Renewal of Vows (complete)

[Katarina Gordislava]

The lights were dim in her chamber - Katarina had employed the use of no candles. With the flamable tendencies that plagued the Lasombra, she hated open flames of any kind. Instead the Archbishop settled for darkening the electrical lights.

Sergei would be arriving soon. As she waited, she thought about how she'd met the Tremere, those many years ago.

***

She was a Bishop in Moscow, working hard to keep the packs under her intact as it seemed sure that a power vacuum was going to occur. The Archbishop was capable, but made more enemies than friends with his heavy-handed way of dealing with problems.

The Sabbat cared little for the Masquerade, but the current Archbishop seemed not to think about the consequences of his actions before he took them. The mortals of the city were in a panic - those that were not completely disdainful of any noxious rumors that might filter up to them.

The kine needed to be kept calm. As the number of Kindred was not sufficient to Dominate them all, Katarina thought it would be better to at least attempt to decieve the mortals. That, and there was always the threat of the Silver Fang Garou. If Moscow continued down into chaos the Garou could move in and retake it with ease. She still wasn't sure why they did not.

She was not liked in the current ruling body of the city. Her dissent was perhaps too vocal for her own good. Even those in her packs saw the writing on the wall, and the ones not directly bonded to her were trying to distance themselves from their leader. She sniffed loudly, a tic leftover from her days as a mortal, and walked through the streets of the city. The night was waning, and the wet streets were starting to gather mist.

The low lying mists swirled around her feet as she continued on her way, walking away from the latest catastrophe of a meeting with the Archbishop. She suspected he was growing insane, though there was no cause that she could pinpoint. Katarina was distracted by her thoughts, but not so distracted that she did not notice the darkness gathering around her.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The year was 1941. Continuing his insatiable bid for lebensraum, the German Fuhrer Adolf Hitler launched Unternehmen Barbarossa – the Third Reich's attempted invasion of Soviet Russia. As had become clear to Napoleon less than a century before, conquering the Eastern Front was no small feat and even the previously unstoppable might of the Axis forces would be thrown into question when pitted against the frozen wastes of the USSR. Over three million German and two-and-a-half million Russian soldiers would clash in the space of seven months, in what would come to be known as the biggest theater of war in human history.

The wave of destruction that consumed mankind did not spare the Kindred. Mortal and immortal alike were sucked into the seemingly endless conflict. Under the guise of the mortal conflict, the warring factions of vampire society erupted in blood and fire, a fire whose flames were fanned by the reckless Garou. Many of these eternal creatures furthered their own causes through the humans, using them as disposable puppets. On all sides there was madness, as the lines became so blurred that was almost impossible to tell where one conflict ended and another began.

It was a tide that few could resit. Among those carried away on its currents was wanted-man Sergei Vishnyakov. A physician working as part of the Nazi Schutzstaffel, Vishnyakov was chosen by the Tremere Chantry as a likely candidate for the Embrace. Extracted from his human life and plunged into something he could not comprehend, he naturally rebelled. Barely a matter of months after his Embrace, in the winter of 1939, Sergei diablerized his own sire – thus condemning himself as a traitor. No longer safe in his homeland, he fled across Europe – finally coming to rest in Soviet Russia. There, he eked out of a meager living, feeding on rats and homeless peasants, rejected and despised by those around him.

At the onset of Operation Barbarossa, it seemed that his Final Death was imminent. Soon, Germany would cross the Russian border and occupy Soviet territory, and the Tremere Chantry would rain down fire on the unworthy and the unjust, among whom Sergei would be counted. There seemed little hope, but he was determined not to give in...

Had Siberia not been such a desolate place, void of any sustenance, he would have fled there – yet he found himself in Moscow. Though the Germans would undoubtedly come for the capitol city, it seemed logical to think that it would be one of the most difficult to seize. There was some pride over such key cities, which would drive the Red Army to defend it till the last. If Stalin's men could not keep the Germans at bay, then the Sabbat would. Sergei had witnessed first hand the lengths which they were willing to go to, lengths that would have made the men of the SS blush.

