Journal of Laeldril Do'ghym

[Angelique]

*A smoky grey leather bound book with ragged edged parchement inside and embossed with a damask bladed dagger on the cover*

Thinking about the years that have passed, all can be summed up in that they were preparation for what Laeldril Do'ghym would become. Life began with her embrace and that is where her entries begin.

[Angelique]

A road not found on maps, a road less traveled or not at all without the eyes to see. A chance encounter in a teahouse, a fast friend made, a sister acquired and the hedge opens to reveal a hidden fork in the road. Along the road a sign post, a father's gift of knowledge, a family earned. The fork of perfection gained; and the dance, all for the dance of steel the grace, beauty and deadly precision of the dance of steel. As a child Laeldril Do’ghym spun daggers on their tips watching, counting the glint of light reflected off the blade with each revolution. In her mind seeing herself spin in the light, dancing with the dagger, knowing perfection. The dance to mesmerize her prey, to take its life before the dance was done; to be one with the blade stronger, faster better than all else. Who knew that perfection was not found in the light but in the shadows?

[Angelique]

Too many thoughts cluttered her head, images she had never seen, voices she had never heard all creating chaos in her mind. It had been four days since Valas embraced her, and Laeldril was still looking for normal, striving to regain a piece of what she was before. In the darkness of her room the windows now blocked by tapestries to keep the light out there was only silence. Missing was the sound of her heart beating, the rush of blood past her hears. Missing was the sound of her breathing to take in the oxygen her blood so desperately needed to keep her alive; but that had all changed others breathed for her now, others carried the hearts that beat, carried the blood that was to keep her alive.

Smells, so many smells the air changed from room to room, from person to person. Once it was voices, tones, inflections that separated individuals, now in the dark she could smell Amelia in her room sleeping soundly. Laeldril knew Valas had been in the house at some point, she could smell the trace he left behind. In the darkness she could make out the stones of her room, defined by some unknown light she had counted the stones in the east wall several times till she heard the foot falls of Amelia’s cat in the hall. Sounds so much clearer, so much more refined and amplified. From her room Laedril could hear voices downstairs through the stone, no longer muffled and unclear but distinct. What kind of animal had she become, more than once the thought crossed her mind as she sat rocking in the corner, waiting to awaken from this dream.

[Angelique]

As a mortal Laeldril Do’ghym thought her kind the top of the food chain, strong, powerful, courageous. Histories of all races were filled with the account of mortals defying all odds to stand victorious, to be more than the sum of their parts. This ideal had driven Lael in her pursuit of perfection; her dance of iron would not only be mind, body and iron in graceful movement ending life in its dance. It would include experience, and spirit and all the nuances that made her the woman she was… the mortal she was.

Heroism was gone however; in the dark recesses of mortal existence men rolled over and exposed the underbelly of their cowardice to die swiftly without strength, without power, without courage. Men did not fight and the dance was nothing but a three-chorded two-step to their demise. Lost was the opera climaxing in a crescendo of glory for the dying to mark an extraordinary end, now all that remained was a note left on the dinner table that they would not be home for dinner. Fodder for the mighty had mortals become, a take out meal for a woman infused with power beyond mortality. As a new night forced the last of days light below the horizon, these thoughts floated across Laeldril’s mind as her silvery white hair spilled across ocher linen and crimson silks. Lael ran an ebon hand across the smooth skin of her abdomen hearing a slight growl reminding her it was time to eat.

[Angelique]

Swift on his heels he spun and thrust his dagger at me, I blocked the move but was knocked back against a stone wall. The crack of my skull against the stone echoed in my head for a few minutes before I opened my eyes to see him kneeling beside me, staring at me with that look of remorse. I smiled coyly to provoke a response only to be met by a wink and a nod; he knew too well I was fine, not the first blow I had shaken off only to return the favor next go around. Did we ever stop fighting? It began verbally, a heated debate over the merits of a leafblade in comparison to a kryss. Several meetings in the tavern in Umbra and we had matched aspect for aspect every piece of weaponry and armor we both owned. I was surprised when he offered me his helmet, “Makes more sense for you to use it, accents your gear much more than mine.” I was happy to have completed a set of plate mail, one I had been working on for a long while. I was happier when he took it off me and the feel of his hand on my cheek sent static shivers down my spine.

