Postcards From Enoch

Jasons' Journal

Dear Mom

Written and left in Jasons' apartment in Enoch

Well, for starters, I'd like to apologize for missing the last 35 birthdays. And I'd like to apologize in advance for missing all the birthdays left. Ditto the rest of the family. But the world's changed, and I've changed quite a bit. That said, I've quite a bit of time on my hands for the forseeable future. There's very little I can actually say, but I'm healthy and self-sufficient. I'm not in prison, but I am pretty far out of the States - such as they are. I'm learning, but it does seem like for every plus there's a minus. I have things, but none of them are a John Elway jersey. I have a computer, but it's not a Commodore 64 from the thrift store. Still, I've got a lot of time to reflect. So, I'll keep you updated, and if a miracle happens I'll be able to hand this to you. Overall, I'm not entirely sure you'd be proud of everything I've done, but as I'm sure you're aware you didn't raise a choir boy. I did however, turn out OK. Relax on that.

Quiet consideration

Choices. As I'm not going at a breakneck pace for the forseeable future, I look back and realize that this current outcome was not inevitable, but that the choices I made created this. There is some measure of pride to be seen, but simultaneously a realization that I could have done it better. Preparations need to be made to prevent similar calamity in the future. Boltholes need to be established and maintained. In this, computers will be a blessing. Sadly, there ain't shit for access here. Seriously, not even dialup. Thus, I'll have to commit these plans to memory. Personal goals still remain; advancement of Auspex, perhaps an innovation is needed - Thaumaturgical knowledge needs to be gained in order to secure the group. Also, we need to determine where we're going to land in order to make our next strikes.

Perhaps I may need to redefine what I consider breakneck.

Additionally, there is a great boon I have to think of. I have a great care for my clan - this is perhaps not odd, as I chose this. But this clan is fractured. I need to find a way to bring them back. It may be a long goal, but I wish to walk the halls of Alamut and read from the great libraries. I think I know what I want; Access to the records the hand has regarding the clan. Haqim created us for a purpose, and I would see that purpose fulfilled.

The Limitless Mindscape

One thing I've been doing some is dreaming. It's odd - I don't remember dreaming a great deal when I was breathing, and I rarely dreamed as a vampire. But now that I have the time, I find myself doing a bit more of it. Of course, now I have a greater range of abilities. Still, I must be cautious - nightmares are also dreams after all. It's a great difference between Enoch and the realm - It's a great honor to be here, but all is darkness. The brightest colors of Enoch are dismal - particularly given the colors I could see in the world. Still, there's an advantage to this dream realm I visit. I see things that people see, do things people do. It grounds and reminds me of all that could be lost in a way that memory simply can't. I need to expand my abilities and bring others here. As a gift, or a boon perhaps. I do need to work on my tan, before I can't.

Forward-Looking Statements

Also in the back of my head, plotting the wherefores and who's of our eventual return. Question - am I still light enough to fake out as a Toreador. Something to consider no matter where we go, as an art fop is generally more tolerated than diablericidal maniac. That said, I'll need to ground myself thoroughly before going to wherever we go. Mask thoughts. American bald eagle, done up in a style like Carnival. Big, brash, and bold. I can make that happen. New identity...John McTavish it is. Next item on the list, laying a more portable groundwork.

Plotting things out

Let's presume for the moment that I can fake out as a Toreador for the moment. Next bit, Tina. Pretty sure she can rock it as well. So what do we "do"? I think I could make it as a metal sculptor, and Tina could be a decent fashionista. The problem is going to be the expectation of Elysium attendance. I'm pretty sure I could get us out of that particular hell with a few short remarks, possibly even a "yo mama" comment. Now for rest of the coterie, I'm pretty sure we can song and dance. Brenda as a caitiff? Meanwhile, Hugo...eeeyeah, maybe he could caitiff it there as well. Cass has the Brujah thing locked down, which makes life a little easier. Still, backgrounds need to be built. And really, what is Elysium but a real-life flame war? Gods but that'll be fun for a few nights.

As far as memory goes, I think I understand Old Me's choices a lot better, now that I can recall them. There's something about humanity that is, for lack of a better word, special. Sometimes, choices are made in an outrageous act of rebellion that resonate through centuries. Having grown up as an outsider, being given the opportunity to rebel in the greatest way possible was quite tantalizing. However, the cost of self-exile is steep. I think knowing this gives me a great sympathy and respect for Brenda. I believes her path is not one of choice as it is necessity - I've seen her lab. Humanity erodes at such acts that are in fact necessary for our goal.

Todo list

Crap. Enforced isolation is driving me batshit. Fortunately, as I'm still self-aware enough to realize I am going crazy, we may as well spend some time working on what I can work on here. To wit, Dream-realm activities. Not going to lie, seeing the sun is a thing. Now to work on swords or archery. I think archery. I wasn't too bad when I was breathing, and there's something about archery that calls to the roots. To sharpen the mind, chess. Then developing a cover story. I think we're going to pose as Toreador from LA, wherever we land. I could be an accountant embraced to ensure Dear Fathers' finances, and then Tina can be my sister the fashion model. I've seen the magazines she hides. Andre could be our bodyguard. Not sure what everyone else has in mind, but that's what I'm going with.

