Nie Wieder

Lounging on the cold, tile floor of the dimly-lit room, she smiled at her host as she reached for her sweater, tossed aside in the heat of their passion. "What were you saying again?" she giggles. "I got distracted."

He rested fully on his back, turning his head to smile at her. "I hope you were more than 'distracted,' unless you were merely attempting to test the accoustics of this room." His grin wolfish, he leaned over to kiss her lightly before straightening, his countenance undenyably business-like. "We were speaking of that which is necessary in this age, moreso than ever before, and to what lengths we will exert ourselves to make it a reality."

She nods, assuming a similarly professional pose, as much as could be expected from two individuals sitting on the floor with the sheen of their passion still wet on the skin. "I am assembling an army, my dear" he began, fully serious. "I have pledged support from individuals around the globe. Some who may lead. Some who may teach. Some who may prove necessary for removing those who learn from neither of the former. Matriarchs of families, heads of guilds. Harpies, Reeves, and Knights."

Pausing, he adjusted his line of thinking. "There is something very wrong with the modern face of our Covenant. The tenants that we ourselves uphold have been lost on the modern youth. Some have not had opportunity to learn, while others shamefully turn a willingly blind eye towards that which has kept this Estate immutable from uncounted centuries."

Her lips purse with worry as he speaks, though she nods with understanding. "You do realize the backing you would need is nearly unfathomable. Admired individuals have been trying to work for years to bring the First Estate up to an acceptable standard. Have you considered an alternative?" she asks, concern etched on her features.

With eyebrow raised he heard her suggestion, dismissing it with a disdainful snort and wave of his hand. "I would that those who abuse our traditions, assault the good sense of civility, and in every action betray that which our alders have worked, be given one opportunity to learn why we are that which is most Noble among us. Should they refuse or ignore it, such is their choice and they shall bother us by membership in our ranks no longer."

Nodding approvingly, she took a moment to consider his words fully. "I believe that it is necessary for individuals to learn. And providing that opportunity is essential. I am vexed on occasion at how some rise to the ranks they do. But then when you look at the number of backdoor dealing and favors traded, well... it is no wonder." Pausing, she idly brushed an errant strand of hair from her face. "And what do you plan for me?"

Running his hand through her smooth hair, he trails fingers down her cheek compassionately as he leans toward her. "You," he began, smiling, "I foresee you providing two services -- educating those who may have fallen to errant ways, and," he pressed his lips against hers, his words shaped
by his grin, "by ensuring my personal morale stays high."

Returning the kiss with her own passion, she likewise smiles. "I would be happy to."

Drawing fingers down his trimmed goatee, Johannes stared at the parchment before him, blank and filled with possibilities. His words would have to be chosen carefully, with due consideration for propriety and civility; he was ever mindful to ensure he conveyed exactly what he wished and nothing extra. "To the most gracious and courteous Lady of ladies, Alder Mi--"

The polite knock at the door interrupted his thought, quill rising from the paper as he looked to the door, wherein stood one of his guests, the most newly-returned member of his family. "Cousin," he greeted coolly, replacing the ink stopper and quill to their respective idle positions, "please, sit," he gestured to the chairs opposite him. Her dress moved across the carpeted floor with a pleasant swish, her steps smooth and unhurried.

Though she had been present in the earlier familial meeting, his interaction with her was brief -- his attention focused on the one who dared claim he was ready to wear the mantle of the Savage line. She had observed the exchange, never raising a question out of turn, watching as one expressed his anger, the other attempting to hold his composure. Surely she would ask her grandsire about the exchange later, but she knew well enough to hold her tongue; a trait not all possessed, and spoke well of her upbringing.

As they talked, their conversation seemingly innocent, they sought to measure the other. Johannes looked for weakness, as he did with all whom he met, but more to the point he looked, perhaps unconsciously, for elements of Evelyn within her. Her upbringing had been far different than many of the Savages', and she had not been raised within the House. Yet, even after such time and distance, could the pure nobility of the blood have taught her what she needed to know? Standing, he presented his hand to help her rise -- he had to know her resolve.

