The ritual had to be completed tonight. Ra demanded it. Rabakti expected it. The High Priest, however, could not enact it. He had long since become dust. Something had to be done. The ritual had to happen tonight. Rabakti commanded it. So it must be. I have an idea, I said, knowing what I needed to do, but unsure, exactly, how to get the cooperation I required to ensure my success.
So, I opened my arms and offered a smile I hoped appeared genuine and unthreatening. I need your help, though, and I need you to trust me. I almost expected them to laugh at me. After all, to ask our kind to give trust to one another is patently absurd. My brothers and sisters surprised me, however. They no doubt sensed the power of the magnificent sleeper lying before us and they turned to me for the answers they sought.
They all had quizzical looks in their eyes, but there was more. Certainly some skepticism, but mixed with something else, something more powerful than confusion or mistrust. I knew then that I had them all. Curiosity had taken hold. A Kindreds lust for power had blinded them as surely as if they had stared into the very essence of Ras glory.
They had taken the bait. Now, all I had to do was reel them in. I once again touched the small scroll rolled up next to the sleeping corpse, the one that had transported me to another time and place just moments ago.
This time, I picked it up and unrolled it, displaying several lines of Demotic text and a series of hieroglyphs. What is that? Jenni asked. I glanced at her. Jenni was a Nosferatu neonate, barely five years turned, and she had an unpleasant tendency to ask too many questions.
She wasnt, I knew, long for this world, but I decided to answer her anyway. This, I whispered reverently, is the key to a power greater than any of us have ever known. How do you know that? Looks like a bunch of scribbles and nonsense to me, another of my companions, Vladimir, said. He was Ventrue. Thats why youre a gravedigger and Im an historian, I snapped. I saw Vlad squint, the insult hitting home.
He shivered and scuttled to the other side of the sarcophagus, attempting to reign in his Beast, no doubt. Sorry, I muttered, not wanting to lose him, yet not wanting him to know I needed him. He grunted, but didnt turn away. I took it as a victory. What do you need us to do? She called herself Patina and I liked her. I would miss her more than any of the others. In the top left corner of the sarcophagus, near the tip of the ornate headdress worn by the torpid vampire, was a cup made of gold and inlaid by a row of scarabs.
I grabbed it and lifted it up toward the low ceiling. I need an offering. Thats why I think the five of us were summoned here. Clarita, the Daeva in our ensemble, licked her lips. I had the disturbing notion that she, too, knew what was about to happen, but then realized that she might just want me to feel that way. I mentally cursed the Succubi, and allowed myself to imagine what my fangs would do to her flesh. Why are we here? I looked at my four companions one at a time.
We had all been compelled to seek this place out. Now, because of what had been shown me when I had touched the scroll, I knew why. To awaken a god, I whispered. I raised my right wrist to my mouth and tore into it, forcing the black, coagulated blood to ooze out of my dead veins and spill into the golden chalice.
I then went to each of my brothers and sisters, in turn, allowing them to open gaping wounds in their flesh, waiting as they, too, forced the Vitae out from rotted arteries and veins into the offering cup.
When all five of us had made our donations, I once again lifted the chalice toward the ceiling. The blood which once belonged to each of us, which once belonged to the living, is now returned to the One, who has waited for this night and her triumphant return to the glory of Ra and all He surveys.
I offer this to you in His name. What the hell are you talking about? Vlad asked, alarm in his voice. I ignored him.
He was inconsequential. He was an unbeliever. He had not gazed into her eyes. He had not given himself to her those many centuries ago.
He had no idea what was about to happen. I tipped the cup and watched as our collective blood slowly made its way to the edge and fell over the side. The first drops hit her ancient lips and her jaw immediately snapped open to receive the rest.
I lifted the bottom of the cup higher and a steady stream of blood poured into her gaping maw. A hissing sound, like hot steam escaping from broken pipes, escaped her withered throat and filled me with a terrible excitement. My brothers and sisters surrounded us and watched in fascination as her blackened, dehydrated skin began to lighten, to stretch and become smooth.
Her tongue lapped at the offering and her throat convulsed as it swallowed each drop, consumed it even as her eyes had consumed my own soul minutes, centuries, earlier. Ebony hair, which had calcified to her skull, became filled with shine and luster.
Lungs, long since rotted and decayed, filled with oxygen sucked in with the blood. I knew she had no need for breath, but I also knew that, after three thousand years of sleep, nothing could be a more potent reminder of life than taking in air. She gasped and, Ra bless me, she opened her eyes. They sought me out, found me and we both smiled.