I still need to shoot something and code something. My kingdom for 4 bars. Even on a 3G network.

Back to the library - I still need to learn how to read some of the books here. And some of these tablets. Why tablets? Because that's what people wrote stuff down on before the advent of paper. Quite frankly, it would not surprise me if wars were fought over some of the things written here. It would surprise me less if Haqim came back and said "Guys...this is my laundry list."

Supplemental todo list

Okay, archery? That's a little bizarre. I have perfectly good VanHelsing docs in my head. That's time better spent doing useful things. Like reading. Again, I'm having flashbacks to a youth in the library, surrounded by books. The down side of this library is that I'm reading the books in it like a kindergartner. It's oddly pleasing to see a word I recognize. Okay, cuneiform, but still. Also, the symbolism just straightup hurts. I'd write an app for this, but there's nothing to write an app on. Also, reading up on some Toreador history. If I'm gonna fake it, I best be able to really fake this funk for at least 30 years.

Still haven't narrowed down where we're going to land. Though it's a discussion for everyone as a whole, the first prerequisite is that we're near her, but in a non-sabbat city. That's going to be kinda rough. Although if memory serves, nobody ever told me this would be easy.

Other things to work on. Teaching Hugo Celerity, and style. He has some raw talent and in his wheelhouse, he's got the chops to make it. The problem is he's not exactly, adaptable. And that is going to be something he's going to need. That said, he's got the kit to be exceptional. Now if we could just do something about the obsession with stealing shiny things. and we're really going to have to work on his cover. Charm, speaking well to women and men, dressing...the details make the deal.

Tina, she's turned out to be quite a boon. The only real problem I see there to work on is the humanist aspect. We're going to work on that as well - we have time. But what are the lessons necessary to regain humanity? Again, to the library. Maybe we'll have to consult philosophers - really, what is Humanatis but an ideal? An ideal that we strive for, to treat with the masses better than we are treated. Doing things without expectation of recompense. Doing things that raise others up, and thereby raise ourselves up. I have a belief that we can in fact do what is necessary without sacrificing what we are in order to do so. I will have to set the example of what is right action.

It is quite possible I'm becoming a leader. Fuck.

Additional todo list

Once again, allies may become a need. The more I consider it, the more I think we need some 'acknowledged' sect assistance. The Sabbat are right out. The Camarilla, not so much. They've been around too long and they're a little too...comfortable, as a whole. If my memory is good, I think there's a new kid on the block. They might be of use to us. Of course, we're altering history pretty severely if we do, but still. History as I recall it ended rather badly. I'm going to have to develop a cover that allows for some serious jetsetting. I'll run the idea past Masood, see what he thinks of turning the Justice League into a Giovanni-smoking machine. Still, we'll have to keep everyone in range. Otherwise the whole thing has the potential to be an uncoordinated mess.

Time to go big or go home.

Starting a War

In the category of "Go big", I submit the following:

To the members of Clan Rosselini,

Greetings. I wish to convey my admiration for you - the events of Cagliari most certainly have placed your name where ears can hear them. However, I have a deep concern for you, as your masters do not share my admiration. Let us set them aside for the moment while I ask a question of you; who are the greatest masters of necromancy? Some of you may have been slightly dumbfounded, thinking we were leaving the Giovanni aside. We are, for though they may tell you of their history, and even preen over certain aspects of it, the simple truth remains - they are not the best. They are however, very good at using a tool that fits their desires, and they have the luck that the Devil Himself would admire.

History is written by the victors, and in a sense, they have won. But listen to their history, and a pattern emerges. Their victory is gained on the ashes of others, those who have the misfortune to have another family name. Your victories, their laurels. In truth, how far would they really be if you were not there? If any of the others had not fallen under their sway? If Fortune had looked right instead of left, where would you be? Would the roles be reversed, with Augustus taking orders from Rosura, and having his failures recounted every time he wished to see something done?

Again I sense questions - what's my motivation for this? Simple, really. I am a historian of sorts, and in history do I read the future. Combine that with a small amount of secret knowledge, and a historian can see into the future. A future that stretches onward for millennia, with the Rosselini as First Among Lapdogs. Is this truly a fit fate for you? I suppose there are some who are content to carve the kings' throne, to sweep and dust and ensure the palace is neat, but I personally think such drudgery a poor existence. Look upon your brethren, and decide if living in a shadow is your deserved fate when you lit the torch. Consider the fallout from Cagliari, and ask why such things must be. Ask yourselves if it is time to renegotiate the contracts that bring you your nightly vitae, and bring childer into the darkness.

Ask yourselves if it is time for Clan Rosselini to take its' rightful place. The Giovanni have power over you so long as you let them. Certainly my words will be seen as an affront, a sin against The Way Things Are. I suppose if you are content, you have every right to remain so. Carve the throne. But for many of you, I sense reality seeping in, ever so slightly. I encourage you to marshal yourselves, for the war has already begun - in the demands, in the restrictions, in a thousand ways made subtly manifest is your place as the eternal servant being reiterated. Let history be the judge of your actions.

This may need re-write. Bounce it off a few other people. I'm not ignoring the irony that I'm starting a war among vampires as I'm trying to end one among the humans. There may be sleepless days ahead as I worry about just what the hell I'm unleashing.

