Vampire: Ascendancy < Chapter I | IC >

[Mewsland]

1 219 Years Ago | Off the Western Italian Coast

The former emperors of Rome sailed away from their burning city. The smoke from the fires of Rome was enough to block out the rising sun that morning, perhaps giving those that had attacked her a few hours respite.

The vampires. They knew. Nothing could have torn apart the city's defenses so swiftly but the vampires. For the past 400 years, Emperors of Rome had fought to keep them in check. For most of that time, they had succeeded. The tide began to sway in the reign of Emperor Gordian III. They had heard whispers that the old vampires had been wiped out by a group of just 46 creatures. Were they vampires? Something different? Something... more? What could be more terrifying than a vampire? The Romans had never heard of vampires turning against their own kind.

As the ripples of battle after battle, defeat after defeat, reached the city, the Romans knew they were in for a fight. What they got was a complete and total rout. As soon as the sun fell below the horizon, nearly 3 000 of the creatures tore into the city like wildfire. Their defenses were no match for a power so awesome it must have been magic. Had the gods been angered?

Nevertheless, once the banners of war opened, the Roman Empire reached its close, and the former emperors knew exactly who caused such a cataclysm. The once-emperors shouted her name in anger as they continued to sail away from the wreckage of Rome...

"KALARA VENZALOR!"

---

5 November 3491 | City of Myrávia

The city put the grandiosity of Rome to shame. Myrávia had, only 1000 years ago, been a barren peninsula on Greater Britain. Now, it was a jewel. It was the vampires' crowning jewel, and they, except for a few thousand enslaved humans, were the city's only inhabitants.

First, a person approaching the City would become acquainted with the Shield. The vast, magical maroon dome cast Myrávia in an eternal night - unnatural to humans, perhaps, but perfect for the vampires who called Myrávia home.
It also served a second purpose - keeping those without the requisite magical knowledge from entering the most sacred city of the vampiric race. How did the vampires keep the Shield of Myrávia intact? Nobody was quite sure. Kalara told no tales.

Passing through the city, the most obvious landmark would be the incredibly vast Palace Venzalor. The palace was easily 30 or 40 buildings, all developed over centuries. Within, the intrigue of the Myrávian Empire's politics proceeded with abandon, hidden away from the world at large...

Within the Grand Convention Hall

The intrigues of Myrávia only became laid bare once every 25 years, at the Gathering of the Covens of Myrávia. One of the few times vampires of all covens can meet in peace, the Gathering brought all the Matriarchs and Patriarchs together for a gathering to air grievances. The Gathering also brought out the fanciest in the vampires, as all of them sought to show off to the other covens, and perhaps to any covenless vampires which had happened upon the city.

As it was, the heads of the covens were only now beginning to gather, while across the continent, 'pious' men began plotting their downfall...

[Nuridia]

Valentine Norcross, City of Myrávia
Finally, she had arrived. The crown jewel of the vampiric empire...and now all the leaders that held that empire together were going to meet, including her.

Not that many considered Val Norcross a leader, really. Her coven was very small, and she wasn't too fussed about bringing up the numbers or influence. Her coven was a family, they had all banded together when they had nobody else. And although she was physically younger than many of them (and chronologically very young by vampiric standards, especially when it came to coven leaders), she would protect them with everything she had. While all the other covens busily fought over power and prestige and who would be the "top dog", Valentine was only interested in keeping hers safe. Nothing else mattered.
"On Kalara though, if any of these shits call me "little girl" again, it's war. I will slap the blood out of them...but hopefully I won't have to. I'll show them, I may be small but my coven depends on me. Nobody is getting in the way of that, no matter what." Finally she arrived in the palace square, pulling her heavy black cloak more tightly around herself. You could tell by looking at her that she had been blooded at a very early age. She looked so...small for lack of a better word. But the eyes, those brilliantly pink eyes that seemed to glow in the dark, held the soul of somebody much older, yet still childlike. Speaking of pink, you could spot Val from a mile away because she was always wearing pink. The gown she wore now to this meeting was pale pink, with dark pink glittering embroidery. If Ash and Celene hadn't gotten her to compromise on this black coat, it most likely would have been pink as well. "It's enough your hair and eyes are pink...a pink cloak would have been a little too much."

She had been scandalized. "Too much pink?! Such a thing does not exist." she bit back, but she wore the black cloak anyway. It actually made her look a little more elegant, "grown up" as it were. Not that she'd ever concede defeat and admit that...whatever.

[Sovreignry]

Arduino Lecesse, 5 November 1575, Rome, The Papal States

---

To the untrained eye, or the careless eye, the roof of the building in the poor section of Rome looked like it did any other night. If one paid attention and knew what they were looking for they could see the black shadow standing on the edge. The robes he was wearing fluttered a little in the light breeze as he looked around. Even though Arduino was a high officer within the Society of Jesus he still took on the evening patrols that the lower ranked members of the order would take. He felt it was his duty to set a good example, and it helped build the esprit de corps of the order.

His head snapped down to the street when he heard a scream. Looking around, he saw a small child being chased by a lone vampire. It looked hungry and was a piss poor hunter if it was going after a child.

Arduino readied himself, rolling his shoulders as he waited for the pair to come closer to him. The vampire was faster both because of its supernatural abilities and the fact that it was an adult, but the child still had enough of a head start that he didn't need to act before they got below him.

As soon as the child passed him he dropped down to the street and slammed his palm into the vampires chest. The stake underneath the sleeve of his robe shot out and slammed into the creature's heart, killing it instantly. The creature didn't even have time to look surprised at the sudden attack before it fell to the ground in pieces.

"We need to keep moving." Arduino said to the child that he could now see was a girl as he crouched down to her eye level to pick up the used stake and set it back in its spring, "Even the worst vampires can be missed by their friends. Do you have a family little one?"

The girl shook her head dramatically, still in plenty of shock from the incident.

"Do you have a home?" Same response.

"Then let's get you somewhere safe." he said, picking her up in arms that seemed stronger than they looked. As he walked away he kept an eye out for any friends the vampire might have. He might not consider the creatures to be people, but they definitely considered themselves people and would not hesitate to take revenge when one of their members was "murdered".

Fortunately, it seemed that the vampire in question was really in desperate straits, as Arduino was able to make it to the House of Saint Margaret with his young charge without incident.

He knocked on the door until the Sister who had drawn the short straw for answering the door presented herself.

"Father Arduino, what a pleasure it is to see you, do you know what time it is?" Sister Concetta said, glaring at him, "I'm guessing that the sleeping girl in your arms is another of your 'convenient' finds?"

"I was just walking along the street and I found her. She said she had no home and I was hoping that she could stay with you guys. You don't have to keep her, I just want to make sure she's safe, you know how these streets can be." Arduino replied.

Sister Concetta rolled her eyes before opening the door for him, "You can place her in the room down the hall, we'll feed her, and if she wants to stay we actually have space for someone else."

"Thank you. God be with you Sister Concetta." he said after he placed her in the bed.

"And God be with you Father Arduino." Sister Concetta said, giving him a knowing look.

"He always is Sister, he always is." Arduino said as he walked back into the night.

[Nature-Spirits]

Dragano Tiziatresti
1 November, 1575
Pałaso Dogal, Venice, The Serene Adriatic Republic of Venice

Dragano closed the door to the council hall behind him, and took a deep breath. The Doge had a personal door out of the hall into a small salon, so he was alone. He closed his eyes, lifted his hand to his brow. The patricians were restless -- they didn't trust Dragano, and they were all trying to advance the interests of their own families in the wake of his father's death, one month prior. They believed -- rightfully -- that the young man hadn't yet established his control over the various forces within the Republic, and they planned to take advantage of that fact. They made deals between themselves behind closed doors, and within the halls of the Council, they advanced new legislation to strengthen themselves.

Dragano knew all this, and he'd been able to contain the expansion of the other families for now. But he had to keep them from forming too strong alliances between themselves, which would allow them to push proposals through the Council without his agreement. Even though as the Doge, he was the head of the Republic, his powers were curbed by the Council and constitution, and Venice was ultimately a democracy of the patricians.

Not only that, but the governors of the territories along the Adriatic coast were pushing for greater autonomy over their lands. No -- our lands, Dragano reminded himself. They rule only by the consent of the Doge and the Council. But that wasn't entirely true, and he knew it. Legally, he could strip any of the governors of their title, but the situation was in a delicate balance. If he tried to revoke a governorship and the governor went into open revolt, he could deal with it -- as long as the other governors sided with him. If they all revolted, fearing for their own offices, he wasn't sure if Venice's mercenary forces could deal with the territories' combined armies.

Legally, though, the governorship reverted to the doge upon death of a governor. Usually, the governorship was granted to the previous governor's heir, but it wasn't unheard of for another local family to be elevated to the nobility and be granted the governorship instead. That was Dragano's plan to deal with the disloyal Montenegrins and Albanians, who, according to his spies, had been fostering an alliance to break free of Venice and form a single realm in the south of the Balkans. Three days ago, he had dispatched assassins to deal with the scheming governors. In one week, there was to be a marriage between the children of the governors. It was at this most holy occasion that the governors, along with the newlyweds, would die in a tragic boating accident, as the newly joined families took the traditional boating tour to receive the blessing of Mother Adria, the personification of the Adriatic Sea and patron of the Republic alongside Saint Mark. Not only would the central members of the families perish, but it would be seen by the superstitious as a condemnation of the union by Mother Adria.

He had already, during his father's reign, begun fostering close ties with local noble families in each of the territories to eventually replace the current governors, and in the third week of his own reign, the Montenegrin and Albanian families had each been married with one of the Tiziatresti's branch families, in preparation of the takeover. The others would come in time, but for now, he was able to manage the other governors.

He sat down in one of the velvet-covered armchairs in the salon and rang a silver bell. A young eunuch with light hair and blue eyes entered the room. "Your Serenity?"

Dragano looked over at the eunuch. The boy was named Luca, he believed, and due to his state retained his boyish looks and high voice even as he entered adulthood. "Are Admiral Clario and Archbishop Benasuto here?"

"Yes, Your Serenity."

"Bring them in."

