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unfinishedlibrary2026-01-26 12:58 pm
ultimateedgehog) wrote in unfinishedlibrary2026-01-26 12:58 pm
so shines a good deed in a weary world.
Who: The Umbra Vampire Court & You! Known werewolves should probably come in disguise unless they want to be on the receiving end of some vicious mockery intense disdain.
What: Accepting the petitions of their loyal citizens is something the Umbra clan does regularly. It's how they uphold their end of the bargain they have with the humans; it's the payment they make in exchange for blood. So now, in the days before the ball - they are accepting supplicants and auditions for entertainers (and anyone else who wants to worm their way into the Umbra side of things).
When: Days 1 and 2, before the Masquerade takes place.
Where: Beneath the Umbra Mansion.
Content warnings: General warning for everything associated with or adjacent to vampires. Specific warnings will be added as they come up! Unless a preference is specified, it will be either Nero or Shadow who responds. (Or if you're up for a multi-way thread: why not both?)
The room the audience takes place in is located beneath the Umbra Mansion. Set apart from the rest of the complicated warren of rooms, this reception hall is - like the mansion above - ornately decorated. Lit candles flicker behind stained glass, casting prismatic images across the walls. A series of iron grates along one wall open to the catacombs that run beneath Montica, and a lit fireplace crackles nearby in an attempt to combat the persistent draft. A red carpet is draped carefully over the worn stone floor, hiding the stains that give evidence to the transgressions of the past.
A series of steps rise at the back of the room, leading up to a raised dais. A couple of high-backed chairs are centered here. They sit spaced a distance apart, allowing room for a portrait to be seen clearly between them; as if the young girl painted there is presiding over the proceedings herself. Those familiar with the clan will recognise her name as Maria, the person around whom the Head has built the clan's values.
Other chairs are positioned in an outward semi-circle from those not-quite-thrones, enough for those who comprise the Umbra court to gather.
It is in those two centered chairs that the Lord of Shadows - Lord Umbra - and his Heir sit. Looking about equal in age, the one to the left is Lord Umbra himself. He seems somehow older - a heavier presence about him, the shadows beneath his chair seemingly darker. The one to the right is Nero, sitting with the same deliberate poise, his face schooled into neutrality; but occasionally something flickers across his expression, traces of humanity he hasn't quite yet lost shining through.
They are both trying very, very hard to keep their patience as the Lord raises his hand for the next petitioner to approach. Not only are they seeing supplicants today - those seeking favours or supports - but they are also accepting... auditions. For performers at the ball. (The last flutist left such a ringing in the hall that the Lord is reconsidering that decision.)
Word travels fast, and the audience chamber is open to all. Even if you're not seeking something yourself, it's a good place to further some understandings - and maybe find some allies to hatch some plans.
What: Accepting the petitions of their loyal citizens is something the Umbra clan does regularly. It's how they uphold their end of the bargain they have with the humans; it's the payment they make in exchange for blood. So now, in the days before the ball - they are accepting supplicants and auditions for entertainers (and anyone else who wants to worm their way into the Umbra side of things).
When: Days 1 and 2, before the Masquerade takes place.
Where: Beneath the Umbra Mansion.
Content warnings: General warning for everything associated with or adjacent to vampires. Specific warnings will be added as they come up! Unless a preference is specified, it will be either Nero or Shadow who responds. (Or if you're up for a multi-way thread: why not both?)
The room the audience takes place in is located beneath the Umbra Mansion. Set apart from the rest of the complicated warren of rooms, this reception hall is - like the mansion above - ornately decorated. Lit candles flicker behind stained glass, casting prismatic images across the walls. A series of iron grates along one wall open to the catacombs that run beneath Montica, and a lit fireplace crackles nearby in an attempt to combat the persistent draft. A red carpet is draped carefully over the worn stone floor, hiding the stains that give evidence to the transgressions of the past.
A series of steps rise at the back of the room, leading up to a raised dais. A couple of high-backed chairs are centered here. They sit spaced a distance apart, allowing room for a portrait to be seen clearly between them; as if the young girl painted there is presiding over the proceedings herself. Those familiar with the clan will recognise her name as Maria, the person around whom the Head has built the clan's values.
Other chairs are positioned in an outward semi-circle from those not-quite-thrones, enough for those who comprise the Umbra court to gather.
It is in those two centered chairs that the Lord of Shadows - Lord Umbra - and his Heir sit. Looking about equal in age, the one to the left is Lord Umbra himself. He seems somehow older - a heavier presence about him, the shadows beneath his chair seemingly darker. The one to the right is Nero, sitting with the same deliberate poise, his face schooled into neutrality; but occasionally something flickers across his expression, traces of humanity he hasn't quite yet lost shining through.