Going slightly mad

All of this plotting and planning is perhaps a distraction. I'll be honest, I don't just miss computers and guns. I need them. Seriously, I was fiddling with an abacus and found myself coding a hello world. In binary. If I were to drain all the emotion, I would say I'm a few fries short of a happy meal. But, since I am a creature of emotional states and desires, I have to reply to myself that I am in fact doing something of importance, and that what I do is a thing that is in fact necessary.

This must be what going mad feels like.

Back to the point of the matter, Enoch is in and of itself a wondrous structure. The most ancient of our kind walked these streets, begat their childer, lived among people, bartered with them, and sowed the very seeds of eternal wars. Even with people who don't have a jot of Auspex, this place resonates, but the only emotion I truly feel from it is that of age. I saw the Titanic exhibit once when it went through Denver - it was amazingly powerful, and walking through and touching its' hull, I could barely conceive of the forces that went into its' craft, and its' eventual demise. I will declare to this night the hull was still cold from the sea.

And I find I've digressed again. How do the Malkavians cope.

I'm working very hard to not alienate, because the things I miss are my own. I can't let this stop me from making my way back to the land of the living, and thereupon make some serious headway with what must be done. Can we do it without destroying our souls? Weighing everything in the balance, I find a trade acceptable. I can regain what is lost. The Giovanni will not have such good fortune.

Time to refocus and pull mine shite together. I know better. This is not the time to be falling apart. The world may indeed be on the precipice of apocalypse, but I am not going to have to need a moment and let the world fall. Chance has landed us with a multitude of things - the opportunity to make the world a better place. How many people can truly say that? If granted the chance, how many people would hesitate?

And so now I look at the part of myself that's not ranting and raving and prepared to swap rooms with a Nos if there's a decent connection in the deal. The part of me that is sitting like the chess player I used to be, plotting out a series of 5 or 6 moves in preparation for the win. Boston. Perhaps it'll take a decade or three, but I will make that city mine, and then after the vault is neutralized, I'll leave it.

I've always kind of hated Boston. Centuries of self-righteousness smugness based off of the fact that they drunk-dialed King George to tell him to fuck off first. Currently a Giovanni city in all but name, it shows where the Camarilla is weak. Now would be the time to bring the League from a West-coast anomaly to a force to be negotiated with, and ceded to. While the Sabbat has a no-holds barred policy because they are predicated on "Not that", the League may be a more acceptable partner to keep the forces of anarchy and the desire for self-determination channeled. The elders may not like it, but that's because the league is more predicated on positions due to talent within the area, not favors owed. So we'll need to campaign aggressively, but not gain a position. Every offer must be weighed in the balance of "Will this help us take the Boston Vault."

For now, I need information. Data-data-data, I cannot make bricks without clay. I need to keep an eye out for the things Brenda needs. I need to keep an eye on the Giovanni financials. I need to build my own finances. Wherever we go, we're going to hit the ground running.

Creating a new character

Alright, time to pull my head out here. So to make this happen, I have to re-imagine myself. So I put myself in an old, old headspace. That of teenaged me, creating a new character for D&D. But using myself as the template,and filing off the serial numbers a touch. First thing to worry about, skin tone. For that, we're turning the clock back a bit and claiming native American-ness. Need to be a little taller though. 5'6" or so. Longer hair, like down to the knees, make it black. And...sadly, I'm gonna have to lose the goatee. This is more of a sacrifice then I thought, but we can work it.

Now then, a name and a Clan. I know I had the McTavish alias picked, but I may have go more...ethnic. Digging back into the memory bank for some names, and it's slightly amusing; there really aren't any "ethnic" names in my personal family tree. Honestly, the names in my family tree are Parenteau, McNickle, Carlson, and some others. So yeah, gonna have to off-board on the name. Jeff Bear Track. It's a start.

Next, comes the part where I figure out why I was embraced by a Toreador. We'll call it because of my coding skills. Electronic artiste, provided by a tribal grant. Now traveling the world to see the great art of the clan. Sure, that'll work. Enough of a sop to the ego, makes them think I'm a wide-eyed naif. Also has a built in excuse for disappearing from Elysium for nights on end.

About the only thing left is the name itself and the minor physical alterations necessary to sell the look.

Vacationing in Mauritius

No gonna lie, it's been an interesting year. I mean I really don't need to sleep, time is a very...odd thing. I check in with Cass now and again to make sure I know what day it is...and occasionally what month it is. It's a cheat, but I use celerity to mark the time. A few seconds of frenetic action, then I know when an hour has passed. I should backtrack a bit, really. I've skipped a few things, I see now. As far as my financial standing goes, the Hand is going to take care of it - it'll be dispersed and converted into something else, most likely land. By the time I'm back, I should have access to the bank accounts and whatnot necessary. Given how much I have, I may have a large stake in something like...well, probably a chunk of Africa or Europe. I checked the balance sheet a few times, and I am in fact worth more than a few countries the last time I looked. Admittedly small countries, but still. I am nothing if not a creature of ego.