Always similar, had I seen, did you see, have you ever tried? Endless talk of the dance of blades and how best to stay alive; then two moons back our conversation turned from words to actions, with a tiny phrase, “here let me show you…” The fights turned from debate to contest as fierce battles for dominance erupted and steel clashed with steel, as blades and shields sounded the fury of the dance. Changes in terrain, weather, metal composition of weapons and armor; anything we could think to test we pitted against each other. Could he keep his breath to cast spells, could I keep my endurance up to knock the wind out of him and keep him silent? Fight after fight, learning how our bodies moved, how feet were placed, how we bent around a blow, just how flexible we each were and when we would touch sparks unseen pricked at my skin. It was inevitable, out of the fires that forged steel into weapons, passion of burning white iron we unleashed upon each other and a new battle upon a new terrain was shared between us; a new test of endurance of heightened senses and feelings shared. Sorrian I howled across the landscape in a fevered pitch to be returned in the baying of wolves, even now sitting alone, I can taste the salt of his skin, fill my lungs with his scent. A thought lingers, how long can I keep him…

[Angelique]

This is the first time I have chosen to leave Istas, its been a little over two years, or twenty-six months, or one-hundred and four weeks, or seven-hundred and eight-eight days, depending on how you count time; since my embrace. I woke up Gangrel... Living on top of this mountain has in many ways curbed my desire to run, my need for open spaces; but not all of them. It awoke in me the inclination to having a pack, going against over a hundred years of wanting to be alone. My coterie is strong, and learning to be stronger, my haven sound in their care. I've followed in his teachings and made them secure, well taken care of, loved... Still this feeling grows...

Run... run the world around... kill what stands in your way... blood, blood it not enough lately... the hunger is stronger... No mate, no hunting grounds, only quiet solitude and bottled vitae, my claws are too clean...


The beast paces within me...

[Angelique]

Hodja means hand...

Where is our hand now, most of us were left lying in the snow... where once I was part of an elite fighting force... we've grown distant, quiet... mortals entered our lands and put us down, this generation out performed by those we were supposed to protect... The Beast paces within... what have they awoken...

[Angelique]

How long can you turn your emotions off before you can't turn them back on? Its crossed my mind a lot lately, how often I simply choose not to feel to get through a situation. If I don't feel the task gets done and I can leave it behind. It is often easier to block feelings, instead of trying to deal with them or with others. I've ended up with two offices this week more doors I can hide behind like I have been burying how I feel. "You are not your job Gangrel," At least the job gets done without treading on other people, stirring up offense or having to explain what it is you feel...

[Angelique]

*For the first time since the night Soot and Dart died, Laeldril slept in her own bed. Her sleep was fitful, her dreams disturbing...*

You pay for your new dagger. The Weapon smith stares at the blade for a long moment.

"As you wish ma'am..." he mumbles, and hands the blade to you quickly, as if it were hot to the touch.

You walk out of the armory, the reassuring weight of your new blade nestled against your hip. Around you, the Marketplace buzzes with the exotic sights and spicy-sweet smells of a thousand alien worlds. You stop to watch a troupe of what appear to be intelligent starfish performing an obscene puppet show on a makeshift stage. You feel the blade at your side grow warm. A silky voice whispers in your ear.

"They want you dead..."

You snap your head around but cannot find the source of the voice. As night shrouds the market in darkness, you head home.

You lay down to sleep. As you drift off, for just a moment, you swear that you can hear a voice singing to you in a gentle whisper...

You are standing in the Arena. The familiar stone walls are checkered in pink and green, while an audience of leering skeletons cheers and chants your name. Electric butterflies crackle by your head and sing an unfamiliar song about sailing. As you stand there, listening to the dead men chanting your name to a jolly, maritime tune, a woman approaches you. Dressed in a long silver dress, she is unsettlingly beautiful and cold. One of the butterflies lands briefly on her shoulder, then falls to the ground, dead.

