The Dragon's Trial [ attn: William, Vee, Bertram ]

[Joey]

When the throes of Rotschreck rise it is those who get in the way of a Cainite who have the most to lose. Bertram joins the shadowy arms that come to hold the giant in place. Stands alongside a similarly implacable and potent Lasombra and even the sire who comes to embrace the childe until its fear has passed. And in that and the words said to the fledgling fiend to help conquer its fear he may have made steps toward redeeming himself in the eyes of some.

Not all, but some.

Redemption does not seem to be Bertram's goal. He does not like anyone. That is not what is surprising.

It is the look on Bertram's face. A barely-abiding loathing for all of this. A contempt peppered with the air of confidence that to some might be malodorous superiority. One might understand what plays out thanks to this expression. He casts a critical eye on aspects of this rite, this Cardinal, even this Sect.

The fact that Ioana de Moieciu was so easily able to pluck thoughts and memories from the mind of William may indicates he should try to control such wondering and expansive internal diatribes on her Sect's ideology. Of course that may come down to an exercise in futility on par with not thinking about purple and pink polka-dotted elephants - but in either case he seems able to ignore the crustaceon-like fiend in the room.

This Noddist den mother to the Sabbat may be using them as playthings to ease the boredom of centuries, or even valuable (if expendable) tools in her own gambit. But if there is any evidence as to that it is all in Bertram's head. It seems to be the place where the Brujah dwells most comfortably. He sees this all for what it is. Or at least what he believes it to be and that is enough. If the elder Tzimisce who holds out that bone cup is some sadistic puppet master searching for entertainment in all this, though, it does not show in the solemnity and devotion she brings to her recitation of the words and passions of their vampiric forebearer. Nor the general pleasure she seems to take in their presence in her mountainous abode.

The Brujah looks to the Vaulderie as a necessary evil, something he loathes to subject himself to, but is willing to partake in for his own benefit. It is a sentiment easily surmised from the blankness of his face.

Sadly there is no hint in their Cardinal's demeanor that she might try to exclude Bertram from this most sacred rite. In face she probably wouldn't, to look at her, consider doing such a thing. Perhaps she wonders if he has had some change of heart. Maybe she thinks he will cast aside the differences raised by Vee and himself to assert his place as a member - it is true that a pack need not always agree and many vanguards were formed with less common ground. Either way it is not the Cardinal who refuses or invites any of them to step forward to add their vitae to the cup.

They do or they don't and when Bertram does?

He loafs about it. Seems as ready to back off as step forward. And for some seeing this ambivalence might make all the difference. Especially in a Sect, as Bertram sees it, so known for its fanaticism and the zealots that defend it. Vee's fanged words are what comes to keep him from it.

Flood, having already made his offering, leaves the androgynous fiend's threat as the only spoken indicator that the Brujah is not welcome. His form says otherwise though, rising up to his full and straightened height, the corner of his lip curling in a similar vitae-caked snarl that shows his contempt for the idea of commingling vitae with the Brujah.

Truth be told.

Well, let's talk about the truth.

It has many faces. One is Ioana's. One is Flood's. One is Vee's. One is William's, now honored with the allowance of an opinion when it comes to this, no matter how informed or uninformed it is. And yes, one is even Bertram's and if so many others can be blind to its true face? Well, one can guess how close his certainties on the way things are might be. They don't seem to waver, though, and if this is an act they seem to play their part very well.

As for Ioana's truth?

It is a display of the fiend's respect for the freedom of her fellow Sabbat even the Brujah might appreciate. Just as he does not have to find the pleasure (twisted or not is a matter of perspective) his peers do, they do not need to tolerate the intrusion they have so clearly characterized as such. She says nothing and leaves it to the Cainites of the budding pack to bar him from the rite that will solidify it.

Or at least it is a display the Brujah might have appreciated if he hadn't just been threatened for a second time by Vee in an affront joined by the Lasombra. It provokes the Beast within him and it is a matter of instinct how he will guide the roused and insulted predator within that screams for blood and satisfaction.

