[img]http://www.road-trip-usa.com/uploads/6/1/9/4/61940309/guide-to-visiting-the-bristlecone-pine-forest_2_orig.jpg[/img] [b][u]The Region of Yaa[/u][/b] [b][u]3000 BC[/u][/b] The accursed Sun beat down upon them, the scattered few, as they climbed through the heat-cracked rocks of the foreign land. They had fled far, as far as one could flee, and still judgement burned from on high. Lucifer surveyed the world around him. Even here, far from the cradle of Eden, man and life had begun to grow, to flourish. Already there had been wars and strife between the tribes of humanity, already one had crushed the other and given name to the dirt they died upon. His whole form tensed at the thought. It could all have been so different. He sighed forlornly as he turned to look upon what remained of his retinue, His hard expression turned to one of slight worry as he watched them. Heat and exhaustion had drained them, burns across their skin, ribs showing from lack of sustenance. Worst of all, he could sense the insidious growth of the cancers which plagued them. He did not know if that would be their end, ultimately, but it was a life of following him, regardless of their mortal frailties, that had brought them to this. It could all have been so different. [b]"Stop. We are here."[/b] The noise almost crashed against them, even hidden within a human shell, the power of the first Elohim was almost too great for a mortal human to bear. It was not unpleasant, he instilled as much hope as he did terror, but both were dangerous, both prevented any true guile. He would have to learn to hide more thoroughly. Once they had recovered from the briefest pulse of Lucifer's power, the humans collapsed, setting about in the creation of a camp. They did not know he meant the end of their journey together, that this truly was the last 'stop' these three who had remained by his side for so long, but he would allow them to believe otherwise for the time being. They had crested the rise of hills and mountains into a great basin, stretching out before them. Encountering the tribes that had recently driven off the original inhabitants, they knew its name to be Yaa. It had potential, the soil was fertile, despite the heat, and the sea was plentiful, as it often was. None of these things were why Lucifer had looked for this place, that was far beyond the scope of human frailty or prosperity, but he made note all the same. At least he was not abandoning them into the jaws of starvation for all time. He strode away from them, as topics of conversation arose among them. The desert cloaks he was wrapped in whipping in the sea wind. Still they were stitched with the icons of Babel. The first great city, [i]his[/i] city. Even with the failure of his first, desperate plan, Babel had almost enabled him to succeed regardless, but he had not known the extent of his father's punishment. Lucifer snarled with exasperation, not at the memory, but at himself. Dwelling on past failures, even recent ones, would aid no one, least of all the people, and the future, dependent upon him. He walked for hours, allowing the sea breeze to mitigate some of the scorching heat, lower, towards the sands. Towards the site he had never seen, but knew to be there. The map of the nascent Earth spread before him in his mind's eye, tracing the fonts of power, the web of energy that traced the creation of the Earth and its peoples. They would lie dormant, until they were not, and they would be the doom, or hope, of all creation. At last he reached the spot. Nothing gave it away, no monument, no mystical font of life. Perhaps even his fellow Elohim could not have detected it like he could, but unlike the others he had helped his father to shape this Earth, and to him, the thrum of power was almost inescapable. He knelt in the sand, closing his eyes, and spoke the words of power. The Ancient language of his kind had been old before the Earth was even a dream, from when he and his siblings had danced across the eternity of the cosmos. To speak it was a reminder of the years, of the crushing eons that weighed upon him. His essence bled into the ground, the touch of the First Son invigorating the dirt beneath him. The Sand turned to glass, the unrestrained touch of his true form anathema to this mundane world of dirt and rock. In the sky, the Morningstar shone, just bright enough, if only for a moment, despite the height of day. With one final word, Lucifer stood. Beneath him, a plaque of glass, trapping a fragment of a star, of him, the heart of an Elohim. With another bark of words, this time of the Sorceror's tongue, the lyrical verse of Babel, he cast the glass lower, deeper into the rock, far below, watching as dirt and sand poured to hide the effort of his works. He nodded, briefly, before setting to return to his followers. ---- "My lord, you cannot mean to-" [b]"I am no one's lord, Terial, nor did I ever claim to be. Not here"[/b] It was a noble effort, to argue with him, he could sense the strain in the man's body, it almost killed him to simply not throw himself at Lucifer's feet, to give in to the innate desire of any human to simply abide by the call of heaven. [i]Curse you Father.