The sounds seem to come from the back of the two arenas. The front one is empty, except for Tatjana, who looks out of place. She is delicately built. The finely drawn face looks like that of a porcelain doll. Features you’d expect to see in an Elysium. Not on a battlefield. The eyes are closed, the long, thick lashes rest on the pale cheeks, the lips relaxed. It almost seems as if she is asleep, standing. Only the long, slender blade in her hands destroys the image of peace.

A jolt goes through the slender body. Under the tight-fitting leather clothing, you can see every muscle in her body as it tenses and springs into motion. It seems like the prelude to a dance, except there is no music. It takes a while to realise that although there is no music, there is a beat. Her movements follow the clanking, creaking, and groaning from the second arena.

Her hands caress the steel of her blade like a lover’s body as the sword whirls around her. Movements clearly inspired by the Elven Blade Dancers. Her body bends, writhes, and follows the audible beats, as well as the memory of the battlefield’s very own heartbeat. Slowly, she increases the tempo, adapting to the ecstasy that the battlefield brings. Faster and faster the steel swirls, changes hands, is thrown up and caught again without stopping to dance.

Then you see a second woman enter the arena and the dance changes. The heartbeat changes. They circle each other, adjust to each other. Perfect symmetry. Sometimes they look like a dancing couple, then like opponents, adversaries.... Then again, allies who have each other’s backs. The movements flow into each other seamlessly, without missing a single heartbeat, a single beat. It is a violent representation of beauty, an erotic dance, full of violence.

When the elf leaves the arena again - you can definitely recognise Malachi’s elf - the dance slows down again until it comes to a halt. It ends as it began. A beautiful porcelain doll that seems to be asleep. Only the sawdust on her clothes calls the innocent beauty a lie.

Observing

Participating

Player Character

Not in Attendance

Participating

Player Character

Observing

Participating

Player Character

As she left the arena, she walked towards her sire with long, sweeping strides and smiled at him with flashing eyes. An expression he knew well from her. Every time after training, she looked like this, relaxed and confident in equal measure. Tatjana stretched for a moment and gave Blaise a smile as he walked past. She took his compliments with the grace expected of a Daeva, of Malachi’s progeny. In that respect, there was no difference between Daeva and Ventrue, which played into her favour.

She winked mischievously at the Elven boy, and asked Malachi gently, “I hope you are enjoying the training, my Sire?” While she waited for the answer, she deftly braided her hair into a thick plait, which she then pinned up. An amazing transformation that accentuated her face, the high cheekbones, the fine features. Turning to Kieran, she whispered urgently, “You stay with Malachi and Sanza, my love.” When the elf boy nodded eagerly, she smiled again at Malachi. “You know how grateful I am, don’t you?” she asked softly.

Then she turned away, answering questions, smiling as she explained the rules. She did what they expected from her. Her gaze kept lingering on the elders. She inclined her head towards them, exchanged a few charming words with them here and there. In this situation, she was in her element. And the initial dance had relaxed her enough to endure the same questions again and again.

Her eyes had darkened slightly as she moved through the building. She stopped now and then, watching the others who were taking part in the training. Analysing and evaluating what she observed. Of course, she wouldn’t be anywhere near the top today. But that was not the purpose of the exercise. She could fight better than many, and much better than most mortals. But this was the time to get a taste of the Kindred of the city, not to prove that she could tread several types of battlefield.

Her thoughts flew to the next planned event that would test the mortals. Illmahgo would be pleased. She folded her arms loosely in front of her stomach as her gaze rested on the Ventrue elder. Andre. She smiled softly as she looked at him. Ventrue and Daeva. In the past, they had only been two sides of the same coin. They got along with each other. Today, they limited the friendship between the two clans to a few. The others did not work well together anymore.

She used the pause, while observing the Ventrue present, to treat her sword carefully with a silk cloth. Many would trade it for just another vain display by the pretty woman. Polishing with silk, put the finishing touches on an already sharp sword. And she kept all her weapons sharp.

Now and then she glanced at Bron, smiling encouragingly at him, before her gaze slid further. Malik had come, as expected. She wasn't able to see Josiah anywhere. That was also to be expected, in a way. It seemed the Nosferatu preferred to go his own way. That should be fine with her, as long as it didn’t get in the way.