They are both trying very, very hard to keep their patience as the Lord raises his hand for the next petitioner to approach. Not only are they seeing supplicants today - those seeking favours or supports - but they are also accepting... auditions. For performers at the ball. (The last flutist left such a ringing in the hall that the Lord is reconsidering that decision.)
Word travels fast, and the audience chamber is open to all. Even if you're not seeking something yourself, it's a good place to further some understandings - and maybe find some allies to hatch some plans.
no subject
"Monsieurs. Madames. The Lord Umbra advised me to speak boldly, act decisively, and so I shall. The alchemy here outstrips my own; your illusionists are most passing skilled; but it seems the arts and sciences of elementalism and evocation are all but unknown here. And so, I would remedy this, and seek to show you - perhaps teach you - the power of my occulted arts."
He sits down on what was empty space.
Was. For as he gestured during his speech, a spectral hand, shining with blue light, appeared and, mimicking the movements of his left hand, pulled up a chair for him to sit in.
"That was the first cantrip our neonate wizards are taught; the Mage's Hand. I did not yet learn to make it subtle, but I know some wizards made it so; anything a single hand and the strength of the arm behind it can hold and lift, the Mages Hand can, and at enough distance to - for example - grab something off a high shelf, or through iron bars."
Shadow tag coming after!
"Well, I see we will have to take precautions should we need you on one side of those bars." He half-smirks, glad to have something to joke about. He's aware his sire is unlikely to crack a smile, but one of their senses of humor is still alive. "What of other things? Though I know elementalism is unlikely to be well-performed here, due to the enclosed space. What of evocation?"
Read: how is this useful to us?
no subject
But now, looking at it with a critical eye, he can only think of the ways it can be used against them. If it can reach through bars, if it can move autonomously; then an enemy needn't be within sights to be a threat. Lucas may not realise it, but his demonstration of this magic has just ensured that Shadow is now compelled to keep an eye on him. If he's let go, then the risk that he'll teach the wrong people (read: werewolves) is simply too high.
(--There's still that piece of Shadow, that obsession, that thinks of patients too fragile to move on their own, or physicians with too many tools. The elderly, the injured, the weak. That part of him is hungry for the skill, though such a magic has never been his forte.)
This is as much a test for his heir as it is for the mage, and although Shadow's mind is already set, there's no need to stop the demonstration. Nero needs the experience in vetting a foreigner to their clan, and so Shadow inclines his head towards the younger vampire; the smallest, most subtle, sign of approval for his heir's line of questioning. And all the while those intense red eyes of him remain fixed on Lucas - sharply following every tiny movement. The Lord of Shadows does not take surprises well; he is determined to see whatever gestures the mage might make in the course of his conjurations.
no subject
"The second thing I learned is how to evoke and conjure the elements, hence, evocation and elementalism. Most number the elements 4. My order learned from Eastern influences to number them 5, each in light and dark aspect."
All true, from a certain point of view. The devteam for The Other Worlds Tourism Bureau were inspired though not constrained by the Chinese elemental system when they designed the pentacle system. (There may also have been a hint of the Quintessence CCG in there.)
"Of the five, I am of an Air aspect, and have great difficulty with living Wood - as I suspect most vampires might, though I had this weakness in life," he drawls. "But I can call forth and control a small measure of the other four: gusts of wind, the metallic energy called electromagnetism, water - as ice; running water remains a problem - and fire."
He pauses. Let Nero work out the implications of these, that last one especially.
no subject
He sits up a little straighter. Much as he seems to like Lucas, something chills in his expression. "And it causes you no harm, nor panic?" To be fair, most beings - living or unliving - have an aversion to fire. A vampire who doesn't flinch from fire could be very useful indeed.
Even more so, he could be dangerous if he were to join with one of their enemies.
"I see." He raises a hand as if to halt him. "There's no need to demonstrate such a skill here, lest you cost us too much in courtiers and furnishings." There's some nervous mumbling amongst the crowd, but they're silenced as Nero opens his mouth to speak again, lowering his hand. "Impressive feats of magic, indeed. I do not doubt that you would be an interesting addition. But interest will not be enough. Aside from teaching us these magical arts, how else do you plan to assist the clan?"
A test of his own. Blowing things up is all well and good, but has he gained enough knowledge of their general aims? This is a job interview,
HikaruLucas. Hopefully you've studied.no subject
He - surprisingly - consciously cycles his breathing, something vampires are not actually required to do to survive.