The eunuch disappeared and, a minute later, Dragano's uncle, the Admiral, and half-brother, the Archbishop, entered the room. Clario had held the admiralty -- one of the most influential positions within the Republic -- for the past five years, although he'd held various other positions within the Republic's bureaucracy for the past three decades. Now, he had become Dragano's right hand and closest ally in consolidating his power as Doge. And as Admiral, he commanded the entirety of the Venetian navy, which was a powerful boon in the maritime Republic.

Benasuto was a bastard child of Dragano's father, Giovanni, born before the man's rise to power and therefore several years older than Dragano himself. He had been given the Archbishopric of Venice, and had studied law and theology in Rome as a young man, where he had fostered connections between the Tiziatresti and several low-level church officials. He was also, as a result, more familiar with the politics of the Papal States than Dragano.

"Clario, Benasuto. Please, sit." Dragano gestured at the seats. The men sat down. Luca poured wine for all of them and placed a tray of baklava on a low table between the men, then left the room. All the servants knew to leave the salon when they weren't needed, a practice implemented during the days of Giovanni's reign. This was one of several places where the Doge conducted private business, which wasn't for the eyes and ears of anyone else.

"As you both know," Dragano opened, "Benasuto and I leave today for Rome. There, we will meet with His Holiness, and try to secure our influence within Holy Mother Church and the Papal States. We will also meet with the head of the di Caeliano, and attempt to secure an alliance with them. If we have them on our side, we have the Papal States on our side. And that brings us one step closer to financial and political domination of Italy -- and potential expansion in Lombardy."

Benesuto nodded. Clario took a sip of wine.

Dragano turned to the latter. "Uncle. While I am gone, I fear that the patricians and other oligarchs of the city will attempt to enact their schemes. This is why we have refrained from announcing my departure. Of course, as soon as I leave the harbour, everyone will know. I trust you to keep things under control while I'm gone. Have you spoken with the condottieri?"

Clario nodded. "I have known them all for years, so they trust me. I've ensured their loyalty to our house. They know who really keeps their coffers full."

Dragano sighed in relief. "Good. That's wonderful to hear." He'd been worried about the loyalty of the mercenary companies that formed the backbone of the Republic's army. If the unrest among the city's oligarchs reached a breaking point, he wanted to know that it could be contained, by force if need be. But if his uncle said that the mercenaries were loyal to the Tiziatresti alone, then he trusted that it was true.

He sipped his wine. "And the territorial navies? They're still loyal to you, not to the governors?"

"Of course." Clario chuckled. "I spoke with each of them at the dinner party the other day. I convinced them that you will be just as strong a leader as your father was, if not more so. The gifts helped, too. If any of the governors moves against us, he'll find himself with no naval support."

"Wonderful." Dragano was pleased to hear that. The Venetian navy proper was stronger than any of the territories' individual fleets, but it was even better if the governors had no loyal fleets at all.

"Ah, and Benesuto?" He turned back to his half-brother. "What of the sermons the priests are giving?"

"I've instructed them to continue preaching the value of loyalty, and to focus on the providence of the sea" the Archbishop replied. "The lower classes believe you to be the Adriatic's ritual husband, after all. Our father used that belief to great effect, and we are, too. Mother Adria provides them with everything they have, and to doubt you is to doubt her. The people are loyal; it's the landowners we have to worry about."

Dragano nodded. "Perfect." He sipped his wine for another minute, then stood. The other two men stood quickly after him. "Our business is concluded, then. Benesuto, we leave this evening. Uncle, we'll see you soon."

Dragano Tiziatresti
5 November, 1575
Rome, The Papal States

Dragano and Benesuto's small collection of ships had slid into port outside of Rome just a short while ago, and now the pair was travelling into the city in an ornate carriage. "You said you've never met His Holiness?" Dragano confirmed. They'd discussed this some time ago, but he wanted to refresh his memory.

"No, we've never been acquainted. I had met his predecessor, but the last I've visited was five years ago. I'm sure much has changed in Rome." Benesuto peered out the window. "That said, I've spoken with people who've met him. They say he's level-headed. He's independent, and smart. It won't be easy to convince him to do anything he doesn't want to do, and bribery may not work well with him. We'll have to be careful."

Dragano didn't say anything. He just prayed to God and the Sea that his plans would play out as he wished.

[The Grim Reaper]

The 5th of November, 1575 Anno Domini; Quirinius di Caeliani, Rome

Droplets of wine caught themselves in Quirinius' beard. His attention was taken elsewhere, in the dark of night. From the roof of the Lateran Palace, the former home of the Popes, immediately overlooking the great Archbasilica of St. John Lateran, Quirinius watched oil lanterns painted a soft glow across the facade of the Mother Cathedral. It had been a busy week for Quirinius; the 9th of November was the feast of the Dedication of the Basilica of the Lateran. Whilst the spiritual home of the Pope and of the Catholic Church, as a secular site, it fell under the purview of the di Caeliani family - if only for practicality's sake.

The di Caelianis were not blessed with the boons of temporal life, for their gold was in heaven. Their boon was the Church, in all sense of the word. The 34 members of House di Caeliani worked ceaselessly to do what other houses could delegate to their lessers - the seal of the House carried all the weight of gold in much of Christendom. Quirinius was not one for the pomp and circumstance of the Church, but he nevertheless did his part. Parchment without ambition was discretely inked and secured by the distinct seal of the di Caelianis, a waxed double-lock in reference to the Keys of the Church. They fancied themselves the Defenders of the Faith, and the letters, sent to the noble families across Italy, would call for both token proof of loyalty to the teachings of the Church in the personhood of tithes and donations, and to the personal msision of the di Caelianis in protecting it from evils. This year, the di Caelanis would call for good, workable swords and armour from the largest noble houses, with which they could raise more to the Papal Guard.

The armaments sent to them would be accompanied with art, incenses, and other such luxuries. The di Caelianis would dutifully display these luxuries in the Archbasilica, dispersing the remainder to the Church following the feast day. They could scarcely afford not to; though not a large House, their lands and properties were more limited still, and not an insignificant amount of the Papal Guard was supported out of their own pocket on that limited land (it was sometimes said that were the di Caelianis to steal from the Church, they would have nowhere to put it except the tithebox). However, this year, the armour and swords displayed prominently about the Archbasilica would be equally dutifully taken down by men in dark robes; they would take it into the Lateran Baptistry, be dedicated to the Lord in the baptismal basin, and would don their new weaponry and armour, swearing an oath on the word of God and in memory of the noble family who had donated their new armaments. They would pass the armaments to their successors in the Papal Guard, preserving the name of its donors for as long as the armour lasted.

A gentleman tapped the young Quirinius on the shoulder. If Quirinius had been surprised, he showed no sign of it, offering the newcomer a piece of bread.

"You take communion alone?"

Quirinius smirked. It was a common refrain amongst the family - there wasn't a single di Caeliani who had not, at some point, asked Quirinius if he took communion alone, knowing full well the answer.

Quirinius did not dignify the question with an answer, proffering one of his own. "How are preparations coming along?"

"As well as they could be. There have been unforeseen problems."

"Of what sort?"

"The administrative sort. I can see your hand - don't get up, Father. We don't need anyone swinging a sword about yet."

Quirinius sighed. He knew what the problem was, of course. The gentleman speaking to him was not his son, but a cousin. As the head of the family, they referred to him as Father, although he had not become accustomed to it yet. He had become the head of the family after the passing of the late Cardinal di Caeliani earlier in the year - one of many late Cardinals di Caeliani. He had become the first head of the family not to be living with the cloth. The headship of the di Caeliani was traditionally inherited by the oldest member of the family, who would be sent to the church once they came of age and their father had produced younger children to carry on the family name. It had produced an unusual amount of stability, historically. Until, of course, his mother died in childbirth.

His father's choice to reserve him from the Church had been unpopular amongst the family, but the election of Pope Gregory XIII had been an excellent occasion of ecclesiastical unity. Had having a di Caeliani in the Conclave been a fantasy in the face of an unpopular leadership, there was every chance the family would have split - but with the overwhelming election of the current Pope, the family had begrudgingly, and then respectfully, and then admiringly accepted Quirinius. It was a matter significantly helped by Quirinius' consolidation of temporal power, as he won the hard-fought-for leadership of the Papal Guard - unknowingly, as the Pope consolidated his spiritual power through the Society of Jesus.

However, this was the first hurdle he would have to face - to conduct a feast in Christendom's most important Cathedral, without a Bishopric to his name. He just prayed that it continued to be a trivial one.

Of course, in Rome, nothing is ever trivial.

"Well, what is the nature of this administrative matter?"

"It's...the Doge of Venice, Father. He is visiting Rome, to meet the Pope. There was a courier sent ahead from one of their local Bishops, and the message was passed on to the Papal Guard. Venetian politics is complex, you see; some of the gentleman on our end of their visit felt that it would be best for someone else to make the introduction, to help smooth over any potential concerns."

Quirinius broke some bread.

"It may, perhaps, be best for us to be the someone. It would be convenient for them both to meet in the Archbasilica, of course. In commemoration of both my ascension and the upcoming Feast.

Prepare a table. This shall be a very important communion that I do not intend to have alone."

To His Holiness, Pope Gregory XIII, and the Serene Doge of Venice

In commemoration of the recent ascension of Prince-Commandant Quirinus di Caeliani to the head of House di Caeliani, the household of the Lateran Palace offers its most sincere greetings to its most esteemed friends as addressed. The Prince sees fit to offer in humility the Lateran Palace to the service of His Holiness and the Most Serene Doge at earliest convenience, as his House prepares for the Feast of the Archbasilica on the 9th. We hope that it will be an opportunity to bring together the preeminent secular & spiritual noblesse of Italy for a discussion of contemporary politics, spirituality, and the future direction of the House di Caeliani.

In the Name of the Lord,
Quirinius di Caeliani

[Remnants of Exilvania]

Southern Germany; Castle Hohenstaufen

"Mylord, we have received word from 'House' Teck. They are very grateful for our assistance in overcoming the latest peasant uprising. The Duke of Teck has promised to put in a good word for us with the Duke of Württemberg. The Commander of our forces in the area has also sent word that he is on his way back."