[ As Bertram is on Instinct instead of Self-Control and his rating in the stat is lower than the difficulty to resist frenzy he is going to go into a frenzy. He may spend a WP per round to control himself, but for at least one turn he's going to be frenzied. Rolls to guide or ride the frenzy through Instinct during this and subsequent turns are at a difficulty of 6. If this goes to initiative rolls we're going to have to handle that in a room. ]

[Umbralwind]

Vee's words hit him as he speaks to William, and he glances in the fiend's direction. "As a matter of fact, I do... Our beast is as much a part of our being as the blood that pumps through our veins. So, to answer your question, no I don't believe he can hear me, I know he can hear me." He says in response to the Tzimisce's question.

He had made no move towards the Chalice, he had made no effort in any way to reach for it, he hadn't done anything more than remain among them as things stood, doing his part in the restraining. In fact all he had done since William came free was stand still, waiting to see if the Chalice was to be passed his way, or not. However, the threat from Vee draws his attention and his eyes find Vee's own soon enough. "Sometimes threats require consequences..." His words were the last thing he could push past his lips before he saw only red.

The Sabbat was a means to an end for him, for many of the beasts who claim membership within it, it was little more than a reason to behave like a monster, but for Bertram it was a temporary servitude to ensure individual freedom later. In truth, he was as loyal to what the Sabbat claimed to be as anyone possibly could be, his ultimate desire was the right to live as he feels he should be free to live and is that not the core of the Sabbat's very foundation? Back before the days of Prisci and Packs, back in the days the Sabbat was known to the elders as the Anarch Revolt. Ceremony and ritual were not what drew the Brujah into the fold... It was strength, it was the reassurance that came behind knowing that you walked among a group of individuals who held similar ideas about the destruction of the Camarilla. The Sabbat was an Army which was actively bringing about the change that every Anarch at the core of his being wished to bring to the world to which he belonged, but lacked the unity and focus to affect that change. The Ritual of the Vaulderie might not mean as much to him as it's effects, for it was the Vaulderie which served as the central unifying ritual of fellowship that all recognized members of the sect shared. That sense of belonging, and unity despite differences was the thing that tied them together and set the Sabbat apart from the Anarchs.

His passion for the rituals of the Sabbat might not be as blind and unwavering as most. He might see the Sabbat as another mechanism for their elders to control the younger, less experienced, cainites, however the one thing he he has always been, if nothing else in the universe, is loyal to the sect to which he has belonged for longer than he was alive, and for most of the time he has called himself undead. So when Vee warns him away from the chalice, he can feel something inside him snap. A deep fury, an overwhelming urge that eats away the last vestiges of civility to reveal the beast that law behind his eyes. He had explained to Vee, only moments ago, that the Beast was a part of them, and when his beast rose to the surface it wasn't a creature filled with blind uncontrollable violent urges, it was one of focused fury, one which he had spent many years learning to meld into his very being. He, and his beast, were simply two faces of the same man at this point.

Vee had threatened him a second time now, the first time over a sense of affection for a thing of its creation, whether it was true adoration or simply a fondness any artist might hold for a painting or sculpture, it was at least a permissible reason to threaten someone, as a creature driven by pure selfishness he could understand it. This threat, however, had nothing to do with that. This time she was barring him from taking part in the most central ritual of the Sabbat, Vee wasn't just saying "I don't like you" or "Don't fuck with my Shit" in this case, Vee was saying "You are not Sabbat", and that was completely intolerable for a creature who has already spent decades establishing his loyalty to this sect.

The time for talk was over and the time to teach humility was finally here. His intention was simple, there was a fire, there was a Vee, fire+Vee = Entertainment, and... So long as the fiend Survived, perhaps a lesson, but Vee's survival wasn't what was important here, in fact right now he'd rather watch the fiend burn to a pile of ash. Vee had issued a direct threat, a challenge if you will, and this time he was calling the fiend's bluff. It mattered little to him if the others would step in on Vee's behalf, or if they would allow the matter to be settled between the two of them, because in the end there was only so much any member of the Sabbat could take before he snapped, and to deny his Frenzy would be to deny who he was, what he was, and everything this sect represented. His beast wasn't his enemy it was he dearest friend, the only one in the universe he knew he could always depend upon. For in the end, we were all in this for ourselves, and the beast was simply the other face of the self. The far less friendly one!