"They are coming to get you. Right now."

The lady in silver looks behind you. You turn and see another woman. Dressed in rags, her bloodshot eyes are wild and full of hate. Foamy blood sprays from between broken teeth as she screams and charges.

The woman is laid at your feet. Your hands are covered in blood and your head is swimming. You look up, and the silver woman's face fills the sky above you. The skeletons cheer, hoot and toss roses at your feet. As the roses pile up, their thorns grow, puncturing your skin and cracking through the bone. You are pinned to the ground and the roses keep piling, your skin warm and sticky from the blood of a thousand tiny cuts. The roses cover your face, the leaves and stems slither and scrape their way down your throat. As the thorny stems cover your eyes, you see is a grinning man's face...

Once again you are standing in the strange arena. The skeletons have quieted down. They are whispering to each other in their hoarse, chattering voices and pointing toward the arena floor. You follow the bony gestures to find yourself staring at, yourself. You look down to discover that your own body is densly muscled and covered in thick hair. You try to scream, but instead, you feel yourself smile and let out a beastial 'Rawlf!'. You try to stop your body from killing this other version of you, but cannot prevent yourself from raising a long, two-handed sword and driving it into your chest.

When you open your eyes, you are on all fours, panting and staring at the ground. On the other side of the arena, your opponent growls.

The silver woman whispers to you, "You know what you have to do."

*Lael woke to her words ringing in her ears feeling like she'd not rested at all... Sitting down at her desk she opened her journal and wrote down what she could remember.*

[Angelique]

*Laying in her bed a few nights later Lael tries to fight the dawn holding on to consciousness as long as possible...*


It is a beautiful morning. The Hall of Gates hums soothingly, hawks drift above the city's many ancient spires and you are standing in the middle of the street, a bloody dagger in your hand.

You stuff the blade under your shirt, in hopes that the nearby Guard will not notice it, and stalk back to the armory.

You confront the weapon smith who sold you the blade. "Yeah, figured you'd be back" he mutters, keeping his eyes away from the bloody dagger in your hand. "That knife, never been nothin' but trouble".

You demand that he refund your money. The old weapon smith just chuckles.

"Won't matter."

You ask him what he means.

"When you bought the thing, the dreams didn't stop for me. I still see terrible things, when I close my eyes. It's just getting worse. Whatever's in that blade, once it's inside, it don't go away. It'll fester in yer head while you sleep. Wiggle around and disease your mind." The Weapon smith spits on the ground and stares into the red heat of his forge. "Besides, I didn't craft this blade. It was sold to me by Gilly Gutslice. He has a love of things that cut and a passion for usin' em. You can track him down, Maybe he knows more. Try lookin' anywhere that you wouldn't want to take your mother."

You thank the Weapon smith.

"Make sure you're experienced enough. He's a bit of a psycho. Chances are, he won't be friendly."

After asking around a few of the seedier taverns, pit-fights and fairy-water dens, you find Gilly Gutslice, face down in an alleyway, amongst the gnawed, bony remains of what was, hopefully, a chicken. You wake him with a kick to the midsection, which sends him leaping to his feet, unsheathed dagger in hand.

"Oy! Now! What was that?" He stabs blindly at the air in front of him, before pausing to stare at you for a long moment.

"Bit early in the day for spilled blood." He down in the alley mud with a foul-smelling 'sploosh'. "Come on then, what do you want at this unholy hour... What time is it anyway?"

You tell him that it is two hours past midday. You then relate the story of your recently purchased dagger, leaving out any references to possible homicide. By the end of your story, Gilly has a exposed his tiny brown teeth in a ghoulish jackal's grin.

"Yeah. I know the blade. Made that one myself. Glad to see it's gettin' some use." You ask him if there was anything special about the way it was created.

"No. No, I don't think you want to know that. I think you have more pressing questions. Like, 'How am I going to stand up, when ole' Gilly has ripped out my spine and used it to fashion a fancy hat?"

And with a hiss, he leaps at you.

With gasping breaths Gilly whispers to you before loosing consciousness. Wiping his blood from the dagger he made, you make your way home locking yourself in your room.

