bishoplacavalay

Alder Savage

2008-08-10T10:55:29Z

He had taken back what was his. His name, his identity. The Tsar even dared members of his family to try and take his name from him again. None wished to accept his challenge. He had heard his name read at the family meeting in Europe.

Alder Antoine LaCavalay Savage.

Everything that was old was new again. The titles and accolades would surely come soon enough. Some promising to wreath him in power. But, as is always his custom he isn't sure that he wants that power. He isn't sure that he is worthy of it. His Paladin's words always ringing in his ears "Because it is gods will". How right she was. It is his birthright. But it is one that he has tried to avoid for centuries now.

But, his bags were packed. Only a few more loose ends to tie up before he headed East.

And a Daeva with too much time on his hands. The devils play things. I suppose one could always remove them.

The next step...

2008-06-09T23:51:39Z

This time the Lord was kind to him. Allowing him to part with praxis after only a few scant months. Though turbulent they may have been, his time in praxis was well spent. He had done everything that he had set out to do when he took the thrown months ago. There was no reason to hold it any longer.

Severus was safe. Diablorie was about to be outlawed in the whole of Orange County. The Masquerade was safe. Though he is left to think on the cost of these accomplishments. His freind Papa Ashe was dead. Murdered as he stirred in his grave at the Cathedral. Father Von Hapsburg was beheaded by his own hand. Some duplicate ghoul, some thing, had been killed when Kioske thought it was Von Hapsburg.

The only thing worth a damn was Ashe. He was most curious about the way that Papa Ashe venerated the dark prophet Longinus and his saints. Yet, from what he saw there was nothing really wrong with it. With Ashe's belongings and remains on his mantle it was no longer of serious consequence.

Soon he would be able to step back from political life entirely, then he would step back from religios responsibilities as well. Back to what he set out to do when he arrived in the new world. Retire and enjoy what is left of his requiem and bringing forth gods plan.

Until the next time the lord pressed him into service that is.

In the meantime, he stalks his prey. They cannot hide forever.

God will have his pound of flesh.

Tears of Kiev

2008-04-21T22:44:44Z

The Tsar's name was finally revealed to the masses. Even the Nazi that wished him dead. A quiet silence briefly fell over what was a loud gathering as he rattled off his lineage to all those present. Even in front of his sire.

The words echoed in his mind. Words that he swore nearly two centuries ago never to say again.

"I am Antoine LaCavalay Savage. Oldest Childe of Severus Savage. Grandchild of Edward Savage. Great Grandchild of Alder Edward Cornell."

When he was a neonate he recited that lineage and the entire Savage family line as if it were a prayer to god. Knowing each line, backwards and forewards. He thought on for a moment that it was ironic that he had worn the tie that Evelyn had said was forbidden. The one that advertised his lineage to those who knew what to look for.

Red. Silver. Black.

Savage.

He considers the murder of Father Von Hapsburg with a shrug. An inferior predator to be sure. One that followed a broken and crippled ideology brought forward by a broken little painter. "I thought I left the Nazi's in Stalingrad."
He shrugs and continues to dust himself off. The remnants of the now destroyed priest falling around him. "Michael you are such a mess." The Tsar remarks with a fang filled chuckle.

He sits before a now lit computer screen and waits for the machine to turn on. His hands resting on the keyboard he notices how pale they have become. It is in this moment when he realises one of the reasons he wears the gloves.
To hide what he fears most.

He begins to type..."Your grace, I need you now more than ever....."

To Forgive is Divine

2008-03-21T11:29:53Z

"Prince LaCavalay" the old Lord repeated to himself with a mild air of displeasure. This is what they all said would happen. The old monk in the wastes was right. Perhaps this was innevitable? But he did it for the right reasons, because it was "the right thing to do".

He eyes some crates dilivered just nights earlier. An old freind sending gifts of congratulations. Bottle after bottle of Lacrima. Its as if he knew that this job would drive him to drink...more. The villages that the Bishop was raised around ween their children on a nice red wine, he was no different. A bottle and his swords have been his constant companions over the centuries. Why change that now that he is a "Prince".

He picks up a phone and dials "Hudson, I am coming to visit."

Being magnificent has never been so taxing.

"It's the right thing to do"

2008-03-13T22:37:04Z

It is midnight in the Diocese of Lost Angels.

The Bishop sits in a litany of scattered furniture, broken keepsakes and shattered glass. Though the room is silent he can still hear her voice.

"It's the right thing to do."

The words ringing over and over in his mind. Even now he could feel his beast welling up inside himself at the very thought that he might have to do this for him. But he wouldn't be doing it for him. Not in the slightest. Though he is loyal to him he considered himself even more retired. It took him a century and a half to get out from under the mantle of praxis last time.

"Never again." The old Tsar whispering in the darkness of his office.

And yet had already made up his mind.

Divinity was enough.

An heirloom revisited

2008-02-29T23:33:27Z

He sat and stared at it for nearly an hour. Having told the rest of his diocese to leave him be. Looking at it was not just an exercise in detail but an experience. The room which held his old device was now permeated with the smell of blood and pain.

The sounds still echoing in his mind. How he knew that he would see tears before the night was through. How he knew that begging would ensue.  He got all that he has planned for and so much more. In the end, having stared at the giant cross, now stained with blood he was left with only one thought.

