Blood Oath (complete)

[Katarina Gordislava]

It was Tuesday night - the ninth of January. There was snow on the ground again, but it was slushy and did not impede walking. Not that the Archbishop of Moscow would have noticed or cared, except that she disliked the way it made her shoes look.

The London Sabbat were on the move as soon as the sun went down. Ivan had reported a few Nosferatu coming dangerously close to the Haven the night before, and Katarina ordered Bishop Montague to move his packs as soon as possible.

He was strangely reluctant. Her eyes narrowed at the memory.

Sheila and Uri had located two possible havens, and they were at the moment relocating to the lesser of the two. Fyodor would renew the blood oaths, binding the Sabbat together in unity as was needed in these trying times, and then they would move on to their final destination. There was a mansion that housed only an elderly kine and his two servants. Uri had entranced the kine the night before when they were exploring, and they had convinced Katarina that it would be a simple thing to move the London Sabbat into the huge house.

They needed only to maintain the illusion of the old man and his servants going about their daily business. It wouldn't be hard as he had no family and the servants never left the mansion. Food was delivered, and the grounds were kept up during the day by a landscaping company.

But for now the Sabbat were gathered in a cathedral. Katarina thought it was more than fitting. Montague was positively jumpy, as well, which bode ill for them all.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

Though Sergei was not the priest of Katarina's pack, his knowledge of the blood magicks would have outweighed Fyodor's substantially. Regardless, he did not try to take over the task of performing the rituals that would bind their group together. He was on hand to offer help, if need be, but didn't overstep the line.

One of the London Sabbat, a particularly arrogant Tzimisce, gave a derisive snort. “A cathedral? Couldn't you have found somewhere better?”

Sergei frowned slightly. If the brute had any knowledge of his sect's history, he would have known that churches had long been the haunt of Cainities, particularly those who threw their lot in with the Sabbat. The fact that their leaders bore clerical titles should have tipped him off, but of course he was obviously to such subtleties.

Sharing a glance of annoyance with Fyodor, Sergei continued unpacking the various agents needed for the blood bond spell.

“Are we almost ready to begin?” the Bishop stammered.

[Katarina Gordislava]

"Almost," Fyodor did not look up from where he was chalking out a large circle on the floor.

Montague stepped backwards, and started as he found himself right next to the Archbishop. Katarina raised an eyebrow, regarding him coolly as he quickly averted his eyes. Suspicious behavior, indeed.

Candles were lit and the electric lights were disabled, giving the ritual the gravity it deserved. Sergei was muttering over the chosen grail and the ritual knife - the knife from the Russian pack, and a goblet of significance to the London Sabbat. To join so many vampires together in a Vaulderie was nearly unheard of, but it had to be done.

"Archbishop, if you would..." Fyodor motioned for her to come to the center of the intricate chalk design, where Sergei held the grail. She stepped inside, taking the ceremonial knife from the priest and wrapping her hand around the handle. A careful slice to the wrist brought the vitae to the surface, and she dripped her blood into the goblet. The vinculum bond created this night would give their tiny community a positive feeling towards one another, and supercede other blood bonds that may have been formed.

One by one the others went to the circle, baptising the grail with their blood.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

One by one, the Cainites offered up their sacrifices. The Vaulderie was a ritual of great importance and significance, not taken lightly. The gravity of its use was felt by all present. Sergei had only taken the rite once before, upon first being embraced into the Sabbat. To be presiding over the ritual as a kind of assistant to the pack priest was an honor in itself.

There was some hesitance among the London Sabbat. The little knowledge they had of their Russian counterparts had left them pregnant with suspicion. The blood bond would ensure that all such grievances and anxieties were smoothed over.

Last to offer vitae was Sergei. The vizier stepped forwards, bringing the blade close to his skin. A grunt came from one of the Tzimisce present. All eyes turned towards the malformed figure. “You expect us to drink the blood of a Tremere?” he snorted.

[Katarina Gordislava]

Katarina's eyes flashed, but she controlled her voice. "Expect you to? I do not. I demand you do."

Vishnyakov had saved her from her Final Death on the day they'd met, when he was struggling for a place amongst the Sabbat. She'd given him that place, and he had rewarded her with obedience, respect, and above all, unwavering loyalty. They were bonded especially close, in part because of her lingering doubts when she'd first taken him to be her vizier, but the bond had been updated many times by his own request.

"I trust you would rather have him on your side than against you." Katarina nodded to Sergei to continue, and Ivan subtly moved closer to the Tzimisce.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

There was some small satisfaction, on Sergei's part, seeing the revulsion of the Tzimisce as his blood mixed with theirs. There was some irony in it. The clan he had been embraced into had been borne from the blood of the fiends. Without them, House Tremere would never have been conceived. Sergei could never tell if the Tzimisce hatred of their errant progeny was mere anger at having been used, or at the fact that the warlocks had become far more powerful than they had ever been.

