A Place in the Dirt

[Dimitri Vojslav]

Hidden somewhere beneath the ancient city of Uglich in Russia, a fiend stirs. The forgotten grains of an expired hourglass fall over and over in tormented slumber.

The manse was a very respectable estate, even by mortal standards. Most Tzimisce havens were not as lavishly kept as this one. Welcoming curtains adorned the windows, elegant tapestries hid the cold walls and exotic carpets lay over the harsh stone floor. The grand fireplaces burned throughout the fiend's haven despite providing no warmth to the inhabitants of the gothic abode. Chef's cooked for mortal guests while servants attended their every whim. The impeccable hospitality of their hosts served to hide their true, monstrous natures.

Beneath the luxurious manor's upholstered rooms and perfumed parlours lay the black fly in the Chardonnay - a stone-carved labyrinth of tainted secrets. Chambers and crypts led away and deeper into the earth. Vaults of iron and silver locked away those secrets too terrible to behold and too powerful to utter. And amongst the various studies and libraries and arcanums lay the private chambers of those that dwelt beneath the manse - the koldun of clan Tzimisce.

[Rod Stafford]

The train shuddered to a halt at Uglich station. Rod rubbed his eyes and stared through the frosted window. The platform was empty. He heard the automated doors creak open and stood. In the rails above him there was an old worn rucksack, he pulled it down and onto his shoulder. In the doorway stood the conducter with a thick greying moutsache, he gave Rod a weary smile.

"Bye for now, Sasha."

"Yes, yes, goodnight to you, Mister Rod!"

Rod dropped his rucksack on a bench and opened it. He took out a thick woolen scarf which he wrapped around his face and neck. He wrestled for the hood on his coat and pulled it over his head. In his coat, he found a pair of gloves and hastily put them on. To his alarm, the large clock on the tower overlooking the station chimed twice. In the still night, it echoed across the valley.

Outside the station, Rod scrutinised a signpost. The names of towns and places of interest were written in russian and beneath, in small letters, in english. Something caught his attention: Volga Ferry Dock. The sign pointed east, along a narrow country road flanked by tall bushes. The light from the city barely illuminated it. To the right of the road, a hill sloped steadily into a thick forest. Rod followed the road until he found a break in the bushes. He climbed over the fence and into the field, then trudged up the hill toward the forest.

[Dimitri Vojslav]

Beyond the candles gaze, elaborately-designed tapestries dominated the cold stone walls of the archives. Dimitri sat regally in the dimly-lit room. Though the red leather chair posessed a high back it did not dwarf him as it did its other regular occupants. Surrounded by bookshelves containing countless pages of forbidden knowledges, Dimitri helf in his hands a particularly mundane object. It was a book concerned with the history of Russia, detailing things such as conflict, territory and politics. Of particular interest to him was the information regarding the Russian throne and its recent occupants.

"If only they knew."

Though he was russian, Dimitri favoured the english language early in life. It sounded more colourful to him, having experienced it through plays by William Shakespeare. After his embrace, he took the opportunity to study it openly in the absence of his disapproving family.

His solitude was suddenly interrupted by the sound of raised, alarmed voices coming from the hallway. Impatient footsteps echoed beyond the closed, barred door. Dimitri cocked an eyebrow as he slowly raised out of the chair. He left the book on the seat and advanced towards the door.

[Rod Stafford]

The soil beneath his feet was hard and cracked. The air was still and the only sounds that could be heard were his breath muffled against his scarf and the grass crunching beneath his boots. He came to the top of the hill and the forest loomed before him.

The trees were tall and thin and bare. Their gnarled banches twisted and tangled with each other overhead. A whisper of wind made the forest quieltly hiss. Rod walked on. Moonlight plunged through the trees and gave the forest a pale glow.

His eyes scanned the ranks of gaunt yew wood. He stopped and looked up at the tallest tree. He shrugged off his rucksack and dug around inside it. He pulled out a small hatchet. Carefully, he climbed the first few branches and began hacking away at a thick branch.

[Dimitri Vojslav]

The subterranean hallway flickered as the wall-mounted torches cast their amber light on the uneven stone. His eyes were aflame as they reflected the burning light back into the torch opposite the door Dimitri had just stepped through. He glanced in both directions. The corridor was empty, ending in junctions. He headed down one and turned right.

