Originally posted August 3, 2003
((By 2003 we had been playing World of Darkness for just about 10 years. We were starting to burn out. "Where There is Smoke" was the last chronicle I ran and this piece below is the last bit I wrote for that story. The chronicle continued on until 2004.))
"This is Hell," Reginald said to no one in particular. Carnage surrounded him. Twisted metal embraced torn and rendered flesh. Although sated, the smell of blood and death pricked at the red thirst lurking in the back of his throat. Reginald tilted his helmet back to view the stars, clear and cold across the skies. Heaven watches, but does nothing.
"No, this isn't Hell."
Reginald turned to look at his companion. Serves stooped in one of the network of trenches, busying himself over one of the many corpses lying there. The mage had aged since the vampire had seen him last. Reginald could only speculate the growing affect of apocalyptic technology on his mystical acquaintance. Roughly the same age, recent years added lines to Serves' features, sapped strength from his limbs.
"Too warm," the mage said as he continued mutilating a body. He expanded his nostrils in a deep intake. "Smells wrong, too. This smells bad, but not like Hell."
Reginald, who didn't need to breathe, hadn't noticed. He turned his attention away from the mage and once again surveyed the battlefield. The fighting had moved on, for now, leaving a trail akin to a rockslide, avalanche, or some other natural disaster. Humanity had caused this destruction, however.
Deep trenches scarred the French countryside. Giant, armored behemoths had crushed life in wide swashes of treads. Soon, humanity would launch even greater terrors. He had been to the future. It gets much worse than this. Kind called kindred "monsters" yet their destruction of each other far surpassed any harm caused by vampires. Or did the elders manipulate these pawns? Reginald thought of the ancient vampires he had known. Most of them maneuvered much more subtly than a tank. A tap on his leg interrupted his introspection.
Serves lifted his arm above the edge of the trench. "Hand up?" Reginald reached down and gently lifted the old man out of the trench. Serves opened a clenched hand to show the vampire his prize. It took Reginald a moment to recognize a severed, testicle filled, scrotum.
"The seventh son of a seventh son," Serves beamed. "With seven sons. Very lucky." He looked back to the butchered corpse. "Well, lucky for me, anyway. Powerful stuff."
Reginald watched as the old man continued scouting the battlefield for other artifacts, thinking of the nature of monsters.
--
"Reginald?" Dr. Thomas asked from a high back leather chair. The vampire Prince of Chicago refocused his eyes on his seneschal. If his woolgathering annoyed the other vampire, she did not show it. It would take a .50 caliber shell to the chest before the prim Victorian raised an eyebrow.
He could not argue with her administration of his domain. His reign enjoyed relative peace over the last three years as Samantha's quest for security dovetailed with his drive against evil. Freed from the day to day management of his domain, concerns about mage politics and the Technocracy, Reginald had driven the Sabbat if not out of Chicago, deep underground.
Now she had come to him with un-expected news of magic and visions. The "Warehouse Gang" could hold the key to returning a powerful, long missing ally. A childhood Serves runs through the empty streets of Constantinople in her dreams, asking her, "What is the difference between very old vampires and very old mages?"
"Dr. Thomas, please ask these mages if they will meet with me. I also want to see that Nosferatu, MacGregor. He saw the first vision of Serves, correct? I will meet with you downstairs in 15 minutes." He nodded, dismissing the other vampire.
He would take a moment to meet with his own, secret advisor. Perhaps she could apply some of her skills, so honed on hunting Sabbat, to investingating this mystery and to determining if the mages could sucessfully unwrap it. Reginald would see for himself if the mages wanted to unwrap this puzzle.
"What is the difference between very old vampires and very old mages?" Reginald knows the answer.
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