, the old advisor said fearfully while staring at the ground. He was one of the few who had survived Willfred's purges, mainly because Willfred needed some other trusted hands to help him sort out his business. Anyway, he was walking slightly behind Willfred while they crossed the castle's courtyard, on their way to the stables. Willfred had decided to ride his horse for a little and take in some fresh air while also keeping the mobility to not get impaled by the first mob they would come across. Looking back at his aide, Willfred could only snicker with satisfaction. He liked it when they feared him. It made him feel more powerful, bigger and better than them. Something that he hadn't felt very often before he took the throne. But now he had some power and a name. And this name's legacy he would take upon himself. But he always had to act carefully. The Staufers had been nearly annihilated once already and he was not planning on having that happening again. His power and ressources were spent after the decade of infighting it had taken to establish himself as supreme head of the Staufer House and he had to work long and hard to regain all that he had lost during this decade.

Turning to his aide, he said:

"Well, that is perfect. How are the preparations for the march against Ravensburg progressing? Have the Badenersa and the Welfs already sent word about their own preparations?"

The advisor adjusted his glasses before looking through the stash of papaers that he was carrying in his armpit, quietly murmuring: I think I had something....where did it go?...No, that's not it...Maybe this?, before retrieving some papers and saying:

"Ah, here it is mylord! The Welfs have sent word that nearly 20.000 men of theirs are ready to go. It seems that they quite like the terms we have given them, returning Ravensburg to them once your relative has been killed. Though mind if I ask, why would you give such a valuable trophy to the Welfs?"

By this time they had already reached the stables and a servant brought forth Willfred's horse as well as another one for his advisor. While Willfred was being heaved up onto the saddle by the servant, he laughed and responded to his aide who was mounting his horse as well:

"AHAHAHAHA, Sigurd you should try to become a jester! We both know that we could not hope to just take the city alone, not without weaking ourselves even more than we already did. Besides, I do have some debts to the Welfs and these will not only be purged with the trade of Ravensburg, I have also arranged for a longer lasting alliance as well as a generous sum of money to be sent in our direction. With the money we should be well capable of paying our debts to the Württembergs, thus further reducing the pile of debts we have.

Besides, the only thing that interests me in Ravensburg is to annihilate that traitorous wretch who dared betray her house, her people, her race! I will not stop untill I have her chained in front of me, bruised and beaten. And then I will break her spirit, her body and ultimately dispose of her. That should be the last example to the other family members to get their shit together and start following me."

With a whip Willfred urged his horse to move and the advisor followed, although in a much more peaceful and pleasant way for the horse. Behind them a small unit of hussars had gathered and followed them. The Duke needed a bodyguard if he was to go somewhere. He was still not very much liked, not even in his own territories. Together they all rode through the castle gates and down the mountain upon which it was located, down towards the small village of the same name as the castle, Hohenstaufen. Like a thunderstorm the small group came riding down the mountain and into the village, the villagers looking for cover and trying to evade the horses to not get trampled. Curses, screams and the occasional angry roar could be heard as the group moved through the village but nobody dared to actively oppose them. The last time someone had dared to do so, Willfred had made a bloody example out of them.

And so they got through th village pretty quickly and out onto the countryside. Oh the beauty. Green forests, yellow fields, a friendly sun shining down upon everything. It hurt Willfred in his sensitive eyes but he didn't care. It was this beautiful sunlight that was still their greatest weapon against the perfect creatures holding the world in their iron grip. It was his ability to stay in this sun however long he wanted that was his greatest strength over them. Of course he knew that there were some who could protect themselves against the sun but that didn't worry Willfred in the slightest. Instead, it made the hatred within him grow even more. Oh, he would have his bloody revenge on them all, he'd make sure of that. Whatever it took, he would do it. He would never stop, never surrender, never give way, never relent, never yield, never, never, never, never, never. He would not stop untill he had Kalara's head in a display case and the heads of the other high vampires impaled around it. This he vowed.

[Arventum]

5 November 3491 | City of Myrávia | Grand Convention Hall

Every twenty five years Jeremie came to this place, carrying with him secrets that everyone would want. He did not come alone, however. He often came with Cleo of Attica, Iris Wright, Zeus, and other close advisors who served as Gods in his Coven - close family members - as well as one of the Valravn. The Valravn were interesting foes for those who encountered them - especially with their flight - and served as Clan le D’Aboville’s most important communications device for they could gather an army of magically empowered man with a well-directed whisper, telling them where to go to defend a city.

Jeremie had come by ship to Myrávia, sailing from Athens with a flotilla of 6 powerful 72-gun ships based off of the Mughal Empire’s standard. Their technology was superior to European shipbuilding at the time, and he couldn’t resist. The journey had left him sour. A storm had destroyed one of his prized vessels, bringing the total number of warships that he could call upon down to 49. Hopefully he still had enough to give as a gift.

Jeremie sat down in the main room, where everyone was meeting. He wasn’t afraid to wait as long as he needed to. The chairs around him filled up with around 13 people - some of the members of his ruling council.

“Frankly, Jeremie, I don’t care if he’s the Grand Poobah. If issues are caused, we may have to start a war.” Cleo said, staring at a painting on the wall.

“I know, my dear Attican, but you as our High Priestess should know best. Your magicks are our strongest. I’m sure you can divine some kind of wisdom from the world of mana…” Jeremie said.

“I will seek guidance, yes, but I cannot foretell the future. That ability is far too difficult even for the likes of us.” Cleo said back.

The gray-haired Zeus chuckled. “We do not need to fight right now. Simply bide our time, claim Greece as we need to, and then strengthen our position by consolidating power, strengthening Greece, and expanding into other territories.” He said.

“Not everything is always so simple, brother.” The raven-haired witch, Cleo, spoke up.

The crimson lady Iris, quiet in all but looks with her burning locks of auburn hair, stayed quiet, while Jeremie tapped the ground with his foot.

“We shall figure it out, eventually, I believe my friends.”

---

Greece and Albania

The Greek Gods had returned in full force in Europe as one of the major religions of the world, but their presence still was muted compared to what they used to have. Missionaries were sent out, with vampiric deities and Valravns to convince the masses in Albania of the power of the Greek Gods. Rare magicks were much more divine when no one else had them, after all, and with Demeter leading the fray, perhaps there would be some success found.

Back home in Greece, missionaries were to go to every city and preach, and show the power of the Gods to the people. There was healing to be done, favors to give, and families to convince with wealth and power. Granted, that isn’t all that had to be done. There had to be a show. Circumstances invented that only the so-called Gods could fix. A display of power.

There was one noble family in Tripoli that could use the Coven’s help. Make a display of power to them, show them the true path, and end their mysterious disease-ridden suffering, and connections could be made. In the meantime, a vampire had been dispatched to the commander of the guard in Athens to heal his daughter.

Sometimes sickness could be use for good, yes?

[G-Tech Corporation]

Hall of the Rose Paramour, Palace of Myravia
November 5th, 3491

In the shadowed twilight of Myravia, the deeper shadows of the Palace itself could hide many things. Plots, persons, treason, betrayal. Ambition, most of all. The Convocation was a curious time, when the strands of the weave of the Empire became twisted and all too clear, those who danced on invisible strings reminded of their places as their puppeteers took wine and meat over honeyed words. In the Hall of the Rose Paramour, where exotic scents twined with the fine food and niceties that fed the appetites of those who had lived for centuries, a tall figure reclined at table. The creatures that flitted about him seemed almost willowy, effervescent, compared to the solid mass of Zhukov Felfaen, the Fell-Handed. Courtiers, noblewomen, animals of the court of the Empire who were so wedded to her ways as they would expire promptly if deprived of its succor.

A woman in gossamer red perched upon the arm of the chair where the scion of the Germanic house made his place, and from beneath a brow furrowed in thought the emerald eyes of the watcher turned toward her pale form. A tongue bright scarlet darted over a pair of thin white fangs, and the lady spoke.

"It has been long ere you came to court, Zhukov. What drives the Master of the Dreadspire hither, to distant Myravia?" Her question was breathy, a manipulative passion and curiosity intoning the words, but their passion did not stir the figure where he sat. A swallow of wine, a goblet of gold that glinted faintly in the half-light, and a hand as large as a dinnerplate motioned for a server to bring more of the vintage ere a rumbling voice issued forth.

"Lady Alamesia. I could ask the same of one from distant Italia, but for the fact that you seem often to hardly stir from this chamber, even at the behest of your husband. But it is not secret- when Kalara calls, I come. The Convocation is more than a time for words. And I have time for men and women who do more than fill the air with their words."

The deep sable tresses of the vampiress shifted as she tossed her head artfully, a motion carefully practiced to gild her features in the dubious light of the Dome to best effect. Fidelity was not a virtue that most vampires embraced for long, marriages being often alliances of bloodline more than love. Not that the Patriarch of House Felfaen was one known for such indiscretions, even if the lady Alamesia was. Her light voice continued, a slight pout touching it at his lack of attention.

"What think you then, o man of action, of the recent conflicts that have been sparked into flame by our Lady's Convocation? The criers announce that the lands of the Greeks are beset by war, ambition grasping for more than is the share by law. And even where your sway is heaviest, north of the Ore-Mountains and the Obsidian Tower, the humans endlessly spill blood in their intercidal conflict."

Zhukov shifted upon the couch where he had laid his bulk, his back straightening and his looming presence growing even higher compared to the slip of a thing that was the pale vampiress.

"The Frenchman is a fool if he seeks to take more than is his share by right. He assails a dozen foes his strength and more, their allies only waiting for the command to be loosed. Another coven overcome by the impetuous nature of newly-gained power, I warrant it. Foolishness touches those who are young."

It was a double-edged comment, as it happens. The master of House Felfaen was not the most ancient of the vampires, not by any stretch of the imagination, but the menace in his gaze and the resources he had amassed in the short centuries of his sojourn upon the mortal coil forced even the most venerable of immortals to give pause. As did the mysterious nature of his background; some accounts said that the man Zhukov had been had been nothing more than a common German peasant before he had been turned by some equally ignominious vampire lineage, and thus his rise to power baffled many. Others said he was made, not born, a nightmare creation of some deranged enchanter or alchemist. The lord had done nothing to dispel or confirm these rumors, of course, but by all rights he was a mere babe in the eyes of the world as vampires saw it; his age was oft guessed at mere centuries, the rise of the Obsidian Tower having taken place but a half-millenia before.

And yet as he spoke the Lady Amalesia shivered, even her pallid corpse-skin chilled by some invisible wind. To accuse Zhukov of foolishness on account of his youth did not strike her as a wise woman's endeavor. The smith-master continued, his voice now turning introspective.