As he walked past the various preparation rooms and archives and laboratories and study's he could see that the rest of the brood were clearly disturbed to the point of panic. The alarmed and raised voices echoed throughout the catacombs below the manse but they were hard to distinguish. As he proceeded the chatter and shouting became clearer. There was some sort of commotion upstairs, inside the residence. Some sort of a fight. His first thought was that somebody was having an argument that had turned physical. It was a common thing amongst the ancillae of the brood. As he neared the spiral, stone steps leading up an armour-clad neonate passed him.

"Excuse me Stadt, what's going on? Are Samuel and Ivor bickering again?"

Stadt was a relatively young vampire embraced for his martial prowess. He possessed a dark complexion and physical vigour very uncommon for his social níche. His big blue luminiscent eyes projected an air of innocence, though the way he held himself suggested otherwise. The young kindred glanced down at his dull armour. He looked Dimitri in the eye, his face taking on a more serious appearance.

"I'm afraid it's a little more serious than that, Dimitri. We're under attack."

Though he was surprised, Dimitri was far from shocked or alarmed. He simply nodded. "Do we know who they are?"

Stadt's helmet clanged against his neckguard as he shook his head. "Some say other kindred, others say its one of the Traditions. Whoever they are, they have powerful magicks at their command..."

Dimitri's attention faltered as he noticed movement on the periphery of his vision. At first is seemed as though the wall next to them was moving. On closer inspection it appeared as if some dark liquid was moving in betweeen the tiny cracks in the stonework.

Without a second thought Dimitri pushed Stadt away and clenched his fist, causing both arms to errupt into flames. He threw his hands in the direction of the wall. The flames jumped from his body and suffocated the heavily erroded stonework. The dark liquid ignited and began to boil. A faint cry could be heard as the liquid began to drip from the wall. The droplets quickly converged on the floor into one larger pool. Dimitri brewed up another fireball before hurling it at the crimson pool before him. Within seconds the burning pool swelled and grew into a deformed figure of charred flesh and exposed bone. It let out a snarl before crumbling into ashes on the earthy floor.

Dimitri turned back to his armoured companion.

"It would appear the Tremere have decided to retaliate against us. Come. Its time to show them what powerful magick really is!"

As he placed one foot on the bottom stone step Stadt started running the opposite way.

"You coward. Where are you running to?"

Without looking back, the neonate replied.

"I'm not a coward - I'm getting a bigger axe!"

[Rod Stafford]

A tree root arched out of the ground near the foot of the yew; it provided Rod with a sturdy, albeit uncomfortable, seat. Between his feet a large disembodied branch was clamped and the top of it rested on his shoulder. His hands moved deftly up and down the length of the wood with a short blade, shaving off the rough outer layer of bark.

He sung quietly to himself a song he'd been taught the first time he ever carved wood, the singing kept the overbearing silence of the forest out of his mind. He turned the branch a little and continued to work away at it, sometimes tearing off great lengths of dry wood with his hands. After thirty minutes, his work was complete. He kicked a small pile of wood shavings from his feet and put the knife back into his pocket.

Then from his backpack, he took a folded piece of sandpaper which he used to quickly smooth out the wood. He didn't attempt to sing over the din of scraping sandpaper. When he believed the job was done, he inspected the wood and blew it clear of dust. He coughed and rubbed his eyes.

When the sandpaper was packed away, he pulled out his switch-blade again. He held the side of the knife against his lips and closed his eyes. He sung again, a different tune, something reminiscent of the morose chanting of a monk. He stopped singing and bowed forward. He kissed the blade and it shimmered; suddenly, the blade burned a fierce orange and Rod started carving into the wood with it.

[Dimitri Vojslav]

Dimitri emerged from the staircase with hatred burning inside him. The residence was inundated with noise and movement. Kindred fought kindred to the bitter end. Swords clashed, axes cleaved, flails flew and bodies fell in a rage that had lasted for thousands of years. A purple-robed figure entered through the front door. Instantaneously, Dimitri threw his arms up above his head, commanding something. He willed the lavish red carpet up and over the figure, enveloping him in its fabrics and folds. Dimitri levitated the struggling mass off the ground and propelled it into the wall. It bounced off and carried on across the room and into the other wall, then back to the first one before the koldun sent it flying out of the stained-glass window and out into the courtyard.