Though halls gilded with rich finery, the likes of which Johannes had each time ignored, he led his guest, talking about the region of Austria now under his dominion. He stopped however, when she looked with raised brow at the large oil paintings of his forebearers -- larger-than-life reliefs of Edward, Evelyn, Salvatore, and Anistaz. Ignoring the irritation that always bit at him when a member of the line showed ignorance, he began to speak at length of those whose footfalls helped shape the First Estate. There were no placards, but as Johannes spoke, their names registered within Katherine's eyes with undeniable potency. She had at least heard of them, he thought, attempting to hide his disdain.

Gesturing to a the portrait of a tall man wreathed in shadow, a large machete glinting in the moonlight, he began. "Our progenitor, the Alder Lord Edward Savage. Seventeenth of that name, childe of Alder Lord Edward Cornell, Reeve and founding member of the Trust." He paused, addressing her. "It is to His example that we are each of us compared. He has been given the moniker 'the Butcher' for that which he accomplished. It was his singular task to rid the First Estate of those who betrayed it, those who proved false, and those who would lay us low from within." Straightening slightly, Johannes watched his guest as she absorbed his words. "His actions have not been forgotten, and they give rise to those who would continue in his most unrewarded task," he continued, a burning declaration in his eyes. "We are his scions, and the keeper of that legacy. His will shall be done, and those of the First Estate who have reason to fear us, shall once again."

Turning away from the domineering painting, he concluded. "Your grandsire will have much to tell you of the Lord Edward Savage," he offered, reiterating the name with admiration and respect. "Know that he was the first, and best, of us all." Gesturing to a picture of Lady Evelyn Savage, seated in a dress of crimson, looking out over a balcony railing, fan in hand, his tone became somehow more proper, as befitted one of such grace. "Your grandsire," he began, "matriarch of our line and the first with whom her brother shared his vitae. She is fond of animals, horses and tigets particularly," as he gestured to a small background figure, a proud thoroughbred, running in the moonlight. "It serves as a source of freedom, if I may so assume. It is her strength upon which the line now relies; her childe your grandsire, and myself aid in all that we may."

Almost chuckling to himself, he turned her toward the second-to-last painting, that of a broad man sitting behind a rich desk, cigar in one hand, an exquisite gold pocketwatch in the other. "Though my sire understood the freedom of such activity, riding horses, my grandsire never did. The Lord Alder Leviticus Salvatore Vinecio D'Vir Savage, angel and muse of the Cherubim. Former Prince of San Francisco. He was a student of perfection and took great pains to ensure such therein. His watches, perfumes, and childer -- these were his passions. Not always pleasurable, yet they were all works wherein which one may see notable improvement. He was a man of passion, of beauty, and of inspiration. I believe in these most modern nights his focus has changed, though I could never see his love for perfection, for absolute craftsmanship, dwindling in the least."

Looking up to the painting, he nodded his silent approval. "He is, as the Americans say, 'larger than life.' His return to the modern political landscape will come as a velvet hammer. His first childe however," he mentioned as he steps to the final painting, "had little care for politics." Presenting a pale woman with long black hair seated before throngs of supplicants, Johannes referred to his sire. Her expression was bored, but close observation allowed for one to see the small smirk on her lips, almost hidden behind the raised glass of wine. "Lady Anistaz D'Vir, daughter and childe of Salvatore."

Katherine, taking obvious interest in the woman, asked about her interests. "Horses, fine dining, the French," he rolled his eyes, almost reflexively, as if he had done so a thousand times, "and excess in all its forms. Whereas Salvatore was interested in how men ended their own lives, Anistaz was interested in how they ruined them. She was ... an interesting teacher, if for nothing else than her experiences and outlook differed so much from my own. She ruled over these lands while her sire visited the American States, with my wife and I soon to follow. She vacationed in California when it suited her, but the call of the European air was hard for her to resist. She has decided she will remain here for some years yet."

Before she could raise any questions, Johannes presented his young cousin to their destination -- a large set of double-doors at the end of the hall. With narrowed eye he looked down at her, gauging her. "Are you ready to see what I have to show you?"