"As for the troubles in southern Germany- it matters little if the mortals kill each other in petty wars, so long as they pay their dues and know their true masters. My associates watch the events carefully. Kalara will discipline any master unable to control his domain harshly, and I have no need of a distraction as the Convocation proceeds."

His words were dissimilar to those that touched the tongues of many of the Blooded who paid court here in Myravia. Most feared to speak the name of the Scion of the lineage of Venzalor, but the man from Germany put her name upon his lips almost without heed; certainly without fear. And yet he seemed to respect the power she wielded through the sinews of the Empire. An odd phenomenon to cage within one body.

The Lady Amalesia sat quietly for a moment, considering the words of the other vampire even as a serving human produced a midnight-purple vintage in a crystal goblet for the sire to consume, which he did with languid relish. They were not the answers she had expected, measured pragmatism; vampires, especially those of the power that House Felfaen wielded, were often rash, prone to grandiose pronouncements and bloodcurling threats, asserting dominance even over lesser creatures like the Lady whenever they could.

And that was what made the vampire with the emerald eyes such a mystery to the covens here at court.

[Liencia]

Viessa Venzalor | 5 November 3491 | City of Myrávia | Grand Convention Hall

The Gathering, a time of negotiations and flaunting. Viessa had been preparing the Capitol, and the Grand Convention Hall in particular for this event several weeks in advance. Though to anyone else it would seem to be lavishly decorated with drinks and hors d'oeuvres à plenty, the perfectionist Archpriestess still kept a few of her most trusted human servants late after their shift running about and making adjustments.

This event was of great importance to her, maybe perhaps, more than to most of the other elite vampires. This was an enormous family reunion, and family was the most important thing to the Beloved Daughter. Even though she wasn't outwardly very emotive, internally her heart boiled over in love for all her siblings, cousins, nieces, nephews, family friends and excitement at their arrival. This was also, a slight break from the monotonous mulling of her daily imperial duties, breaks were something the busy body was seemingly allergic to.

She herself had come dressed to impress, wearing her usual dark color palette, a black and red dress, and wearing rubies, her favorite jewel. She was rather average in height, though perhaps a bit short, totaling up to a height of 5 feet 5 inches. Her skin, like most of her kind, was extremely pale almost porcelain colored. The complexion was flawless and smooth, the only interruption of its whiteness were the frickles peppered across her nose and cheeks, and her pair of full lips, colored by beautiful glossy red with lipstick. Her eyes were a rich, deep red, resembling the rubies she frequently wore, and her gaze had an intense directness which made one feel as if she could see your very soul. Her hair was jet black and placed into a braided bun. Her youthful teenage appearance was presevered completely unchanged for almost a millenia and a half, many in the Empire considered her the most gorgeous female in the world, save for her mother Kalara, and indeed she drew the eyes of many suitors over the centuries.

[Nuridia]

Grand Convention Hall, Meeting of the Vampire Covens
Val had stepped into the convention hall a few minutes before some of the other delegates had arrived, and she quietly slipped into her chair without a word. Normally she didn’t really like to speak to the others unless they were in a debate, that is what she preferred to save her energy for. There was the vampire lord who called himself Dionysus and some such, with his fellow “gods” including the Red Lady, Iris with them. And that black haired vampire in black and red...Viessa she thinks her name is? Well she had to admit that this Daughter was quite elegant, Valentine appreciated her devotion to her color scheme. Although she wondered how somebody who was only physicially a few years older than her could look so elegant and...adult. Val never tried to look any older than what she was, not in public anyway. Because she’d probably look ridiculous, her slight frame didn’t yield itself much to the older ladies’ fashions.

[Sovreignry]

Pope Gregory XIII and The Very Reverend Everard Mercurian, 5 November 1575, Rome, The Papal States

---

Pope Gregory was in a meeting with Everard when the letter from the new head of House di Caeliani arrived for him. He gently set aside the paper that he had been reading from as he took the letter out.

"Pardon my rudeness Everard, but this is the new head of the Papal guard, and they're not someone that you want to keep waiting." he said as he looked over the letter.

"Not at all Your Holiness," the Superior General said, the white of his clerical collar contrasting starkly with the black of his robes, "What does he want?"

"Well, as we discussed earlier, the Doge of Venice is coming down and Quirinius would like to meet with the both of us." Gregory replied, folding the letter and setting it down on his desk.

"Sounds like a good way to put out feelers about the order." Everard said.

"Possibly, but I'll make sure to tread carefully, we need to not bring too much attention." Gregory said as he got out his ink and quill and composed his response.

To Quirinius di Caeliani

Thank you for the invitation, and congratulations on your recent ascension. His Holiness Gregory XIII will accept your invitation and extends his gratitude for the invitation. The opportunity to discuss with both the Prince-Commandant and the Serene Doge is much appreciated. He will be expecting a more certain time, but will be anticipating it with excitement.

In the Name of the Lord,

His Holiness Pope Gregory XIII

[Arventum]

5 November 3491 | City of Myrávia | Grand Convention Hall

Crimson, silver, gold, and raven locks stood upon separate heads, an odd slight breeze that should not have been present in a room such as the Grand Convention Hall giving sway to the locks - long and short alike. Iris’ hair of red sunlight was radiant and bright, more youthful than not, and her presence among the three who were considered to be some of the true leaders of the coven signified that she herself was not a far cry from a second generation vampire of their caliber in capability of leadership - and perhaps in power. Her lips were painted a red that darkened towards the edges to become a deep, blackened burgundy. Her skin was fair, but the freckles she had added something to them. Truly, Iris was a sight to behold, but those who thought her form of 5 foot 6 was weak would find that even to her elders Iris’ physical prowess proved to make things a little more than difficult during sparring.

Then there was Zeus. He didn’t really go by his old name anymore. He was seasoned, and even looked older than a youthful vampire would. His hair was full but had grayed. It was kept short, and his beard was trimmed to a medium length. Zeus wore something tasteful in the shade of black, with accents of crimson. The seal of Zeus was on his right arm in white, while the seal of Dionysus was present in the same color on his back. His presence was… electrifying. He was probably the cause for the breeze. Zeus’ power always did have a way of leaking, for he used magicks known for unique kinds of instability and bursts of weather that came with emotional outbursts. They had fashioned themselves after Gods, and had to fit in as them, after all.

Cleo was a regal presence. She wore a dress that looked as though it were the moon, just not glowing with the Sun’s reflection. It had the effect of going well with her eyes, which, alongside her pale skin, created something more similar to Selene or Hekate than anyone else. They glew just as the moon did, radiating not red or orange, but a celestial silver. She was the most skilled of magic wielders among the coven, even more so than Jeremie in many ways. She was certainly more versatile.

And then there was their charismatic leader, with his boyish looks, perfect skin, teeth of pearls, and abs of eight. Jeremie was “perfect” before he became a vampire, and he knew that he was beautiful. Strong, and mighty - the Lucifer of the vampiric “archangels”, for he was of the first 7, and, oh, his magic had a light to it. A burning, all-consuming light that could purge your mind of memories, give it calm, or create visions of him being your son. He had lived with prey for months, slowly draining them of life energies and psychic energies alike, all while they thought he was a family member. Sometimes he let them live, sometimes he took something from them, sometimes he found a cute villager guy and took him home to become one of the coven’s new playthings… he was rather mercurial sometimes, and didn’t seem to stick to making a single type of choice.

“Did you guys bring the necessary items?” Jeremie asked, trying to sound casual and formal at the same time, while veiling his excitement by seeming preoccupied with his nails. He looked up, biting his bottom lip.

Zeus groaned, and deflated with an almost disgusted look on his face, and Iris gazed in amusement at the agitated silver haired man.

“Of course, mi’lord Dionysus.” Cleo pulled something that jingled out of her bag, and Jeremie’s blue eyes lit up as he grabbed onto the grapevine wreath-like necklace, with its bells and all, and pulled it over over his neck.

“Fantastic, Cleo. I’m sure everyone will love it.” Jeremie said.

“Are you sure you didn’t want to bring the collar? It’s in red… like Krampus’ suit. You know, the one you meow in.” Cleo said teasingly.

“If you’ll excuse me, I think I see someone over there that I want to talk to.” Jeremie cleared his throat, and rose to saunder off somewhere.

“Is he always going to be like this? He’s the fourth oldest being in existence. You would expect more maturity.” Zeus said through grit teeth.

“I believe he is, yes.” Cleo replied simply.

Iris looked away for a moment, and squinted her eyes before she seemed to disappear. A few moments later she reappeared in the same spot with a book in hand.

“It is almost certain that we will need to deflect questions regarding our knowledge.” Iris said, ignoring whatever strange looks she received from the people in the room. She ran a hand through her free-flowing hair, clearing her throat before that same hand reached to the table, and, suddenly, a glass of wine appeared in it. She rose it to her lips, sipping some of the crimson liquid.

“I know. Let us hope they do not become agitated with Jeremie. I am unsure how much patience he has today, no matter his chipper attitude.” Zeus replied.

Cleo pursed her lips, motioning for a servant to bring Zeus and she wine. She remained silent.

“Huh. Tastes German.” Iris said. She was glad she hadn’t gotten the slop of the wine world. There’s no telling where this wine came from since she wasn’t really focusing, but it was actually an amazing vintage.

[The Frozen Forest]

Dragoslav Galca
City of Marávia
Great Convention Hall

A carriage the color of nightshade rolled towards the Great Convention Hall It's windows were tinted and it's interior was magnificently decorated, a symbol of wealth all on it's own. It was pulled by two powerful Shire Horses imported from Marávia not so long ago. The Carriage was painted with a symbol along the door, one that announced to the citizens around to pay respect and stay out of the occupants way. The Galca Coven's Symbol was a powerful thing, as were the symbols of any Coven with a First child Patriarch. They were of course some of the most powerful beings on the planet, apart from Kalara herself. Human children and freshly blooded Vampires all learned to instantly run should they see the Galca Triangle upon any mode of transportation, be it ship or street carriage.

Within the Carriage were four youthful looking individuals, three of which with hair as silvery as that of precious metal. Dragoslav Galca, one of the original First Children, the Conqueror of Gaul and the Patriarch of the ancient Galca Coven. His power was immense and his armies stood ready in Lacústa, he was certainly a man one would dare not trifle with. His business in Máravia was also the business of every other Vampire Coven in Europe, possibly the entire world. The Gathering of the Covens of Marávia, or the Gathering of the Covens for short. It was held every 25 years and he had yet to miss even a single one of the appointed Gatherings. He held it to a point of honor that he be there to represent the Galca's and he had done so without fail. This particular trip had been harsher however, as they had encountered a human ambush just after landing on Myrávia's coast. It was resolved without any casualties for the Galca's.