Her gaze slid further. Settled on Morlayne and, when he looked up, gave him a brief smile. She liked the Gangrel. Many Daeva felt different, but for her, the clan was one of the most important allies in whatever battle. There was much to consider. Much to understand. And such events were an excellent opportunity to observe the social dynamics of a domain. One reason why she had scheduled this training.

"Malik. How lovely that you were able to make it." She smiled at him as kindly as she had at everyone else before. His compliments made her laugh. A silvery, bright sound that one would hardly expect from the porcelain doll. "Thank you, it took quite a bit of preparation, but it was worth it, as you can see."

She let her gaze roam contentedly before refocusing on the Mekhet. "Of course, the presence of the elders is a great honour for me. But it has little to do with my abilities, I am afraid. It is the event itself that attracts them." For a brief moment, her gaze lingered on Illmahgo before she continued. "But I am sure you are right that some have been watching me. That was the point, after all."

"My skills..." For a moment she looked at him curiously again. "In combat? Sure they will. At court? Well... Let's just say I don't want to disgrace my Sire - and have successfully avoided it so far." This time the smile seems almost mischievous. "And as the mortals say... Once the reputation is ruined..."

Tatjana laughs softly. “My education was almost mainly about political entanglements, the finer points of etiquette.... Bloodlines, connections. That’s my chosen battleground.” A moment’s hesitation, then she added, “Though, to be fair, I was trained extensively even as a mortal.”

Another gentle laugh. “His power is not the reason I do not wish to disappoint him. Honestly, it plays no part for me with any of the elders. They all have more skeletons in their closets than you and I count years.” She shook her head in amusement. To her, it seemed to be just an obviousness that was usually not mentioned for the sake of politeness.

“To be presented by him is a great honour,” she replied with a smile. “He makes you feel less clumsy, doesn’t he? At least that’s how I felt.” She winked mischievously at him and minimally tugged at the fabric of his vest. “Better. Don’t worry. I know vampire politics well enough to let you in on a little something. No vampire worth a shot of powder makes you pay your debt unless it’s necessary. How much more is the favor of the Elder you will one day be worth? And don’t worry, for something any Chosen here should be able to do, you owe me nothing.”

As he took his leave, she bowed her head with a smile. “Enjoy your evening, Malik. See you soon.”

A petite redhead enters the hall with some delay. Her gaze darts around and examines those present with interest. The clothing looks fitted, but does not reveal much about the woman. Standard clothing for the lower middle class, one would assume.

She leans against the wall near the arena and watches the training kindred, making no effort to join in the training herself.

Tatjana leaned relaxed against one of the wooden poles that held up the roof of the Slaughterhouse. She fixed her gaze attentively on the Mekhet’s hands as she listened to his words and a mischievous smile settled on her features.

“You have little to do with the elders, do you?” she asked as she reached out to guide his fingers gently into place. “This newfangled cacophony is clearly more sloppily executed. When you show symbols like that, a very original form of cacophony - one finger bent the wrong way makes the difference between a friendly question and a declaration of war.”

She lifted her gaze and looked him in the eye for a moment. “Spoken it is even harder because it all depends on the intonations and the melody. The language itself doesn’t make a difference, but in an already melodic language it’s easier.” That explained the strangely soft dialect she spoke. Even in the common language of her homeland, she sounded soft, melodic. Almost lyrical.

“The Ancient Cacophony won’t do you much good among younger Kindred, though, I’m afraid. Still, I think you should learn it.”

Match Highlights

Just a moment ago she had been talking to Sephis, laughing at a joke. It was nice to be treated as if she were completely normal.

Then the conversation had turned serious. “I will not hurt you,” he said. Her expression froze. “Don’t you dare hold back? I know my limits, and if I defeat you, it’s because I’m better. Not because you’re holding back.”

“You are a Chosen,” he objected gently. “And you are a Ventrue. The answer remains the same. I won’t make it easy for you, but if you defeat me, you defeat me.” She grabbed his forearm with her hand as his hand closed around hers. “Don’t make me doubt who I am tonight, Sephis. Not a pampered Daeva.”

He swallowed and lowered his gaze. “You have my word.”

They stepped into the arena. Two different shades of arrogance and self-esteem. Tatjana’s steps were light. Some would say that she still looked like she was dancing. Her eyes laid on her opponent, a slight smile on her lips. A quick nod, then she moved. Light steps, quick movements. It was as she said. She knew her boundaries. Without disciplines, without Vecna’s gifts, there was a simple truth.

