The Path of Blood (complete)

[Katarina Gordislava]

January 12

Jorge Montague was sweating blood. Vishnyakov pried the vampire's mouth open, and Katarina squeezed the cut on her wrist just enough to drip her vitae into the Bishop's mouth.

Montague choked and sputtered, but Sergei clamped his jaws together to force the traitor to swallow. "Now now, Jorge," Katarina leaned close to the seated Bishop. "Do not disappoint me."

"N-no. Never, Archbishop!" Hate gleamed behind his eyes, but he was powerless to refuse her. After three tastes of her vitae on adjoining nights, Jorge Montague was bound to Katarina with the strongest of blood bonds.

"Good. Now tell me: who were you in contact with? Who did you tell I was in London?" Her voice started off quiet, but grew louder with each word, her face showing her anger. "The haven we left two nights ago was ransacked that very night! Too much of a coincidence, do you not think so?"

Large drops of his own vitae stained his face, his obvious discomfort at his position revealing itself as he sweated. "Nnnh..." Jorge was trying to refuse her, but his tongue was sticking to his mouth.

Katarina slapped him, then wiped her hand off on a clean white towel. "Do not make the mistake of trying to lie to me, worm. You are mine now."

He gasped, tongue finally loosened. "William Brown-Turrel... the Tremere... Primogen."

Sergei looked at her, and she frowned. They had been attacked at the Batcave by Gangrel and Brujah, though that in itself did not mean much. Jorge Montague could not lie, not in this state. She stroked the vampire's cheek, and to his shame he found himself leaning towards her touch. "You have done well to answer me, Montague. You have put off your final death by one day."

She left him in the small room, with strict instructions not to try to leave. Powerless to disobey, the former Bishop sat down on the narrow bed, defeated. Sergei locked the door behind them, and they continued down the hallway. "The Assamite is arriving shortly?" Katarina continued to wipe her hand clean of any trace of the traitor.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

“Yes. He shouldn't be more than an hour,” Vishnyakov replied, as he slipped the key to the Bishop's new holding cell into his pocket.

“Odd, that Montague would ally himself with the Tremere. I wonder what they were offering him in return for his betrayal,” Sergei mused aloud. Perhaps that had been the reason why the Bishop had been so extreme in his attitude towards the Archbishop's vizier, ignoring him at almost every turn – it was a sign of his guilt, as if Sergei would somehow be able to smell the Chantry on him.

[Katarina Gordislava]

"Well, odd as it is, we have to move quickly. Chances are that the Tremere have not fully shown their hand to the rest of the Camarilla - and even if they have I want to shut them down as soon as possible." Katarina threw the bloodied towel into the laundry chute, and the pair of vampires made their way to the stairs.

Walking down to the first landing, the Archbishop felt almost confident. Montague had assured her that he was alone in his treachery. The assassin was arriving shortly, and then the demise of Rodermark's Primogen would begin. "I was thinking of making McClain the new Bishop. He seems capable and loyal."

Sergei said nothing in response to her musing, and they continued to the ground floor. A young Lasombra, a pretty Londoner who was little more than a fledgling, ran up towards them from the front of the house. "Archbishop," she knelt, "The Assamite has arrived ahead of schedule."

Katarina lifted the vampire to her feet with a touch, and felt slightly annoyed. Always something was going wrong, even if it was just slightly. "Very well. I will be along shortly. Show him to the front parlour, and for Cain's sake don't leave him alone."

The Lasombra nodded, and was quickly on her way. The Archbishop turned to Sergei, "If you will excuse me, Vizier, I must see to our guest."

[Vahid Hesam]

There was an uneasy silence in the Archbishops parlor. The young Lasombra who had escorted Katarina's guest into the Sabbat haven had welcomed the assassin with warmth and reverence, yet he had spoken barely a word in return. At first she had seemed content to talk at him, receiving only the occasional nod or tight-lipped smile in reply, yet after a time his silence became unnerving.

He had chosen to stand, while waiting, and so she felt compelled to do the same, shifting her weight from foot to foot, all the while looking around the room for some interesting detail to comment on. She hadn't asked to be left with him, but none of the others seemed to want to take the 'esteemed honor' away from her. In her own silence, she cursed, and hoped that the Archbishop would arrive soon.

[Katarina Gordislava]

It was unusual for a warrior to be among the independant Assamites - usually their vizier or sorceror caste were the ones who refused to take a side. Unusual, but not unheard of. And from what she'd heard, Vahid Hesam was a more than able assassin.

Katarina entered the room with Ivan on her heels, dismissing the young Lasombra with a jerk of her head. The Londoner almost fled the room, Ivan closing the doors quietly behind her. "Vahid Hesam, I am Archbishop Katarina Gordislava. Thank you for coming."

[Vahid Hesam]

Hesam bowed his head only slightly in greeting, “Archbishop...”

To look at, Vahid did not seem like the typical Assamite, if there was such a thing. Dressed in a cream linen and denim, he did - in fact - look rather ordinary, at least to the casual glance. Beneath his long hair, his features were somewhat handsome, though nothing special. Just a young Iranian, sight-seeing in London.

“How may I be of assistance?”

[Katarina Gordislava]

Katarina sat, seeming not to care that her visitor did not do the same. Crossing her legs, she reclined slightly, looking up at him. "You have come to me very highly reccommended, Hesam. I find myself in need of your special abilities."

She waved her hand dismissively, as though to rid herself of all idle small talk. "To cut to the chase, I need Rodermark's Primogen cut out from underneath him."

