need material components, he thinks, but the only thing he needs for this one is the tooth. Probably the tooth from an animal that he has killed by his own hands, or something like that. So - does a vampire count as an animal? Did he kill this one - or did Katzaniel? Would it count if it had been her? Aniel mentally shakes himself. He doesn't even know whether that's the exact stipulation - it just seems sort of right. He doesn't even know for certain whether he still has the vampire's tooth - moving his hand to check might alert the guard. But he does suddenly remember the way in which he must rub the tooth, the words that he must mouth in order to invoke the spell. It bothers him that he doesn't know what the words mean, but somehow Aniel is quite confident that he is remembering the words properly.

 

And so he decides on a course of action. Slowly, painfully slowly, he begins to inch his hand toward his pocket. Only to be stopped, after a moment, by a tug around his wrist - he's been handcuffed to the bed. Dammit. Perhaps his other hand... slowly... slowly... he meets no resistance. The guard turns a page; he freezes, then starts moving again. It is critical that the guard doesn't look up and realize that he's awake until he's ready.

 

Finally Aniel gets his left hand to his right pocket and clutches the tooth. Good - he won't have to use his back-up plan of turning into a different animal and mauling the guard. At least, not yet.

 

In another moment Aniel is ready. He pretends to be waking up, to be trying to stretch. "Wha-?" he shakes his handcuffed hand. "What is the meaning of this?" The guard is already on his feet. "Don't try to escape!" he warns.

 

"Why should I - but what should I escape from? Why am I being guarded? Why am I tied down?"

 

"Wait a - To'Kree?" the guard suddenly leans closer, studying Aniel's face. "But they told me they had a human. A human who had been hiding in the alley. And that they cleaned up the corpses. How did you survive?" The witch-doctor suddenly realizes that he hasn't changed into just any vampire, but rather the specific vampire whose tooth he stole. That's okay, he thinks, in fact, better. I can still use same the story, and he's more likely to believe it because now he recognizes me - knows me as one of the guys they sent to that alley. I only have to hope that they didn't mention to him that they found this guy's body - maybe even went back and found that I'd stolen his clothes....

 

"Oh - that. They were beating us so badly, I tried to escape from the fight. I needed to report back, after all." He tried to make himself sound pleading there, like someone who had deserted, but had found an excuse for his own actions, and was trying to convince someone that he was acting for the best. "I hid behind a dumpster," Aniel went on, when the guard didn't answer immediately, "and I even went so far as to change myself into a human in order to be disguised. But after they won, they found me. I think that my disguise caused them to only knock me out instead of killing me. Anyway, when I came to, I left the alley - only to discover our friends waiting outside it. But I was still pretty disoriented. I must have seemed suspicious." Perhaps if he asks me about having been stripped, I can say that I was embarrassed to mention that part. That might not seem so strange.

 

Aniel watches the guard thinking about his story. His only real concern is that he knows nothing about the magic it would take for a Treme to turn himself into a vampire. Is that something that a common soldier would know, or use? Also, this guard seems to know the vampire that he has become. Hopefully he won't start asking specific questions. To forstall that, and because it seems natural anyway, Aniel shakes the handcuff again. "Anyway, can you get me out of these? We should probably explain to the others, get this sorted out as soon as possible."

 

The guard shakes himself. "Of course, To'Kree. I was supposed to bring you to see Gorant when you awoke, anyway. He'll want to question you directly either way I guess... but you don't have to wear those demeaning hand-cuffs." As he leans forward and unlocks them, Aniel mentally lets out a long sigh of relief.

 

This is the point in the plan where he needs to think fast, though. Aniel does not want to be brought in front of anyone else, have his story judged again and more thoroughly, and then - what? Be sent back back into the soldier's ranks, at best. Now that he is standing and the guard trusts him, he should be able to find a way to knock him out without raising the alarm or making a mess, and then get the hell out of there. That's all that really matters. And once in the hallways, a man who looks like a vampire should be able to escape easily enough. So as they turn around to go out the door, the guard already talking cheerfully about how clever To'Kree had been to turn himself into a human, Aniel lingers behind. The chair - bulky. The book - too light. He could hand-cuff the man, but what would stop him from shouting? He could try to suffocate him with the pillow, but he doesn't know if he is the stronger. He runs out of time for thinking when the guard re-enters the room. "To'Kree? What are you doing?" Hoping for the best, and without even really knowing what he is doing, he punches the vampire in the face. Luckily, he goes down immediately.

 

Aniel acts quickly, not knowing how long he has. He hand-cuffs the unconscious guard to the bed and without stopping for another moment, steps into the hall.

Edited October 2, 2007 by Katzaniel
1) Minor clarification 2) He's being brought to Gorant, not Fer-tas.... pretty serious mistake there.... 3) Tense. Stupid tense. I can never make a whole post without reverting to past tense.