[/i] "We would stand with you, you must know that." Yenaria's voice was quiet, almost dangerous, as if she was daring him to argue with their conviction. Of the three mortals that still followed him, that had not departed on their given tasks or succumbed to the events that had stricken them, she had the most fire left, the most personality not bled away by the constant presence of his divinity, and the trials it had brought them. [b]"I would never doubt such a thing, it is I, that cannot stand with you."[/b] Lucifer admitted sadly, with his hood pulled down, the vaguely Babalite features of his mortal guise gazed upon them openly. He could pass for human from a distance, but up close, he was simply too flawless, his skin marble like and unyielding. [b]"To walk with me now is to invite death, and you have been too loyal in your friendship for me to bring that upon you."[/b] Their protests were loud and immediate, but he had not the time. He had exposed his power for only a brief moment, and those that would hunt him might soon be upon them. For once, he waived them off dismissively, the slight touch of his power enough to silence them. [b]"But the task that I set you is of far more note than simply being my ally and friend, although I have, and will always, treasure you all. It is time that I resume my exile, alone, but we have prepared the foundations for an effort that will span the ages, but, will ultimately save all your kind."[/b] He could not be sure, but it was his best hope, to avoid the future God had tried to hide from even the Elohim. [b]"You are free to live your lives, however you may choose, farm, conquer, hunt, remain aloof. Forget me, but do not forget your task. Down the ages, you and your descendants will live upon these lands, flourish, but remain. One day I shall have need of champions, and from the corners of the Earth, they shall arise, bolstered by generations of proximity to the fonts we have mapped and altered across the world. From here I shall draw my heart, one day, the child of your descendants so far flung, will prove my greatest ally. I know that this is bitter thanks for your dedication to our cause, but it is all I may offer."[/b] He stepped closer as he spoke, watching their expressions as they grappled with the news he had forced upon them. They sobbed, for him to speak more than a few words was enough to break their resolve, even without the meaning behind them. As he finished, they embraced, all three, turned inwards, and away from him. It ached within him to see them so, who had been his closest companions, but Lucifer did not have the luxury of mortal bonds. Not now. Once he was sure they would manage no more protest, he began his journey alone. Off, into the ages. [img]http://www.latimes.com/resizer/WLoOF381HtQVjtU7FaXp3iADEHY=/1400x0/arc-anglerfish-arc2-prod-tronc.s3.amazonaws.com/public/N7AMTHCEMVAQLE7Q3JRHGOAZEY.jpg[/img] [b][u]The Region of Yaa[/u][/b] [b][u]Modern Day[/u][/b] The noise and din of the city crashed against Henry Loche as he walked the streets of Los Angeles. The one-time London gangster of some formal renown, for now hid in the very American garb of a Lakers hoodie, obscuring his features among the purple vestment. His right hand gently rubbed at the beard fostered upon his chin. A recent addition, following the fighting that had swept LA and his increasing role in the management of the city, he wasn't yet sure if he approved. Snapping out of his personal review, his eyes turned to watch the shop across the street from him. It wasn't anything of note, a Seven-Eleven run by an old family of Eastern immigrants, they knew him well enough. He did not plan to go in today, to inquire after whichever daughter had just gone off to school in whichever state, although he would make a note to return on a social call soon. No, for now, he was tasked with the matter of preservation. He saw them long before they telegraphed their intent. Being the owner of Sunset had enabled him to grow quickly accustom to the Brujah and their propensity to violence. That had probably been his first meeting with Yanci. The thought made him chuckle, even as he began to cross the street. Something hard and metallic slipped from his back pocket, concealed by the length of his sleeve. [i]Three males. Gang tattoos. No obvious religion iconography. Not Sabbat[/i] The thought made him frown slightly. If these weren't Sabbat, the threat had spread beyond those most vulnerable to mania. The shop had been one of the locations tied to conflicts prior to the recent civil war. Of the artifacts the Sabbat wanted. One had been seen for sale as a knick-knack in said shop. He calmed himself slightly, even if these particular Brujah were not Sabbat, that did not stop them wanting to claim the bounty put out by them. "Evening Gentlemen." He strode