Rabakti, its me, your beloved, I whispered. I knew the others would think me mad. They were about to learn otherwise. When she spoke, her voice was a smooth, deep, rich melody that dissolved my fears and filled me with a lust I hadnt felt since , the last time I had made love to my wife, the last time I had seen the Sun set.
Her voice was a gentle command I felt I had no choice but to obey. That I wanted to obey. More, she said to me. I leaned forward, offering myself to her and I felt her hands grasp my head, turn it to the side, and pull me closer to her waiting mouth. The torches that had lit the tomb sputtered to stay aflame. I heard only the soft shuffling of feet until I opened my eyes and suddenly, instinctively, pushed myself back up against the wall.
Jenni and Clarita lay on the floor, hands grasping each others shredded throats. They were already rapidly decomposing in one anothers arms. Patina stood spread eagle against the far wall, staked to it. Rabakti was suckling her neck, ensuring that she took in every possible drop of her blood. When she heard me rustle on the ground at the foot of her sarcophagus, she turned to face me. I sat, frozen, unable to move, unsure why I would even want to.
Her lips were full and red, her eyes brilliant and dazzling, her skin pale and well-nourished. She was Rabakti and she looked as she had three thousand years ago. She was a radiant presence, calling to me without a word, requesting that I join her at her side. She was my beloved. How could I refuse her? I stood, legs trembling, and managed to keep from stumbling as I made my way to her open arms. She greeted me. Beloved, she whispered. The single word pooled within my ears and threatened to send me into orgasmic bliss.
I leaned back and gazed into the dizzying eddies of her green eyes I came for you, as you knew I would, I said. She merely nodded, the smile never faltering, her eyes never leaving mine. You understand who you are now, yes? It was my turn to nod in response. Of course, Rabakti. I am yours to command. She took my chin in her hand and pulled my mouth to hers. She kissed me gently.
What of the others? Where are my childer? Most are still at war with the Underworld, I believe, or hiding in fear of destruction by the enemy. The conquerors still exist? She had continued to hold my chin in her hand and was now applying pressure to it. I struggled not to flinch and focused on her eyes, recalling the feeling of serenity within them.
Instead, I saw swirling clouds of uncertainty and rage. I recoiled and instantly felt my mistake, as the bones of my jaw suddenly shattered.
I tried to pull away as her other hand slammed into my chest. I felt my sternum snap and at least four ribs break as my body became airborne and flew across the tomb. My cries of terror ended as a rock jutting out from the far wall slammed against my upper spine, just below my skull. I heard a sharp crack and fell limply to the ground below. What blood I had left was already beginning to knit the worst of my injuries even as my beloved Rabakti returned to the side of her coffin.
She reached in, grabbing the scroll I had inadvertently touched. My diary reminds me of who I was, she whispered. It had sat next to her for thirty centuries.
Now, she looked at it and spoke to the papyrus as if it were her only child. But who am I in this new age of unreason? What is this Ra-forsaken place I have awakened in and why now, after so long spent in the Underworld? She stood motionless, as if waiting for a response.
I dared to speak to her, praying for answers of my own. How did you defeat the others? She twisted her head back and gazed at me with what I took to be pity. You are not the only one who once had brothers and sisters.
I count among my closest allies the Kindred of Osiris, who have ways of placating the brother of sleep. My diary was but one example of their abilities. There are many others, to which I owe them a great deal. Forgive me, but you didnt answer my question, I said, striving to keep any petulance from my voice, fearing her wrath would end my existence as quickly as it had the others. There are some secrets you are not ready for, little supplicant. Suffice it to say that I told them all what they most desperately wanted to hear and allowed their own fears and insecurities to take care of everything else.
One of them, the Ventrue dog, I took for myself. His knowledge is now my own. His blood and soul belong to me. I can still here his voice inside my mind, sniveling and whining. And what of me? I asked timidly. Will I be with you, or will I join my brothers and sisters in Final Death? She cocked her head, as if hearing a voice from within, and began to giggle like a school child.
Her mouth twisted ever-so-slightly into a mild grin and she turned her perfect body to face me. Without warning, her smile faded, like a light switch dimming to utter darkness. For a brief moment, it looked as if her eyes had darkened as well, becoming a rich brown, but the moment quickly vanished, and with it, any evidence of humanity inside her. She stared at me with her emerald eyes, suddenly icy, and a great fear enveloped me.
I stood on trembling legs. I almost ran. She laid her hands on my shoulders and pinned me in place. We have a mission to accomplish, you and I, she said, her tone cold and matter-of-fact. She turned away then, as if looking at someone else standing beside her, and cocked her head to the side. Yes, we certainly do.
