Kindred: James Toulor: Part 9

January 1st, 1939,

I remember the events of 1776 quite clearly: Cyrilla and I had learned of the declaration that we were free of European tyranny and how horrid it was for a government to oppress its people.  I even recall the 1800's being a period of American isolationism.  However humorous both events were because the Europeans such as myself always found a way to take advantage of American stubbornness to cooperate with the rest of the world.  A month or two ago, however, I read of one of the most horrid things the Germans had done in a while and although it did not surprise me, I remember being slightly off-put by the way Americans reacted to "The night of broken glass."  For all nations of Europe this was the catalyst towards a great world war but the Americans seemed uninterested and even apathetic to the pain and suffering going on across the great puddle.

What arrogance it was to know that the world was fighting and we simply sat in our homes listening to the large talking box that would tell us tales of my own home being appalled by the aggression of its neighbor towards its own people.  Not like we French were really the type to be sympathetic but one does get concerned when the neighbors talk of imperialism...

December 25th, 1941,

At last the Americans have joined the effort and how appropriate I should make this entry on Christmas.  For the kindred, we would take the day off from the slaughter and I wanted very badly to go home to France to see the devastation to my lands.  Luckily for me, I had nobles who I had turned to keep my wealth and lands within Germany and France but never the less, the animals must have wreaked havoc on them to keep up appearances anyway.

Animals.

It always amuses me that the kind call kindred base and vile because we mercilessly slaughter them but war is like a time of play for us.  Human beings cause such destruction on their own that our feeding off them and even small amounts of death here and there become second to the atrocity they can claim as their own.  As a young man, I would experiment on villagers in great psychological experiments and even some medical experiments but the total coverage of the Nazis was so commendable that even I in my infinite cruelty could not have shook my little villagers with such vibrato!

I am but a simple killer, I have done things as a human being that were far crueler than any kindred could imagine and that includes myself but the Nazis, although foolish, were truly awe inspiring.  I hear they have created camps based entirely on slaughter of other humans like them.  In my wildest dreams I could not think of such a waste of blood.  I think their discrimination, though was also a bit naive.  Many of whom they killed would have been of greater use under torture or even slavery but killing them for  sport?  What unimaginable stupidity.

Well, I expect nothing less from mankind.  As a child, I scorned them and as a Kindred, I do not miss my connection to them.  On the dawn of this World War for America, I only hope that my brethren in Europe get to feast unmercifully on these impulsive quacks before the cowboys shred them to pieces.

I had a feeling it would be a while, however, before we got to Europe as a triumphant push.  It is not like a dead thing to show emotion and I usually do not but the cold in my bones stemmed from a foreign fear to the war.  The presence that teased me and taunted me with its proximity.

The war was no more than a scapegoat for a deeper fear and frustration.  I knew she was close.  I new she was near.  I was now sure of it, however, fiends of the undead were not like the walking monsters from horror stories who would haunt people short term before the abrupt climax like the human timeline; No.  The damned could haunt you forever and make you uncomfortable for centuries if they chose to.  If I were a human being she could have haunted me my entire short and miserable existence but since I am undead the "hair on the back of your neck feeling," based on close proximity of a nefarious demon lasted and lasted like a leaky faucet.  The frequency increase simply made it like a barn door slamming repeatedly in the winds of change.

I sat on the veranda of our chateau in Vermont and looked out on the valley as close to sunrise as I might get.  The evening frost glistened on my skin which quietly made a dead response and uneventfully I pondered embracing the sunlight.  Cyrilla appeared behind me like a wandering spirit and showed me her bleeding wrist while I took a quick drink.

"Come, my love.  The centuries make you weary but imagine the millennium.  Perhaps in thought of how long eternity truly is, you will rest well tonight."

We took rest in the cellar and all things large and small: feigning interest in the human world to have something to complain about that was not the Spanish dirt princess, her taunting of my weary existence, and simply existence its self; all seemed to fade to black and her bosom cradled me to wake in another 20 years.

Kindred: James Toulor: Part 8

December 3rd, 1933, Upstate New York

It has been four years since the audacious romp of the 1920's came to a vicious and abrupt halt.  For Americans, it was the worst years of their country's existence but for Europeans, we had the best time of our lives because we based our lives on foreign wealth. 

For the kindred, however, it was a brutal, remorseless, slaughterfest.  Rules exist in kindred society and those rules were enforced by a foreign council, however, anarchy existed for everybody in this apocalyptic revamp of America (pun intended).  All over, you saw American millionaires who now stood selling things like apples on street corners.  Even agriculture collapsed and the poor and destitute ran the streets with very little to keep track of their whereabouts.  A meal was easy to catch but entire crowds of people could go missing in this era or die from unknown causes and they might cite the flu or exposure as the C.O.D.  The brutality didn't stop there.  Kindred got lazy.  Many of them ended up in jail due to the criminal acts that they were caught for and this would have been avoided in today's competent and conservative culture.