right into their path. They were burly men, even before the strength and boon of unlife they had not been used to others challenging their direction of choice. Henry was not a small man, he stood imposingly enough, but each could rival him in size, and there were three of them. [i]Bikers[/i] "Oh look, it's Mary Poppins." One of them spoke up with a laugh, earning a smirk form the others. A flash of fangs from all three. "Oh. British accent. Yes, terribly original." Henry replied. Their arrogance was making them sloppy. The fact only one of his hands rested infront of him could not have telegraphed any harder that his obscured hand held a weapon. He could have taken this more seriously, but it had become something of a game. Just how useless would he had to be for one of them to finally get the slip on him. "Think you're in our way, Poppins." One of the others spoke up, frowning at Henry's return-snark, all three took several steps towards him. He could sense the vitae flowing in their veins, reinforcing their already supernatural abilities. They were gearing up for a fight. Good. "Interestingly enough, that's exactly where I intended to be." Henry continued, allowing his shoulders to relax. While vitae flowed to their muscles, strengthening them, Henry's skin hardened, reinforced by a surge of his own abilities, not that they'd notice. "And why would that be?" "Well. Because I don't want to get hit by the truck." "What t-" Somewhat predictably, the speak was cut off. Predictably, because even for a kindred, it's quite hard to talk when being rammed by a multi-tonne vehicle going somewhere above the speed limit. The driver was one of Henry's best, enough that he trusted him to pull off the obvious show of force without more than the necessary collateral. The vehicle had hit all three, before careening onwards into the wall of a multi-story car park. The structure was sound enough to take the blow, as planned. The turn had been ludicrous, speeding by, it had taken every iota of anticipation and simple gift-from-God ability for Max to have turned the moving vehicle off the road, and then perpendicular to the group of Brujah. It had, of course, killed some of the momentum, but that was why Henry had brought a knife. One of the Brujah was little more than paste, whether it had caused Final Death or not, he would be out of the fight. One was still pinned beneath the vehicle, but a third had escaped, very much from simply being hit hard enough to bounce off the structure before the truck could pin him to it. To his credit, he was up and on Henry before a moment had passed, a vicious snarl and a ferocity that could almost be a break in the Masquerade, were the people of Los Angeles not entirely used to the actions of roid-rage gang bangers. His first swing caught Henry on the shoulder has he rolled it into his path, keeping him from a direct blow to his head. The force rippled through him, enough to register despite his supernatural pain threshold. With a grunt, he spoke; "There's your one." The Henry became a blur, his fingers grasped the Brujah's fist, the one that had just struck him, before with a sickening crunch, he inverted the hand's bones, his own suprior strength turning the Kindred's fist to mush. The Brujah didn't have time to react even to howl before the knife came up. Not a kill blow, not for a Kindred, punching into the reverse armpit of the combatant. Both arms paralyzed by pain responses, even for a vampire, the Kindred had no defence against the consecutive knee-blows driven up into his chest. When Henry allowed him to collapse to his knees, a simple backhand was enough to send him into the deepest torpor the 'young' kindred had ever felt the need to. Of course by now there was screaming, people running from what was undoubtedly yet another scene of gang violence, albeit a somewhat dramatic one. It was a shady enough part of Los Angeles that it would take some time for the police to respond, even if Henry's associates were not currently redirecting calls. Max groaned as he rolled himself out of the van. Thin and lanky, the wiry individual was a gangrel embraced at a somewhat awkward stage of adolescence. His limbs were slightly too long for the rest of him, but they held the supernatural power of his clan, and once he had recovered from the impact, a swift blow to the temple of the pinned-Brujah finished off the last potential source of resistance. "Lets get these three to lock-up, might need a shovel for the first." Henry spoke as he dragged his now sleeping assailant over to the other three, looking down and the bloodied mess that was the three would-be-attackers. "It seems they still need a reminder we're not tolerating Sabbat bounties." Loche exhaled, even as Max began the work of extracting the injured from beneath the wrecked vehicle. "Public execution?" "No Max, I'm not a fucking Consul of Rome." Henry lent down to aid him, deadpanning as the Kindred turned to look at him incredulously. "Well. Not for a long while."