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. ]
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. ]