He skulked in silence through the streets, in search of vitae. The blood of waifs and vagrants tasted foul, yet it was all he had. Fortunately there were many faceless, nameless humans to be found, those who would not be missed should they vanish in the night. They served no purpose to society, only to clog up its sewers and alleyways. In one such avenue Sergei found himself crouched over the body of an elderly woman. The stench of urine and feces filled his nostrils as he tore away the tattered wool that coiled like a noose around her neck, sinking his fangs into her pale and wrinkled neck.

Barely did he have time to feed before the sound of footsteps interrupted. He flinched away, ready to strike, yet saw nothing. Carefully, he crept away from the limp body to the opening of the street. Outlined in the moonlight he saw a shadowy figure, walking alone. There was nothing unusual about that, and Sergei would have abandoned his inquiry were it not for the fact that another shadow appeared... and another, and five more. Out of nothing, seven silhouettes came into existence. It seemed as though they were encircling the first, looming.

It hit him then. Kindred. They were all Kindred. Lasombra, doubtlessly. He could sense no heartbeat from them, from any of them. If there had been color in his cheeks, it would have vanished. Instead he found himself frozen, a spectator.

“Bishop,” one said. “Don't you know that it's dangerous to walk these streets alone?”

[Katarina Gordislava]

Katarina slowed her steps, and then stopped, standing under a street light. She looked around at the shadows that seemed to drink in the glow of the lamp. "Da, I do. But perhaps it is more dangerous than I anticipated," she replied.

She turned just slightly, her sensible wartime shoes, tweed suit and Lauren Bacall hat giving her a no-nonsense look. Of course, her stockings and undergarments were pure silk, a luxury she'd refused to give up. "I underestimated the Archbishop's resolve," she added.

"In this difficult time we must all make sacrifices," the Lasombra purred, a murky face in the shadows. "The Archbishop requires a united front, and you, Ms. Gordislava, have made yourself a vocal liability."

She sniffed, "The Cardinal will never stand for this."

The speaker seemed to laugh to himself, "I think you would be surprised about what the Cardinal thinks of you, Katarina."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The figures surrounding Katarina sneered. To Sergei, they appeared to be one vast amorphous shape – it was difficult to tell where one ended and where the next began. Their feet seemed to meld into the stone beneath them; their bodies were fluid, trembling with laughter.

“It's time for a little perestroika, Bishop.”

“Da, restructuring,” another snorted. “We're going to restructure your face.”

[Katarina Gordislava]

She knew they were serious, and as such, things were getting much too serious for her liking. Katarina raised her chin in defiance, and spun her body into her tenebrous form as a tentacle of Shadow reached for her throat. They could beat her into torpor and leave her out for the sunrise to do the rest, if they could be sure a supporter of hers wouldn't show up to bring her back around.

No, they were intent on finishing her here and now. The Bishop used her own Arms of the Abyss to throw an attacker several meters backwards, where he turned into full shadow and splashed soundlessly through a wall. She used her shadow form to avoid another blow, only to find herself thrown backwards with a blast of some sort of magic.

She fell to the ground, encased once more in solid flesh, her shoes lost somewhere along the way. The other Lasombra loomed around her, blocking out the artificial street light in favor of total darkness. Katarina snarled at them, but somehow her power over Shadow was being partially blocked. Some sort of damnable spell... She threw her power into Domination as she attempted to turn the other vampires away from their mission.

One of them laughed, "The Archbishop is not so foolish that he would send weaker Cainites after you, Bishop." A shadowy arm passed through her chest, and she felt a spike of fear rising.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The Lasombra moved as one, a black wave. It was like nothing Sergei had seen before. He had witnessed single Kindred of their clan attacking, but never had the opportunity to view them working as a team. While in shadow form, solid limbs would strike out at random, from seemingly impossible places. He had heard that there were veins of the blood magic that could be tapped to produce such effects, but never with the efficiency of the Lasombra. It was intriguing, enough to cause him to edge forward. They would not see him, surely.