Taking a slight breath, her tongue licking her lips, she replied with renewed resolve, the man at her side intimidating and brutish yet with a calculated honor. "I am."

Sitting pensively as miles of ocean stretched beneath him, Johannes WJ Savage, first protector of Lady Evelyn, thought about people and places far removed. He had received personal summons from the court of Phoenix, but knowledge that he was far from alone in their receipt gave him pause; how many who looked with eager anticipation toward the destruction of his family would attempt to find such opportunity in the desert heat? Prince Gomorrah was not universally respected, and some may test his praxis even with Kincaid so close.

Kincaid. She had seen the fires of his war, and saw that strength which had rallied his people to a cause greater than themselves. The pair had shared something in their private talks, some intangible quality the description of which eluded concrete definition, yet all the same was something of which Johanes had grown fond. Perhaps she would soon return his entreaties, perhaps. "Soon" however to one as she might as easily have been one year or ten mortal lifetimes.

Starley, his companion and confidant. He wished her to know the wonders of his Estate, but was also a patient kindred -- she would realize her proper place amongst the Unconquered in time. They had aided and assisted each other through hardships innumerable; though both were highly visible and attractive targets for assault, Johanes held little fear that the sharp-tongued and observant socialite would be unavailable in the future.

Gomorrah, admired sovereign of Phoenix. Johannes often thought about the plot in which he had both trapped and met the man scant years prior, and the reprieve he suggested. It was his word that protected Gomorrah from the line entire's wrath, perhaps fostering the self-confidence to take the mantle of leadership when offered, seeing the second chance at unlife. He knew not how he stood in the Prince's mind, but believed that, even should he fall out of favor, his other allies would swing the balance in Phoenix and stay their Prince's hand.

Faith. A singular task approaching one year in completion, much to Johanes' chagrin. Rumored that he would there, in Phoenix, meet her not as the loyal knight he remembered, but as the betrayer Pythia Zeta. Salvatore's orders had been simple -- "bring Faith to me, should she exist." No signs pointed to the potential return of so great an ally, though Johannes was willing, perhaps even eager, to meet her face-to-face and find out first hand. Should she prove wholly and irrevocably marred, he would no longer think on her and would instead, belatedly, mourn the passing of his grandsire's companion.

Companions -- both Jadis and Genevieve would be in the area at the same time, though he was hesitant to call either 'companions' of his. That which they had done, sworn, and experienced could not be undone -- being not a man of regret Johannes would not have wished them to be even were it possible -- they each had much to learn about him, and he they. Whatever the future held, however, the German pilot was sure both would play important roles.

Playing roles -- Ethan Wallace. Johannes' most recent official trip to Phoenix had been one of solitary directive -- slay the Marquis. Julia Kincaid herself had however outstretched her hand and offered a compromise -- he would have one year to prove his worth as a member of the First Estate. Acquiescing, Johanes was, when he next looked, surprised at the progress he had made. However, he was yet unsure of the Marquis' machinations in relation to himself; his concern and professed longing seemed genuine, but Johanes was well-acquaintned with the skill many Daeva exerted when chasing an object of their admittedly fleeting desire. He, perhaps of them all, would be Johannes' most cautiously-handled associate.

Alder Zaragosa -- no longer in England, fate conspired to keep the Atlantic between them. How would he approach his elder, and then how to reveal his plan? He could not so bluntly describe, in sweeping strokes, as he had with la Gronge and Strout, nor demand service as he had from Kael and Robertson Gray. Zaragosa would have specific details, formulae, and a plan lain to perfection before pledging his support. Once granted, however, he knew it would never be willingly revoked.

Johannes, betraying his calm exterior, allowed a growl to rise from his chest. "That one," he thought, words dripping with malice, "shall receive all they deserve, by my hand." They had betrayed their, his, Covenant not once but twice, as well as cutting down one of his blood. They could not barter, they could not extort, and they would not find rest once he had caught the scent. His was a plan many moves in the making, but his eyes burned with the knowledge that his prey would not escape his jaws.

Staring out over the black waters beneath, Johannes endured the flight with a cruel smile on his lips, a predatory glint in his eye. For he, those sworn to his service, and his allies, the hunt commenced.

