[ Thanks Niko! MO-MEN-TUM. It is important. Also gives me more to wrap this round with. ]
Flood has been respectfully quiet throughout this. As has Bertram.
A Lasombra as a representative of one of the ruling clans of the Sabbat, cutthroat politicians alongside the overlords and priests of the Tzimisce. A Brujah representative of another of the Sect's founders and of the first anarchs. A clan that makes up so much of the Sabbat ranks. Its strength of sometimes rebellious conviction and martial prowess.
Together it is their presence that connects this rite and trial before them to the Sect as a whole.
But they both seem understand, to an extent, that this part of the rite is between Tzimisce Sire and Tzimisce Childe and even Tzimisce Cardinal.
William is freed. Shaitan frees him and frees itself. The flames barely even manage to lick his heels as he bursts forth dripping gore.
The kine do not scream as much as they had when the rising fire first licked their flesh. No, that sundering of the wall of flesh under the siege engine, this newly forged Sabbat warrior, leaves them in shock and hanging from their shackles. They moan in pain for a long moment and in the next? Dead. Bleeding out and burning and then passed to rest in more peace than they had been offered in life. Or whatever twisted thing passes for it in this place.
The Cardinal looks to Vee and the Tzimisce acts. Presses that brand into the thin flesh of his forehead until the Beast and Shaitan and even William inside can feel the heat in the very bone of his skull. Leaving cold flesh hissing and steaming.
In the next moment she looks to Flood and Bertram. It is their turn to again join the rite that had been an affair of dragons and make it one of shadows and passion as well. As many as it will take to halt this giant as waning frenzy on to Rotschreck to again a reason for the Red Fear leaves him still raging and gnashing for escape.
Will the two arms of shadow the Lasombra summons in that heated moment be enough? Even the suited Lasombra moves forward to hold the newly born True Sabbat until his branding is done. Until the brand is pulled away. And they remain there and holding him fast until he has regained his composure and can be released. Which is mere moments after the burning has stopped.
But in those moments their Cardinal has been busy. There is a last task to be completed. A task for the pack to be formed. More of a respite, really. The lupine that had been William's burden had become the source of her attention. She crouchs beside where it had been laid as a gift for their fiendish hostess and when she rises...
Well, the werewolf is less a head, and that head is being worked upon by Cardinal. They might not have seen this if they had not brought their gifts. Perhaps she would have brought forth some chalice that came with this Romanian keep across land and ocean to North America.
But instead Ioana moves forward with that head and see how those robes she wears suddenly begin to stir. Where the lupine head, a wolfish maw with strangely human features melded into its structuring, is hold in Ioana's dainty and altogether human hands other limbs seem to stir beneath and the robe is unlatched and falls away as she walks forward.
To reveal the rest of her form.
It could be compared to a crab, though erect and elongated and somehow still humanoid in its fleshy vestiges and shape, so perhaps more of a prawn. Her rib cage does not stop at the midsection of her torso, instead continuing down along her spine to where her hips should have been, abdominal muscles stretched and bunched along each prehensile rib bone like the pereiopods of a sea creature. Except they are far more dextrous, sharpened and put to work pulling free the innards - brain, muscle, carotid artery, tongue, eyes, all of it - from the trophy. Her legs continue to carry her toward them, each bent back and carapaced in hardened flesh that is glossy in the firelight.
Those articulated ribs and her human fingers all continue working away at the lupine head, slurped free flesh and blood falling in splats and sloshes on the stone floor until it is picked clean and shaped into a great boney chalice.
Ioana is speaking, despite the revelation of her alien form, in a pleased tone.
"I did not bring my youngest, my sweetest, for I knew the One Above would not want them. And my brother, beloved Abel, said to me, 'Caine, you did not bring a sacrifice, a gift of the first part of your joy, to burn on the altar for the One Above.' I cried tears of love and with sharp things sacrificed that which was the first part of my joy, my brother. And the blood of Abel covered the altar and smelled sweet as it burned," her voice is matronly and solemn, like a women risen to read as a lector for this black mass.
"But my father said, 'Cursed are you, Caine, who killed your bother. As I was cast out, so shall you be.' And he exiled me to wander the Land of Nod. I flew into the Darkness and I saw no source of Light and I was afraid and alone," she continues, and the tone of recounting fades away here.
Thought she continues...
"And so Caine was alone, but as the true Childer of our Sires' Sire, we are forever bound to our fellows. Our pack. And we shall shed our blood, not in sacrifice to the One, but to Caine, as Cainites, and for one another. And in this sacrifice, to and for and from one another, we shall never be alone. And it shall be our strength," holding up the skull cup to initiate the Rite of Vaulderie.
A sacrifice of blood to the vessel for this a new pack.
Flood brings his fangs to his wrist. Bites it deeply and holds his wrist out to let his vitae drip forth into the cup.
Joey @ 11:59PM
[ Obtenebration: Arms of the Abyss. Manipulation + Occult at difficulty 7. ]
Roll: 7 d10 TN7 (3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8) ( success x 2 ) VALID
William Halloran @ 12:29AM
[[Courage Roll! *Crosses fingers*]]
Roll: 3 d10 TN7 (3, 3, 3) ( fail ) VALID
Flood has been respectfully quiet throughout this. As has Bertram.