At least, those stood in front would not. Unbeknown to the Tremere, the Archbishop had anticipated a struggle from his insubordinate Bishop. A number of other Lasombra had been dispatched as a kind of safety net, to ensure among other things that no one came to Katarina's aide. One such Kindred crept along the alley wall in shadow, behind the warlock. As if sensing some foul-play, a prickly sensation crept across the back of Sergei's neck. He whirled to the side, just in time to avoid behind tackled to the ground as the shadow lunged from its moorings.

[Katarina Gordislava]

She was bleeding from a dozen different places, but the spell they had used was wearing off quickly. Unfortunately, Katarina did not feel strong enough to escape into the Abyss. She clawed at the arms and faces that came at her from the darkness, drawing blood where she could.

The Bishop tried to encase herself in shadowy armor, but it only partially worked. With a wild shriek, she slapped an attacking Lasombra with a solid tentacle of Shadow, snapping the Cainite's head around so hard that she heard his neck break.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

A burst of light filled the alleyway. As the Lasombra sprung again towards Sergei, a ball of flame erupted in his hands. In the split second between the spheres creation and impact with the Cainities chest, Sergei saw the terror in the mans eyes. He let out of a howl of anguish, as the embers darted across his dead skin. They devoured him completely within a matter of moments, leaving only a pile of ash.

There was no way he could avoid detection now. Turning from the charred remains of the Lasombra, Sergei saw that – indeed – some of the others had turned his way. Two broke away from their fight with the Bishop and charged towards him.

[Katarina Gordislava]

There was someone else in the nearby alley, and a few of her attackers turned away to deal with whoever it was. She could smell ash on the air, but couldn't spare a thought for what was happening in the alley.

Katarina fought back as hard as she could, looking for the opening she needed to escape. In her current condition, however, she would not get far before they caught up with her again to finish the job. The Bishop wasn't going to go to her Final Death without taking some of these traitorous Cainites with her. Or maybe not. She was tossed against the street lamp, her shadow armor protecting her from broken bones, but she no longer had the strength to hold onto the shadows.

Katarina fell to the road, vitae dripping down her hands and soaking through the sensible suit she'd been wearing.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The attacking pair advanced towards Sergei quickly, yet he did not run. Prior to becoming a member of the Schutzstaffel, Vishnyakov had served his time in the infantry. He was no stranger to the battlefield and could hold his own in hand to hand combat, so long as he had no more than a couple of foes.

The homeless waifs in the alleyway had vanished now, terrified at the sight of a man conjuring fire out of thin air. Again, the Tremere drew a burning circle in the darkness, his blood filling the void with crackling, hot energy. The Lasombra hesitated a moment, though were spurred on again by the thought of what the Archbishop would do upon hearing that they had allowed the warlock to go free.

Their indignation would be the end of them. The first leapt on Sergei and almost right into the fire. The Tremere fell backwards, rolling across the filthy pavement. The second Lasombra, further enraged by the sounds of his companions strangled screams, immediately pounced and pinned Vishnyakov down. His hold would not, however, last long. The already burning Cainite, in panic, pawed frantically at his comrade, setting fire to overcoat. Beneath his attack, Sergei struggled to break free, as the flames began to spread.

[Katarina Gordislava]

Flames erupted in the alley, causing the five attacking Cainites to turn their heads, almost as one. Katarina tried to crawl away, but her traitorous body was trembling with fatigue. A large cut on her thigh had nicked an artery, and the road around her was becoming slick with her vitae.

The leader, a Lasombra she recognized as one of the other Bishops, held a sword in his hands, stained already with her blood. He leaned on it, tip to the ground, as he stood over her. "Good bye, Katarina."