Enoch has a way of putting that ego in check, however. Masood and I took a walk-around, and saw some very powerful things - the gardens of Malkav, beautiful in some way. The temple of Lilith, where the chatterlings are kept and educated. Note to self - if here for another year, offer to teach the kids how to deal with technology. I spoke with Narbonidas at the Tower of Stars and discussed a ton of things - apparently I'm more of an oddity here than usual; not so many viziers here, really. Essentially me, Tina, and Masood are a sizable fraction of the total viziers of the Hand. Gods help us. That said, I'm working on my swordplay; Masood has taught me quite a bit in regard to the scimitar. It does lend itself toward slashing, but he has given me a beautifully jeweled scimitar for my American Express card. It doesn't have the same heft as my pistols, but it's strangely comfortable. I think it's because it's from Masood. Narbonidas is enchanting it to do a bit more against the occasional spectral assault. Handy things. Also, the practice with the sword helps me get used to my new body. Taller, a little lankier, and the hair is going to take some getting used to.

Again in the humbling is the local languages, which haven't been spoken by mortal men in hundreds of millennia. While I'm not fluent, I can get by well enough to make the wraiths understand me. That was several months shot to hell, but hey if I'm coming back here, I'm going to be understood by god. The other thing that gives me a bit of a squick is the slave pits of Irad. Seriously, it's weird that people...are here. Pretty much taken from everywhere, probably so they can't rise up. But I've taken one for my exclusive use as a food source. She's very...skittish. She's depressed, but I think she can be of, while not use, she can be an example for Tina - possibly have her pick out her own from Irads' pits. We just need to be sparing with blood use, which shouldn't be a problem. Masood was much kinder than me, to be honest. He doctored some of the slaves - to be honest, had I had a doctors' bag I'd probably have been there with him. Speaking of humanity, Tina. We had a long (read: couple days) conversation regarding humanity and its' positive aspects. While freely admitting that our eventual goals will erode at our humanity, this is our challenge. Humanities aspects are to be admired, not seen as an inconvenience. We are humanists, that we may preserve and minimize the damage to humanity our actions will do. That said, Tina is going to redouble her efforts to be humane.

And then Brenda came around with a proposal. We get a week off to go back to the world and help her with a thing in Mauritius. Weird shit is afoot, and we get to check it out.

Coming back to the lands of the living was an exercise in awesome. Colors. I saw colors. While for most, this is an experience that's meh, I remind the Gentle Reader that after a year watching 50 million shades of gray, this was an unholy awesome experience. Reds, blues, yellows, greens, and all the colors of the spectrum that I could possibly want. My eyes thought this backwater shithole of a port was a ripe slice of heaven. And the tech. So awesome. I mean it was closed beta when I left and now it's in ports. Meanwhile, my POS has bars, but it's updating. And updating. Annoying, but I had colors to see...which is probably why my cash got lifted.

Dammit. I mean, it was only 10 grand, but it was the only 10 grand I had. So now I had to go find who had my cash and gently educate them. It took a minute or two, but I finally heard what was probably the happy cry of a street meat who hit the lottery. So I darted and found the exact opposite. Little kid who mighta been 8 or 9 with a slashed femoral artery. Quick assessment, I had to time this just right - and I did, giving some mouth to mouth vitae-transfer, which got the kid just onto the side of "gonna live". After that it was a semi-simple matter to ask the right questions to give me an image of who had done this, and the chase was on. Brenda was miffed that I had cockblocked the grim reaper, and we had a spirited discussion while my predatory muscles flexed for the run and the chase. Sometimes, it's good to give into your baser instincts a touch. It felt good. Really good, actually. Wind, dekeing through the crowds, keeping track of everyone and finally arriving at Cass with the perpetrator in some sort of cop-academy double arm bar. The others were out of the fight, but I the leader was still spitting trash at Cass in several languages. 1, that's not how you treat a lady. 2, that's definitely not how you treat a lady who could dislocate both your shoulders in the time it takes you to draw a breath.

With Hugo mopping up, I felt it incumbent to lesson the young punk who'd tried to kill over what was rightfully my money and was a remorseless little twit. I wasn't entirely heartless - as the branch is bent, so the tree shall grow. However, on the other side of that was the grand tradition of the west, where a wronged man shall extract justice. In between these, was me. And so a modified Texas affirmative defense was in order - "Your Honor, he needed a kick in the nuts." The crowd was simultaneously horrified and appreciative. I mean, on the one hand, this kid was apparently pretty known as a punk. On the other hand, he was pretty much a defenseless opponent. Fortunately nobody was leaping to the little punks' defense, which gave me enough time to take my cash and leave enough for him to have a reason to be arrested. Which he was, and that left us time to get our collective asses to meet our contact, with enough time to burn.

Brenda had an idea, but she needed some animals. That's Hugo's gig, and he did better...or worse then expected. He summoned a few rats, and then he sang the song that the cat people sing when in hopes of rescue. It was amusing on several levels. Seriously, Cass and I were watching and really not sure what to do. So I just mentioned to Cass being a young man and wishing to be buried in pussy - this was not how that dream went. A commentary on life - and it sure as hell beat watching my phones' update progress. Cass thought it was funny, and I'm sure Hugo would have thought it funny had he not been in the middle of a mess. Eventually, the cats fled courtesy of some illusionary water. Hey, when life gives you lemons, add water.