A Lasombra as a representative of one of the ruling clans of the Sabbat, cutthroat politicians alongside the overlords and priests of the Tzimisce. A Brujah representative of another of the Sect's founders and of the first anarchs. A clan that makes up so much of the Sabbat ranks. Its strength of sometimes rebellious conviction and martial prowess.
Together it is their presence that connects this rite and trial before them to the Sect as a whole.
But they both seem understand, to an extent, that this part of the rite is between Tzimisce Sire and Tzimisce Childe and even Tzimisce Cardinal.
William is freed. Shaitan frees him and frees itself. The flames barely even manage to lick his heels as he bursts forth dripping gore.
The kine do not scream as much as they had when the rising fire first licked their flesh. No, that sundering of the wall of flesh under the siege engine, this newly forged Sabbat warrior, leaves them in shock and hanging from their shackles. They moan in pain for a long moment and in the next? Dead. Bleeding out and burning and then passed to rest in more peace than they had been offered in life. Or whatever twisted thing passes for it in this place.
The Cardinal looks to Vee and the Tzimisce acts. Presses that brand into the thin flesh of his forehead until the Beast and Shaitan and even William inside can feel the heat in the very bone of his skull. Leaving cold flesh hissing and steaming.
In the next moment she looks to Flood and Bertram. It is their turn to again join the rite that had been an affair of dragons and make it one of shadows and passion as well. As many as it will take to halt this giant as waning frenzy on to Rotschreck to again a reason for the Red Fear leaves him still raging and gnashing for escape.
Will the two arms of shadow the Lasombra summons in that heated moment be enough? Even the suited Lasombra moves forward to hold the newly born True Sabbat until his branding is done. Until the brand is pulled away. And they remain there and holding him fast until he has regained his composure and can be released. Which is mere moments after the burning has stopped.
But in those moments their Cardinal has been busy. There is a last task to be completed. A task for the pack to be formed. More of a respite, really. The lupine that had been William's burden had become the source of her attention. She crouchs beside where it had been laid as a gift for their fiendish hostess and when she rises...
Well, the werewolf is less a head, and that head is being worked upon by Cardinal. They might not have seen this if they had not brought their gifts. Perhaps she would have brought forth some chalice that came with this Romanian keep across land and ocean to North America.
But instead Ioana moves forward with that head and see how those robes she wears suddenly begin to stir. Where the lupine head, a wolfish maw with strangely human features melded into its structuring, is hold in Ioana's dainty and altogether human hands other limbs seem to stir beneath and the robe is unlatched and falls away as she walks forward.
To reveal the rest of her form.
It could be compared to a crab, though erect and elongated and somehow still humanoid in its fleshy vestiges and shape, so perhaps more of a prawn. Her rib cage does not stop at the midsection of her torso, instead continuing down along her spine to where her hips should have been, abdominal muscles stretched and bunched along each prehensile rib bone like the pereiopods of a sea creature. Except they are far more dextrous, sharpened and put to work pulling free the innards - brain, muscle, carotid artery, tongue, eyes, all of it - from the trophy. Her legs continue to carry her toward them, each bent back and carapaced in hardened flesh that is glossy in the firelight.
Those articulated ribs and her human fingers all continue working away at the lupine head, slurped free flesh and blood falling in splats and sloshes on the stone floor until it is picked clean and shaped into a great boney chalice.
Ioana is speaking, despite the revelation of her alien form, in a pleased tone.
"I did not bring my youngest, my sweetest, for I knew the One Above would not want them. And my brother, beloved Abel, said to me, 'Caine, you did not bring a sacrifice, a gift of the first part of your joy, to burn on the altar for the One Above.' I cried tears of love and with sharp things sacrificed that which was the first part of my joy, my brother. And the blood of Abel covered the altar and smelled sweet as it burned," her voice is matronly and solemn, like a women risen to read as a lector for this black mass.
"But my father said, 'Cursed are you, Caine, who killed your bother. As I was cast out, so shall you be.' And he exiled me to wander the Land of Nod. I flew into the Darkness and I saw no source of Light and I was afraid and alone," she continues, and the tone of recounting fades away here.
Thought she continues...
"And so Caine was alone, but as the true Childer of our Sires' Sire, we are forever bound to our fellows. Our pack. And we shall shed our blood, not in sacrifice to the One, but to Caine, as Cainites, and for one another. And in this sacrifice, to and for and from one another, we shall never be alone. And it shall be our strength," holding up the skull cup to initiate the Rite of Vaulderie.
A sacrifice of blood to the vessel for this a new pack.
Flood brings his fangs to his wrist. Bites it deeply and holds his wrist out to let his vitae drip forth into the cup.
Joey @ 11:59PM
[ Obtenebration: Arms of the Abyss. Manipulation + Occult at difficulty 7. ]
Roll: 7 d10 TN7 (3, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8) ( success x 2 ) VALID
William Halloran @ 12:29AM
[[Courage Roll! *Crosses fingers*]]
Roll: 3 d10 TN7 (3, 3, 3) ( fail ) VALID