Darkness enveloped her as one of the Lasombra drew the shades of night over them. Whatever, or whoever, it was in the alley, they would not be able to see what was going to happen next.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The Lasombra was a like a dead weight. Once touched by fire, it was rare that any Kindred was able to evade Final Death for long. The Cainitie knew this. He knew that he was going to die, but he would not do it without taking the Tremere with him. Sweating blood, Sergei thrashed and snarled. At last, with a fluke punch in the nose, he managed to gain some ground. As the weight on him grew lighter, he pushed hard to one side and forced the Lasombra's body away. Eyes wide, he scrambled away mere seconds before the fire turned the vampires body to ash – to match the other two piles in the alley.

There was no time to count his victories, however. He wasn't about to let the others get the jump on him. When they'd finished with their target, they would surely come to avenge their fallen. His blood felt like it was on fire, as he darted forwards, vaulting over a opened dumpster. As he stormed towards the remaining Lasombra, he held both palms open in front of him – as if reaching out to grab them. Inside, his fingertips began to crackle and whips of energy cut through the air, right up the blade of the leading Cainite. The shock locked his hands to the hilt, and he shook spasmodically. Another lunged towards the unknown attack, but missed as Sergei dropped to one knee, his still charged fist delivering a powerful punch to the Kindreds gut, sending him reeling backwards.

[Katarina Gordislava]

The street light reappeared as suddenly as it had disappeared. Katarina was nearly delirious, and it seemed like a dream as a Lasombra stumbled backwards over her. He tumbled head over heels, but was already struggling to his feet.

The Thirst was unbearable, and she could smell warm blood not too far away. She started crawling, but she was so weak!

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

There were four of them now. Four, minus the Bishop trembling on the floor. Sergei seized the sword out of his hands, almost breaking his rigid fingers in the process. The blade rose and fall in the blink of an eye, cleaving the Lasombra's head clean off. At the moment of impact, Vishnyakov was sure he could hear a hiss – whether it was the other Cainities involuntarily expressing their anger, or the essence of the Bishop escaping into the shadow from whence he had came.

The Tremere didn't pause long enough to ponder this, however, as the figure who he had punched – along with the remaining three – were advancing on him. He readied the sword in both hands, realizing for the first time just how heavy the weapon was. He had never handled a blade like it before, far more accustomed to wielding a rifle or machine gun. It would have to do for now, however.

“Syebat'sia!” Sergei barked. “Get out of here, all of you, or I will send you to Final Death on the blade of your Master.”

[Katarina Gordislava]

The remaining Lasombra hesitated, clearly wondering if saving their own lives outweighed the risk of failing the Archbishop. Three of them made their choices, melting backwards and disappearing into the shadows. Dealing with a crazed Tremere had not been part of the deal.

The last turned towards Katarina and leapt on top of her, long fingernails raking at her skin as she shrieked and bared her fangs at him, bloodied arms trying to keep the Cainite from her throat.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

He didn't know who this woman was, and frankly he didn't care, but if he didn't kill the last Lasombra then and there the frenzied maniac would be liable to turn him next. He took careful aim onto the Cainities body and thrust the tip of the blade forwards. It entered his back at the lower part of his ribcage and, due to the angle he was bent at, exited his chest somewhere just below the solar plexus. The Lasombra turned his eyes downwards at the tip of metal protruding from his body.

The strain patterned all over Sergei's face disappeared as the Cainite himself disappeared into shadow. Vishnyakov barely had time to furrow his brow in confusion before the bastard socked him hard on the back of the head. Growingly, he spun full force, the length of the blade meeting with the vampires shoulder. The blow shook both attacker and victim, but was not fatal. He did not make the same mistake twice. The blade connected with his neck, though did not cut right through. The first incision was enough to paralyze the Lasombra – whether with fear or otherwise. The second finished the sloppy job entirely.

The sword clattered to the floor, the Lasombra vanished into thin air, and Sergei collapsed to his knees, about ready to pass out.

[Katarina Gordislava]

The Bishop looked at her savior in momentary confusion as the last Lasombra was dispatched. He fell to his knees in the road, the sword on the ground near him. He looked a mess, and she panicked to think of how she must appear to him.

