chrisisofaith | IC Contact

He listens. It sounds well outside of the scope of anything he ever saw in Venice or Paris. He slowly shakes his head. "I wish I could provide you some insight. General experience with machinery tells me that a grinding sound or smoke coming from a machine isn't ideal, but if it's a dragon, it's hard for me to say that smoke isn't fitting."

He taps his cane a few thoughtful taps between steps, wracking his mind for any other knowledge that might apply.

"In this respect, I fear our worlds differ enough that I have no further information. Condolences on the destruction of your city. It's never an easy thing to see your own people brought to ruin." He'd know.

Chris nods more to himself than in response. That was fair and probably all he could hope for. If it wasn't a dragon thing, perhaps it was breaking down. If it was...well, it's not much his problem now.

"I appreciate your considering the thought regardless. And the condolences. A good portion got evacuated and we've the resources to rebuild. Once the dragon's dead, I'm sure that's what they'll do." But... "You sound like a man speaking from a point of familiarity, not hypotheticals."

"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.

There's a few pieces of that Chris takes a moment to work through. The horror of having everything you knew stripped from you all at once, of having people not listen to you even though you're trying to save them, of knowing you're being hunted even if you're safe in your stone walls. The mention of being feared over respected also files itself away in his mind, even if it's not as relatable to him as the rest...and hopefully never would be, if he could help it.

"I'm sorry you and yours suffered that. It's not a thing easily endured by anyone, but I imagine having such a long life where things likely change slow, makes major upset worse than usual." He glances to Grayson as they take another turn, this arm of the block shorter than the other. "I also imagine that, while fourteen years is only a drop less than half my lifespan, it's nothing to you. That wound is likely fresh enough still. Is there no hope of broaching some peace with those who'd see your clan dead?" It didn't sound like it, but it was worth asking.

His group had set out with the intention of violent retribution and ended with resources for peace and new alliances...things didn't always turn out how they made most sense at the time.

"I'm more tolerant of change than many of my kind my age. I've always been something of an outlier in that respect, but I confess I have several lost months I can't account for after the fact." He has made attempts to retrace his steps to no avail. It will likely always remain a mystery. "I must have been in some sort of fugue state."

He shakes his head. "Their oaths of vengeance are absolute. Our quarrel spans centuries. Only our magic thwarted them, and much like any who long desire something and finally see a path to it, they will not be swayed." Nor would he ever expect or ask such quarter. Should he ever make it back home, that's one of many daggers poised for his back.

"It isn't long. We haven't had the luxury of mourning. My own feelings are mixed. There was much rot at the heart of the pyramid. Some who died were no personal loss to me or the world, but it was..." He frowns as he tries to settle on the best explanation.

"From the outside we were bastions of stability and organization. The other clans, as much as they hated us, also took inspiration and found security in our ability to present a united front. We were a pillar of a treaty that lasted centuries. Our fall has many questioning the value of the treaty at all, and if that dissolves, there's nothing but more death and chaos to come of it. Yet it does present us an opportunity to bring something of more value out of the ashes, one we'd never have managed with the stultifying power of the eldest among us at the top."

He's quiet again as he thinks that over. The span of timelines and the structure of the society itself might be well beyond him, but the core concepts given were not. They were terribly familiar and he's reminded of the gods back home. All of their strife and struggles were on such a massive scale, it seemed beyond mortal comprehension...but when looked at on paper, they were really not so different from every day issues. He wasn't aware of any great vampire cabal back home besides maybe the ones used by the Red Wizards, but perhaps it wasn't so different there either.

He didn't like the thought.

"Sometimes that is the only way to burn out all the rot. Even after Melvaunt burned and a good portion of the Mercantile leadership with it, we were still cleaning up the leftovers of rotten choices and corruption that had escaped with their lives. We're hopeful we can build something new and better, as you said, from the ashes. If you can manage to net a decent group together, you might be able to as well." He pauses briefly and looks back to Grayson. "What will you do if there's still poison in your ranks?"

He nods. Yes, he understands that all too well. Virtually every consequence they face right now is ultimately due to the poor decisions of leadership spanning back centuries, grudges that could have and should have been avoided. Would have without certain heads in the mix. Tremere himself made questionable choices in his Council of Seven.

His mouth firms a line. "I will do as I have done in the past. I will root it out, and this time, power will not stand in the way, for of the truly powerful, only two are left, one my sire and one the vampire to whom we have pledged our assistance. Schrekt is a brute, but a brute with a head for politics and what ought to be done beyond his own appetites. As long as he keeps that firmly in mind, he'll have Meerlinda and me at his side, holding the line of the treaty."

He's quiet again, weighing his words carefully before he picks them. "You trust your sire enough for this? You would include her despite the...problems she's posed to you in past? You would work with her still?"

He doesn't mean to ask that last question, it's implied enough in the rest, but it slips out, quiet and a bit more exposed than he'd intended, but he can't help it. He needs to know the reasoning, if he can.

"There are different kinds of trust," he says after a few seconds to organize what he wants to say of this and how to say it. "In all the time I've known her, two things have been a constant, her dedication to our clan and her desire for order. When you know what someone values above all else, you can predict them to a degree. Trust that they'll take the most certain route to that goal."

He frowns, turning his gaze ahead again. His voice is softer when he adds, "I'm my sire's only surviving childe. I managed that by never openly coming between her and her goals and by being skilled enough that she came to view me as an essential part of her plans. Others she cut loose, and inevitably they fell. Or she had judgment declared against them by the archons, and they were executed. I worked with her just enough and no more than I had to. That's my trust of Meerlinda. Our ultimate goal is the same, the survival of our world. Everything else is secondary and any feelings I have about her much further down the chain than many other concerns."

He's quiet throughout and more than a beat afterwards as that sinks in. It makes sense...and echoes what he'd been thinking and feeling about the deal with Bane when he decided to make one.

'Are you sure about this?

I can trust him to keep his word, so long as we make sure there's no holes to snake through in the words he gives, this can be tenable.'

Someone lawful, even to their own code, was someone predictable and maneuverable. Manipulate the god of manipulations: such a simple task of course. Gods literally only knew if they'd managed it. But...he still felt it had been worth it. As Grayson said, their feelings were well lower than secondary in comparison to what could be achieved.

He breathes a small sigh that borders on relief. "That makes perfect sense. I hope it goes as well as it can for you."

They're approaching the final turn to take them back onto Marzipan Terrace and it's perhaps a little odd to find he's sort of sorry for it.

The well wishes aren't expected. He shoots him a quick glance. Given what happened just before he found himself here, he's not sure at all things will go well for him. He's not sure he'll be free or existing for very much longer if he's thrown back home. They've had a pleasant conversation. This isn't the time to bring any such thing up.

"Thank you," he says, inclining his head. "I hope so, too, naturally." He is resourceful. He may do well with a head start, especially if he can get to Seattle. Time will eventually tell, most likely.

When they do reach the turn, he stops where he is. "I shouldn't keep you any longer or raise any alarms. I was lucky you were awake and others weren't when I called to you. Let's not tempt fate."

Chris pauses at the turn, glances down the road, and then back to Grayson. "You're right...I expect Jon's likely up anyway and he'd Know you were about. Thank you for the talk and walk. Both have been...helpful." And something to look forward to which was unexpected.

A nicer interaction than he was expecting, but one he'll keep in mind the next time they find themselves coming together.

"May the rest of your night be productive and satisfying to you." He offers with a small smile and an equally small bow of his head, before he turns to make his way back home.

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