You do your best to stay awake. Late in the night, sitting in a hard wooden chair, you look out of the tiny window of your Duelist's quarters, the city spires, illuminated by the full moon and the stream of softly humming energy that emanates from the Hall of Gates in a constant stream. Somewhere in the blasted wasteland surrounding the city an animal, or something far worse, shrieks and you drift to sleep.

You are standing, once again, in the electric Dream Arena. The skeletal crowd cheers and thrusts paper mache effigies of you into the sky. They chant. At first a low murmur, it grows in volume with each repetition.

"BONE DADDY! BONE DADDY! BONE DADDY!"

The Skeletons rip off pieces of themselves. A foot here, a hand there, a ribcage, a skull; they hurl them into the arena, creating a ziggurat of bone on the dirt floor. As the bone pile grows in size, the individual pieces bond to one another forming new, larger bones. Hands become a rib, while a group of femurs line up to define a new foot.

As the enormous piecemeal skeleton rises, you see the woman in silver. She raises a glass and winks at you. A rotting corpse slides up behind her and kisses her neck. And with that, an enormous skeletal hand crashes into the ground in front of you. Fight as you do with all thats in you, even as the Skeletal Behemoth shatters, the individual pieces reform and the onslaught continues!

*Lael jerks awake... as the sun falls below the horizon... another night in her own bed and another dream to log in her journal*

[Angelique]

*Laeldril sat on her bed thinking over her options, there were other places to sleep... Stubbornness took over and Lael curled around her pillow the soft sent of the sachet in the case filling her mind with comforting thoughts... It wasn't long though before she began to dream*

Gilly explained to you that, even though Dorphin was dead, there still might be a chance to track him down and break the dagger's curse. It seems that after the mysterious circumstances of his demise the death-obsessed old man's corpse was delivered to Doctor Svelizon, a similarly necormantically-minded scholar.

You are standing outside of Svelizon's laboratory, a ramshackle cottage conveniently located near a working crematorium. The moldering, splintery wood is held together with strips of metal and bits of strange looking machinery. A gargantuan telescope teeters on the shack's roof, while a metal disk, surrounding what looks like an enormous living eye adorns the front door.

You approach the door and it opens on its own. Inside the dimly lit house you are struck by the smell of formaldehyde. Unseen gears grind and unseen liquids bubble somewhere nearby. In the corner, hunched over an impressive array of beakers and what appears to be a humanoid brain, the doctor is working diligently, oblivious to your entrance. You approach him.

"What, what is it? What do you want?" Electricity arcs from something on the table.

You tell the Doctor that you are looking for Dorphin. The doctor turns in his chair and looks at you over his homemade spectacles.

"Ah. That cretin. Believed that death was something to be coddled, coaxed from the darkness like a hungry puppy. His magic was never up to the task. He didn't understand that the way to tame death is with the sure, cold hand of science. We worked together for a brief time but, ultimately, he proved to have... Better uses."The Doctor waves an absent-minded hand toward a the wall above his head.

A corpse turns slowly, strapped to an enormous metal wheel. As its head nears the top of the arc, there is an electrical flash and it stares at you, opened eyes buried deep in its fleshless face. When you look back at Svelizon, he is on his feet, a small, sharp knife held lightly in his surprisingly delicate looking fingers.

With quick reflexes and the advantage of strength over the scientist, you beat him down, disarming him.

Svelizon slumps down in his chair, removes a gods-know-what stained handkerchief from his pocket and dabs at the blood flowing from his nose.

"Okay. I relent. You are, perhaps, too sturdy a subject." He squints his newly blackened eyes and looks up at you.

"So, what do you want with Dorphin?"

You tell the doctor about the cursed blade, the murders, and that you believe the dagger itself is making you kill. The doctor laughs, a hoarse, screeching sound that reminds you of a small animal in the throes of violent death.

"Well, you are right about the metal. But you don't need to worry about your precious innocence. You didn't kill those people. Dorphin did." The doctor looks up at the zombie strapped to the wall. For a moment his cold, silvery eyes fill with something almost like pity.