She couldn't remember being so thirsty before, and if she didn't find someone to drink she would die. Katarina continued dragging her body down into the alley away from the streetlamps, a dark smudge of blood tracing her route. She had to keep moving. Had to keep going.

There was a still warm corpse in the alley, and she desperately sank her fangs into it, the Beast raging inside. The blood was stale, but she was desperate.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The smell of vitae hung thick in the air. Sergei's head rolled back and for a moment he stared listlessly at the stars. Had all of that just happened? Had he done away with a pack of Lasombra, offing some of them with their own sword? It didn't make any sense – but then what in his life did? Ever since his Embrace, Sergei had stumbled through a series of violent and unfortunate events. Perhaps now it was finally time for something good to happen. At this thought, he smirked, though only for the second before his face hit the concrete.

[Katarina Gordislava]

She gagged on the blood, coughing and spitting it back up. It was no use - there was no nourishment to be found in the dead.

"Bishop!"

Katarina snarled weakly, but was helpless as hands took her, turning her over. Sheila Ortega looked down on her, her dark hair pulled back in a sensible twist. "By Caine, what has happened to you. When you didn't show up -" She was wasting precious time with her words, and instead of continuing the Lasombra scooped up the dying Bishop and carried her out of the alley.

Ivan was there with a car, looking down at the only body left in the street, surrounded by Katarina's vitae. He was turning a blade over in his hands, obviously moments away from ending the creature's life.

"No..no..." Katarina rasped, "He... he saved me." She leaned her head weakly against Sheila's shoulder.

Ortega jerked her head, "Put him in the car, they both need to feed."

Ivan nodded, sheathing the weapon and picking up the Kindred from the road. For safety, he was bundled into the trunk of the car, and they were soon on their way to the haven.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

There was a brief time that, whilst in the trunk of car, Sergei was conscious. He was only vaguely aware of his surroundings, and not strong enough to react to them. Instead he simply lay still, listening to the sounds of the car rattling over the uneven streets, bumping his head against the felt beneath it. He could hear voices, somewhere seemingly far in the distance, but made out nothing of what they said. Mere minutes passed and the darkness came over him again. He would not awake until they had reached the haven.

[Katarina Gordislava]

Ivan got the car to the haven in record time, cruising through the misty Moscow streets. There was little traffic at night to oppose him, and the black car slid into the garage, the heavy reinforced doors closing behind them.

The big Lasombra got out immediately, pulling the unconscious Cainite from the trunk as Sheila hurried the Bishop into the main house. The South American Kindred started shouting orders at the vampires inside as soon as she was in the door, and when Ivan entered everyone was scurring around like ants in a hill that someone had just set fire to.

He followed Sheila, dropping his charge on the floor of the parlour room while the Bishop was laid on one of the sofas. Four blank-eyes kine were led in by Kindred, and Sheila grabbed one, cutting into the neck with a fingernail so that the fresh blood bubbled forth.

Katarina was shaking, her body slipping into shock, but the smell was enough to bring forth her most basic instinct. The kine was made to kneel beside the couch, and Sheila guided the Bishop's head until she latched onto the kine of her own power.

Ivan looked down at the dirty thing on the rug, and raised an eyebrow, Sheila nodded, and he directed the other Lasombra to lay a kine beside the Cainite. Nicking the warm skin, Ivan gathered a few drops of blood and dripped them into the man's open mouth. Wary as to his reaction, he stepped backwards, hand on the hilt of his sword.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The blood had an almost instant effect. Even drinking the smallest of amounts could lift a Cainites condition from fatal to stable. Sergei lifted his weary head, all darkness vanished from his eyes. The body laying beside him had its neck exposed, already weeping red. The blood smelt clean and tasted delicious; he might have lost himself in it, if it had not been for the presence of the other Kindred, who watched him as if he were some near-extinct creature in a zoo. He drank what he needed then sat back, taking in his surroundings. He wasn't sure what to say, or what to do. He didn't understand any of it.