I once heard of a Macellarian being caught with several carcases in a room and blood all over her body and walls.  The police labeled her as insane and sent her to an institution.  The institution knew what she was.

For some kind, the era was still a time of glory.  In 1929, one human  by the name of Al Capone made such a din in their world that to the end of the century and beyond, it would be remembered as the St. Valentines day Massacre.  How macabre these creatures were.  It's been centuries since I was one so I completely forgot how delightful they could be.  What rapture it was to be alive or something like it in an era where such brutality existed.  Sometimes, the only thrill we get as kindred is from things that are perceived as a danger and to immortals, that category is slim.

Despite the intensity, amongst the chaos there is clarity.  The crazies run around so quickly that those of us who have drive and motivation (not to mention an intense paranoia that allows for one to be more perceptive) see the ripples in reality that threaten us.  Somewhere in this reality I noticed a presence I had not felt since assisting in Augusto Vidal's rise to power.  The princess of ashes, the destitute aristocrat was close and she watched me with contempt. 

I felt it as clearly as I felt my own skin.  My heart no longer beat but I had drank her blood; she had drank mine and we were bonded to each other so it was not uncommon that I would notice her presence were she near by.  However, I never saw her, nor had any reason to suspect she would come back to find me.  I had no debts to her and she had no interest in me or my world.  She was a blood reader and what would a blood reader have in me and Cyrilla who could not be read?

Kindred: James Toulor: Part 7

May 5th, 1923: Manhattan New York

The air was warm but the streets were cold.  I had been cautious and wary but, what later would come to be known as "the roaring twenties," had enchanted Cyrilla and she was the bell of the ball at every ball.  Walled up in our high rise castle in the heart of the city was not her idea of living our eternity but I knew that living only exposed us to those who knew who we were.

After many years of working my way up to advisor to Prince Vidal of New Orleans I had left my position after the debacle in Greece and become somewhat of a shut in.  Cyrilla projected visions of extravagant parties in Long Island mansions and I could only find myself scanning the faces that she saw for suspicious characters mixed in the crowd.  She never was far from hired goons who waited on her like secret service agents to the president but still, I saw the others: ever watching, waiting and these were the type of patient assailants who could wait an eternity as they had no timeline to complete some prophesied struggle for power.

Removing myself from a seat of respectability had only fueled their resolve even though I had anticipated it vindicating me from a spot light of the kindred world.  On the positive side, the world was wealthy and people were fat.  It was not the time of hiding for those not being hunted.  It had never been easier to have the luxury of not having to kill.  I could only feed on vampire blood for my level of power, but the readily available supply of any kind of blood overflowed and we were well taken care of.

I could sense the impending doom of mankind, though.  Not even through a vision of the future or anything like that but 300 years will give you somewhat of a skepticism towards good times lasting forever.  It amused me that with mankind's opiate being banned they were still as jovial as ever.  I saw a great many at, what the kind referred to as "speakeasy's," face down in a puddle of their own filth and yet they were happy.

As motor cars replaced horses, Cyrilla became enchanted with long rides to nowhere and the fast paced world of parties without me by her side.  It pushed me away from her so one night, as we stood out on the balcony, she looked at me and said, "I can't keep on doing this?"
"Doing what, my love?" I said.
"Ha! You don't even see what's going on, do you?  You're so wrapped up in some fear of the kindred that you are completely incapable of seeing the destruction of our wild lifestyle we've lived for over a hundred years."
"I've seen it Cyrilla but you have become childish in your age.  Do you forget your place in our kind?  Do you forget Greece?"
"Spare me!" She said, "What cowards hide from fear of death: I call them mortal."

The next day, I took a ride with her in a motor car that was relatively simple to go out and simply purchase.  Fear had overtaken me after such a sudden halt of so many years of frivolity but going faster than any man had gone over land save those in these metal carriages, re-invigorated me.  With such life back in my cold bones, I decided to go out to the kindred speakeasy later that night.

We got there around eight and Cyrilla had already begun snacking, in some back room, on a gorgeous, young socialite; the likes of which I never could have charmed like she did.  The difference was after feasting, many of her victims would end up wandering the street estranged from anything that remotely looked like what she wanted them to fear.  That, or they could be seen in mental hospitals.  How delightfully evil she was and in such dark times, it was my only source of solace to the problems of her would be captors.

As I had gotten a 20 something year old kindred to fall completely for me; they fall so quickly when they're young, I brought her into a back room and began to feed on her. through her blood I saw a young life of this century.  I saw poor beginnings and a drive for power; hard work and dedication to live the complete life of a human, a lengthy struggle to the top only to be turned by a covetous master who took her life, took her hard earnings and gave her a new one as a slave to him.  Fear not for merciful death has come to take you, child.  Within her last drop of blood, I got a glimpse of her master's blood mixed with hers to turn her and I saw Cyrilla.
"Who was he?" I screamed at her, removing my fangs and shaking her like a juice box, but she was already dead.