Whatever plan Brenda had for the animals was promptly shelved. So, that sorted, we actually got around to meeting our contact. We mucked about for a bit, discussed all the nitty gritty and were given the run of a pretty good stock of weapons. Shotguns and pistols were the order of the day - from the maps, it looked like it was going to be close-quarters asskicking time. And on the off chance I ran out of ammo before I ran out of targets, a nice little axe was also found to hang from my belt. After that we discussed extraction plans and where to go after the deeds were done. And a few people got a quick jack-up on their weapons just in case.

A quick trip and recon were the next things to be done. We drove out there, and I left my body behind for the astral. Number one, I am still damn sexy in the astral, but I'm still the damn sexy original me, and not the slightly taller and longer-haired Salish boy I have chosen to become. Self-image plays a lot into this. Speaking of self-image, the house was jacked up and looking like a wasps nest, the dogs were reminiscent of Cereberus, and whatever was in the pool was some kind of hideous. Back to my body (in 2.6139 seconds according to Cass' internal Timex) and reporting in. First order of business, the dogs. Pistol out and several very quiet shots later, Cass and I had sent the dogs to a farm upstate where they could play with the other three-headed beasts from mans' darkest nightmares, chase fluffy bunnies, and do whatever the hell else such lost creatures did. Then came the pool house - and...whatever was in the pool needed to go first. Out came the shotgun, and one very impressive round later, whatever was in the pool hated life right then. It was at that moment that I remembered what we'd forgotten. Body Armor. I was reminded of this when I got gangtackled by either several somethings or one big something with a lot more teeth then anything ought to have.

I came to a few seconds later to discover the fight was pretty much over and the pool and backyard had been redecorated in Early Splatterpunk. It was gross, but I chugged out the blood from the little beggars and healed up enough that I didn't need to use my shotgun for a cane. It'd do. After sweeping and clearing the place (Horror movie directors could take notes. The horror of a living flesh house is that it's there, oppressively. Not the jump scare, the idea of someone putting massive effort into this as a Good Thing.) we found gas and matches. Damn shame what happened after that, but we got the hell out and back. Fortunately our contact was a restaurant guy. I'm going to have him whip up something for my food source. I mean really, all they have to eat on that island is some black grain that they make into something that looks like черный хлеб. I mean really, it's kinda nasty-tasting, but if there's nothing else, I suppose it's a thing to eat. Still, I think a gyro and a salad might be appreciated by her. Also - need to check on the Greece-Turkey thing. See if they actually managed a peace agreement, or at least a cease-fire.

You're not my Mummy!

So it's already been another year. I mean really, how can you tell in this place. To finish up Mauritius, we had about 4 days to kill after we did the thing. Night 1, healing, night two, opening up a slush fund with the Bank of France under a new pseudonym and making several deposits of some horse racing winnings and more than a few other card game wins. I have a shiny '68 Aston Martin and several other investment properties - resort in Australia, some farmland in South Africa, and a small island off the coast of India. I'll leave it to the bank to manage them appropriately, and I may even visit them in a decade or so. They'll make nice boltholes. Meanwhile, Greece has basically been annexed by Turkey. Meh. On the one hand, annoyed that my little efforts in the peace process went to hell, on the other hand...not much I could do to change what happened.

So that done, I brought some of the local food back with me to Enoch for Suhaila (the woman I pulled out of Irads' Crazytown). I think she rather liked it. Suhaila's an interesting one - she was from a well-off Turkish family, was a beard for a gay husband, then somehow offended someone, who had her kidnapped and brought to Enoch. After that, she was currency in the Lord of the Flies thing they've got going on, then I came along. She's happy to be my concubine, and I suppose that's as good a term as any for what's going down here. She makes herself pretty - or as much as she can manage here, with loose but revealing clothes, kohl makeups, and an overall sense of wanting to keep me happy. It doesn't hurt that I do occasionally tend to her needs while taking in my own food. There's a bit of odd psychology at work here - I mean with a random "I need blood, you have blood, gimme" situation, there's a sense of intimacy there, but when you have one vessel that you really do need to take care of, there's a greater bond that forms. Maybe it's the Auspex, but I can tell how she's been feeling for some time before we do the thing. Emotions flavor the blood. For bonus points, we'll draw it out over the course of an hour or two. Suhaila may in fact be the happiest woman in Enoch. She gives awesome massages - which I do occasionally need, because I'm working on my ability to navigate the dream realm, or at least the equivalent here. And they're not all good dreams.