Walking along the rough and ragged cliffs of Calais, the soldier's mind was far from the booming surf below, thinking instead of the rolling shore of his homeland, hundreds of miles to the East. Far more than distance separated the two however, for when last he saw the foaming tides he had been a child in years, though no less severe in disposition than the man he would become. "Take care not to fall in," he echoed his mother's words from decades prior, "it is wide and deep." Wide and deep indeed, yet men too had conquered it, harnessing its secrets for their own use; men such as he, resolute and unyielding.

To rapports, almost lost in the crashing waves whose spray seemed at once both familiar and alien, brought his full attention to bear on his surroundings. While most likely another cache of native townspeople had been found, he nevertheless unclasped the holster at his hip, the heavy luger inside a familiar and welcome weight that had become as much a part of his existence as the knife in his boot and the medals on his chest. He carried with him no pictures, as others did, either of home or family. For him, the flag emblazoned on his sleeve, and the duty in his heart, motivated far more readily than any distracting thought of home or family -- he had been entrusted with the preservation of his entire civilization, the knowledge and acceptance of which proved evident in the young pilot's every action and deed.

Though the stars shone above, he knew many of his squadron would be airborne, pushing ever Westward as what piddling "resistance" the natives could muster was toppled and scattered, frightened and frantic, to the winds. He raised a single objection to his orders, but they who organized the fleet believed sixty hours of flight-time in three days was more than just cause for a rotation out of the sky for a day, his protestations notwithstanding. He had not mentioned his previous stint of twenty-seven straight hours spent in two planes, the first clipped by a damaged wingman after fifteen hours in combat, knowing his superiors had his full record before them when their decision had been reached.

Quickly becoming one of the most decorated junior officers in his unit, his only fear was that he would soon be promoted out of the air, where someone at the Reich believed he was less valuable than as the mind behind strategic organization of whole squadrons, on the ground, "out of harm's way." The thought brought a cruel scowl to his lips -- his place was aloft, "harms way" or not, ensuring the continuation of his people.

"Johannes!" a breathless yell came over the coastal rush. "Oberleutnant Spitze has been downed!" The page jogged to the older soldier, having run from the staging area five miles distant. Breathing in gasps, he continued to discharge his orders. "We are launching a counterattack -- you are to lead it."

A satisfied smirk his only reply, Johannes Wuelfrick Jaegerman, true to his name, sprinted back to base, leaving the high cliffs and memories of home far behind.

Walking with his recognized icy determination towards the small single-propeller plane waiting on the tarmac, Johannes noted just how differently the cool Arizona wind felt from the blisteringly frigid Austrian shear to which he had been exposed all winter. Passingly pleased that the air did not this time carry with it dust and sand, he approached his awaiting son, a small cedar box carried snugly in one arm.

Bowing, Adal showed no surprise at seeing his father. Thirteen months he had spent living on the tarmac, offers of hospitality by his ward notwithstanding, in the case that she needed an escape from the Domain at a moment's notice. Johannes noted with silent approval that his son looked no worse for the experience; obviously having kept up with his physical and mental exercise. As he straightened his eyes were as steely blue as Johannes' once were. He knew better than to speak before being spoken to.

"Geht zu Traum. Heute. Deine Arbeitet hier wird beendet," his simple command barked into the wind. Turning without a word, he heard the engine sputter to life before he could reach the waiting car, provided by his host. In two weeks, Johannes thought, pensively, his son would be dead.

The sleek black sedan pulled away from the airport as a smaller craft made its way to LAX, its occupant silent as he had been nearly continuously for over a year. His was not to question, but to follow and obey. He was approached by Starley several times each month, and could quickly understand why his father favored her. She cared more than she showed, often bringing lunches or dinners to him on behalf of a nameless ally, she claimed. A witty conversationalist, Adal felt himself dangerously close to overspeaking his station on more than one occasion, her friendly and genial demeanor relaxing his reserve moreso than he would have expected. He knew not whether he would see her again, but as a son, a servant, and a loyal follower, he did as he was told. He did however find that the time spent in Arizona, while solitary in the extreme, was to date his most enjoyed directive.