An Elder called down from the second level, across the grand hall where Dimitri stood. His face was cut and he looked severely weakened. Dimitri looked up and met his eyes.

"Dimitri, they're coming in from the roof. Help the others drive them back!"

Realising that time was too scarce a commodity, Dimitri ascended vertically and shot across to the walkway where the Elder stood. They hastily proceeded to the staircase that led to the upper floors of the manse.

[Rod Stafford]

Rod balanced the wood on his lap; charred black etchings ran the length of it and thin wisps of smoke curled up from them. He traced his thumb over the symbols and read them quietly. A low pitched hum reverberated from the shaft of wood. He stood and held the shaft aloft, it rang clear throughout the forest. Then with force, he brought the shaft down and struck the ground with it. There was a glaring flash of red light and the ringing stopped.

"There," he said, smiling, "All done."

In one hand he took his rucksack and threw it over his shoulder, and in the other, he held his newly crafted staff. Using it as a walking aid, Rod headed through the forest and into the thickening fog. He continued in the same direction and relied on his instincts and his memory of the map he studied prior to his trip. Shortly, as he had expected, the ground began to slope gently downwards.

The forest clear and Rod stood at the top of a hill overlooking a bleak valley. The fog had lifted somewhat and he could see a river meandering around the foot of the hill. On the opposite bank, there was a large building with domed towers shrouded in pale white, and he could see nothing beyond that. On his side of the river, however, was what he had been looking for; a once grand edifice now dilapidated and in some parts reduced to rubble and ruin. Rod could see that the entire south wing had collapsed and the gaping hole in the wall gave him a view into the dark interior. It had long been abandoned but remained as a monument to a forgotten past. Rod gripped his staff firmly and descended into the valley.

[Dimitri Vojslav]

As they entered the west wing of the residence a sense of foreboding came over the Elder accompanying Dimitri. He shuddered as they turned a corner. Dimitri stopped dead, wary of his surroundings. The Elder's balance faultered and he stumbled against the wood-panelled walls. His ancient face was corpse-like and his eyes were sunken. His breathing became heavier as Dimitri neared. The Elders eye's were centred on the koldun's neck.

"After all these years, one as powerful as you cannot control the Beast within?"

The Elder snarled, trying to shake off the insane hunger he felt inside. "We are monsters Dimitri. Every last one of us. Why should we deny the truth?"

A crash was heard downstairs, followed by an increase in shouting and screaming throughout the manse. As Dimitri's attention returned to the Elder, who was on the verge of frenzy, he noticed a trail of blood. Not a smear left behind by the Elder as a result of a wound, but rather a very thin red line of vitae leading across the floor and up the exterior wall. The line disappeared out of the window.

Without pausing to consider his options, Dimitri leaped onto the windowsill and out to the roof of the entrance hall. Sure enough, a Tremere acolyte was hunched over in the corner and the end of the trail of blood. The former Tsarevich did not think twice about incinerating the robed coward where he crouched. As the vampire's body burned away and it's ashes floated off into the night air, a voice cried down to Dimitri. Up on the roof of the residence, a group of Tzimisce were fiercely fighting off a constant arrival of Tremere kindred who were scaling the back wall.

"Dimitri, we could use some help."

Glancing back at the now crumpled pile of ashes, Dimitri gave a wicked smile before moving towards the window once more.

"Happy to obligé, Boris..."

As Dimitri vaulted up onto the windowsill, a dark figure threw itself on top of him, knocking him outside onto the roof once more. The ravenous Elder's weight pressed down, doing it's utmost to pin the sorceror down. With it's fangs bared, the Elder hissed; saliva dripping onto Dimitri's enraged face.

[Rod Stafford]

In silence, Rod stood before the towering south wing of the old stately residence. The stone glistened and droplets of water fell from the damaged roof. The dripping water echoed within the building's dark insides. He stepped forward into the looming shadow of the south wing and ascended the pile of debris into the black fissure.

Inside, there were narrow stretches of pale moonlight on the ground which came from the holes in the walls which were once windows. Rod couldn't make anything out. There was a click and his torch came to life. It cast a glaring spotlight across the extensive hall but fell upon nothing other than stone rubble, broken glass and chared mounds of wood. Kids had overrun the place, making it their own personal den by the looks of things; names and lude images had been spray-painted all over the walls. There were some messages but they were in Russian and unintelligeable.