[Katarina Gordislava]

Her wounds were healing as she ingested the blood. She had lost so much vitae, a part of her knew it was necessary to replace it. The rest of her, however, was consumed by the maddening impulses of the Beast.

The other Lasombra left her to her feast as her strength returned, the two extra kine sitting on the floor as docile as lambs should her feeding frenzy not abate after one. Sheila eyed the Cainite on the carpet, her arms crossed. "Who are you?" Her tone indicated that she had better like his answer.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

When he spoke, his accent was clearly German, with only a slight Russian inflection.

“I am Vishnyakov... disavowed of the Tremere.” There was no point in lying to them. They would find out the truth, through some means. They would see the stain on his aura, the mark of diabelerie. His crime was not one easily hidden.

[Katarina Gordislava]

One of the Lasombra present hissed angrily. "A Tremere?" The Cainite moved closer to get a better look at him. "He looks like street trash - but his aura is clear enough."

Ivan tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, awaiting a word from Sheila. The South American female held up her hand. "Stay, comrades. The Bishop said he saved her from her Final Death."

They all turned to look at Katarina, who was tearing into the kine she had been given with savage intent. The sight was enough to stir the Beast in them all. Sheila turned back to Vishnyakov first. "For what purpose are you in Moscow?"

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

“I... live here.” Live seemed a generous word to use, not least because he hadn't been alive for some years now. “I am exiled from my birthland, Germany,” he continued to explain. “I came here because my mortal father was a Russia... so I know the lay of the land.”

[Katarina Gordislava]

"Convenient," Sheila murmured. "The life of a Tremere antitribu is very short. Have you aligned yourself with the Sabbat? Perhaps the Archbishop?"

A hand touched her shoulder, and Sheila turned towards the Bishop, who was standing beside her. She was a bloody mess, and it was just as well she could not see her reflection.

"A Tremere?" Katarina wiped at her face, attempting to clean the drying blood. "Show him to a room, Ivan. Keep him well guarded. I will talk to you," she looked at the Tremere, "after I have cleaned up."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The one called Ivan saw to Sergei quickly. He carried the sword with him, still, as he lead the Tremere away. A handful of other Lasombra tagged along, to guard the warlock, just in case he tried any of his blood magic. They sat him down, then spoke in quiet murmurs to one another, their eyes darting back to his sallow face frequently. He seemed calm under their scrutiny, but beneath the collected exterior his mind raced with a hundred possibilities of what might happen if he didn't get out of the haven – or even what would happen if he did.

[Katarina Gordislava]

It took Katarina's ghouls a good hour to properly clean and redress the Bishop. Washing and brushing out the tangles from her hair alone took most of their time. The Archbishop would know she was still alive. Not all of the Lasombra who had attacked her had been sent to their Final Deaths.

Which meant... a great many things, and none of them good.

She had the loyalty of the packs in her group, but that was probably about it. Unless she could sway some of the other Bishops to her, the outlook was bleak indeed.

But this Vishnyakov was a wild card. Not anticipated by the Archbishop, he had singlehandedly thwarted the Kindred's plans for her. A practicioner of blood magic would be a good ally to have in these dark days, especially one who seemed as able to extinguish Cainites as the one she had in her haven.

She fingered a small silver backed mirror that was lying face down on her nightstand, but did not pick it up. The ghouls finished their work and were dismissed, and the Bishop quickly made her way to where the Tremere was being held.

Katarina waved away the gathered Lasombra except for Ivan, then closed the door and sat down across from the dirty faced Kindred.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The figure who sat opposite him was not one that Sergei remembered. He recalled the beaten and bloodied face of a woman who looked something like this demure figure, though. It was this woman that the sword-wielding Lasombra had been intent on delivering Final Death to. She had also been the one to offer him clemency, though at what price he did not yet know.