Fyodor stepped forwards and took hold of the grail, holding it up, as if in inspection. The blood of Tremere, Lasombra and Tzimisce mixed together into a dark cocktail.

“The Eldest must drink first, then the younger generations shall follow,” the priest declared.

[Katarina Gordislava]

As the only ninth generation vampire present, Katarina was obliged to drink first. The mingled blood stained her lips, but she did not wipe it off as she passed the cup to those of the tenth generation among them, including Bishop Montague. He gave the faintest of hesitations before he drank, though he had no such qualms about the blood of the Tremere.

The Tzimisce glared in Vishnyakov's general direction, but he drank, as did his fellows. Sergei almost had a smirk on his face as he partook, but soon all had drunk from the grail.

The Vaulderie was completed. Fyodor muttered from unholy words from the Book of Cain, and it was done. The grail, drained of blood but still stained, was surrounded by a foam shell and packed into a metal briefcase for safety. Should it ever be broken, the bond formed this night would also be shattered and the pack would be scattered.

There was a quiet murmur as the thirty-odd Sabbat spoke quietly amongst themselves. Katarina turned to Montague, who looked unusually pale in the candlelight. "Bishop Montague, I would invite you to join me in the preparation room."

He looked confused, but nodded in agreement and followed her to the left side of the altar, to the rooms where the priests got ready for Mass. Sergei fell in behind them.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The chamber in which the trio found themselves was much darker than the cathedral proper. There was something claustrophobic about it, and the musky, dank odor that hung in the air. The Bishops features were marred with confusion, creating crags of concern in his already worn features. “What- what more must be done, Archbishop?”

[Katarina Gordislava]

She walked around him in a close circle as Sergei closed the door behind them, running a fingernail across the Bishop's cheek. "Preparing you for service, of course." Katarina smiled as though he was missing something very obvious.

Coming around to stand in front of him again, her features were bathed in shadows. She pressed her fingernail to the clotting cut on her wrist, allowing her vitae to come to the surface again. "Drink, Montague." The metallic odor of blood was very distinct against the musky smell of the room as she lifted her wrist and held it open to him.

The Bishop hesitated.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

“Drink,” Sergei repeated. Montague looked between the Archbishop and her vizier. “The bonds must be as strong as they can be. We must have solidarity.” Must. Must. Sergei stood – no, loomed – over the Bishop, brow furrowed, awaiting the inevitable compliance.

[Katarina Gordislava]

The slight Lasombra's nostril's flared as the Tremere stood beside him. He bent forward, almost bowing as he put his lips to Katarina's wrist.

She smiled. "Not so bad now, is it."

Montague stood upright again, licking his lips free of the dark vitae. "Have no doubts, I stand with the rest in my loyalty."

Katarina's eyes narrowed, "I very much doubt that, Montague." He cowered in her shadow.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

Sergei smiled, though without emotion. “Your bond with the Archbishop should be further strengthened in the days to come. The others will follow your example – it is important that they see their leaders as unified.” Further strengthened? The Bishop unconsciously moved a slight step away from Katarina. Blood bonds were a dangerous thing.

[Katarina Gordislava]

"Until it is, you are not allowed out of the Haven. Or contact with others." She consciously used a bit of Domination on the Bishop. "We wouldn't want any unwanted visitors dropping in on our new place, now, would we?"

Montague worked his mouth open and shut a few times, and managed to shake his head. "No-o... we do not."

"That's right." She put her hand underneath his chin, lifting his head slightly. "Not that you would know anything about that." She let her fingernails touch his neck as a growing anger rose inside her.

"Sergei, take him out of here. I will rejoin the others and meet you at the Haven." Katarina let go of Monatgue with disgust.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

Sergei placed a firm hand on the Bishop. Montague glanced down, and saw the arcane tattoos sprawled across the Cainities skin. It made him uneasy just to look at Vishnyakov, let alone be man-handled by him. “Come with me, sir.”

They exited the small chamber in silence. The other Sabbat looked on with vague confusion, as Sergei and the Bishop left the cathedral alone. A car awaited them outside. The Lasombra got in and was pleased to see another of his clan sitting at the wheel of the car.

“Let's go.”

[Katarina Gordislava]

Katarina quickly gathered up the rest of the Londoners, making sure to spend a little extra time with the Tzimisce to smooth their ruffled feathers. They were concerned now about the space they would have in the new haven - wanting to begin their flesh-sculpting experiments, no doubt.

She resisted the urge to shudder and told them with time the Sabbat would have all the space it needed in London. But for now, it should be enough that no one needed to share rooms. The Tzimisce shrugged his awkward shoulders, but said no more. Their pack shared one room anyway, so sleeping arrangements did not bother them as long as their had their dirt.