Rod dropped down from the broken wall and landed with a spalsh. There was a deep puddle in the corner of the room where there was no roof to stop the rain getting in. Watching his step, Rod navigated the puddles and the rubble, and ventured deeper inside.

[Dimitri Vojslav]

The mindless Elder clawed and gnashed at Dimitri's face. The koldun did everything he could to keep nature red in tooth and claw at bay. The beastly thing frantically hissed obscenities and indiscernable gibberish about fate and death, taunting Dimitri. Though shorter, the Elder was broader than Dimitri, and so capable of holding him down indefinitely.

Fortunately for Dimitri, the Beast is not as intelligent or resourceful.

The younger kindred tried to shift the bulky blackguard with all his might, but it simply wasn't enough.

"You'd have made a pathetic Tsar, Dimitri!"

The Elder's fate was sealed before his mouth closed. A bolt of lightning crashed down from the dark, thunderous skies above, jolting the Elder's body. Following through from the momentum of the electrical surge, Dimitri forced the Elder upwards with his hands, then levitated his frame quickly. The flung the pitiful creature against the residence's exterior wall' it's head snapping back and cracking on the stone from the force. Then, without hesitating, while still holding the Elder's body in place, Dimitri hooked his thumbs and twisted his hands - one behind the other - then pushed forwards with his palms and unleashed a conflagration of burning energies upon the writhing body in front of him. The agonised screaming was so intense that several of the vampires on the roof peered down to see what was happening.

"Give my regards to Satan...peasant!"

After a few seconds Dimitri let his hands fall back to his sides. As the flames dissipated, most of the ashes had already disintegrated. The few that remained were quickly swept away by the growing wind, leaving only a chaotic patch of black soot around the window.

"Dimitri!"

The voice came from above. Dimitri stared at the spot where the Elder was pinned, moments before.

"So be it, Usurpers. We are all on the same journey; the fires of hell await each and every one of us at the end."

Dimitri turned and ran to the edge of the roof of the grand entrance hall. He threw himself off and soared upwards and around in a wide arc to the back wall of the residence and beyond, stopping several hundred feet above the ground. Below his ethereal, buoyant form, he could see the flowing robes of the Tremere as they dug their nails into the mortar between the stone blocks that made up the wall. His fists ignited, lending a frightful orange illumination to his malevolent, snarling face.

"I bring a message from Satan. He is waiting for you..."

[Rod Stafford]

To the east there was a second hallway, framed by an elaborate stone arch which although decayed, had been intricately sculpted into the most bizarre and twisted structure possible. Behind him, the wind crept through the stillness and he turned suddenly. The light from his torch fell upon a wall of wood, framed by the same kind of stone arch as that beneath which he stood. The other hallway had been boarded off with a sign which read: DANGER! KEEP OUT!

Rod turned away and ventured down the other hall, as bare as the last, only this one was flanked by doorways. Some were boarded up others had been reduced to decayed holes in the walls but one was not. Only one doorway still had it's door, and it was locked. On the wood, a circle had been chalked and inside that circle, a tree surrounded by symbols. They were markings of the Verbenna. The door was locked with magic.

"Amateurs," he scoffed.

From around his neck, he removed a chain upon which was a charm: a gold circle in which there was a triangle made up of three other triangles. He held the charm up and spun it back and forth on it's chain. He muttered to himself for a moment then touched the centre of the chalk circle with his staff. There was a long series of clicks then Rod pushed the door open with the nudge of his staff.

[Dimitri Vojslav]

As Dimitri rained down fiery destruction upon the Tremere, he failed to notice a large glass vial hurling towards him from behind. It smashed, drenching him in a semi-thick clear liquid. He turned around quickly, only to be struck by a second vial.

"Curse you, fledglings!"

Suddenly, a flaming arrow shot up towards the Fiend. He was quick to swerve his body out of the way. Unfortunately, the second incendiary arrow hit its target, igniting the oil and engulfing Dimitri with fire. He did not hesitate or panic, but simply propelled himself up and away from the manse and the surrounding conflict. He shot over the mist-shrouded river like some demonic omen or shooting star.