He was taller. He weighed more than her. His physical strength was greater than hers. Her advantages were that she was much more agile. Her movements were quicker, and if she ran behind his sword's distance, she could even win. Shorter range, faster movements. As long as he doesn’t land a blow. If he does, he would break her bones.

She observed him. She made use of every gap in his defence, landing some hits. His blows had more power behind them. Dust flew up whenever he moved, sometimes missing her by just a hair’s breadth. Sometimes his blade scratched over her armor, reminding her what would happen if he ever hit her. Then there was it. He stumbled. His balance was off, and without even thinking, she darted forward. She wanted to end this here and now, before he made use of his size and weight.

Her eyes widened, and time slowed down for her. There was the gap. Wide open. Inviting. Her slender body darting forward. Then she saw his smile. She saw his arm moving. Not the sword arm, the free arm. She felt his muscles, his skin and the shirt around her waist. She felt how he pressed her against his body. Caught her in her movement, as if she was a little doll he wanted to cuddle. She felt soft, cold lips caressing her tattoo and heard him whisper in her ear. “This is what you are. Always.”

Then she flew. Her instincts made her curl and protect her head against the blow that would follow. Her shoulder hit the wall, bones were breaking. Shoulder and rips broke under the sheer power of the impact. She bit her lip to not even moan. She knew the fight was over. He threw her out of the arena. Her eyes wandered to him, while she used her vitae to heal the injuries. He smiled at her and winked. His lips formed a sentence. “You have my word, my lady.”

A while before the fight, talking to Malik...

She smiled again. “For most, such things are just dead. For me, they have been a necessity - my whole existence. And it comes exceedingly easy to me.” Her explanation was soft and sounded gentle.

She grinned slightly. “Malachi was a tough taskmaster.” The warm look she gave her Sire belied the harsh words. She seemed to truly adore him. She had given the same look to Morlayne, Blaise, or Andre before.

“I think for each of us, different standards applied to our education. Mine was politically oriented, both within the First Tower and by my Sire. Languages, etiquette, dealing appropriately with elders... All of that is everyday life for me, and it ensures that I don’t fear them. I respect them, but I am not afraid of them.” She hesitated. How did one make clear what she had experienced, witnessed?

“Being afraid of them gives them an advantage. The disadvantage of their age is that it is harder for them to deal with change. For many of them, everything is newfangled nonsense that is not done the way it used to be. Why change something that has worked well for centuries? Teaching them to change gently and in the right way helps. Them and us. If they can sense that you are afraid, they will not take your advice, no matter how you word it.”

Post as ... Josiah

Note to Bron

Tatjana smiled as Dae approached her and handed her the mirror. "Thank you very much. This is a wonderful gift. Josiah's absence is sad and obvious." She hesitated. "Tell your Sire the following words, and repeat them word for word, it is important:

"A mirror can mean several things. It shows the surface of things, and it reminds us of a hundred wasted chances, a thousand paths untrodden. Sometimes a turnaround is possible. Some mirrors also show what is real. One should choose one's own mirror carefully."

Her gaze betrayed nothing of her concern while Dae was still standing in front of her. She smiled kindly and accepted the second gift. "I will, although he shouldn't eat too many sweets at the moment."

Her thoughts went on a merry-go-round at the same rate. With a friendly, open smile, she let Dalin go his way, then let the apples disappear into her backpack. Handing an elf child a gift from a vampire she didn't dare to trust? Hardly. Not until she was sure what poison was in it. Thoughtfully, her gaze followed the former ranger before coming to rest on Illmahgo. Did he sense her concern, as she had sensed his loneliness back then?

She shook her head. Just a nuanced, barely perceptible movement. Anyone would think it was astonishment. But if - in case that - he sensed her concern, it would hold him back. No cause for concern for him. At least not yet.

She smiled kindly at Malik again. "Let's discuss this at our meeting in the next few days. I will help as much as I can. Don't worry, I'm sure they will at least hear me out."

Again her gaze slid around the room, lingering on a wide variety of participants. "I think it's your turn now, isn't it?" She gestured elegantly towards the arena. "I'll be watching from the outside."

During the ensuing battles, she let herself drift further and further to the edge of the action. She smiled and chatted, but at some point leaned quietly against one of the wooden pillars holding up the roof. At first she looked towards the arena, watching the participants. Then her gaze wandered more and more often to the window.