It appeared she was studying him, or perhaps waiting for him to speak. He returned her probing gaze, not bound by the same need to show respect or restrain as the Bishop's own pack. He must have looked a filthy, desperate thing to her, when compared to her own elegance and composure, yet he didn't care. He was a soldier, a physician, a warlock; all professions that actively encouraged getting your hands dirty.

[Katarina Gordislava]

"Do you have a first name, Vishnyakov?" Katarina said finally, still trying to figure out how she could use him. His sudden arrival seemed too fortuitous to be an accident. Fate, perhaps, if there was such a thing.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

“Sergei,” he replied, slowly. “And who are you? Someone of notoriety, to be attacked as such...”

[Katarina Gordislava]

"I am a Bishop of the Sabbat here in Moscow. Katarina Gordislava." She did not extend a hand towards him in friendship, but kept them folded in her lap. "And you are... in serious trouble."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

There was only one question in Sergei's mind. “Why?”

[Katarina Gordislava]

"The Archbishop of Moscow sent those Cainites to get rid of me. He will not be pleased that a single Tremere was able to thwart his plans."

She sat back a little, studying Sergei. He was handsome enough, if not overly thin and, of course, covered with dirt. "He and I do not agree on his handling of the current situation in the city." Katarina paused, "He is a buffoon, but unfortunately a buffoon with all the power. If you were to be found on the street, alone..." She let her words trail off.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

There would be no sense or logic in dragging Sergei all the way to the haven to ask him his name, only to toss him back out into the night. He did not believe it was her intention to turn him to the mercy of the Archbishop.

“I have spent the whole of my life running away from someone. Having one more enemy makes no difference,” he replied, more fearful of the advancing Tremere, hundreds of miles away, than he was of the nearby Lasombra.

[Katarina Gordislava]

She tsked. "A life of running away... how unfortunate. And, as you know, your life will either be very long and tiring, or extremely short."

The dark eyes of the Tremere betrayed nothing. It was admirable, really, but rather frustrating when one was trying to get a feel for what sort of Cainite he was. "If you left - and," she added, "you will be free to do so - you will have more of the same. Scavenging for food. Trying to avoid being captured by your own clan... Tremere antitribu are virtually unheard of, after all."

The look on his face revealed that he was well aware of the fact.

She continued, "But if you stayed, and joined me..." A tiny smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "The Archbishop will have to rethink his strategy against me. And you - you would not have to worry about those pesky Tremere anymore." Katarina cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

Sergei regarded the Bishop with well-masked suspicion. He knew little of the Lasombra or the Sabbat, and the various customs therein. What he did know, however, was that he was sick of hiding, sick of playing the part of the fugitive. Although he did not appreciate being a tool in someone else's bid for power, perhaps in time he might gain some strength and renown of his own. It seemed that he would be something of a wild-card in the eyes of the Archbishop – perhaps he would be given preferential treatment because of it.

Slowly, he nodded, conceding to her offer.

[Katarina Gordislava]

He agreed, and the Bishop was already thinking on how she would spring her new ally on the Archbishop. To pretend that he had been working for her all along? "You will need a title. How does vizier suit you? You will do nothing that I do not want you to do, of course, or I will take your life myself." Rather brave words, as the Tremere's blood magic had already been proven as rather potent.

"There is only one small thing I need from you in return for my offer." Katarina rolled up a sleeve, exposing her forearm. With practised ease, she used her thumbnail to cut into her wrist, her vitae coming to the surface.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The Tremere's brow furrowed. “You want me to drink from you?” he asked, visibly confused. His indoctrination into the Kindred world had been limited, particularly when it came to his exposure to any rites and rituals outside of the realm of the Tremere chantry. Of course he had taken vitae from his own sire, but there seemed something wrong with drinking from Kindred outside of ones own clan, as if it could be in some way poisonous. The newly appointed vizier hesitated. “Why?”

[Katarina Gordislava]

Katarina blinked slowly, and explained. "Drinking vitae from another vampire forms a blood bond between the two. If one drinks three times on three consecutive nights from the same vampire, one becomes irrevocably bonded and cannot act against the master. You would become my thrall."