In Enoch, there are 4 tombs. These tombs are supposedly the resting places of Antediluvians, but the names carved on them are Loz, Nergal, and Ninmug. The fourth is unknown. When I dream, they visit me. Loz is a warrior, and his dreams bring blood-fear, fire, and the most primal instincts of flight-or-flight. Even the Beast is cowed in abject terror. He's a titan, at least from my perspective. Mars, Ares, Anhur, Thor, all of them and more. Describing a force of nature is a bitch. But suffice to say when I dream of him, I'm pretty much shit for a long time afterward. Ninmug is a little more mellow, and his dreams are dreams of the future, beyond even the future I remember of the Giovanni nightmare. The Giovanni prospering, the world rebuilding and crafting new cities, new languages, and slowly returning over the course of millenia to rediscovering all that will be lost. In some ways, it's heartening to see the resiliency of the human race as it overcomes things that would fit in quite well with Revelations. That said, I'm still not giving myself a free pass just because I could theoretically ride the apocalypse out. Sometimes the visions are of The First City as it was - Caine, always with a face in shadow, passing judgment over his court. I think I even glimpsed Haqim once. It may have been The Sorcerer, but I can't say - and they didn't wear nametags. But it felt glorious, to be honest. Nergal, is something of an advisor. Her dreams are peaceful and filled with counsel, and she always appears to me as a beauty that far surpasses any in this world. At times it's a little frightening. I mean, this is an immensely powerful creature, why does she speak to me as a near-equal? It's nice to have a wise woman in your corner, but it's...awkward is the only way I can describe it. Either way, she's very invigorating, and she has reminded me that my job is strategy - getting Brenda to the place she needs to be to work her Fuck You Augustus gig. But my job is to know the enemy, and thereby bring about his defeat. The fourth one - no name, but when it visits, again the next couple nights are shaky. Not in a sense of raw force, but in the subtle sense of being watched and judged. It's creepy. Fortunately, I'm not the first and only to have such visions, so that's a comfort of sorts; but I don't think Suhalia really understands why I'm doing this.

During this timeframe, the world isn't standing still. Tina has found her focus - the sword. I've watched her, and she's good. It doesn't hurt that she's learning from a Warrior. I mean Masoods' no small potatoes and I'm learning a ton from him, but I think Tina's going to be the sword-meister. I've guest-lectured for the Erinyes on the subjects I'm really good at, so that they're not stumbling around trying to figure out how the power button works. As a sidebar, I've also discovered that Masoods' focus is in medicine - and we're really...bridging a gap of sorts. I mean, we are somewhat of an age, and we can see enough of ourselves in the other that we have a solid working relationship, at least. I mean, I'll talk to him about most things, and he can offer the advice that only comes with a few more centuries under the belt. Perhaps in a year or so I'll ask about my siblings.

On other fronts, the Rosselini-Giovanni split is happening at a nice pace. The Giovanni are damn near throwing down a pogrom, which is good because the more effort they spend on their cousins, the less they spend on the rest of it. But, until I can get into Baldesars' dreams, that'll be something for popcorn time. And on a final wrapup note, while Masood may not understand technology the way I do, he does understand my need for it, and that I do go a little stircrazy at times.

So he commissioned Hasammeli, the master smith, to forge me...a laptop. It is without a doubt, one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen, moreso since it's been forged from a spectre. I mean, we're talking pico-circuitry and a metric fuckton of data storage here. And it's self-recharging as long as I'm gentle. the power is some dark energy that's here but I don't precisely understand - but what I do understand is that if I have to get a fast charge, I have to go out near the dark clouds that have...things, in them. The casing itself is priceless, gems for lights and scrollwork that is effortlessly flowing and functional. I'm going to be months in naming it, for this, this singular one of a kind device brought me to tears unbidden. Especially since it was forged from a single Spectre over the course of a year. Two years total, since it took him a year to figure out how to make one from the plans Masood brought him. I really could have kissed Masood for this, and Hasammeli gets free beer for as long as I can. And the rest of Hasammelis' forge is simply...a masters' forge. We do not want Hugo loose in here.

But, as we turn the page, we now have another job. Just outside the palace proper is a very Egyptian kind of place, and we scored an invite to dinner one night. It was very surreal, and for bonus, we had entertainment and utterly plush divans to settle on and enjoy - it was a delightful 8 courses of blood, starting with an animal appetizer, and slowly moving up through various flavors and aromas, with a dessert course of the fabled Deep-Fried Twinkie™ - I was sated. We spoke at length, and he seemed somewhat surprised that I'm a Vizier - mainly in that between me, Tina, and Masood, we're a good percentage of the total viziers in the Hand. We played cards; seriously, the guy knows damn near every card game that's ever existed, and I swear he had aces in every pocket. We pretty much split in terms of wins - which for me was like being taken to the damn cleaners. I lost more hands that night than I've lost in a decade. Afterward, we spoke at length with our generous host, Inauhaten - aka the architect of multiple temples (Thebes and Karnak) and tombs for the Egyptian 18th Dynasty and a mummy (Seriously, he's a 3000-year old card shark) who had a job for us. Over discussions of lineage and other things, we were given a tale fascinating and frightening.

Backstory time. King Tut was one of a long line of royalty whos' family trees did not fork, as it was thought that only the gods could have children with other gods. Genetics however, doesn't give a squeaky shit about who's a god and who's not, and after several generations of gods having kids with other gods, you get stupid gods. Tuts' sister-wife miscarried twice, and then to ensure she had a child entreated all the gods for a third. This included the forbidden gods, like Set. They did eventually have a living daughter to carry on the line, which was a Good Thing. This child was, however, a dark child. Pets died mysteriously when she was young, and as she approached her majority age servants were executed for frivolous reasonings. The child was executed before she could fully take power, however her mothers' entreaties to the dark gods lived on within her. Her sarcophagus was entombed near her parents, where it was hoped it would be undisturbed for all time.