He stepped inside the Great Convention Hall, allowing the pleasant aroma of blood and perfume to envelope him. A smile brightened his lips as he took note of the various other patrons within the hall. He saw the dirty blonde hair of his brother Jeremie as well as his other siblings, Cleo and Zeus. He would have to speak to them once the Hall had more of a buzz of conversation going on. He also took note of the lovely Queen of Hearts, Valentine Norcross. He'd found her and the small Umbra Coven fairly interesting, as he'd only met a few Matriarchs in his lifetime whom would sacrifice power and prestige for the protection of her Coven Members. Then there was Zhukov Felfae. He'd had the pleasure of meeting him once or twice on different occasions thought he could never quite get used to that darker skin tone. Zhukov would have made a fine First Child if he'd only been around during those times.

Dragoslavs attention shifted for a moment. Only a pace or two behind him stood Edward Nolanslav. He'd hear of Edward long before he'd ever hired the young Vampire, in fact he'd been one of Edwards first customers back when the lad was only just getting started with his Mercenary work. He'd always admired him for his observant, watchful attitude. It was almost a waste of his skills, as he'd have made a fine Assassin or even Palace Guard if he'd somehow strayed down a different path. He'd have yet to offer him a place in the Coven, but he was willing to pay out the required amount to hire on an over exceptional Mercenary for his trip to the Gathering. He'd given him four other guards by which to ensure the security of him and his heir, Valerian.

His eyes finally settled on the most interesting guest to arrive thus far. Arrive was probably the wrong word however, as she'd have probably been the one to plan the Gathering. Viessa was by far the most pleasant of his siblings and was the only one he would openly admit to loving. He was of course aware of the differences between them, her undying loyalty to Kalara and his ambitious strive towards power, it could have brought them to conflict many times and yet it never had. He became faintly aware that she had probably never met Valerian, her new Nephew and his adopted son. Of course she'd have heard about him, as others probably had, but this would be his first time attending the Gathering of the Covens, and would be his first time being shown off to the world publicly.

He walked over to the youthful looking girl, his smile still evident though his fangs not quite showing. "Viessa, it's been too long!" he announced, not trying to hide his affection.

Valerian Galca
City of Marávia
Great Convention Hall

Valerian jumped onto the cobblestone bricks outside the Great Convention Hall, a smirk immediately illuminating his face. His razor sharp fangs glinted ruefully as his eyes searched the building in front of him. The whole city, all of Marávia had fascinated him thus far. It was huge and it was a bastion of the Vampiric Race, a undead tribute to the dominion that his race had held for thousands of years. Even Rome could not compare to the beauty and architecture he'd seen, it could never be more entertaining or more pleasant to the eyes. Valerian turned to look at the other person who'd accompanied them on the long expedition. His friend Darius, whom he'd met back in the Vampiric Academy back in Lácusta. Together they had once wrecked havoc and he'd accompanied Valerian on nearly all of his Werewolf Extermination Expeditions.

Of course Darius wouldn't be allowed into the Convention Hall, as he held no prominent position within the Galca Coven and had no association with anyone but the Galca's. It had taken a week but he'd managed to convince Dragoslav to allow Darius to accompany them to the City as neither had ever seen it before. The dark haired boy pranced out of the carriage, his eyes showing a lust for adventure much stronger than his own. "Get going, Mud-Sucker" he hissed to the energetic boy, who smiled and retorted quickly before rushing off to a nearby market stall. Valerian whipped on his heel, deciding that he didn't want to anger Dragoslav.

As he entered the room his nose wrinkled at the smell of strange smelling blood. It took him a moment to realize that the scent was due to it being animal blood, which was probably done to appease those who had close relations with the humans. He found those sorts of relationships repulsive, as any Vampire worth his bloodline would know the inferiority of the Human Race. He felt a hiss under his breath before realizing that he had gotten caught up in the moment, he'd been caught up in the grandeur of the City and had forgotten to put on a face of Nobility. He corrected himself hastily as he noticed Dragoslav just ahead of him, clearly trying to make conversation with someone of great importance.

[Nuridia]

Val turned in the direction of Dragoslav Galca when he arrived into the convention hall, her pink eyes meeting his red ones briefly and she gave a slight nod in greeting before turning her attention back to...nothing in particular. Coven Galca was one of the imminent vampire covens in the entire Empire. She had no problems with Dragoslav, in fact they barely even really talked or even met outside of this council chamber. He was very powerful, and influential. But she didn't fear him. She was a coven leader as well, no matter how minor. She may have been a "drop in the bucket" as somebody may have put it...but she was fine with that.

Getting bored, and since she didn't fear anybody here she decided to speak. "Lord Dragoslav, you have arrived. How was your journey, if I may ask? Good, I hope? Your sister, the Lady Viessa is here as well I see. Good day and well met to you both." she said by way of greeting casually when the two vampires had gotten close enough together to be addressed both at once. But she left her greeting at that and turned back to the wanna-be gods in the room. She looked at them but said nothing...they sure were as flashy as gods. She did not address Viessa and Dragoslav again, because then Dragoslav started to speak to his sister shortly after, and she didn't really have anything earth-shatteringly important enough to interrupt the leader of a Great Coven and the First Daughter over.

[The Frozen Forest]

Val turned in the direction of Dragoslav Galca when he arrived into the convention hall, her pink eyes meeting his red ones briefly and she gave a slight nod in greeting before turning her attention back to...nothing in particular. Coven Galca was one of the imminent vampire covens in the entire Empire. She had no problems with Dragoslav, in fact they barely even really talked or even met outside of this council chamber. He was very powerful, and influential. But she didn't fear him. She was a coven leader as well, no matter how minor. She may have been a "drop in the bucket" as somebody may have put it...but she was fine with that.

Getting bored, and since she didn't fear anybody here she decided to speak. "Lord Dragoslav, you have arrived. How was your journey, if I may ask? Good, I hope? Your sister, the Lady Viessa is here as well I see. Good day and well met to you both." she said by way of greeting casually when the two vampires had gotten close enough together to be addressed both at once. But she left her greeting at that and turned back to the wanna-be gods in the room. She looked at them but said nothing...they sure were as flashy as gods. She did not address Viessa and Dragoslav again, because then Dragoslav started to speak to his sister shortly after, and she didn't really have anything earth-shatteringly important enough to interrupt the leader of a Great Coven and the First Daughter over.

Valerian Galca
City of Marávia
Great Convention Hall

Valerian drank from one of the offered pitchers of wine, tasting it's vintage and deciding that he'd prefer Wine from his native Galca Territory. Humans were good for little but he had to admit that they made fine alcohol, wines in particular. There weren't many Vampires who would stoop to the job of creating a drink like it, as many saw it as degrading and dirty work. Ironically many were also Wine-Tasters and so it did give one purpose for the survival of humanity. He made his way covertly over to one of the potted plants in a corner before leaving with a newly empty chalice. Leaving it with one of the servers he watched as Dragoslav mistakingly ignored one of the Coven Matriarchs. He'd never met her, in fact he had never seen nor heard of her before as there were only a few distinguishing figures about her, namely her brightly pink eyes. Perhaps she was that Valentine Matriarch he had heard about during the journey?

He gave her a quizzical look as she didn't seem to notice him before coming to a quickly made decision. He made his way over, his eyes immediately focusing on hers in an outwardly friendly expression. "I must apologize for my Lords behavior" he gave a short bow in greeting. "I am Valerian Galca, Head Werewolf Hunter for my Coven as well as Dragoslav's heir" his eyes looked over to the imposing figure that was his adoptive father.

[Holy Tedalonia]

Edward peered at the pinkish vampire Valerian was speaking to with his icy blue eyes. Edward did not recognize the pink eyed woman, but walked over to ensure Valerian's safety. She had a unique attire, and wasn't the average vampire. He quietly moves next to Valerian as he carefully watches the peculiar woman in case of any sudden moves. His younger self might've cracked a cherry joke or sarcastic remark toward Valerian, but he lost that years ago. As final step hits the ground he rests his hand on his sword casually presenting a passive aggressive posture as if he was warning the young vampire to not try anything foolish.

[Liencia]

Viessa Venzalor

The Archpriestess had finally gotten satisfied enough with the state of the Great Hall, and being quite pleased with their work, decided to put the entire shift of human servants on a month long paid leave, ordering the second day shift in early.

She'd made the decision to serve cow blood as the primary beverage for the Convention, to avoid needlessly offending the more squeamish vampires that viewed humans as equals. Of course, she being an entrepreneur herself, used this event to serve her own blood brand, humorously marketed and labeled as "kosher blood" as a snarky stab at the human Judeo-Christian traditions.The sales pitch, was the blood was willingly sold by consenting humans, and that it tasted better and was a more moral source of sustenance than blood from humans coercively farmed. The beverages also featured many other drinks from her company, including a variety of "kosher" bloodwines, teas, and rums. Of course, this was not one of her serious businesses...her dearest brainchild was the Venzalor Shipping & Trade Guild, which was a major shipbuilding company and was involved in facilitating maritime trade across Europe and Northern Africa...........this made Viessa, personally, very wealthy in her own right.

The sudden greeting from her startled her from the pensive mulling over potential business ventures, and after her eyes adjusted to the form in front her, she realized it was her eldest and most adored sibling. She placed her hands on his shoulders to hold him in place, taking a good look at his condition. And a jovial smile, a rare sight from the stoic woman, signaled her delight at this chance to catchup.

"Dragoslav! Look at you! This outfit is simply exquisite, you look better every visit!"

Then she noticed the young man tailing behind her favorite brother, she could smell him from where she stood, his scent alerted her of his kinship to their bloodline. This intrigued the naturally inquisitive vampiress, "Drago, who is this fellow you've brought along?"

[Nuridia]

Val turned in the direction of Dragoslav Galca when he arrived into the convention hall, her pink eyes meeting his red ones briefly and she gave a slight nod in greeting before turning her attention back to...nothing in particular. Coven Galca was one of the imminent vampire covens in the entire Empire. She had no problems with Dragoslav, in fact they barely even really talked or even met outside of this council chamber. He was very powerful, and influential. But she didn't fear him. She was a coven leader as well, no matter how minor. She may have been a "drop in the bucket" as somebody may have put it...but she was fine with that.