"We were working to forge a bond between science and magic. We found a mine. We were trying to create keys, portable gates between our world and the Afterlives. Our experiments tainted the ore. After Dorphin's unfortunate accident, he was drawn to the metal, as though it were a dog whistle. I recently discovered that he has been sneaking out at night. You say people died while you were sleeping?" He waves his hand at the bound creature, "There's your culprit."

You ask why you were covered in blood.

"My guess is, he liked your dagger enough to rub his face on it while he was in the neighborhood." As Svelizon rubs the corpse's slowly rotating face, Dorphin moves it back and forth, smearing it with blood.

"See? Just like a little kitty."

The doctor's hand lingers for a moment and the corpse takes a crunching bite, lifting him up into the air. The doctor's weight causes the wheel to come crashing down in a hail of sparks.

Free of his restraints Dorphin lunges at you...

The fight is fierce only your agility and quick thinking keeping you ahead of his slow crushing blows. As the two of you maneuver through he wreckage of the laboratory you manage to get behind him thrusting the tainted blade into the base of his skulll, slowly what is left of the man falls to the floor a pool of blood forming under his head.

With the last curdled breath that bubbles from the blood seeping out his mouth you feel a weight release from the back of your skull the tension of the past few nights ebbs away.

*bolting upright as the dream ends again as the sun dips below the horizon Laeldril comes face to face with her sister Bruhae sitting cross legged and grinning wickedly from the end of the bed. Bruhae blows Laeldril a kiss and then dissipates from sight, a brief shadow slipping under the door.*

[Angelique]

Its been quiet, other than visitors to Istas, I've only seen my sire for a week or so. I sat tonight in the dim light of my room playing with the shadows, surprised myself when I made them move. For months now I have been trying, I asked for instruction, and an estimate from Ilharn on how long it might take me to learn. I have just not been able to get anything to react. I felt the blood burn knew I'd made something happen... was comforting to pull the shadows from the corner of the room towards me to cover me like a blanket. I've seen Marcus and Ilharn manipulate the shadows, I knew it could be done, until tonight I haven't been able to do it myself. I don't know if either man know I watch them so closely, take notes on what they do, and how it seems they do it. I live my life in stealth, most of it unseen to anyone. I am pleased at the shadows responding to me, one step closer to being one completely...

[Angelique]

I have many concerns for this task I've agreed to undertake... Guide to mortals among the undead of Khaldun. I've ventured there twice now, and two times I've come to the same wall carving and get lost in thrall, unable to break my gaze. Xander broke it the first time, his gentle reminder I was not alone. Somehow.. I stepped out from shadow and left myself vulnerable the last time, my trance broken by the spectral armor wishing to keep a pound of my flesh. The image is so vivid in my mind... five men standing with jagged knives to their throats.. obeisance to one they worship...

could I ever loose myself to follow that blindly...

am I strong enough to remain an individual...

is it love or reverence to commit such an act...

is there a difference...


I can't do this alone, I need someone I trust someone to guide the guide, I've asked Xander to join me, his expertise I hope will keep me from letting the others come to harm. I couldn't answer Xander's question to the motivation for Istas providing a guide, I only know I was asked and so I go. Can I lead these mortals through the ritual... safely...

I honestly don't know if we can succeed, only that none will be left behind...

[Angelique]

I began my night the same as I left the previous, counting...

Four humans, three male, one female...
One wolf, from his mind as he watched over the pack, twelve adult wolves, four female, six male; eight pups, three female, five male...
One raven, female...

I reached out and gently caressed each of those minds bound to me, my love for them knows no limits, they are my pack, my family... the only living things I cared for... would fight for... die for...

Two wolves, both male, one adult, one pup... gone but not forgotten...

I held tightly to Chaser, the coal coloured wolf who kept me warm sharing my bed so I wouldn't sleep alone. In his eyes I saw Soot, his intelligence even without the bond made me proud he was of Soot's line. Animalism was how we communicated, one day perhaps, when he was older we would share the bond and foster a stronger relationship.

