"That's good. Not all is lost, then," he says. Such a thing sounds as though it would have the power to wipe a city completely off a map never to recover, especially if it happened suddenly. It sounds like they had adequate warning.
He's quiet for a few, deciding whether to answer the not quite question or let it lie. "Fourteen years ago, the main stronghold of my clan was destroyed. The attack was sudden, an enemy clan of assassins who have reason enough to have quarrel with us. It shouldn't have been possible, except...magic is fading in my world. It started with humans and more recently has extended to my clan. I was an entire ocean and continent away. I still felt the deaths of all to whom I was bonded. For some time, I thought my sire among them, the psychic shock of it all temporarily disabling my ability to feel any blood bond save that of my servitor." He shakes his head slowly.
"We're fugitives now. The Assamites have vowed blood vengeance down to the last Tremere. Some of us still have clout enough within the Camarilla to attain sanctuary. I and my sire do. Many others do not and cannot be saved or helped with the resources we have. We're a dwindling power. None of the other fools realize it's a symptom of a far larger problem, that our fall is only the beginning of the end of our world. Much easier to scoff and point than listen to those whom you despise." For all of the sternness of his expression, there isn't much heat or anger in the words. He has accepted that those without magic lack the needed perspective to see the writing on the wall.
"Those of us with places and resources continue our work to save not just our own skins or those of vampires, but everyone else on that dying world. We've never had their respect, only their fear. Now we have that only as individuals rather than a united front." It's a waste, he thinks, aware that some of their approach is part of the reason for it. They're not innocent victims, not entirely.
no subject
He's quiet for a few, deciding whether to answer the not quite question or let it lie. "Fourteen years ago, the main stronghold of my clan was destroyed. The attack was sudden, an enemy clan of assassins who have reason enough to have quarrel with us. It shouldn't have been possible, except...magic is fading in my world. It started with humans and more recently has extended to my clan. I was an entire ocean and continent away. I still felt the deaths of all to whom I was bonded. For some time, I thought my sire among them, the psychic shock of it all temporarily disabling my ability to feel any blood bond save that of my servitor." He shakes his head slowly.
"We're fugitives now. The Assamites have vowed blood vengeance down to the last Tremere. Some of us still have clout enough within the Camarilla to attain sanctuary. I and my sire do. Many others do not and cannot be saved or helped with the resources we have. We're a dwindling power. None of the other fools realize it's a symptom of a far larger problem, that our fall is only the beginning of the end of our world. Much easier to scoff and point than listen to those whom you despise." For all of the sternness of his expression, there isn't much heat or anger in the words. He has accepted that those without magic lack the needed perspective to see the writing on the wall.
"Those of us with places and resources continue our work to save not just our own skins or those of vampires, but everyone else on that dying world. We've never had their respect, only their fear. Now we have that only as individuals rather than a united front." It's a waste, he thinks, aware that some of their approach is part of the reason for it. They're not innocent victims, not entirely.