"No, I would emphasize my scholarship and learn healing arts here, a gap in my education I sorely feel. Fire to cauterize and purify, ice to preserve medicines and foodstuffs, shock to set juddering hearts to proper beating, magnetism to remove arrowheads and bullets, the mage hand used for delicate surgery and stitching. Learning apothecary alechmies, from you and - given permission - from those shifters skilled in the arts. I know one in particular, no friend to the Guildulf pack, who has some impressive works under their belt."
He meets Nero's eye.
"And while I am loathe to add firestarting and elfshot to anyone's quivers in this state of tension, though I might make an exception for you and the lord Umbra, I would teach you to discreetly shield yourselves with wind and force and magnetic repulsion, and in dire need to conjure unsubtle walls of ice and earthen barriers. Those martial spells of mine that prevent bloodshed, that stop fights. Nor shall I teach any not of the Clan and her allies those arts in my time here, nor to her foes after I leave your service, if forced to."
no subject
"You will under no circumstances deal with the werewolves." If anyone must deal with them, it will be those who know what the situation is in Montica. "Understand this first of all." Nero's tone is cold, his eyes narrowing. "Aligned or not, they are anathema to us." To the whole city, really.
... Not that there's anything wrong with wanting peace, but that is not an option in front of his sire.
"Shielding ourselves from claw and fang would be useful, should the situation degrade further. It would be prudent to be aware of such arts in any case. And your proposal has merit in your application to the healing arts. So long as you can control it, you will be provided for." But he will be watched - with that kind of power he'd be a fool not to. "And you are correct that none should learn these arts who are not of our clan. We will hold you to that promise." And the promise of not teaching others afterwards.
He settles back in his chair, tapping his leg. He's thinking... and he's pretty sure he's guessed his sire's mind correctly. Too dangerous to let go. Even if he weren't a vampire, he'd have too much power to destroy things if there were an incident that angered him.
"You will be allowed to show us these things in an appropriate area, and when we have determined the truth of your skills you will be apprised of our final decision. In the meantime, you will be provided for, so there will be no need to hunt. We have plenty for those in our service."
no subject
Besides, he knows Nero’s private feelings about it, and will find ways to work for peace.
“Conjuration of ice for preserving perishables in particular I think will be a radical advance. There is an entire industry of hedge mages acting as refrigerators in Beauforte.” He grins. “And as a parlor trick for your Masquerade, I know a few people fond of shaved ice flavored with cordial syrups as a sweet.”
He sighs relief at the news he won’t need to hunt. He wasn’t bad at doing it with minimal harm, but nibbling on someone who uncomfortably reminded him of Deedee’s girlfriend was not endearing him to this already sorry tale. ”Thank you, my lord. I also have a single mortal retainer, my bodyguard and herald Ser Duncan. Will accomodating him be a problem? I can pay for his wages out of whatever salary you deem fit, if necessary.”
no subject
For now, there's a passing thought in his mind at the description of the iced sweets - just that their resident Fool might be interested in such a confection. But it holds no interest for Shadow himself, so he moves past it quickly.
"You both will swear loyalty to our House and will be accommodated in our lodgings." Neither of them will be let out of Umbra's sight, and Shadow is intent on making sure that Ser Duncan receives the same psychic pat-down that Lucas has previously experienced. And since Lucas has specified that he is a mortal, there's a clarifying question to ask, with just a hint of suspicion flickering in the Lord's narrow stare. "Your retainer is human?"
no subject
Which is true.
no subject
It's the motions of breathing that Lucas still goes through. The passion that underscores his actions and the energy in his words. The simple joy found in sweet ice and the under-developed aversion to fire. Plus the human companion.
Lord Shadow can only draw one conclusion from it: that Lucas is still young in his vampiric mantle. Potentially to the point where his bodyguard is not someone he picked up after his siring.
His gaze is heavy on the magician. Calculating. He knows, already, that Lucas has lied about his name and his past. He has now seen the immense magical power at his disposal. He knows that if he plays this wrong, he may lead his clan - if not his entire city - to disaster. And yet still... if Lucas is as young as Shadow suspects he is, then he has an obligation. A duty. A promise to uphold.
Lucas may feel that psychic pressure again if he meets Shadow's eyes. A more pervasive heaviness than before; not so much a flicker of a shadow now as it is a prying, an attempt to lift more buried thoughts to the surface. He wants to pick up anything the boy is not saying. If Lucas will not meet his eyes now, Shadow will seek him out later.