Efanor entered my chambers, every night began the same when I was home, a goblet of blood, I now after two years was realizing was his own. The taste, smell, even the texture as it coated my mouth and throat, the same every day he brought it. I'd never asked for blood from him, but as another retainer once told me, as he offered, "to protect the Masquerade, you from harm..." Peace of mind that I was fed, and none outside our haven would or could ever know. I abhorred the idea that those retained to me were food, correcting my sire on more than one occasion about, "tasting," them; however I took much comfort from the love in which they offered themselves.

Efanor left the door open so Chaser could make his way to the kitchen, or outside should he have need, as I sat at my dressing table, Efanor took my brush and began tying up my hair. "Tightly, no loose ends if possible," I knew tonight any distraction needed to be removed. Tonight I needed to be the shadow I was striving to become. As I finished the goblet, Efanor laid out my armor, and a selection of weapons and tools. I sat a few moments in thought of the night I first put that armor on, the fit, how it felt like the protective hand of the man who gave it to me. I never felt alone wearing it. Tonight I would carry everything needed to kill from the shadows swiftly, should anything go wrong. Short blades, vials of the deadliest poisons, smoke bombs... though my greatest support in success was no tool, but my cat and his experience and expertise.

Efanor is staring at me, I guess its time to get dressed and head out... I will write again when I return...

[Angelique]

None were left behind

[Angelique]

I watch people...

Its surprising sometimes, how little people realize how much of themselves they bear to the public... how much of their lives I am aware of...

For as long as I've been watching it never ceases to amaze me how little people hide...

Much has changed since I began down this path, I've watched Ismene in Inetheria, in Connemara, in Everthorne, grow and become Queen. I've watched Aedon build and rebuild his dreams, and now I look on as he ages and strains to hear whats going on around him. I've watched lovers, meet... share each other... and part. I've watched Kingdoms grow and others fade... I've watched their histories happen whether they tell the truth about it or not... I've watched...

I've seen competition, confrontation, conflict and comradeship. I've seen alliances forged, and broken; trust, betrayal, enmity, strife, peace and bounty in the lands.

I've watched people live, seen them soar, fall down and pick themselves back up again.

The cycle... I am seeing it repeat...

A very wise man told me... "it comes in waves"

It comes in waves... and I watch...

[Angelique]

Angelique Diavolo, if I hadn't seen her throw spells like there was no tomorrow, I'd be concerned she couldn't take care of her self... or perhaps that is her strength, there is power in being underestimated by others. The professor is watched closely by her peers with looks of suspicion, envy, and admiration mixed. I listened to their talk, to find if it were a breach of the Masquerade that roused suspicious attention. Rumors of professional secrets having earned her the status she holds in the Lyceum, people looking for any reason other than a young woman can be good at what she does for her being successful. Angelique isn't a liability to Istas, her Rank among the mages guild will keep people from looking closely to what she is, preferring to focus on what she does. What I find very interesting is those who matter, the Archmage, and the Guild Mistress, both are more concerned with loosing her, those that matter want her close. Angelique's students fall into three categories, those that want to be like her, those that are passing time, and in her class because she's good to look upon, and those who despise her for making them live up to their potential, the latter however are her strongest advocates. She spends hours with some students outside of class, teaching and reteaching until mutually they find a way for the instruction to be mastered... she seems to know which of them need attention rather than want it. I wonder what disciplines lay waiting beneath the surface for her to bring forth with a little training.

The woman's aura always seems to hold a soft shade of honesty, she speaks softly, efficiently with a conservation of words, but saying much more with them. Angelique's retainer shows a devotion not just from the bond of blood, I've learned they have been together since they were barley teenagers. Perrin hired as a scout for one of Angelique's fathers expeditions, the two were intimate friends long before her embrace. Mutual respect, admiration, and genuine interest in each other marks their relationship. Angelique has two contacts in Vesper, older men one working for a larger shipping company, the second in the customs office. Both men don't haggle her, she needs something they quote her a price and the task is mutually... verbally agreed upon. I am assuming they deal with her out of respect for her family, a relationship based on generations of interaction.