Wish in one hand, shit in the other - tell me which hand fills up first. I'll wait.

Fast forward to the late 1920's, when a pair of American explorers found the sarcophagus and were looking to make a quick buck or two off selling some authentic Egyptian relics that were really real. Alas, the stock market went to shit and people had to reprioritize - and some chick who'd been dead for 3 millennia was not high on the list, as she wasn't getting any deader and there was the more important question of the time; what was going to be food that night. So the two brothers took their liberated goodies to Ipswitch, Massachusetts and hoped for better days. With the benefit of information, we can all guess how that turned out.

So with that in mind, we need to search Ipswich, recover everything we can, and not run into anything else - because one of her retainers has survived into undeath; quite possibly as a Follower of Set. Recovery of the body is paramount, and the sarcophagus itself has been sealed with 7 keys. Finding a key is bonus. In theory, we can find this thing and be done in a few weeks.

My shopping list includes body armor.

Wherefore Art Thou, My Country?

So...getting to Ipswich was a thing. A thing that's necessary, but nasty. Master Jagdish painted an X in human ash on my face and gave me a push. Then I find myself in the mostly-dark and overwhelmed. Scents, smells, and sounds commence an assault on me to tell me I'm in the really real world again. Squirrel. Honestly, I took a few minutes to absorb and retrain my brain to filter the extraneous noises like heartbeats and insects - the things there aren't many of in the Shadowlands. To be quite honest, each one of these trips is refreshing in its' own way. To the Shadowlands, where there is blissful silence and I can listen to everything. To the realms of humanity, where all is noise and we must separate the wheat from the Wonderbread.

Oh, and outside the old door there's a pair of guys having a conversation...probably a couple hundred yards off. Cass did unto the door with grace and aplomb, and we made as nice an exit as we could. Leaves, chills, these are all signs of autumn. Crunchy leaves and whatnot all around, this doesn't feel like a good thing. Plus loud noises might scare off whoever was there. So better late than never, Quietus says hallo. As we're closing in, we hear what they're all about; graverobbing some poor old dead lady.

There are few things that everyone in this group can agree on - one of them is that taking this that have been sent along with the dead is a Bad Idea. I mean, even the cannibal necromancer agrees on this social construct. For me, it goes back to a belief that a persons' most treasured things were theirs, and that these things were to be taken to the afterlife with them, as a symbol of battle or wealth or status. Taking those things from them was interrupting the cycle, and angering the dead. Quite frankly, I'm going to have enough enemies before this is through, so why make another enemy for the sake of a shiny trinket? These two obviously didn't have that problem. Cass scampered up a tree outside the quiet bubble and catcalled the folks. They decided Granny didn't need her stuff taken just yet - so they hauled ass for their truck, which I could see was part of the ipswich cemetery care crew. Sure, they cared. But two warpath-ey indians and their baller sidekick were damn well going to make sure they reconsidered some of their life choices. We gave chase, me darting through the woods and headstones like I'd done it before (growing up in the boonies has its' benefits kids), and Hugo and Cass sailing in my wake with slightly less aplomb. Brenda was sauntering like this was no thing for her.

It really didn't take much to get them out of commission, as when they got to the truck Hugo made them think it wasn't starting (damned annoying to hear the starter grind and grind), Brenda helped out with a dose of obtenebration cloud (It's creepy feeling microtendrils of shadow flitting about your skin, moreso when you're human and can't comprehend shadows doing anything even remotely other then what they do normally) and Ray and the Sidekick totally lost their minds. Ray tried to leave the truck and ran into my arm after I snagged the .357 out of the glovebox that he was reaching for - I mean it wasn't like he was going to show us his registration and insurance after that. The other guy bolted the fuck out of that shitstorm like the draining shade of death itself was coming after him with a Gore-X bladecaster and rotary meat tenderizer (also makes Julienne fries!) and Hugo gave chase, followed thereafter by Cass who gave a rendition of "Armbars for Everyone" in B Major, which did not exactly fly well with them. The coup de grace was delivered by Hugo, as after a quick discussion with Brenda the recently deceased scampered out of her grave and into the nightmares of two people with dexterity and creepy dead-granny movement. Give Granny a kiss, boys.

Side note: This is why I fear the night when Brenda learns chimerstry.

Having relieved themselves of their illgotten gains (along with feces and urine), they'd suffered enough, at least in my opinion. And so after hiding ourselves with Chimerstry (Thanks Hugo) we set off to discover more about where we were. I don't like it a goddamn bit.

A moments' digression, deal with it. A fair chunk of my Army career was spent not too far from here. South Carolina and Virginia to be exact. I remember mostly that it hurt, but that this was making me better in the long run. I remember an hour in an elevated position with most of my weight on my shoulders and arms because we'd hosed up. I remember the first time I felt loves' keen sting, a result of a relationship not too far from here. And this...country, is just not up to the standards I was expected to uphold. Suffice to say after a night of research, the FAS and I are not friends, and I will not weep for its' eventual downfall. I will weep for those bones who rest uneasy in a land that is not the country they gave their most for. One night if I get bored, I'm going to kill the firewall that keeps the FAS in a internet bubble. It really feels like a V for Vendetta kind of thing. Philosophical question - looking at this, and having made a few trips to the favelas, who's really worse off? Peace and security at the expense of liberty, versus abject poverty in relative freedom? This may be a consideration for next year. The price of immortality is watching everyone you love fade and die; they forgot to include your homeland in that old saw. I mean, I've never been what you would call excessively patriotic, but that loss seems to almost be a marker on the road of "you can't go home again, because home's no longer there."