Sergei's face betrayed just what he thought of that idea, and she added, "If you drink only once, it forms a loose bond that will fade with time. Twice, a stronger bond that will also fade over time. This is all I ask of you - to drink tonight and tomorrow. I must ensure your loyalty if I am to bring you into my pack."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

He would have asked if she could not simply take his word on the matter, if it wasn't an entirely preposterous idea. “Very well...”

It felt as though every day he was learning some new. The vitae had innumerable powers, each new one as impressive as the last. He thought on this, and the fact that the bond would fade over time, as he took the Archbishop's wrist and brought the open wound to his lips. Just how long was time? In the end, it was all they had.

[Katarina Gordislava]

Katarina felt the cool of his lips against her wrist and the gentle suction he created to draw the vitae into himself. After a few moments she pulled her arm back, and he released her.

She pressed her thumb against the wound to halt the flow of blood and allow it to heal closed. "If you don't mind, I will send in a ghoul to help you clean yourself up."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

He nodded and in a short while, attendants to the Archbishop arrived to take Sergei away. There were items that he had to retrieve, personal affects that he kept in a den in the city proper, but he was confident of their safety for now. With one last look at his new 'Master', he exited the room...

**

There was a knock at the door. He did not wait for a reply from within. Katarina had sent for him, for what purpose he was as yet unsure. Perhaps she had received new information on their campaign against the London Camarilla, some new fact to use against Gabriel Rodermark.

[Katarina Gordislava]

She was sitting in an armchair, and she beckoned her Vizier in closer. "Sergei, it is time again." Katarina was wearing a sleeveless, low cut black dress that emphasized the purity of her pale skin.

"Come to me, Vizier." She indicated a patch of carpet just in front of the chair where he could kneel.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

As always, he obeyed her command and slowly came to kneel in front of her. Without having to question her, he knew what it was that she wished from him. The dim light, her formal manner - it was a moment that held great symbolic and ritual significance. Knelt before the Archbishop, he was reminded of his time in the Tremere chantry, or evenings spent in meditation before sacred totems and altars, blood idols that had now been replaced by the woman sat above him, whom he worshiped before just as fervently.

[Katarina Gordislava]

His devotion to her was apparent, even though the current bond was fading, and for the first time she wondered if the bond was necessary anymore. Vishnyakov had never given her even a moment of disobedience.

But the ritual was more than just the means to secure his obedience. It was a reminder of who they were to each other. Of how they had met, and why they were together. A reminder that they would be together forever.

She touched his cheek with a cool hand, "We have served each other well, my Vizier." Katarina lowered her hand, presenting him with the inner portion of her wrist and allowing him to break the skin himself.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

He didn't speak in reply. There seemed to be some sanctity in the silence, as if nothing more should be said, until the ritual was complete. He lifted the offered wrist to his mouth and carefully pierced the skin. His bite was gentle, a stark contrast to the night they had spent together after the arrival of the two kine women. To be tender was not in his nature; it was something reserved only for the Archbishop. He drunk only a little, savoring the taste and smooth texture.

[Katarina Gordislava]

As he licked the bite mark, erasing any trace of it, Katarina leaned forward and kissed his forehead. They spent a moment in silence, he kneeling as a petitioner, and she sitting as his master.

The Archbishop stood, drawing Sergei to his feet. The Tremere stood nearly a head taller then her, but his height had never intimidated her. She wanted to take him, to drink her fill from his body, but was well aware of the dangers of indulging herself too often with him.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

Sergei bowed his head in respect, his hands folded at his waist as though in prayer. He ran his tongue over the tips of his teeth, hopeful that there might be some vitae still there.

“Will that be all... Master?”

[Katarina Gordislava]

"Yes, Vizier." She had to send him away before she lost all semblance of her self-control. "Until tomorrow." The bond would be completed on the morrow.

Sergei turned to leave, and Katarina closed the door behind him, leaning against it.