[Katzaniel]

Aniel confidently steps into the hall, and immediately wishes he hadn't. Three vampires are coming toward him. Too late now - he closes the door behind him, and heads toward them, still emanating confidence. Inside, he is boiling with fear, and casting desperately about for some sign of the way out. As he comes closer to the other men, they begin to smile and surround him. "To'Kree, man, we've been looking for you." says one, while another puts his hand on Aniel's shoulder. Panic wells - surely this is all an act? They must know that this To-Kree is dead, must have surmised some deceit. But they seem genuine, and Aniel begins to think, Well, why must they know? And if they don't, the course of least danger is to go along with them. And if they do, then running away only seals my fate at this point. And so he lets them lead him into a side room.

 

They urge him to sit down, and one closes the door behind them as the others sprawl themselves into various couches around the small room. Suddenly the atmosphere becomes completely serious. But before Aniel can react, the vampire returning from the door begins to speak. "To'Kree, we have been contacted by Fer-tas. He has found himself a powerful magical ally who is coming here to help us. He wants us to gather everyone that we know to be on our side, and inform them that we're going to force the fight today."

 

So these men are involved in some sort of conspiracy with the man that I am pretending to be, Aniel realizes. Which is good for as long as he can keep up the illusion that he knows what they're talking about.

 

"So Fer-tas is on his way?" he ventures.

 

"He will follow shortly after this new friend. Apparently the guy doesn't talk much, but we're not to be put off by his silence. After we've warned everyone, we need to work with this guy to plan the fight. Of course, Fer-tas needs to confront the imposter alone, so we only need to figure out how to get him there and make sure everyone else sees."

 

"Won't anyone else interfere?" queries Aniel, for whom something is slowly fitting into place. The silent guy - can this be Sardin? Apparently the current Tremere ruler has taken his position from this Fer-tas guy, and his three "friends" are conspiring to put things back the way they had been.

 

"Of course not. Supporters of Ra'learin or Fer-tas, they know as well as we do that once the two face off, we can't touch them. The stronger must rule."

 

"Wait... this guy who's helping us... how do we really know what he wants? If he's so powerful, will he be happy just as an advisor?"

 

It is a dangerous thing to say, Aniel knows, but he needs to know: is this Sardin, and if so, why is he helping? Is it because he has given Katzaniel up for dead and wants to fit himself into this society, or is it because Fer-tas has offered to somehow send him home? With a pang he realizes that either way, Sardin has probably given him up for dead - but with some incredible luck, is on his way here anyway. If he's found a way to get home, then Aniel can go with him.

 

"The only thing we know about that is that this guy isn't sticking around. His payment for helping us is that Fer-tas is helping him to do something else in return, and he won't be staying in the city. But really, if Fer-tas trusts him, that's good enough for me."

 

"Of course. I just... yes, I'm sorry, of course you're right."

 

"Okay, well, let's get cracking then. It took us so long to find you that this guy might be here soon, and we still have to talk to everyone else."

 

They all stand up. "Wait," says Aniel, also rising. "Why don't I wait outside for our new friend, in case he gets here before we're done?"

 

"If you do that, he certainly will."

 

"Yes, but if no one is waiting, then what will he do? Least of everything we want him running into Ra'learin or one of his supporters. I can keep him safe, and start the process of communicating with him."

 

A brief pause, and then a decisive nod. The three file out of the room, discussing who should head in which direction. Aniel follows and then, surmising that they are heading deeper into the building, goes the other way.

 

---------------------------------------------

Sardin follows the vampire that meets him outside the Tremere stronghold. The man glances quickly either way, and then signals him and darts forward. They don't go far before he is being ushered inside a small room.

 

"Sardin!" the man exults, facing him after closing the door. "I know I look like one of them, but I'm not. You must think I'm dead... well, Katzaniel is dead... I'm not saying this very well. Sardin, I am the witch-doctor that was inhabiting Katzaniel's body. She died, but somehow I did not. I'm using my magic to take the form of this vampire. Wait - let me show you."

 

Sardin is shocked, but realizes that what the man says could well be true. There were two life-forces in Katzaniel's body, and he only felt one of them slip away. Shock gives way to joy, and he watches the vampire turn into the man who had always been the face to Katzaniel's tigertaur form, and then back into a vampire. He grasps the man's hand, sorrowful still for Katzaniel, but happy that at least part of her has survived. He starts to gesture, wanting to tell everything that he and Fer-tas have decided, wanting to share that he has found a way back to the Pen. The man nods quickly, though, quieting him.

 

"I know already that you are here to help Fer-tas regain his place among the Tremere. I also know that Fer-tas is helping you do something in return - has Fer-tas found a way for us to go home, then?"

 

Yes, nods Sardin, then looks questioningly. How do you know?

 

"Luckily, I fell in with the vampires planning this rebellion. They will be here soon. Unless there is more that you need to tell me, we may as well begin." A pause, a nod, and he plunges forward. "I may be able to help in some small way. Here's what I remember of my powers so far...."