Getting bored, and since she didn't fear anybody here she decided to speak. "Lord Dragoslav, you have arrived. How was your journey, if I may ask? Good, I hope? Your sister, the Lady Viessa is here as well I see. Good day and well met to you both." she said by way of greeting casually when the two vampires had gotten close enough together to be addressed both at once. But she left her greeting at that and turned back to the wanna-be gods in the room. She looked at them but said nothing...they sure were as flashy as gods. She did not address Viessa and Dragoslav again, because then Dragoslav started to speak to his sister shortly after, and she didn't really have anything earth-shatteringly important enough to interrupt the leader of a Great Coven and the First Daughter over.

Valerian Galca
City of Marávia
Great Convention Hall

Valerian drank from one of the offered pitchers of wine, tasting it's vintage and deciding that he'd prefer Wine from his native Galca Territory. Humans were good for little but he had to admit that they made fine alcohol, wines in particular. There weren't many Vampires who would stoop to the job of creating a drink like it, as many saw it as degrading and dirty work. Ironically many were also Wine-Tasters and so it did give one purpose for the survival of humanity. He made his way covertly over to one of the potted plants in a corner before leaving with a newly empty chalice. Leaving it with one of the servers he watched as Dragoslav mistakingly ignored one of the Coven Matriarchs. He'd never met her, in fact he had never seen nor heard of her before as there were only a few distinguishing figures about her, namely her brightly pink eyes. Perhaps she was that Valentine Matriarch he had heard about during the journey?

He gave her a quizzical look as she didn't seem to notice him before coming to a quickly made decision. He made his way over, his eyes immediately focusing on hers in an outwardly friendly expression. "I must apologize for my Lords behavior" he gave a short bow in greeting. "I am Valerian Galca, Head Werewolf Hunter for my Coven as well as Dragoslav's heir" his eyes looked over to the imposing figure that was his adoptive father.

"Valentine. Valentine Norcross, but you can call me Val, my Lord Galca. Everybody does." she said, returning his friendly greeting and holding her hand out for him to shake. She didn't know if Galcas did that, but it was the way she greeted people. She then heard Valerian's comment about Dragoslav, who was speaking to his sister Viessa. Val just simply assumed that he had not heard her...not too much of a big deal. But there was a vampire, a year or two older than her physically eyeing her suspiciously with his hand upon his sword. One of the Galca bodyguards she believed. She herself hadn't brought any bodyguards, she hadn't brought anyone with her. She assumed she could get away quickly enough if things broke out. Plus...her coven was one of the most minor ones. Nobody would gain anything by kidnapping her.

"Oh, it's no trouble. I'm not offended, Lord Dragoslav probably did not hear me. It happens, I won't make a big deal over it. I am pleased however to find you so amiable, I don't really speak face to face with the other vampire lords like this. Not many notice me much, I and my coven are a "drop in the bucket" as it were. At least to them, but not to me. I like it better that way, much quieter, less chance of making enemies and such. If I may inquire about your health, may I say you are looking very well." she told Valerian with a smile.


Marie Bisset-Bruecher, City of Myrávia
The Vampire assassin (and sometimes spy) stood in a shadowy alleyway outside of the palace walls, a goblet filled with blood in one hand. She did not dare go inside...not that she was fearful but her profession was much better suited to the shadows. Plus...it wouldn't really do for so many of her employers whom are gathered in one place to recognize her all at once, for then if she was not killed then her contracts may drop because they would not trust her anymore. Not that they did much anyway, they praised her ability to get her jobs done but that's about it.

She did not trust them either...not much. The Great Covens and their heads were a distrustful and untrustworthy bunch, even within their own inner circle in most cases. She trusted them as far as she and her family could spend their gold, and they trusted her as far as her blade could reach. And that was about it. However, she had a good working relationship with many of them and that was good enough for her. She preferred to keep it that way. The perpetual darkness of the city made her glasses somewhat unnecessary, as well as her highly honed vampiric eyesight. But she liked the way they looked, so she wore them. She was dressed in the style of an old French nobleman, complete with red frock coat instead of her usual purple. But that didn't look too out of place in this city...given the sometimes garish fashions worn here. Might as well navigate the dangerous world of politics in style, shall we?

Standing around her were three young men...well young in seeming appearance. Vampires yes, but not bodyguards. Marie could be out of there in a flash with no need for bodyguards, they did not call her the Ghost for nothing after all. All of them were handsome, like most vampires. Tall, yet with variations in looks and build. However, if they looked at all four of them, they all resembled her, and each other in some way. Marie didn't dare bring all of her sons, they were the most precious things in the world to her. Born while she was still human, all of them elected to be blooded upon reaching adult ages. That would have been the end of their line, had some of them not had living children before being turned. Yes, she had human grandchildren. And she was not ashamed of the fact. Two of Marie's sons were at home with their father, her dear August, the family kept to themselves most of the time and lived in what the humans called Hungary...but three of them insisted upon coming with her. As they were adults, she could not keep them from coming.
"Anya, do you think there is a chance of you finding work while standing out here?" Gyula, her eldest asked, using the Hungarian word for mother. He was always the more calculating but more impatient one...and was probably the one closest to Marie out of all of them.
"Patience, mon fils. I'm here to gather some information, see what we may see and what we may hear. And then...who knows? We are in the crown jewel of the empire, we can experience the nightlife as well, oui?"

[The Frozen Forest]

Dragoslav Galca
City of Myrávia
Great Convention Hall

Dragoslav had to admit that the compliment was welcome and he returned it with a beaming glance at her own outfit. "As do you, Myrávia always has the most interesting fashions" he'd always found the fashions of the Venzalors fascinating at the least, excluding one phase thirty or fourty years prior where many younger Vampires took to forming cages with their hair, which they used to hold living birds. Needless to say it was the only time he'd ever banned a fashion in Galca Territory. He was sure that the Myrávians had banned Galca traditions as well, for the lives of immortal creatures were full of dull moments, many were prone to trying to spice up their appearance or attitude. Even his sister had been experimenting with different types of blood concoctions, which he naturally allowed to be sold in his land at a decreased tariff.

He turned to look at the young Heir, Valerian. The boy was supposed to be one of his students, nothing more than that. He'd mentored many, many young Vampires in his time, it was a passion of his to pass on knowledge to young Galca Vampires. There had been something different about Valerian however, the boy had drive and he reminded Dragoslav so much of himself that he'd decided to finally share kinship with the boy. The ritual was painful but in the end Valerian was more than just a Galca, he shared the blood of Dragoslav, which would make him the nephew of Viessa. "Well...I've finally decided to have an heir to the Coven. He is your Nephew, Valerian." He allowed his gaze to settle on the boy, who's attention now rested on Valentine. He took note of Edwards protective stance over his Nephew, though he doubted anything would be tried by the young Matriarch.

Valerian Galca
City of Myrávia
Great Convention Hall

Valerian noted the Guard not too far away, Edward the Mercenary. He tried to pay him little mind as he took Val's outstretched hand, planting a kiss on it as was Galca tradition. "It is my pleasure to meet you, Valentine Norcross." His words gave off the tone of a humble young man, as did his expression. Beneath the surface he was judging her, developing opinions based on her clothes and mannerisms. Her concern for his health left him genuinely surprised for a moment, most did not ask about his health as they assumed the Heir to the Galca Coven was powerful enough to escape any health problem. They weren't wrong either, as he'd only been injured fighting werewolves on the field, though those scars had healed within a few weeks through the use of Galca's most powerful healers. "Might i say the same about you, Val. I tend to find the company of smaller Covens more enjoyable anyways" he offered, appearing not to care about the size of her Coven. He suddenly became aware of Dragoslav and Viessa's eyes upon him, though he did not look in their direction as he had their attention. "If you'd like i could introduce you to my father, i'm sure he'd love to meet such a radiant young Matriarch."

[Mewsland]

5 November 3491 | City of Myrávia | Grand Convention Hall

With the hundreds of vampires filtering through, in, and around the Grand Convention Hall, one constant remained: The doors to the north remained closed. Nobody seemed interested in going anywhere near them. The large doors would easily let an elephant through - with room for the riders.

The reason, of course, was one of clear tradition. The Venzalor sigil was inlaid as a mosaic of precious gemstones on the door. The gems themselves released a gentle glow, the deep maroon and eerily beautiful green of the sigil seeming to come to life. This was, quite clearly, a door meant for someone to make a grand entrance.

Indeed, the entrance was so close. Through the vast web of subterranean (but, of course, still grandiose) corridors linking the many buildings of the palace, a lone vampiress made her way toward the sealed entrance to the convention hall, her soft white robes streaming behind her.

Meanwhile, in the vast crowds, were two relatively new vampires of the Venzalor coven. The pair had been blooded for barely a decade, but were selected out of the coven's members to observe the proceedings at Myrávia. They almost entirely kept to themselves, but they continued to watch everything with absolute awe. "Have you ever seen her before?" one of the pair asked, to which the other replied with an ask about who the first was referring to. The two got into their own conversation on the topic of "who else could I be talking about?", but were soon silenced as a loud report issued from the sigil-inlaid door, the sigil having flared brightly before the doors broke open.

At that precise moment, all eyes went to the sigil door, and a hush fell over the assembled crowd.

There, in the now open doorway, stood the vampiress who had truly withstood her own test of time, perhaps the only one who could withstand the dangers of the coming years. One of the two new vampires exclaimed at a whisper, "By the Gods, it's her..." Not noticing the outburst, the vampiress strode through the silence into the meeting hall, taking her seat upon a great throne, her green and red eyes silently scanning the room. The Mother Vampiress had arrived.

At the whispered question of "who?" from the first vampire's companion, he responded in astonishment:

"Lady Kalara..."

[Arventum]

Posts Needed From: The Frozen Forest | Nuridia | Liencia

5 November 3491 | City of Myrávia | Grand Convention Hall

Ambrosia was the food of the Gods. A coppery herb, it could be eaten in a diet with blood or in place of blood by a vampire, and was often infused with mana to achieve its effects. Its effects were unknown to the masses, but it was included among the gifts that Jeremie had brought for everyone. The amounts given were diluted into a golden liquid called nectar, which included herbs and blood in the mixture, and helped give Jeremie’s coven members their reputation as “Golden Bloods”. Its true capabilities wouldn’t be discovered from such a substance, but the liquid was delicious and could probably bring a vampire back from the brink of death if a little was put in their mouth.