Back to the matter at hand. We're really in a small-ass town, like "I've been in stadiums with more people" small. Which is a blessing in disguise, frankly - while the infrastructure really isn't there to do much, that means a few vampires who are quick on their feet are going to be able to get the thing and get the job done. Rapidly. Walking through the streets to the library with Cass, we noticed that yeah, we're kind of out of place. It's apparently mid-October, and Halloween isn't yet illegal. But going by houses and listening to the news was interesting. It wasn't quite the "If it bleeds, it leads" of my youth, but it was still just as disheartening because everything was spoken in a way to glorify the state. With that firmly lodged in my hindbrain, I decided to check out my phone to see if it had finished downloading updates yet, and it hadn't. Apparently I needed the FAS security app in order to make calls. or do anything. That's pretty friggin annoying, which needed to be fixed posthaste. Cass decided we needed to go to the local historical museum and check out our targets. Which, meh. We do need to get a lay of the land, and we might as well start somewhere. I, however, absconded while Cass had the ladies' attention - finding the admin office was dead easy, registering our sim cards silently somewhat less so, but a password under the keyboard is a thing that never gets old.

Once that was done, lodgings were required - we found a nice little bed and breakfast run by a japanese couple, which was a good thing - there's nooks and crannies where we can hide, and if necessary we can run the old snooze in the closet gig. Walking along I was able to pause for a moment and revel in all the colors. Beautiful stuff. Next stop, for a laptop. Much nicer than the one I've got in Enoch, but a little less traveling through the underworld-ability. Another oddity, the green folding money of my youth is quickly going elsewhere, and I couldn't get to my offshore funds without a crapton of work. But Euros will do just fine - especially when you have some hefty dominate happening. That done, we all collected ourselves and went to a diner, because Brenda wanted to eat something and she likes to gross us out. And I needed to acquaint myself with the computer technology, which led to the earlier depressing epiphany. If we need a car, there's a used car lot. It looks like the only cars left to the public are about 20 years old. They all went to the war effort, and now the FAS security is the only ones with anything remotely modern. They're on electric. A slight economic disparity, and showing subtly who's in charge.

After that, we tripped to where the dead brother was for a wee bit of graverobbing ourselves - Brenda wasnted to check something out and need a pot and some seasonings. Seriously. At the site, we cracked open the grave and let Brenda do her thang. She...cooked. I suppose that's really the only way to explain it, but we spent an hour looking out for anything or anyone coming to do naughty things while Brenda was all witching hour and shit. Whatever she learned from boil boil toil and trouble time was not pleasing to her.

Discussion happened, and we split the party. I know, in D&D it's a total sin, but this is the real world, and sometimes it can't be helped. Brenda and I (She's gotten her auspex up to the point where she can travel with me in the astral realm) were off to search Castle Hill where the brothers supposedly kept their gains (Oh, and where one brother was murdered. In the Study. With The Candlestick. I shit you not) and hopefully find a clue. Meanwhile, Cass and Hugo were heading to the cop-shop for some firearms and body armor. Seriously, I'm packing a .357 with 6 rounds, and no body armor. Effectively, I'm naked.

Speaking of - the astral realm. Brenda was apparently expecting something else, probably because she's been doing all her travel in all the wrong places. I'm not so far distanced from humanity that I can't appreciate a pleasing form - okay, in the Astral Plane, Brenda's pretty flippin' hot. (you can't spell psychotic without hot. Just sayin'.) I'm not sure if that speaks to me, or her. I'm not telling her, because she'd either roll her eyes or go all grade school on me. Either way, the astral plane is a private joy that nobody can take from me.

With that filed under "Shit We Keep To Ourselves", we headed for Castle Hill, a lovely little place for a wedding, but very much not a place to spend the night. The place was huge, and we had to search everything. And pause to read the minds of the bored-ass guards who's main concerns were about how the Red Sox had pissed away yet another season, the patrol routes, and what the hell the Bruins-Celtics-Patriots were thinking with what they were doing. Timing was filed away, I paused to admire the sheer cheek of someone putting a painting of Nathaniel gazing down studiously at the spot where he was murdered, and we began the serious task of finding an Egyptian sarcophagus in a New England mansion. All the while fighting that itching feeling of being watched.

We did find it well secured behind a false wall and down a staircase, and there's a ritual maze that we need to navigate. Also...yeah, I think we're going to need a truck to move this thing. Back to our bodies to plot and plan and maybe, just maybe we'll make it through this. Also, I need to grab some makeup and kit for Suhaila. Maybe a dress? Meh, gotta figure it out tomorrow. Also I need to figure out how to silently move some funds here just in case. And while I sleep, we get to go play in Baldesar Rosselinis' head. Go me.