=======

Umbralwind @ 10:21PM
[Courage to Ride Frenzy! Cause... Might as well since you can right?]
Roll: 3 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 7) ( success x 1 ) VALID

Tithe @ 10:21PM
Ack, frenzy! Witnessed!

I accidentally typed courage when I meant instinct! They're both 3 so it ultimately doesn't matter which I rolled at this point!

Since I get to direct his action for at least 1 turn I'll just outright declare, he'll spend 1 bp into Potence to add 2 Auto successes to all Strength Related rolls this turn, and he will be attempting to Tackle Vee into the nearest flame.

If people wanna go to Initiatives we can! If people wanna try to hold Bertram down, they can do that too. I believe his strength is effectively at 7 at the moment, I am sure the group is capable of holding him down, if that is their wish, and we don't need to go into initiatives if that is their choice, I don't mind freeforming if they're just gonna restrain. However, if the intent is to kill him, not restrain, then I'd rather we went to Initiatives.

[Samael]

William, for his part, doesn't need to speak up and chooses not to. His Sire speaks for him in this instant and he's confident that, with Iaona knowing his every secret and Flood and Vee knowing him pretty damned well, they know his stance on the matter. That his glare toward the Brujah is all he offers is mostly because he's mentally exhausted and doesn't feel it worth the time to threaten. Flood has done so, Vee has done so. The giant simply dismisses.

But then come those words from Betram, of consequences. And that's when his head jerks back around. He sees Bertram do that very thing that William did before; Bertram goes red, his eyes locked on Vee. William's Vee. (Technically it is Vee's William, but does it really matter whose is whose at this moment? We think not.)

William has, since his embrace, shown his loyalty to only one on a regular basis. He offered information to Flood on a situation that involved the Lasombra, but because he knew Vee would want it. He worked with Bertram (more or less) because it was expected. Everything he'd done was because he protects his Sire, does his Sire's bidding. He may do them for more reasons now...namely, because he is Sabbat. But the genderless, fey creature who brought him from mortality into the lineage of the Tzimisce is still his first thought at the moment. And someone who stares at his Sire with that level of rage and fury?

Vee has a protector, and William gives an animalistic snarl, gets ready to charge the Brujah in order to intercept with a hand raised high into the air. Ladies and gentlemen, start your engines; someone may die, someone may not. Either way, this could get ugly.

[[Initiative may be wise. William is intending to intercept the tackle and may take offensive action, depending. He has a Strength of 6 atm and will spend two BP to push it higher for the turn.]]

[Joey]

There is a long road between a threat and a body falling limp and torpid, but it is traversed in leaps and bounds of violence. Bertram, Brujah antitribu, becomes the frenzy and takes the first move by sending his shoulder square into tall white willow that is Vee. The intention is plain. He means to throw the vampire into the fire its childe had just emerged whole from.

Perhaps if it had been a row of backhands, a rough and tumble assertion of dominance more expected amongst animals, it might have been left at the two of them settling it with blows. But it is something more serious and William is turned toward Bertram and ready to intercept. To protect his sire with all of himself in this moment.

"Stop, I will not have this mockery and affront to sacred Monomacy devolve into a dog pile," and when Ioana throws the weight of her will and vampiric prowess to bear behind that first word William has no choice but to obey and be halted in adding himself to the fray. No choice but to watch what plays out.

Flood never moves. Either he is fully confident in his soon-to-be-packmate's ability, interested to see how this plays out, or understands the gravity of Ioana's words. Either way he folds his arms over his chest and takes a step back. Green eyes are open wide in orange light of a raging fire. He bares his own teeth to watch keenly, waiting for a result that will settle this contest of will and power.

And so blows are exchanged. Bertram's shoulder crashes into Vee and the sound of a rib cage cracking, a fleshy dulled sound that resonates in the long-dormant lung cavities beneath the smack of body against body, comes. But the Tzimisce is not moved into that fire. The force of it is almost enough.

Almost is not enough.

Both manage to keep their footing and even the unbalancing nature of two opposing forces meeting seems to have little effect on the Vee's own blow.
The Tzimisce's hand swipes across. It cuts a swath of havoc across his chest, bone plate and cartilage and collar bones and even his rib cage bowing to create a sudden eruption of blood from his chest. Vee takes from him the most precious resource any vampire has, his vitae, when the fiend unsettles the fundament that makes up his enraged form. Leaves it almost broken in two.