Jeremie stood behind Valerian. The bells on the wreath-like necklace he wore had stopped making noise for some reason, until he willed them, too. Then they jingled.

“Hey, silver fox.” Jeremie called out calmly. “You’re new, aren’t you? I don’t remember seeing you around. I remember everyone’s face.” Jeremie said, having got a look at the other’s face through the reflections in the room. The dirty blonde maneuvered in front of Valerian, and he handed him a glass beaker of the golden nectar, capped by cork.

“Take this. It’s your welcoming gift. I’d save it, though, and maybe carry some with you. It’s pretty valuable. It has healing properties. We call it nectar.” Jeremie said, wondering if Valerian had heard of his little coven of knowledge gatherers. That’s all they really did with their time, besides fulfilling religious duties. That, and business, but who wants to get caught up in the little details, eh?

A friendly smile played on his lips as Jeremie seemed to be curiously examining Valerian. ”I’m surprised they didn’t keep him as a human pet. He’s so beautiful. Oops, did I say that outloud? No.... I’m still keeping my thoughts in this brain of mine.” Jeremie’s thoughts ran happily.

Jeremie looked to Val with a small frown after turning his head to look over his shoulder. He motioned for Iris to go talk to her, and see what she was up to. Jeremie felt some kind of animosity coming from her, but wasn’t sure what it was.

”Ask her how she’s doing… make her like us. Respect us.” Jeremie commanded.

”I think you’re being a little sensitive, Jeremie. She didn’t even say anything to us. Are you sure she felt it it, or was it an emotion from someone else?”

”You know that I don’t have that problem anymore, Iris. There’s no crossover. Just go do it.”

Iris appeared in front of Val, giving a curtsy.

“My name is Iris Wright. I am Jeremie’s child. You’re Val, yes? The Umbra Coven leader? I was wondering how you and your family were doing.” Iris said, striking up the conversation that Jeremie seemed to have been wanting to badly.

Zeus rose from his spot, rubbing the fingers of his free hands together as he made way to Viessa, those fingers jolting with electricity. “Hello, Viessa. We have brought new shipbuilding techniques from the Mughal Empire, and believe that it is the future of European capabilities on the sea. Jeremie wanted me to tell you that. He’s been rather competitive as of late. How is my dear sister doing, though? It has been some time since we last saw each other.” Zeus said, though he had seen Viessa six months ago. Usually they saw each other more, as Zeus was an envoy to the vampiric city. Viessa was probably one of his favorite siblings, hence why he enjoyed seeing her more than many think he would.

Jeremie sniffed the air, and turned from the Valerian boy from a moment. “That is my mother. Look at her, and behold the Goddess that gave us life… all of us. She is your mother, too, in a way. Only a Goddess could give new breath to an entire species.”

Greece and Albania

Examples of Greek might roared through Albania and parts of Greece, as the coven attempted to bring more under the fold of Greek neo-paganism.

“We have come to spare you from the problems you have encountered with sickness.” A Valravn had flown to House Monet’s home, which had been quarantined. She stood tall and pale, with great black wings spawned from her back. Her spear reached forward. “Come forth, and receive your healing on behalf of the Gods. They imbue me with might, with their light, so that I may bring health rather than terror!” The Valravn’s spear started to glow, and soon a bright, all-consuming light would blanket the entire home, radiating through every floor, glaring like the sun out of the windows, and seemingly piercing even the walls so that it was all shining. The light was warm and calming, and would relieve all of the stress in the lives of the Monet and their children.

“Do not be afraid of the light! Olympus has brought you the light.”

Things such as these were being said and done throughout the lands. Some were thankful, and some were afraid, but all knew the power of the light of the Valravn. It cleansed and purified you on a level deeper than what you could see on your skin. Your cough would evaporate, and you could start crying from joy as a result of the light. Some people, who had strong beliefs about anything - even other deities - would feel things the strongest. An odd quirk of the spell, but it insured that Jeremie and his people would receive the most devout of followers.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Grand Convocation Hall, Palace of Myravia

---

Around the lord of House Felfaen courtiers applauded dutifully, sycophants and creatures more debased than even the members of the court paying homage to the master of the known world. In their midst, as if a man wearing a long garment of many colors, Zhukov watched the proceeding from under half-closed eyelids. His arms were crossed over his chest, gaze roaming the festivities. At length the Russian tired of the bowing and scraping, and made his way over to one of the chairs at the immense table where the foremost members of the Empire would seat themselves; the seven Great Houses, though in truth Zhukov found the presence of some at that table undeserved. As he walked the mass of courtiers that had followed the Fell-Handed from the Hall of the Paramour veritably wheeled with his movements, an unconscious orbit all too reflective of the influence he wielded over their lives in truth.

A vampire from the northern marches of Italy, a sire of the lesser Coven Veritans, bent the ear of the Patriarch as he crossed the Grand Hall. The nervous-looking white haired old villain was concerned by murmurings out of the Papal states, and the growing influence of the Venetians. It was not an unfounded concern, of course. The wealthy human city-states of the peninsula paid at best nominal homage to the Myravian Empire and Kalara, and their mercenary companies had grown large indeed in recent years, coffers swelled by the lucre of trade with the Far East. Such riches had also emboldened those who should know their place within the Mediterranean Basin, innumerable families and bloodlines who could scarce count two coins to rub together in the older days now put on airs and battled for influence in the web of names and faces across Europe.

Some words of condolence, half-meant, half-considered. They pacified the concerned bloodsucker, for now at least, and the truth was not too far from what Zhukov spoke. His interests in Italy were primarily economic, but there were also allies of allies who called such marches home, and a thousand ties both political and insubstantial that bound the lands of House Felfaen up with its neighbors. To ignore the concerns of one so locally based would be hubris, and the Nightmaster had not risen to sit ahead of so many of his peers and ancestors through placidity and foolish forbearance.

Yes, he could feel their eyes. Here and there, the elders of the race, those who had the fortune of time but not the blessing of wisdom to know what to do with it. It was only five centuries since he had come out of the East, and yet those who had walked the passages of the world since time immemorial in many places had had to give way before House Felfaen. Strength called to strength, and scented weakness all too well. Those who were worth having as allies had known when they stood in the presence of the lord of the Fell that he was not a man to be trifled with, though they of course knew not why, not truly. Some men thought it was pure physical mass; and that was true. Women fancied it a handsome face which opened doors; and that was true.

But the truth of the matter, the real truth- ah, they did not even suspect it. And that was well, well indeed.

The coat of many colors dispersed like a flock of butterflies before the storm as Zhukov took his seat. Courtiers vanished to take up orbit around some lesser lords, those Zhukov favored rapidly forming their own social knots as the dance began anew, a partner removed. There were hundreds of families and polities that served the Banner of Midnight, and to count them all as a mere mortal would be a feat indeed; direct vassals who maintained their own armies, feudal lords sworn to those who served House Felfaen directly, even the lesser human lords who aped the politics and plotting of their immortal masters.

Here though, at the table of the Great Houses, only a few men and women sat. Kalara foremost of all, of course, upon the Throne Imperial. But there were no orbits, no tapestries, no sycophants; they would have to watch from the wings, seeking for advantage, lusting after their own seat at the table. Thus it had been since the foundation of the Empire, and Zhukov's wintry smile barely twitched his lips apart. Time to hear the account of how the Empire beyond his borders fared, from the mouths of its owners, instead of spies or rumor.

Zhukov sat back in his chair of graven ebonwood, emerald eyes slowly taking in the others with an intent that seemed lazy, but in reality had the quality of a panther poised to strike. His slate-gray greatcoat and many points of dun jewelry almost seemed to drink in the dim light of the Hall around him, wreathing the master of the Obsidian Tower in shadows darker than those which already filled so much of the Palace of Myravia.

[Nature-Spirits]

The Tiziatresti carriage finally pulled up in front of the family's Roman properties. This was the base of operations for their economic activity in Rome, small though it was. It was an initiative begun by Dragano's father only a handful of years ago, in an attempt to grow their influence in the Eternal City. So far, it had met with little success, but Dragano had plans to change that. Giacomo, a young member of one of the branch families and the head of their Roman operations, was waiting to greet them, along with a dozen servants.

"Your Serenity!" Giacomo greeted as the Doge stepped out of the carriage, head swiveling back and forth to take in the property. It was a fine building, more than enough to suit its purpose, but not lavish. Finally, his gaze rested on the young man before him.

"Giacomo," he said. They had met once, years ago, and Dragano knew the names of all of the Tiziatresti -- even those of the branch families -- but they were not close by any stretch. "How go your operations?"

Giacomo briefly looked down, then back up at Dragano. "As well as they've always been, Serenity. No worse, thank the Lord, but no better either. Rome is a competitive market, as you know."

Dragano didn't respond, but by now Benesuto also had emerged from the carriage, and they began walking towards the entrance. A servant hastened to open the door, and Giacomo fell into step behind the Doge and the Archbishop. Inside, a woman and a young girl were waiting. They curtsied. "Serenity."

Giacomo moved quickly to join them, as Dragano slowed, then stopped before them. "Ah, Your Serenity, this is my wife, Anna, and my daughter, Letizia."

Dragano looked at the little girl, and gave a small smile. "You have a beautiful family, Giacomo." He looked back at the man. "Now, to business?"

Giacomo, growing ever more nervous, acceded to the Doge's request, and led him and Benesuto to the salon, where the guests settled into their chairs, while the host fetched a small stack of papers from a cabinet. A servant served three goblets of wine, and finally, Giacomo joined the other two men in sitting. "Ah, Serenity, we received a piece of correspondence just a short while ago from the head of the di Caeliani House. He has just recently ascended to his position, and would like to host both you and His Holiness." Giacomo passed the letter to Dragano, who read over it.

"Someone, take my dictation," Dragano commanded. A servant produced a quill and ink, and prepared to write a letter.

To Quirinius di Caeliani,

House Tiziatresti and all of Venice thank you for your most generous offer, and must congratulate you on your ascension. The Serene Doge and the Archbishop of Venice will happily attend, and await but your word. The Serene Doge and the Archbishop welcome this opportunity to discuss all matters secular and spiritual.