"I will not have a stranger in my court." The words are a warning. While the decision hasn't been made yet, refusal to oblige will dash any hopes the mage has of becoming his court magician. "When we next meet, you will come prepared to divulge the truth of your history - Lucas Azuresky of 'Clan Tremere'."
It's as nice a warning as he'll ever give. He let it go last time, but if Lucas is as young as Shadow suspects he is, there may be another vampire out there looking for him. It's not a deal breaker, but if Shadow's going to have to fight off someone's sire -- especially one strong enough to have turned a mage of this power -- then he's going to need to know before he makes any deals.
no subject
“…Very well. I am willing to speak of it to you and to Nero. There are some facts I’m loathe to share because they could be traced to friends from my old life but I will not lie.”
no subject
"You may find rest in temporary accommodations until that time." With a glance to the side, a well-dressed servant steps forward; bowing deeply. They will lead Lucas to a private room above ground, in the mansion itself; the section where the human servants keep their quarters. If all goes well then it will become the room that is offered to Ser Duncan, while Lucas will be provided with a more secure room within the underground warrens where the clan Umbra reside. "Do not roam. We will speak before the sun's rise."
How would you like to see Claire's canon shakespearized? You're gonna.
But the harmony of the town is too important to leave to chance, and if this play might help with the feud, then, why, play on.
Her players array themselves in the costumes of the prologue; chitons and togas, after the Greek fashion. She bows.
"Presenting to you, noble sirs, the prologue to Like Thee, or, the Comedy of Pandora and the Maidens-Song."
The curtain rises behind her, and the players take their place.
Deep breath. She plays her harp, and speaks.
"Once, long ago, proud Jupiter and Hera most filial
Did commission Vulcan, forge-wise, to craft our kind;
Thus did that consummate finesmith, from his chair
Carve Pandora, the first and fairest maiden, from white marble.
Delicately he carved eyes of pearl, inlaid with sapphire and ebon;
Weave hair of sable strands of silk, twisted into locks;
Minerva draped her in a chiton of tyrian linens,
Venus did place golden laurels on her brow,
And under the tutelage of Apollo her sweet voice first sang
That leitmotif of peace and goodwill, the Maiden-Song..."
no subject
"Lady... Churchland, was it?" He sighs and leans forward slightly, watching her expression. "With all that is going on in our city, do you think that a song of... 'peace and goodwill' will move those of us who have lived long enough to see such events fall apart?" She's not a vampire, that's for certain. A vampire would know better - or should, at least. "Not that we desire war, but it seems a bit..." Hm. "Anything else in your repertoire?"
no subject
This play is drawn from her dreams of another life, fighting a good fight, intensely personal, and…
…and Nero can’t possibly know that. She sighs.
“I do, milord, but I will say I do not pretend that to speak of peace and goodwill is easy or naive. It is strategic and necessary, in a world of violence. My hope is not a fragile thing with feathers, but the hope that wears a mailed fist, to strike hard, and to catch and shatter blades in its weilder’s grasp. Mark well that Pandora is best known for releasing every evil into the world; here I imagined she would try to rectify her mistake. But I’ll mark the prologue’s slow, revise it, and play something else for your soiree.”
She curtseys.
no subject
All the evils in the world, contained? A fanciful tale. One he might yet still dream of, but not to be shown here. "It is technically very well done." He hesitates to say 'perfect', because none but they have the time to make something truly that way. "Know that there is no fault among your company save the content's direction for this audience. I would ask that you keep it as is - and send it somewhere else where it might be better appreciate it." Werewolf territory, neutral territory - just not here. "I have no doubt that there are things you can show us that fall within appropriate content. Understand that this is not a dismissal."
Yet. If she keeps coming back with content that won't play well with the masquerade, then perhaps it will be more final. He glances over as two courtiers raise their eyebrows at him. "... Do not look at me so. While it is not our sort of story, the theater has changed in the past decades and centuries. Something more classical would be appropriate, but that does not mean they have a lack of skill."
There's a muttered 'yes, milord', though he can tell he's going to get Looks from those two after court. Again. But he doesn't care about their opinions - instead he turns his gaze back to 'Kara' and nods slightly.
no subject
She did not expect even that much, but... she will take word that Nero likes the sentiment, even if he thinks that it will not play well here, in those mailed fists, another dagger in Hope's arsenal.