Johannes sat in silence as the car traveled, his thoughts laden with the future. It had been nearly a year since he last visited her, much to his displeasure. However, with a new directive, time in abundance was afforded to him, so long as Traum didn't require his immediate attention. What he would find within her gilded home, and she inside the small, locked box he held, could not be easily foreseen. Mentally, he began composing a series of letters, approving or rejecting the recipients as they came to him. Four to begin, he surmised. And only after this "vacation" had waned.

Out of the night that covers me,        Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be        For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance        I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance        My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears        Looms but the horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years        Finds, and shall find me, unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate,        How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate;        I am the captain of my soul.

The words of a man unbroken by disease, age, time, or fate.

Learn it well, for your sufferings matter little to me. Your unquestioning loyalty is all that keeps you alive. Violate that, and learn all too quickly to whom my loyalty lies.

-- Johannes W.J. Savage

My main (read: OOC) journal can be found at l5rfanboy and I've started posting stories (one thus far) for my new cam character, Alexander Rosetta, there instead of either adding those tales to this journal or starting a new one.

I hope you enjoy the first introduction to the character, "The Fold."

-- Poetics

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice in the darkness intoned with slow and measured pace. “Tonight one of our number grows stronger. Through him, I. Through I, my lord. Through my lord, the First Estate as a whole. An unbroken line that cannot and will not break, bend, or ever yield to pressures from within or without.” At his unseen command several braziers were quietly uncovered, bathing the two men in the fore with a malicious ruddy glow. Even shadowed Johannes' alabaster eyes stared almost contemptuously at the man kneeling before him; a position he had assumed for several hours, having not been released.

“I do not offer kindness. I do not offer joy. You will perform to my exquisite satisfaction without fail or you will feel far more than the weight of my sole disappointment; a failure to me is a failure to my lord, a failure to my line, and a failure to the Unconquered, soiling that name.” The soldier looked once over the hidden eyes of all watching the ceremony before continuing, knowing full well that many had not sworn as he had, nor as any of his vassals would. “On the day the tenure of your vassalage has elapsed, which death will not expedite, I will present you two options: further service to the Invictus under myself or another lord, or final death at my hand. You will have no other choices, no second chances. You have in the past sworn to other lords, but tonight you swear to me. Do you understand the scope of your vow; that to swear to me is to swear your life to the First Estate?”

A single word escaped the lips of the reverent figure; any doubt of Johannes' conviction had long since been stripped. Before him stood a man who believed in his purpose almost to the point of insanity. His loyalty had never wavered, even as he saw cities and allies burn around him, others throw their oaths to the street, his own name run through mud and worse. Through the trials of those who sought to test him, both those bearing the title Unconquered and those without the capacity to utter the name with due reverence, he excelled, exceeded, and emerged triumphant.

“Your life is no longer your own. No longer your sire's to direct. Your life now belongs to the Invictus, forever. Raise your eyes.” The figure's bowed head lifting, he saw nothing but the wan glow silhouetting his lord, but could feel expectant eyes judging him, weighing his worth. Without wasted gesture or movement, Johannes drew a slender bladed rapier; one whose blade was spiderwebbed with fractures, the youth knew, a testament to those battles and the force with which the name of the First Estate had been preserved. It was never sheathed before dripping crimson. His eyes never leaving his new vassal, Johannes extended the blade over one of the glowing braziers.

His innate cruelty flickering in his eyes in time with the flames behind him, Johannes held the heat-glowing sword at arm's length, its blade presented lengthwise. Without flinch, start, or hesitation he grasped the naked steel with his bare left hand, the smell and sound of searing flesh filling the room. With agonizing slowness he withdrew the blade from his tightly-clenched fist, such that all could see the trails of blood following the sword's acquired imperfections. Reaching the end, with a small flourish, Johannes showed his open palm, unscathed by the heat and the edge.