I see it now, as clear as the Egyptian sky. Will you join me? My place is at your side, I said. I am, and always have been, your loving servant, Rabakti. Indeed, she responded, turning back to face me. Her eyes once again connected with mine. I began swimming in her world, in her glory. I would do anything for her and she knew it. We must find the others, she said. The Usiri. The Anubi. The followers of Isis, Horus, Thoth and Bast.
Together, we will arise and reform the Great Covenant. We shall take back what was stolen by the invaders. We shall once again rule over Kindred and kine and remove the craven Ventrue from their perch. How will we accomplish this mission? We shall do as the Bak-Ra have always done. We shall take what we need from those unwilling to provide and gratefully accept that which is freely given.
We shall bring others into our faith and we shall find our allies once again. She took a step closer to me and it was all I could do to keep from tearing a gash in my neck and giving myself to her completely. Are you with me? With all that I am. I have seen Ras magnificence through your eyes, my beloved. There can be no turning back from that, or from you. She kissed me deeply, her cold lips and mine locked together in an unholy embrace. When she pulled back from me, I could see the madness swirling in her eyes and I chose to ignore it.
Such madness must be placated rather than angered. You are truly a chosen of Ra, she whispered, caressing my still-mending chin with one hand and stroking my hair with the other. Together, we shall relearn His gifts, so that we may bring more servants into the fold. You, my beloved, shall be my King and I, your Queen.
Ras will be done, I replied, the memory of my brief glimpse of the sun holding sway over my emotions. In this place, in this time, it is my will that shall be followed, beloved, and mine alone.
As you say, Rabakti. To your glory and the glory of Ra, ruler of all He surveys! I shouted proudly.
Rabakti smiled at me. Her eyes gleamed, as if the light of Ra burned within them. I allowed those eyes to once again draw me in, to take me places I had never seen, to propel me back to a time I had never lived and, for a brief moment, I allowed myself to dream of ages past, of a time when the Sun was not our enemy, but our eternal salvation. Carriker, Jr. All rights reserved. Reproduction without the written permission of the publisher is expressly forbidden, except for the purposes of reviews, and for blank character sheets, which may be reproduced for personal use only.
All characters, names, places and text herein are copyrighted by CCP hf. This book uses the supernatural for settings, characters and themes. All mystical and supernatural elements are fiction and intended for entertainment purposes only. This book contains mature content. Reader discretion is advised. Introduction One by one, they were all becoming shades. Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age. James Joyce, The Dead History leaves its mark.
More than that, it leaves a scar, indelible and swollen on the skin of our memory. Its a place where hair will never grow, a swath of land where the earth is salted and life fails to take root, a wall marked with garish graffiti from people who have long been dead. We all have them in our own lives. Some moments are big: the time Kennedy or Lennon died, the day men landed on the moon or the Challenger shuttle exploded, the morning when two planes struck the towers.
Some moments are smaller and more personal: a wedding night, a parents death, a car crash, a sexual indiscretion. Such events are carved into the mind, revisited as nightmare or through unsummoned remembrances. Even as we age, as our minds fail, those moments may continue to rise up through a mountain peak pushing through an inscrutable fog.
Thats us. Thats humans. All things considered, we have short lives 30, 50, 80 years, and then were done. One day, we all dance off this mortal coil, and with us go our memories.
Vampires do not operate under such impermanence. In fact, barring outside interference, he continues on with his wretched existence for hundreds of years, if not millennia. The vampire does not grow old. It is an apex predator, subject largely to the hungers of its own kind. Some might say that time is kind to the Kindred, whereas others among the Damned are quite certain that time is a never-ending parade of curses, failings and terrors.
Immortality is only a positive thing if one believes that existence is beautiful or, if one fears the finality of death more than the eternal nights of torment and shame. Of course, while vampires do not age physically nor, some would say, do they age emotionally , they do age mentally. The mind can only hold so much. Like a glass, it eventually fills to the brim and spills over the side.
And so, as the Damned age, they experience another element to their Requiems that can be both curse and blessing: the Fog of Eternity. Details muddle. Events blur or are lost, submerged beneath newer, fresher memories.
Faces and names fade or grow tangled. Entire years might be erased from all recollection. And yet, history still leaves its mark. Out of so much that is lost, some events never go away. A vampire may forget the decade that precedes it, but he remembers the night his coterie betrayed him and left him for dead in the deep dark of a Cypriot copper mine.
Another has lost his many names, but will never forget the moniker of his superior in the Legion of the Dead when the Camarilla was yet ascendant back in Ancient Rome. A third vampire has fallen to torpor too many times, and her recollections have suffered moth-eaten holes now filled with the detritus of nightmares, but even still some memories persevere and now she goes out in search of those who had a hand in her glories and her failures.