[Vahid Hesam]

The Lasombra had a ruthless efficiency about them which Vahid could respect. It often made working alongside the Sabbat much more enjoyable than dealing with the Camarilla. Still, Hesam was somewhat curious as to what this particular Sabbat had planned for the Prince of London, though did not – and most likely would not – question her on the matter.

“I see. Are there any among them that you would prefer I... cut out first? A keystone of power, perhaps.”

[Katarina Gordislava]

She smiled, "As a matter of fact, yes." Katarina re-crossed her legs in the opposite direction. "Brown-Turrel, the Tremere. As soon as possible, of course."

The Archbishop regarded the assassin, "Your fee will be paid in increments as each Primogen is sent to their final death. None of my people can get near the Prince, but if you were to... find a special weakness that I can exploit... there would be of course a bonus in it for you." She would give this Assamite all the blood she could spare if it would rid her of Rodermark and his Primogen.

[Vahid Hesam]

The task of delivering Final Death to an entire city's worth of Primogen was no small feat. It would bring great honor and prestige to Vahid's name, which already carried a great deal of renown amongst the so called Web of Knives – the clans warrior-assassin sect.

Turning, Vahid sat himself in a chair directly opposite the Archbishop, leveling his dark eyes upon her, as though studying her carefully.

“Our contract requires a great deal of trust between employer and employee. Is there anything in particular that I should know about each of the Primogen, or the Prince? Any... complications that might arise, or any unusual circumstances. Please, be honest and forthright.”

[Katarina Gordislava]

Katarina leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. "The Bishop of London has revealed himself as a traitor. He was in direct contact with the Tremere Primogen, and I am in the process of finding out all that he has told him. He may be aware that we are attempting to hire an assassin, though whether he has told his fellows this, I do not know."

She leaned back in her chair, "I will have the answer to these questions by this time tomorrow, however. The traitorous Bishop will be questioned and I will know everything he has done."

[Vahid Hesam]

“Very well. Our creed dictates that I cannot attempt to fulfill your request until I have all the information that it is in your power to give me.” Vahid made no attempt to justify himself, at this point. It was the law of Haqim that he should act as such.

“I will not wait idly, of course. I am a stranger to London, so I will use the time I have to familiarize myself with the city.”

[Katarina Gordislava]

She had expected as much. "Very well. Come by again tomorrow night, and I will have your information for you." They both rose, and the assassin left quietly, shown to the door by the young female Lasombra from before.

Katarina stalked upstairs, towards Jorge Montague's cell. Sergei was there waiting for her, and he quietly unlocked the Bishop's door. There would be no sport, and no hardship in getting the information she needed. Montague was cracked and soon he would break. Sergei closed the door, leaving the two Lasombra alone.


January 13
Midnight

Having drained a kine - the oldest daughter of the maid who kept up the mansion for the sick old man who owned it - Katarina felt almost content. The Assamite had not returned yet, but she had the information that she needed to complete the deal. Jorge had not informed the Camarilla about the possibility of assassination attempts on the Primogen, only that the Archbishop of Moscow had returned to show London some special attention. He had not had a chance to do more.

And whether the Tremere sorceror had passed on that information to his Prince was an unknown factor. She waited, growing impatient as the night passed the half point.

[Vahid Hesam]

Another two hours passed before the Archbishop received word of the Assamite's return. When she returned to the parlor, she found him dripping on the carpet – his clothing flecked white with snow. He looked to her expectantly, without speaking.

[Katarina Gordislava]

She frowned at the water dripping into the priceless Oriental rug, but sent it from her mind. "The Tremere Primogen was only informed of my arrival to the city, and the location of our old haven." The Assamite would not be concerned with any information that did not directly affect his job, so she did not add that it was a good thing that she'd gotten to the Bishop when she did.

"I trust you have had an eventful night, exploring London?"

[Vahid Hesam]

Hesam nodded. The time he had been given had not been enough to gain a comprehensive view of London, of course, but he had used it wisely nonetheless. “What do you know of the Prince, and the coterie he keeps?”

[Katarina Gordislava]

Katarina raised an eyebrow, "Hardly anything, unfortunately." She had had no chances to try to spy on the Prince, not yet. Dealing with the unruly Sabbat of London was job enough.

"Have you something about him that I can use?"

[Vahid Hesam]

“It seems that the Prince has a kine woman for a consort,” he replied, recalling in his mind the image of Rodermark and the young woman that he had seen only hours earlier. “She is in the glamor of a blood bond, ignorant to his true nature.”

[Katarina Gordislava]

"A kine?" She questioned, not because she didn't believe the Assamite, but because she would never understand the Camarilla. Kine were food, and occasionally they were good for doing tasks no decent Lasombra would waste her time with. But to take one as a consort...

Rodermark was Toreador, however, and that bloodline was remarkably soft when it came to kine. Ones that were beautiful, or connected to the so-called arts, at least. This kine he had taken up with was probably both, and he had trapped her with a blood bond, which meant he wanted to keep her around for a long while.

"Most interesting." Katarina's eyes seemed to twinkle as a plan came to her.

[Vahid Hesam]

There was a reason that the Assamites had nicknamed the Camarilla the Munafiqun – hypocrites. They clung desperately to their humanity, playing at being mortals one moment, yet the next drinking from them, treating them as little more than temporary sustenance. The get of Khayyin were a strange and illogical breed.

“They share a bed tonight,” the assassin continued. “I assume you intend to exploit this relationship?”