Ivan was driving Sergei and the Bishop to the Haven, and soon enough the rest of the London Sabbat followed.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

It was a long drive from the city to the mansion. Sergei made a point of watching the Bishop for the entire duration of the journey. Now and then he would ask him a question, something innocent and trivial, but it was enough to make old Montague jump. When at last the car pulled up the gravel drive-way to the mansion, Montague couldn't have sprung out of the car any quicker.

Stepping out into the night, Sergei looked over the front of the house. It certainly was big enough. Turning, he saw another identical black car pulling up, no doubt followed by others.

“I suppose we should go say hello to our new hosts.”

[Katarina Gordislava]

The cars were quickly housed in the spacious garage which was not attached to the house. It would have to be remedied - if they needed to travel by day they needed a dark passage to their transportation. Problems to deal with on the next night.

She treated herself to the largest bedroom, her ghouls already in place and the mirrors all removed. Montague was installed into the one next to hers, with instructions to remain there until she called for him. Helpless, he obeyed.

Some of the London Lasombra were dispatched to gather kine for the others, as the ritual had awakened their Hunger. For the moment, however, Katarina was alone with Sergei in the sitting room attached to her bedroom. "I cannot believe that Montague would let them live in squalor when such a place existed just outside the city." She ran her hand over the velveted chaise she reclined on.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

“Indeed.” Sergei knew that while the Tzimisce might have been at home in the depths of scum and depravity, many Lasombra craved a certain elegance and dwellings fitting of those in the position of leadership. “It's no wonder that London is so few in numbers, with such a man at its helm.”

Sergei could have happily existed in conditions worse than those that the London Sabbat had called home. Having come of age in a war-torn Europe, and been forced to live on the fringes of society as traitor to the Camarilla, he was no stranger to the less glamorous side of life. He stood somewhat awkwardly, now and then pacing a small patch of the plush carpet.

“What our next course of action?”

[Katarina Gordislava]

She sighed, though it was only an affectation left over from her old life. "Sheila brought me word on the way here of some rumblings coming out of Paris. For now I think discretion will prove to be the better part of valor.

"We do not want the Parisian Prince joining Rodermark against us." Katarina shook her head, "A week or so spent strengthening our position here at the manor, and as a group, will not be misplaced."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

“I don't mean to question your judgment, Archbishop, but do you think it's wise to invest so much time in the London Sabbat?” Sergei paused, reshuffling his thoughts. “What I mean to say is that, they may already be tainted by their Bishop.”

[Katarina Gordislava]

She considered that, fingers idly smoothing the wrinkles out of her slacks. "If we do not take the time to strengthen the existing Sabbat then we cannot take London back from the Camarilla. The Cardinal thinks this is a fools errand, which is why he sent us on it.

"When we succeed, I will be on stronger footing." But it would take time to overcome the entrenched Camarilla, and there really was no way to do it with their small numbers. Even if she forced them all to turn more kine, the fledglings would be little better than useless for quite some time.

She rubbed her forehead with a slim hand, filled with doubts. Instead of being wrapped up in London, she should be in Moscow, among her own Bishops. "Jorge's ductus, this Patrick McClain, he knows of an Assamite. I need to meet with this assassin as soon as possible to put our meagre plans into action. We do not have to act ourselves to further our cause, after all."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

Sergei nodded. “I'll see to the pack while you are dealing with the Assamite. It would be better if he remained unaware of my existence.”

It wasn't that he feared the assassin clan, but rather that he doubted they would be quick – or happy – to work with a Tremere.

“How soon will the ductus be able to arrange a meeting?”

[Katarina Gordislava]

"Two nights from now." Katarina closed her eyes briefly, feeling the Beast stir as her hunger increased, sated only the slightest bit by the Vaulderie. "After I have gotten what I need from Montague, and he from me," a tiny smile, "I will be more confident to meet an assassin that they have found."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

“Given that the use of the Assamites was a suggestion directly from the Cardinal himself, I imagine we should be wary. Of course he wouldn't be so brazen to use one of them against you, but nonetheless...” Idly, Sergei traced the lines of one of the tattoos on the back of his hand. “It's a shame that I won't be able to have any dealings with the man. I've heard they are something impressive to behold.”

[Katarina Gordislava]

She nodded, "Yes, but they hate Tremere with a passion, and I cannot cow them like I do the Tzimisce."

The mention of the Cardinal had put her in a sour mood. "Have them bring me something to drink, Sergei. And then leave me... I have to think."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

“Very well.” With a bow, Sergei departed. One of the many kine who had been procured for food was retrieved and delivered to the Archbishop promptly. Her vizier, meanwhile, retired to his new quarters and to the company of an old spellbook.