By the Providence of the Lord,
His Serenity Doge Dragano Tiziatresti of the Serene Adriatic Republic of Venice

"Send it straight away. The sooner this meeting is arranged, the better for us." Dragano turned back to Giacomo. "What else was there?"

Giacomo's mouth turned dry as he produced the next piece of correspondence. "We have just received this letter as well." He handed the letter to Dragano, and said, "It concerns the territories. Albania, specifically. Apparently, there are supernatural forces at work, going about healing people of their illnesses. The peasants and burghers alike attribute this to the pagan gods of antiquity. It's possible that a cult will soon take hold, at least in the cities -- you know how misfortune has plagued the Albanians of late. Some of them believe that God has abandoned them, and that the Olympian gods will save them."

Dragano listened as he looked over the letter. His mouth formed a hard line, and his left hand reached up to stroke his short, dark beard. This must be the work of the vampires, he thought. No other force with that sort of power would have any reason to do this. I wonder.... Word has it that Athens is ruled by vampires who emulate the ancient Greeks. It is difficult to know the truth of the situation, however, when so few have seen the city and told the tale. If that's true, could they be responsible? Or is it just a red herring? He was silent for several minutes, as Giacomo waited nervously and Benesuto sat patiently, waiting for his half-brother to make a decision.

Finally, Dragano spoke. "We will send an envoy to Constantinople. We must speak with them to determine whether they, too, have experienced this within their borders. If so, we can work together to find the source and crush it. Alone, we can't hope to deal with such a threat, if it is indeed external. As for Albania, we need to defuse the situation somehow. Raising religious tensions would just make things worse, so we can't work solely through the priests. We need some other way to bring the people back into the light of God." He stopped, and twisted the silver ring on his left ring finger.

Benesuto widened his eyes when he saw that. "You can't mean --"

"Yes, I do." Dragano looked down at his hand, then up at the Archbishop. "The people need to be reminded that it is not some pagan deity who provides for them, but God and the Adriatic. We are the Adriatic. And they will be reminded that they live and die by the Adriatic's will."

Benesuto crossed himself, and glanced up at the ceiling.

Giacomo opened his mouth to ask what the two men were speaking of, but quickly shut it again without saying anything. It wasn't his place, he knew.

[Ralnis]

October 31,
Palma, Ali-Bazik Territory

A private home, a sacred study, hidden from Human sight. A private place that can be used for intense prayer to remind the undead of their humility and their duty to both humans and Algul. Uba prayed for his sins to be washed, for the blood he had to take from the servants, and the ambitions of his coven to be met. For someone such as him and his kind, to remeber the limitations and curbing the natural hubris that came with their supernatural forms is hard and required intense tending.

As he bowed and prayed towards the direction of Mecca, the sound of footsteps and hushed whispers of a servants and guards behind steel doors made him cut his prayer short. He walked to open the door and his guard quickly tried to get some blood for their master as labored breaths and bare fangs showed the bestial hunger that every Algul needed to keep satiated. The guard brought an a rat that he digged into the animal as the life force was drained for its body.

A bloody mouth marked the mouth of the Moor but his eyes had a regain of sanity and composure. He grabbed a handkerchief from is pocket and wiped his face as he motion the rat away as he peered into the eyes of the frieghten guard.

" Report on your findings." Uba commanded.

" Support for your crusade is not going through. They said that..."

" They will be replace then." Uba interrupted.

The servant just looked at him with worrying eyes and Uba walked away before he the servant try to say something. The Algul moved with stride and increase speed as the moon was high in their lands. He was seen as a blur to those that can percieve the petranormal speed but by the rest they thought it was just a gust of wind. He stopped to the main home of his Coven and he went into the secret rooms and dark places where only assassins gather.

They saw the signs and knew the news before the Patriarch had ever spoke. Uba looked at the covered men and his eyes looked at the shadows and the corners until the confirmation was known throughout the room. Unruly governors had to be replace, they held back the ambitions of their masters and the way that things needed to go. The titles of office were always replaceable when it came to disloyal humans as many others can follow simple rules and instructions.

" Make sure to be thorough on your purge." The only words that were heard as the assassins slither into the darkness to conduct their dark work.

As he walked into his modest bedchambers he found a letter on his nightstand. It was enclosed in the symbol of the Empress herself, which only mean that it was time for the meeting. He hated to attend the meetings of the other Algul and the meetings of debauchery and decadence that older children than himself dine in their private homes.

He gave a sigh as he closed his eyes and said a little prayer for his undead soul. Intrigue and power ruled the capital of the Empress and her loyal followers, major and great houses look to try and backstab one another as the signs of stress are showing and the growing Christian threat and set his eyes on the mainland as he quest to cleanse such a threat from Iberia in his own crusade. Such a purpose need help, and monetary gains so this was the perfect time to try and gain an alliance of some sort from a much more powerful patron to help his gains.

The next day he saw himself on a ship to the capital as he needed to attend and make his case known to someone.

November 3rd,
Grand Convocation Hall, Palace of Myravia


Uba came in a carriage like everyone else, before a slave came to open a door, the driver stopped him. Uba was saying a prayer before he gave a nod to the driver and allow the slave to open the door and bow before his presence. He wore modest clothing and looked more like a common merchant than the Patriarch of a major coven.

He walked through the magnificent city and have notice that he loved the art and the work of slave builders. Once he remembers the slave workers, the beauty of the city turned sour in his mind but he tried to keep it held tight underneath his training and mental walls against the more magically adept Algul of his senior.

Walking in is what he expected, social gatherings had taken place and the Empress herself emerged in an elegance of that equal to a god. It was common for Algul to show their power to others. The Muslim sat down and kept himself from drinking wine or blood as he fed on a horse beforehand. To him it was good enough to keep the beast at bay and hear the words of the Empress herself.

[The Grim Reaper]

The 5th of November, 1575 Anno Domini; Quirinius di Caeliani, Rome

To His Holiness; & His Serenity Doge Dragano Tiziatresti

Your replies to our invitation have been met with much pleasure. It is by God's Grace that our preparations for the upcoming Feast allow us to provide at little notice what humble refreshments and entertainment our House can afford. We would be bold enough to invite yourselves and your retinues to attend to the Lateran Palace tonight; we ask that you forgive us our forwardness on the matter. The coming day shall make our properties harder to navigate privately, and we would find it most gratifying were His Serenity to be able to begin his stay in Rome at the Lateran Palace.

There are no small manner of things to be arranged for polite company; however, we would remind our honoured guests that given current circumstances in Myravia, whilst conduicive to our own freedoms of movement, are similarly conduicive to that of the other kind's more tempermental. Given the esteemed company in attendance, we would waive some of the normal pleasantries in favour of goodwill between the gentle.

The Lateran Palace is prepared to host yourselves and your retinues throughout tonight, and awaits your arrivals.

Quirinius di Caeliani,
Prince-Commander of the Papal Guard, Advisor to the Papal Throne

---

The majordomo of the Lateran Palace was a well-respected man. The ubiquitous reach of the di Caelianis accorded even their lowest servants no small reputation amongst the common man, but as the head of the di Caelianis' laundry-list of discerning properties, Mr. de Laurentiis. His distinctive -iis suffix indicated his heritage from Abruzzo, having come to the Lateran Palace from one of the di Caelianis' many favoured satellite houses. Many of the Italian nobility, particularly outside the Papal States proper, curried favour with the di Caelianis by offering material support for their far-flung properties and household, centralized as the di Caelianis were at the Lateran Palace. Their few satellite houses within the Papal States proper, however, fuelled the Lateran Palace's substantial household staff itself, providing servants and resources in exchange for having the Pope's ear, however indirectly, and for the invaluable connection to the rest of Italy.

De Laurentiis would not be inaccurately described as one of the world's finest household managers. He had to be - it was his responsibility to manage some of the single most symbolic properties in Christendom. He did his morning prayers at the chapel of the Lateran Palace, the Sancta Sanctorum, up the stairs said to have been walked by Jesus Christ himself, and his nightly prayers with the staff at the Archbasilica itself.

Today, he would be hosting the Pope himself, and the Doge of Venice. With merely hours' notice, it was a task that would drive many staff to tears, if not out of their jobs entirely. For the experienced majordomo, however, the sparse resourcing of the di Caelianis was merely a hurdle. The storage rooms of the Lateran Palace - and some of its bedrooms, as the di Caelianis did not have the finances to hire warehouse space in the center of Rome - were packed brimming with gifts and items to be used in the Feast, and the majordomo could name each of them by donor and intended function. It was simple for him to repurpose some (they were hosting the Pope, after all; the contributions to Christendom would not go amiss).

And repurpose he did; the guests would be received in the Piazza Lateranese, and invited into the Lateran Palace itself. As the staff busied themselves, more time would be bought by obligating the guests to give their devotions in the Sancta Sanctorum; a small chapel, they would be entering in small numbers, helping to stagger the large retinues expected from both delegations as they were shown back out of the chapel into the triclinium - the formal dining room, albeit merely a shadow of the famed triclinium of 800 that was destroyed in fire.

There, they would be met, at first, with communion wine and bread, as was traditional to begin a meal at a di Caeliani function. It would be followed by a service a la francaise, direct from the Lateran kitchens - famous across high society for their innovative use of peasant foods and meals, it was said that the di Caelianis' chefs were so reputable as to be able to make a trend out of a slave's cooking pot, and they were often asked to tutor the chefs of noble houses that wished to prove themselves close to their local commoners without dropping appearances. A variety of pastas and meat-dishes would be carefully paired with the di Caeliani's legandary wine cellar, a selection that money literally could not buy. Many of its bottles came from the limited runs of monasteries and vinyards, carefully obtained decades or even centuries before they were to reach prominence; and not an insignificant number came to prominence precisely because of rumours that the di Caelianis had obtained one of their bottles.

Quirinius would be there to greet them as the first guests - the most prominent amongst their number - left the Sancta Sanctorum, taking the opportunity to seat them in the triclinium and introducing himself and his immediate family - his older sister, and his two younger sisters. Any servants in their guests' retinue would be invited to have dinner in the ancillary halls of the Lateran Palace, and take service in the Archbasilica with the di Caeliani chaplain, the Bishop di Caeliani.