A letter to Alexander -- A New World Order

[Lucian]

The soft howl of a lone wolf beckoned in the distance, as the shroud of night fell upon the land, distorting it's landscape with features of evenfall. The damaging rays of the sun that once bathed the land in it's warmth was gone, and now came the moon within all of it's celestial glory, allowing all those creatures of the night to sing their song, and dance their wicked dance.

A signal in the sky, assuring those who mattered that the land of Myrken Wood was not only bathed in the beams of it's light, but in a darkness far greater than most would dare comprehend...

And from the path to the Headquarters of the Guard, came two figures. Twins, to be exact, shrouded in blackened robes of an order long-since dead. Ghouls of the fiend, Lucian, the one whom Kanashia tried to impale a few short nights ago while he bled from the stump he once called an arm. To his place of business, did these two ghouls come, but they did not knock upon the door to the Order, and instead simply laid a single scroll down on the stoop before they retreated back into the night.

It was a simple scroll, the single sheet brittle with age, though it was meticulous within it's rolling, so as not to cause the ancient paper to break. Tied off with a few locks of hair, it was a letter for the captain. Lucian cared little who read it, for though it was for Kanashia, it had no acknowledgement of him on the outside, but inside, addressed to the Captain of the Guard, was a letter from the same fiend he tried to impale, Lucian...

My friend.....

It has been far too long since I have encountered one of such courage as yourself, dearest Alexander. For as you lay prone, with your arm lying dormant in the bramble around you, you found the fortitude to try and impale me. For that, I give you much respect. Again, it has been many years --moreso than I care to remember-- since a blade to my body made me smile in such a way....


But I did not write you to feed your ego, more so I write you to deflate it. Be careful to whom you speak to, for the venom of my kind spreads far and wide, well past the lands that you protect. I know many things of you, though we have never spoke, and I am certain that you have looked for information concerning myself. Allow me to introduce myself; as you may or may not know, my name is Lucian, of Clan Tremere. Rumors spread wide about me, but to put you at ease, I am unlike the one who attacked you and took your arm. A pity he did not get it as a trophy, but that is a story for another time...

In fact, dearest Alexander, I have written you to give you fair warning. Trust none, for as I stated earlier, our influence comes in many forms, with many faces and many shapes. Because I can consider you a worthy adversary, I give you the chance to run. Run far from Myrken Wood and never look back, for our web will only increase. The tighter that you squeeze, the more grains of sand will fall from between your fingers. We are as ancient as the mountains, and are as many as the stars in the sky. To try and destroy us is a futile and foolish move, for we are not uncivilized creatures as the ignorant townspeople may claim.

I offer you the chance to flee, a chance to spare your life. As I said before, we are not all uncivilized. I do pray that you take heed to my warning, and soon, for the offer only lasts for but a few nights. This was our land well before even your grandfather was born, and we have many years of culture within this land. To think you can destroy every last one of us is arrogant, but that is the way of human and Cainite alike, I suppose. So, do me this favor, my friend, and I will promise you that your blood, and those of your loved ones, will not be spilled. Stay, and you forsake your soul, and those of all you love ... but somehow, much to my chagrin, I am certain you will stay. A pity, your warrior's heart will meet a tragic end to the new order we shall bring.

I bid you farewell with but a simple poem..I do hope you enjoy it.

Your friend,

Lucian..


Withered be the flower,
Long past it's prime and bloom.
Forgotten on the stony bed,
This silent hillside tomb.
For coppered be the grip,
Of this wooded land.
A crude, cold gauntlet of tragedy
Hides the dead man's hand.

[Rattrap]

Corporal Robert Sullivan was taking a stroll through Myrken Wood. He was dressed in his uniform already, despite his shift having yet to begin - but that was quite logical, seeing as he was heading to the Barracks for the very purpose that his shift would begin. Doubtless, he'd meet Corporal Thomas Daniels there, and they would start their as of late demonically filled patrols. Robert wouldn't have wanted it any other way; actually, that was a lie. There was one alternative, one of complete peace and quiet over the town, so that Robert could actually be drunk for the first time in years. But, alas; it was a feeling he always regretted once he'd been through it anyway.

He couldn't but help to notice the scroll on his way into the building. The corporal looked around, trying to see if there was anybody nearby who looked like they had left it - failing to do so, he stooped down and examined it. "What the 'ell...? Is this hair?!"

Clearly, he was disturbed that someone would tie a scroll with hair. Perhaps, because, due to the times, more likely than not it was probably a dead person's hair. This was probably just another letter acknowledging that all Hell has broken loose, you're all gonna die, yaddya yaddya. Actually, they'd yet to receive such a letter, but Robert was still waiting on it. It just seemed like it would put a nice touch on the whole situation.

Intrigued, curious, and finding a lack of address, Robert slid the hair off the scroll and started to read it.

My friend.....

It has been far too long since I have encountered one of such courage as yourself, dearest Alexander.

The Corporal stopped here. So it was a message for the Captain. It would've been appropriate to address the letter! He started rolling it back up, but ah, one word caught his eye: flee. He started reading again, that particular line.

I offer you a chance to flee, a chance to spare your life.

Somebody was threatening the Captain! Robert could already feel the urge to find the writer and break limbs. Twitched for it - if only because there was someone so bold-faced as to think they could simply waltz to the captain and 'off' him. Granted, there were always ways to get a man alone. But be damned, so long as it was their shift, the bastard would have to get through Robert first. And if it wasn't their shift...well, one can't really do anything about something he doesn't know is going on. Sorry there, Cap'n.

The Corporal finished the letter after that. Yep: we're all going to die. Charming. Robert smiled, rather grimly, shaking his head. Ah, the unholy bastard'll find out soon enough that be you vampire, demonic spawn of Satan, or even Satan himself, you'll get your ass handed back to you. These thoughts and more, slipping through Robert's head.

But the last thought, before he stepped inside to start his shift wasn't really about this Lucian at all - he was wondering why the hell the Captain had used two swords the eve before if he had no arm. What the hell?