For humans, historys mark is remembered in books or carried from generation to generation in stories told around campfires and livingrooms. Vampires dont just remember the big events, however, they carry their recollections with them, acting as living markers of what has come before. History leaves scars, indeed, but amongst the nocturnal society of the Damned, the vampires are those scars. For the Kindred, history is not passive.
Its dynamic. It walks and talks, a mad waltz within the Danse Macabre. That is what this book is about: events have transpired throughout vampire society, and those events left many deep scratches and enduring stains. Moreover, they have spawned what might be considered the children of history, vampires who are so connected to these historical flashpoints that it changes them, it transforms the Blood in such a way that these Kindred become the unliving carriers of what has transpired.
I am also looking for a new engineering team of the most advanced extraterrestrials and construction crews to create massive engineering tools and deliver the products and buildings to the year in South Orange County, California. The covert operations are complete and everything is ready for public use now immediately.
This is all misconstrued lies. Chimera race created by the childish corrupted demiurge in the confusion of existence. Watch For The End! I appreciate you sharing your views. Be careful not to close your mind to the whole truth. What you speak of is pure bullshit. Go listen to Bobby Hemmitt.
He has spoken about how some white people were going to lie and say they are the annunaki, he warned about some white agents calling themselves annunaki to protect the world elite.
Black people are the first people on earth,the other races did not exist at the time when the fallen angels were here. Alexander Sitchens was a big time agent. Black people are the nephilim, elohim and the Annunaki get off of your high horse. Check out Brother Panics youtube channel. I think you need to go on his show so you two can debate. I guarantee you will lose, you need to do more research before you start talking you sound like a fool.
I challenge you to go on Brother Panics channel. Everyone knows white ppl are Neanderthals. Cave men. From caucus mountains. Blacks are annunaki. You are truly retarded. Aryans are albino Indians. I agree with your comment, but this is something they always have done, their DNA is artificial cause it has been fused with all kind of animals, we have 9 strains to our DNA, all others on this planet have only 6, meaning we are organic to this planet, also scientist discovered reading our DNA via AI the first strain read YOU ARE GOD our DNA is found in animals, plants and tress as well as humans on this planet meaning what?
Is it not written in our LAW that we are gods. This guy theory can be picked apart by my 16 yr old. So the Giants of legend are now the some of shortest ppl on earth? Lmaoooo this is jokes and now black people are earth based when we have multiple natives Tribes dogon etc that have ancestral connections to Sirius and Orion. Those who the truth, are looking at this like WTF!!! Real funny…nice try tho. You can fool some of the time of the people, but not all. The nerve of these cavemen.
You sir, are from the Caucus Mountains, drafted by Yaakub. Go somewhere with your tricknowledge. Remember this: Knowledge without wisdom is an empty vessel.
To have great knowledge is to have sorrow and great knowledge is great sorrow, but with wisdom comes pain. That is when you realize the fate of those who will look and not see and those that choose to hear and not listen. A great and sorrowful time is coming for many. It is also a time of joy and rejoicing for a small few.
Blessed are those who hunger for the truth for they shall be fed. If you are unaware what K. S means. Let me educate those who ramble. Oh by the way Daniel, thank you for using the term. I have not heard it since my journalism days.
FOR the want-a-be profit….. Keep It Simple Stupid. Which of course with all your rambling, you missed. Bows, and waves. Jeffery please tell me do you have a Facebook how can I reach you?? Desperately want to talk to you.
Already found you on Facebook please please check your inbox and other folders…would love to speak to you. Jeffery Barber, You are an interesting person. I am RH A — A negative and have hazel eyes. Not that it means anything IDK? I have little b.
How did my brain ever go there??? The Aryans were a horse culture. The Scythian caste system consisted of three closely interknit cooperating races. From this encounter, de Vere explains, arose the eastern branch of the Aryan, Vedic "Hindu" religion, with its own Druids or magi, the Brahmins. The Vedic religion, claims de Vere, stemmed from this contact with the Elven gods and goddesses who migrated after the flood from the Balkans and Transylvania to Sumeria.
He claims, the Tantra and the Qabalah are descended from ancient Ubaid Druidic philosophy, and Sumeria is not the cradle of civilization , but is perhaps the high chair. De Vere laments that democracy has done away with the caste system. He explains that the caste system was not an arbitrary set of divisions or inequalities established through force or oppression. The system reflected the fact that people had varying capabilities, gifts and talents.
Each group had its function in society. This is the way it should have stayed, according to de Vere, but the Roman Church, containing mostly peasants, clawed its way to the top and upturned the caste system on a false document called the Donation of Constantine. Today, complains de Vere , the world is run by peasant tinkers who have put a price tag on everything.
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