For his part, and despite the sheer level of control he holds as he guides his frenzy, Bertram seems unwilling to vary his tactics much. Even less willing to yield despite his wounds. And as they are on the cusp of the flames this might have made sense.

But in this moment Vee is faster and the Brujah antitribu allows the next blow to come.

It is over when Vee is holding the vampire's spine. The second of that whiplike and articulated organ, a python of vertebrae dead in cold hands, to come loose in the Tzimisce's delicate digits that night. It may not seem as much, but this is a mercy. A show of the fiend's grace that leaves Bertram laid low, yes, but not Finally Dead. And Bertram falls face down to the ground, overcome by a serene and torpid calm administered by the one he was so ready to see a pile of ashes.

Vee, unlike Bertram, seems to understand that the Final Death outside the Ritus of Monomacy would be unsanctioned. Ioana has watched this all play out with a sneer of disgust following her admonishment of the proceedings. It lands on Bertram when the Brujah is finally brought down and disappears as she looks back up to the assembled Cainites.

"May Caine show as much mercy when He returns to his flock," she utters, still holding that cup.

Perhaps she had meant for more recitation of verses plucked from her assembled tatters and scrolls of the Book of Nod. But this seems like enough. This single sentence satisfies her. She passes the cup around again, once it has returned, for the pack to drink from.

None of Ioana's own vitae finds its way into the vessel. They have made this clear this will be a rite for their newly formed pack. Their first rite as True Sabbat bound to one another under the Blood. The Cardinal is happy to respect that.

Flood takes the cup and places his fangs on its lip. His mouth opens wide as he tips it back and drinks deeply from their commingled vitae. The Lasombra's eyes move from Vee to William as he does so.

[ Alright, combat was resolved last night. Thank you again to all of you for your patience and help in making it run so smoothly. At this point everyone should roll 1d10 for the other two Cainites participating in the Vaulderie to figure out Vinculum ratings. I would like to witness the rolls, but it is up to each individual player who else you share the results with. ]

[errin]

Vee told Bertram. Twice. They were not threats, not as Vee views such things, but warnings. If you do this thing, if you do something that threatens Vee or William, if you take one step closer...

And then Bertram took that step closer. He threatened to hurl Vee into the fire. Vee did not fall on the Brujah merely out of instinct - though there was that, when one finds a frenzied Brujah coming for their throat, one reacts accordingly. No, it wasn't only that. It wasn't only the meeting of a foe intent on causing harm. It was the fulfillment of a promise.

Bertram at first has the benefit of surprise on his side, he takes the Tzimisce by surprise, and Vee responds by keeping their feet and, still quite calmly, bending Bertram's rib cage with a touch. With the expenditure of more of Vee's powerful blood to fuel their veins, granting them speed and superior strength, that calm starts chipping away. The ethereal creature, nearly angelic in appearance, begins to look decidedly demonic as it grips the Brujah by the throat and

pulls

his spine free, just as they said they would do. For a moment, Vee stands over the fallen form of their foe, at the pool of vitae forming all around it, their own Beast snarling for replenishment, nourishment, just drink it drink it drink it! But Vee remains controlled and in control, reigns in that Beast and keeps it in check. Vee would not allow the Brujah's blood to taint the Vaulderie, they certainly weren't going to feast upon it now.

The hand that still holds the column of Bertram's spine lifts it, examines it with head tilted in apparent curiosity, the look on their face thoughtful. So he did have one after all. Without ceremony, Vee drops the length of bone by the body of their fallen wouldbe comrade, leaving it as they said for some kinder soul to rejoin it to his torpid form if they so choose. Vee takes a moment to straighten their blood-soaked clothes, and walks calmly over to rejoin William and Flood and Ioana.

When the cup of bone returns to Vee, the Tzimisce holds it reverently in both hands, eyes lifted to Ioana first, heeding the Cardinal's words, and remembering them, taking the first steps to learning this rite for the pack. Then, their own fangs drawn, the Tzimisce drinks deep of the commingled blood.