"In which case, there is a tragedy I think might suit your court better, a version of the tale of Pygmalion and Galatea taking place in a more contemporary setting. I do not have the script here, but I know a soliliquy by heart."
no subject
... Hopefully he isn't going to get a Discussion later about the impossibility of peace with the packs later. He knows there isn't, but that faint human hope is still one of the few things that's alive about him.
no subject
She moves mechanically, as like a toy with articulated joints, or the juddering of clockwork, and she sneers, and her voice is haughty and cold as silver.
"Hear me well, who'd pretend I am unseen,
Thirsting as you do for sensation amid falsity;
Shed your false modesty,
parktake in pageantry,
I offer merriment and recreation,
shelter from the storm between...
So come, and march with us toy soldiers with pikes and shot,
And show us your art, or else your bleeding hearts,
Recite thy part, end to start, and weave our web,
And when the curtains rise,
our masks shall hide us not!
So sit, as we put powder and bright rouge on thy face,
Discard the shards of misspent youth,
be reborn with a new phase,
Fear not your fall from grace,
invoking dreamlike pace,
And tarry and enjoy the play,
and rest, for the most minor change of pace..."
no subject
He would sigh, if he had breath to spare. He dislikes this part of the preparations the most - weighing what the court will fancy versus his own interests. He hasn't gotten to go out to the theater at all in recent years. This is just reigniting the desire to go out... but not now. Right now passions must be put away, and statecraft followed to the letter and the spirit.
"Much better. I think we may have a place for you in our masquerade after all. ... Pending negotiations, of course. We pay our artists fairly here." No more and no less than they deserve, and half in advance. They're cultured, not brutes like some creatures.
no subject
“Thank you, my lord. In truth, I suspected the first might go over like a brick, so I had a second pistol loaded, and am glad of my foresight. If it’s but a manner of fair compensation, would you mind palavering with our purser?”
no subject
'As you wish, milord.' The vampire's voice is gravelly with age, but he still looks sharp-eyed.
"As for you yourself... I would speak with you later, after the event perhaps. We may be able to work out some sort of continuing arrangement depending on how your performance is received."
no subject
Though he's swathed in simple black cloth, there's (costume) gold at his throat and wrists, and the skulls of rats and little birds sewn into his tattered cloak. He carries a lute that's seen better days, though the sound -- when he plucks a chord from it -- is reasonable enough. But the lute's not the main attraction, merely a support for his voice.
And such a voice! Perhaps not conventionally beautiful, that burred tenor that lilts so easily up into a birdsong countertenor, but he somehow has the inhuman knack of sounding like more than one of him in chorus with his own echoes -- where the song calls for a we.
≪ Fare thee well, and if forever, still forever then, farewell -- ≫
Though sung in the language of his own people, the song's half-melancholy theme of separations embraced and survived bleeds through in its tone.
no subject
Emotion does not usually play well with the Umbra Court, but the melancholy nature does. He glances around around the room at the reaction - there's a little muted applause from one or two of the courtiers. He doesn't bother gauging the reaction of his sire - it will be as stony as it always is. "Well then, oh musician of a foreign land... you will provide a translation of the lyrics to one of the courtiers before a final decision is made. We have guests coming from far away - we cannot chance you insulting them in a language that we do not know." And that courtier will verify the truth of the lyrics one way or another.
"May I ask what we should call you, should you not wish to give your name?"
Dean Winchester because why the hell not.
Clearing his throat, Dean straightened his posture, though the confidence he typically exuded was replaced by a thoughtful intensity. “I… I’ve come to ask for guidance,” he began, his voice steady but lacking the usual bravado. “The matters in Montica are growing more complex. If I’m to be of any use, I need to understand the landscape better—who stands to lose, who stands to gain.”
He caught sight of the portrait of Maria, her serene expression reminding him of the clan's history and values. “I know the clan’s strength lies beyond individual ambitions.” He paused, seeking the right words. “I want to contribute to something greater. And I need your insight to navigate the path ahead.”
It was a heartfelt plea, devoid of the usual bravado yet palpably sincere, reflecting a young man still seeking his place amid the echoes of the past and the shadows of the future.
What the fuck was Dean doing, because he hated vampires. One killed him for Jack's sake. He followed of course and now he was in the middle of a vamp nest with no back up."
no subject
He assumes that the recent skirmish in town is what has driven the man to come here - that maybe Nero's efforts to support the citizens in the aftermath has encouraged a few new loyalties to bloom. Dean may feel a psychic brush if he meets the Lord's red glare; as soft as a shadow that slides along a wall, skimming quietly over the surface of his thoughts. Checking the man's intentions and veracity of his words.
"You will have answers," he allows. The cadence of his tone is always surly; not from any particular annoyance, though it can easily be mistaken for such. "What is your name?"