“Follow me, and learn to fear no blade, no fire, and no man. Follow your loyalty, and learn of an inner strength the likes you have never know.” Gesturing slightly to the blood-covered sword, he finished, eyes narrowing. “As I have spilled blood for you today, so shall you spill blood for me, at a time and place of my choosing. “ Straightening his gaze to the shadowy audience in attendance, his voice raised for proclamation, he concluded the ceremony. “Ladies, Lords. Stands before you is a member of the First Estate. Stands before you is a member of my vassalage. Stands before you is a member worthy of my choosing. Welcome him.”

The room collapsed in darkness as the ruthless Savage's newest vassal became subject of his first test, fighting for his life.

Johannes was already standing by the time the commuter plane touched down, its wheels easily slowing on the warm tarmac. The small exit door opened and the staircase was wheeled into place, all too slowly for his taste. Stepping into the warm Arizona atmosphere was a mild discomfort he had experienced in the past, but his journey would not be long enough to adapt. Silent against the engines and desert wind, he strode without pause across the airfield to a little-used personal aircraft lot where he knew his son would be waiting.

At his father's unannounced approach, Adal was quick to exit the small Cessna, stand at attention, and give a curt bow. He knew better than to speak before being spoken to. “You will be returning home, soon” came Johannes' unequivocal directive. “What have you seen?” He had hardly glanced at his son, noting the expected pressed suit even after seven months of living out of the aircraft, his gaze scanning nearby craft and buildings for sign of overly-interested parties.

Adal's report was brief, straightforward and to the point. He had heard nor seen of any disturbance at the airfield, had been visited several times by his charge, and had heard no word of any other notables from the Domain. Sensing hesitation at the end of his quick speech, Johannes pressed him for more detail. “She seeks to take care of me as a sign of her affection for you, lord.” Never was Johannes addressed as “father,” but always by proper title; such reverence was proper and expected.

The hint of a smile, truly the first Adal had seen, crept onto Johannes' lips. “Thank you.” Adal dared not venture a guess as to his father's emotion. In an instant his father's eyes were hard again, the alabaster white more intimidating even than the steel grey of another lifetime. “Be ready” was the terse order even as he removed a glove. An eagle-headed dagger was quick to flash across the wrist as a wrist was offered to his son.

Their monthly ritual concluded, Adal couldn't help but wonder just how soon he would be called away again, and for what purpose.

The intensity of his gaze was palpable even in the stillness of the midnight room. His attacker thought to blind him, make him weak and unprepared, skittish even. With soundless footfalls was Johannes circled, assumèd prey. He could almost feel the man's overconfident smile at his back. Annoyed, angered, and without time to waste on such folly, it was with the last of his control he allowed his foe one final pass.

Observers from without would later describe hearing a cacophony of sound from within the chamber, only the most perceptive realizing not one but three distinct sources composed the clatter. His supposed captor thought to be stealthy, withdrawing the blade mere millimeters at a time, but in the realm of combat, nothing escaped the German's notice. Twin daggers were unsheathed and brought to bear on their target before the man realized Johannes had begun moving. One swept from the left, pinning the fool's arm, still grasping for his sword, to his hip with a sickening crunch, while the other was buried to the hilt through his trachea, careening off of the spine. As the man began to gurgle, unable to scream and falling backwards, his one good arm flailing, Johannes' composure crumbled as he tirelessly broke bone with his unyielding rain of blows. Those listening in could only hear the collision of bodies against the floor, the shattering of bone and, behind it all, the inhumanly low growl that escaped Johannes' lips and clenched teeth.

After a brief stillness that had the members of court gossiping, the door's handle began to turn. As the corridor's lighting fell into the room, the torpid body of the Domain's sheriff could be seen, but only if one looked past the unruffled gentleman in the doorway. None but the Prince dared meet his gaze. "This is an outrage" he stammered weakly, his voice lacking the conviction of his office. "You will --" he began, lips almost trembling as Johannes stepped from the quickly-fashioned arena.

"What I will," the reply in perfect English cape, "is continue to seek a well-defended Domain within which to reside. Yours has proven to be without backbone. You," he gestured to the Princling with an accusatory finger, "will fetch the personal affects I so graciously allowed to be removed upon my arrival."

A single word, uttered in reverent fear, ran through the assemblage as their elected ruler ran for Johannes' things.

"Savage."