She loved the weather. The storm touched something in her soul, made her see something that everyone else seemed oblivious to. Fog and drizzle, punctuated by rolling thunder. The howling wind formed a background melody that she could hardly escape.

Tatjana loved the dance in the arena. It was wild, primal, and untamed. Clan and origin did not count there. Only what you could do with your body. Only the control, the movements. Steel, leather, and flesh united in such moments to form a wild mixture, a song that sang of the nature of Kindred.

Her hands untied the pinned hair, the braided plait, before she stroked the raven black hair back over her shoulders. The soft hair against her skin almost felt like the stares she had been aware of all evening. A soft smile accompanied the memory before she wiped it from her features again. Imagination. It had to be imagination.

As if of their own will, her hands slid over the leather trousers, the tight-fitting leather armour that stressed her body without restricting its movement. She adjusted the armour as she would adjust her clothes at court. She had never worried about how she looked. Today she did.

She did not hear his footsteps as he approached her. The noise of weapons, leather, screams and groans of the wounded made it impossible to perceive anything. At least when someone moved like a cat. But she didn't need to hear him to sense his presence. Blood sings to blood, so they said in her homeland. And though he was not of her blood, his vitae sang to her.

Her body, her soul, her spirit responded to him as he came closer. Then he was seemingly at the point he wanted to be. She estimated he was still about 3 feet away from her. She smiled and turned around. Her shoulder brushed gently against his chest. The touch sent a dozen lightning bolts through her body. Especially after what Cassandra had told her. She had misjudged the distance! To a man who didn't like to be touched. Fuck. Making the best of it, she put on a soft smile again and lowered her gaze. If she could still have blushed, her skin would instantly turn a pale rose colour. Too many would interpret that short touch as an inappropriate approach. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

"Your Grace," she whispered, her soft voice coloured by the slight shudder. "I was just planning to get some fresh air. Would you like to accompany me?"

She looked up at him again, her full lips twisting into a soft smile to return his. Her steel-blue eyes brightened slightly until they were almost the colour of the summer sky again. Her gaze fixed on his, another playful smile on her lips. His voice shot through every fibre of her body, even the smallest hair still standing up to meet his intensity.

“I’m glad this event appeals to you, Your Grace.” Her voice was soft, as it always was when she spoke to him. A fact that emphasised the contrast between her and the warlord.

Her slender body detached itself from the pillar as she complied with his dictum. It was no longer a question of whether she touched him inadvertently. If that had not suited him, he would have backed away. Meanwhile, she concluded he planned this circumstance. The delicate scent of vanilla, roses and spices rose to his nose as the black-haired woman took his hint and walked ahead.

At the door, she glanced around the room once more before slipping out into the darkness. Only briefly was she illuminated by the lightning that twitched across the sky and was accompanied by rolling, loud thunder. “What’s like what you expect?” she replied softly before stepping out into the rain and turning her face to the sky. So much water. This place was so fertile.

With long, fluid strides, she accompanied him through the night - away from Farm Ward.

With a soft, almost faint smile, the petite vampire left Illmahgo’s side for the first time since her return. With long, steady strides, she walked towards Morlayne, honouring him with a gesture she usually reserved for only a few of the elders. She bowed her head in a gesture of respect, her right fist clenched loosely over her heart.

“You honour me deeply, honoured elder.” Although she did not raise her voice, it could be heard in the far corner of the building. For a moment she collected herself, letting her gaze roam over the Kindred who were in the building.

When she spoke again, her voice was calm and collected. “Tonight was enlightening for all of us. It has shown us where our strengths lie...” A slight tilt of the head towards Rima. “But it has also shown us where we are still weak. What points we need to focus on. Be it our temperament... control of our gifts... conversation and fellowship with other clans, covenants and Kindred. The exercises today have shown how little we know about each other. That needs to change. And I hope tonight could lay a foundation for that. This... is not home. This is where we either stand together, or we will perish. “

Again she smiled. A short, quiet smile. “I really hope that Clan Gangrel will welcome us as guests again, because personally, this evening has shown me, we seriously need to do this again. So thank you to all those who took part. You have taken a first step towards a powerful community. And of course a thank you to Bron. You were an amazing friend and partner in this. And now, I should stop talking. Before all of you fall asleep in here. Good night, everyone!” She stepped back to her place, the smile still on her face, as usual.