It was my turn to start a business relationship with Miss Diavolo, I met her just after sundown to discuss the lease of my property. I felt a change in the building as soon as I entered, there was no trace left of my sect other than the quiet rooftop patio that could still be used to watch the pass up the Canyon. It wasn't just the renovations, the atmosphere inside was different, it was a feeling, not something I could measure, like someone had changed the music playing, the building had a different beat. I could smell burned white sage underneath the cooking smells in the kitchen, and the soft scent of the cinnamon broom over the archway. Angelique showed me around and spoke of the uses she would have for the space before we sat down at the table and discussed finances. The woman is frugal, but not miserly, we negotiated a value based not on her financial position, but from her current income, I was satisfied with the price we decided upon and could tell from her aura she was relieved. Runescape would have a constant income for as long as Miss Diavolo wanted the Chateau, and that was a great relief to me. Angelique asked about the wolves that came by frequently and I explained about my pack and that they were housed in the building for a time. We arranged that they would continue to pass by to keep an eye on the place for her, I had intended it to be so to watch my property anyway but it reassured her for when she was alone.

Time will tell what asset Angelique Diavolo will bring to Istas.

[Angelique]

I smile as I reflect on Aedon's words, "if you learn anything let us know..." Let them know; it came as a surprise in that moment that he didn't realize that often I did let them know... I just allowed it to come from the best possible source for my means or as directed for me to do. I am the Essess... the eyes of the clan... I watch and what I see I use to both my and my clan's advantage. Who presented the information sometimes had more significance than what was presented... who's voice speaks for me can paint the picture I want, blank text on a page can fall short in accomplishing a goal. The gathering is done in black and white, the sharing is a full colour portrait with gilded frame.

The seasons continue to pass and still I watch... until there is something to tell...

[Angelique]

Ilharn and I talked about it off and on for months; how to pierce a Kindred's ears... My first attempt healed on their own, my body rejecting the holes I put in my ears, passing the silver ring out of my ear and healing the wound completely. More was needed to make a permanent piercing Ilharn explained. Aggravated damage and I wince to think of the need for fire that close to my body.

I've waffled between wanting it done and being afraid of not only the process but how it would change how I look. The War Bitch with earrings... looking in any way feminine. Growing up attractive got attention of the worst kind. I've spent so many years behaving and looking masculine to avoid the notice of other men. I think I've grown in many ways in the years I've spent in the Seti's shadow my appreciation of myself being one of them. Thanks to him, I own a red dress, and a strand of pearsl... and the little ebony filigree earrings he bought me but I've not been able to wear till now.

It was an impulsive move, I sought him out and asked him quietly if he had the time, Ilharn always seems to have the time when I ask. "Meet me at my surgery," was what he told me and there was no turning back. As with everything about the Seti his surgical laboratory was immaculate; not an instrument out of place. I sat on the table and quietly he prepared for the task. I brought with me three earrings, the ebony gift he'd given me and a silver ring for the tip of my left ear. Ilharn took out three long needles and set them to heat over open flame. I remember the knot in my stomach watching them heat up. Fire or flame is never comfortable to be around.

I watched his mirrored eyes as Ilharn carefully marked where in my ears he would make the piercing, he explained he'd use the heat of the needles to burn the flesh making a permanent hole for the earrings. It would hurt... Many years ago when I first began learning from him, the Seti taught me how to connect to his mind, how to let him in. Once ready my mind filled with silver light and peace as he entered and directed my attention away from the work he did on my ears. We visited past times we'd spent working together, times and memories I cherish. I don't know how long it took, only that I woke up safely on the table the piercing done.

The wolf in me flicked her ear noticing the new weight, I stiffened in pain and saw the wince on Ilharn's face, it would need time to heal... Ilharn had made the piercings, then used his ability in Vicissitude to clean up the wounds leaving only the scaring needed to maintain the holes for the earrings. There is a reason I would trust no other man to this task, or any other task or procedure done to my body. There is no one else with the skill and forethought to do the work right, or who treats his work as an art form akin to painting or sculpture. I am privileged he was willing to do the piercings for me.

I sit looking into the mirror carefully flicking my ears watching the silver ring glint in the candle light and I smile... I am going to have to be extra bitchy to maintain my reputation, its always good to have an excuse!