NationStates Jolt Archive

Bless me Father for I have sinned...

The priest whirled, his face ashen. Nobody there, the church empty except for the saints and holy virgin, their faces still, eyes unmoving.

"Who's there? What do you want?"

Oh, nothing much, Father. Just wanted to talk. How is the congregation these days? Do they still listen to the hypocrytical ramblings you call a sermon?

The priest whirled again, trying to find the source of the voice.

"Who are you?"

Just a concerned paritioner. Tell me father, do you still have a weakness for whores?

"THAT'S A DAMN LIE!"

It's okay Father, I forgive you. After all, without any paritioners to listen to your inane prattling, what does it matter if you break your vows with the lowest of the low?

The priest didn't answer this time, instead grasping his chest, his eyes bulging in pain. Falling to the floor, he let out one last wheeze, then lay quiet, gone to his eternal rest.

Well, his soul at least.

Standing, the priest straightened his collar with a smile.

"God damn, this gig gets easier each time. Wonder if this guy's got any good clothes, black just doesn't do it for me..."

Pushing open the door, the priest stepped out into the night, whistling as he went.

...And it came to pass that the Elohim raised their hands against their brethren, a great War in Heaven. A third of the Lord's children took up arms against Him, lead by the Maker's first creation, jealous of Mankind's favoured status...

What a load of horse-shit...

...Finally, the Lord reached down with His hand, casting the fallen Elohim into the Abyss, where they would dwell for eternity. And for Lucifer's sin and those of Man, Adam and Eve were cast out of the Garden, and as from dust they were made, to dust they would return.

Slamming the book shut, the priest slid the book back onto the shelf, pulling another dusty tome from the endless stacks.

The key is in here somewhere, it has to be...

"ZERIEL."

Looking up, the priest sighed, closing the book.

"How the mighty are fallen, Haquiel. I thought I'd never see one of the Rabisu stoop to entering a library."

The man frowned, pushing aside a stack of books from the table.

"I LOWER MYSELF? YOU STILL WASTE YOUR TIME DELVING THROUGH THE WORDS OF MERE MORTALS WHEN YOU SHOULD BE PREPARING FOR THE COMING OF THE MORNINGSTAR?"

"He won't come until He's good and ready, Haquiel. Butchering mortals in his name hardly helps, and is rather hypocritical, if you think about it. Was not the War waged for Mankind's sake?"

"MANKIND HAS PROVEN ITSELF UNWORTHY OF OUR LOVE, ZERIEL. YOU SHOULD KNOW THIS BETTER THAN I. YOU LIVE AMONGST THEM, HOW CAN YOU NOT SEE THEIR FAILINGS?"

"Perhaps I do, Haquiel. But have we not failed thus far? What good does it do if we accuse Mankind of forsaking their salvation if we are also damned for eternity? Anyway, it's rather irrelevant because I'm not studying mortal texts."

"WHAT FOOLISHNESS ARE YOU DELVING INTO NOW, ZERIEL? PERHAPS YOU'VE FOUND SOME WRITINGS FROM OUR DEAR DEPARTED BROTHER MICHAEL? OR A SCRIPTURE WRITTEN BY THE METATRON ITSELF?"

"Nothing so blatant, Haquiel. Honestly, you must learn to think in directions other than straight lines. Let me see.... Ah. Here it is. Catch."

Tossing Haquiel a small leatherbound tome, the Priest leaned back in his chair, putting his feet up on the table as he browsed through a second copy. The tall man skimmed his copy, frowning at a few passages.

"WHAT NONSENSE IS THIS, ZERIEL? SURELY THIS MUST BE SOME JOKE."

"Hardly. It's quite serious, and from all appearances, the original was penned by the hand of our first charge's child. Perhaps his progeny have some idea of the fate of the Dawn Bringer."

"PERHAPS. PERHAPS NOT. BUT YOUR NEW LINE OF INVESTIGATION... INTRUIGES ME. I WILL ACCOMPANY YOU, TO LEARN THE FATE OF OUR MASTER. EVEN A GLIMMER OF HOPE, AFTER SO LONG..."

The two walked from the library in silence, the Priest with a spring in his step, unnoticed by the larger man, his nose buried in his copy of the Book.

The Book of Nod.

Victoria relaxed in her club, she sat in a window high above the gothic club, watching the ravers and the goths party on the floor in their drug-induced eurphoria.

"Lady Victoria, I see you are doing well." said a man. He had slick silver hair and a trenchcoat on. His toothy smile glittered with gold teeth, he wore star-shaped sun glasses with a pink tinge. The man wore a purple feather hat and it matched his dark complexion very well. He was like a fashionable pimp in the new century, except he was more of a businessman then others of his kind.

"How goes the business, Ebony Star?" asked Lady Victoria, her voice was stern and commanding, but soft at the same time.

"Well...we're moving 10 more up north, just in from southeast asia of course. The price was wonder, but it is nothing compared to your ability to produce money." said Ebony.

Lady Victoria smirked and brushed back her long black hair, "Perfect, I'll expect more of the same in the following month."

The man got up, bowed to Lady Victoria and left, holding a cane in his right hand, on it was a voodoo skull made of solid gold. Their secret business transactions would help to secure Victoria's rise to power in New York City, though she seeked powerful allies in the underworld.
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OOC: If it wasn't obvious enough...Ebony sells people for Victoria. Victoria runs the club and is a drug trafficker and makes her own money.

New York had always held a certain fascination for him. He wasn't sure if it was Lambech's half-mad ramblings about the Elder beneath their feet; or if it was simply the intricacies of the city; it's towers, its depths. Standing in the window of one of his many havens, he gazed out at the slumbering city; almost seeming more alive in it's nighttime gleam; alive with people, vehicles; light. The light denied to him for so long. He chuckled softly, tracing elegant fingers over the glass. He was content for now; content to observe; to wait until the next opportunity presented itself.

He paused, a half-moan rising from behind him. Her arms had been linked together behind the chair before he had allowed himself the grotesque pleasure of fusing flesh and bone. The more she struggled, the more she would endure agony. She was regaining conciousness. Soon he would taste her fear, know her intimately; hear her scream as he fed. And when he was done...Perhaps she would serve some purpose; he always had use for spare flesh.

Just because he wasn't moving upon the city, just because more of his pack had not arrived, didn't mean he would be denied a subtle sort of fun...

OOC: It's here, the thing is it's very specific and will apply to more threads than this. Are you familiar with the World of Darkness?

http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=472484

OOC: Anyone want to explain what those deleted posts were about? Just morbid curiosity speaking...

IC: Stepping from the plane, Zeriel smiled at the glowing New York skyline, its soaring spires lifting his spirits. After all, if humanity could accomplish something like this in only a few short millenia, what were decades in pursuit of the Dawnbringer? He had endured an eternity in the black silence of his divinely ordained punishment, how could he protest spending such a short amount of time in his quest to find the Lord of the Morning?

Pulling his leather jacket around him to ward off the chill, he moved across the tarmac, to an awaiting limo. Sliding in, he scooted over as Haquiel's huge frame entered the car. The Rabisu seemed uncomfortable, shifting in his seat as the limo pulled out of the parking lot.

"Something bothering you, Haquiel?"

"These Kindred. The Children of Caine. How do we know that we can trust them? From what I've read of the Book of Nod, they're hardly the most good-natured of hosts."

"Of course, my friend. They key is that I don't trust them. Not in the slightest. But as the mortals say, keep your friends close, and your enemies closer..."