"That was interesting"

Now clutching a letter from his sire he wondered what would become of all he had built in such a short time. Was everything that he had built in the City of Angels to be taken away from him?  His Paladin, muttering about him looking good in red in the distance. Flattering and yet does this fulfill his worst fears?

He was not worthy. But his blood was.

And in the end, divinity would have to be enough.

bishoplacavalay @ 2008-02-04T10:10:00

2008-02-04T18:23:46Z

His office in the Cathedral of Lost Angels was dark and quiet, her last words ringing in his ears.

"Thank you, this is very important to me." She said.

After even so short a time of knowing Angelique he could not believe that she was gone. A child of the Circle, washed in the waters of the lord to become a Bishop of the faith. A sublime predator that was taken from her mission far too soon. Having now been asked to look into her death because it was "important" he took a deep breath and allowed himself to feel the loss of her for only a moment. As the moment passed the old Tsar let out a long and tired sigh.

"I told them I was retired from that life" he muttered under his breath.

An hour passes, the only light in the room from his computer screen, the only sound from the keyboard. He speaks to a woman until recently he thought he would never meet. She speaks to him of potential and what will be asked of him in the future and he wonders what on Earth his Grandsire would think of all this. They never really saw eye to eye on anything. Why start now?

He leans back in his chair in contemplation. Wondering where the future will take him and his people. He knew that after tonight the fuse was lit. He only hoped he could cut it in time.

Family tradition

2008-01-18T22:01:28Z

The weekend was soon at hand; he wondered if those he planned to speak with knew the old ways of kings. Or if like the Ordo Dracule he so recently negotiated with they would see his clans customs and their birthright of honor as "gouache".

The Bishop set out his instruments of war one by one making sure that they were prepared. Examining every edge, testing the hilts and hand guards. Both his rapiers shined in the light of the distant fire. Nearly identical save the difference in inlaid gems.  The first ruby red, the other a deep emerald green.  The Bishop loves them as he would an exceptional woman. The reflection of the fire flickers against his glasses as he examines them, caresses them, cradles them. "Love and hate" the Tsar whispers.

"What great wars we have fought my friends. I fear the next to feel your sting lacks the honor for such a privilege. But, hubris is a sin that cannot be given quarter. Lest it fester like an old wound, undressed or cared for."
With that he sets the twins aside and moves on.

An axe, black as soot, the blade seemingly stained by an endless river of blood is the next to receive his attention. In Looking down upon this instrument of carnage he says nothing.  He doesn't have to. Instead he lets out a long sigh. Wondering and hoping that it will not be necessary to bring this, thing, to bare. It is not the weapon of a gentleman. It is not designed for honor. But instead for victory. A lesson which he recalls learning the hard way.

Finally, he gazes upon his newest and most modern adornment. The chainsaw. Though he has not used it on anyone as yet the small smile replacing his scowl suggests that he would like to.

Having found the voices of his coir in tune he turns and kneels before his alter.

"Lord, I have tried to be tolerant of these cretins for they are your creation. In my generosity they have revealed themselves to be boorish and treacherous. They are not the superior predator and their pitiful efforts only underscore their failures. They rely on plotting and the will of those greater than they to save them from retribution. Perhaps it is my own hubris that brings me to this junction.  My Cardinal will have to be the judge of that and I will pay my penance. But it my charge to shepard the weak and they are so very weak. If I do not guide them they may be consumed by real predators who are not as tolerant as I. I trust you understand lord.

Sum Sanctus."

WIth that the Bishop calls for his Paladin for their nightly sword practice. If he is going to be teaching lessons he needs to be sharp.

Within the halls of angels

2008-01-14T17:09:46Z

The large grandfather clock in his study chimed as the hour struck four. The old Tsar had not moved in nearly three hours.   Staring down at his desk at some old artifacts he had allowed his mind to wander.  Having dismissed his Paladin to see to her penance for the nights events he was totally alone.

Though he had much in the here and now to occupy his mind he still felt himself falling into the past. In another time and place, along the banks of  the Volga he stood in contemplation. He can scarcely remember where it was that he last uttered the words that stuck in his throat.  Things were changing in his family, in his diocese, in his city. With this change came a welling of feeling and thought that he had not felt since he left the palace.

In those times he thought only of her. Was beaten for her, broken for her. He would have gladly died for her in those nights. Standing just to her right around the corner was the most common of his haunts. Always ready to lay an assasin to rest or steal her away to her bed chambers. In the centuries since she left his side forever he has always wondered why he did not save her.   Why he did not think of himself then as he had so many times before.

"Love". He uttered softly in the stillness of his office. Though he could not beleive it, that was his reason. More than any treasure, any wine or song he loved her. Though it had been in his power to save her he didnt do so. Because he would not damn her to this sort of life. He knew that she did not deserve to become one of gods chosen. She was a pure soul and he felt no end of pain for even having brushed her with the life that he lead.

Now as everything changed he began to wonder if he could ever love like that again. Of the many whom he had taken there were few that he had a second thought about. Three stood out in his mind and yet another still would not leave his thoughts. One that he could have if he wished it but enjoyed the games.

Finally, the clock struck five and he rose from his seat.  "Love and war is all youve ever been good at" he said as he breifly looked out the window noting his Paladin making one last set of rounds.

With the completion of a ritual he allowed himself the days rest. Trying to forget how alone he is. Clutching the crucifix she gave him, going to the only place he can still speak with her.

Dreams.