I burst in the room where Cyrilla had her dinner and found her dripping with blood and the pieces of a corpse strewn about with jagged edges.
"You're angry, darling," I said.
"Shut your mouth!" She screamed.  "That fowl was thinking of my face as if he'd been trained to think of it. He thought of hundeds of faces of people I've called friend over a thousand years.  Such insolence can only be the work of an old one."
"He was an old one and you took him apart with such ease?"
"He was a slave! No more than your trollop.  Yes I saw her.  You always pick such sleaze."

Her face was that of rage but her heart wreaked of sadness and offense.  It was as if these people were offending her personally by diving into her life; violating her past.  As I picked her up off the floor and brought her to the club showers, we bathed together and fed off each other. Our bond growing tighter as our forms literally meshed to one in every way.

The blood of infidels circled the drain and we trusted no one except the one in front of us, who had been inside of us.

Kindred: James Toulor: Part 6

March 18th, 1862, Rennet, France,

There are two reasons for my temporary vacation from the Americas: 1, they have become the seedy underbelly of revolution and all out civil war and 2, I had business to attend to at home.

Cyrilla happens to love war because she says her family started one over 1,000 years ago, however, I am not convinced that the chaos would be beneficial to either one of us.  As a member of the nobility, France is not the most safe land for us either, however, my reincarnated namesake is a French merchant with ties to the new French government.

Napoleon III of France has himself mixed in with enough foreign affairs that I was able to make it to Rennet under guise of a wealthy merchant while donating significant funds to his campaign to keep myself under the watchful eye of the people.  My castle miraculously stands and my lands are well kept by those human beings willing to help such a creature as myself.

Cyrilla enjoys the castle or so it seems as she stands by the window like a statue and beams at the town below.  Every now and then she causes a modicum of chaos with perfidy to amuse herself but we must feed so I take little notice as long as she cleans up her messes.  What power she must have to separate the good man from himself.

While here we've already been called upon to separate a minister or local powerhouse from himself enough for Napoleon III and his forces to take control.  It is no wonder they keep us around.  Rebellion is all about the money you have to rebel and Cyrilla and myself find it humorous that such a man as Napoleon III dresses himself as a man of the people only to demand help from such forces as they could never understand.

Our only true foes are gypsies that wander through now and then claiming to be slaughterers of kindred who can release people from their oppressors but the people neither know what kindred are or listen to the poisoned words of a gypsy.

The French involve themselves in a Mexican civil war while the Americans involve themselves in another civil war.  When the struggle of mankind to kill its own is at its height: what a lovely time for a kindred vacation.  The struggle and civil unrest here in France alone is enough for us to feed mercilessly on the people while no one takes notice of those disposed of.

France in Spring is gorgeous.  I see it only through darkness now but remember it in the light. I have been a kindred for 244 years but for 26 years before that, I saw this land as rich and fertile and it still produces liquid wealth from the ground.  Not liquid in the way that it's fluid in nature but rather in the way that it produces the disposable asset of great fortune.  Cyrilla and myself want for nothing and take whatever we want while this country devolves into power struggles as most of human history has.

Tomorrow night, we leave for the Mediterranean, crossing several auspicious European treasures to get to Cyrilla's home of Greece.  She loves the French countryside and northwestern France but I can see a part of her light up when she hears me talk of the sea bound islands of Greece.  How I love to please her.

Business drones on in its weary ways and has made me grow so tired of deeds and papers and documents of ownership.  It seems as though in their quest to separate themselves from Monarchical society, human beings have complicated their lives and given way to even greater kings of money and undisputed power.  It is one thing to be under a Monarch who allows you little courtesies provided you provide for him but another when a despot enslaves you to his own wealth.  I see the system changing and changing in my favor as I know what to do but I pity mankind as he has no idea the future he is building for himself.

With my highly empathic nature, I feel their sorrow but never do I pity those who make their own choices knowingly wrong.  Cyrilla sees futures and tells me how these grounds are stained with blood.  She walks the pastures and screams in her sleep when we share our daily coffin and I know we must depart this land soon.

                                                                         ...

As we cross the black waters of the Mediterranean, passengers seem to disappear each night and the sea captain cringes at the sickness that those we don't eat catch.

Sailing into Athens, I see the cliffs of an ancient society.  High cliffs with homes built into them in a  plateau style landscape.  Her eyes sparkle with the love of such a tiny land.  I tell her that the Chateau Rennet doubles the land of this small area but she simply smiles at me and uses the combination of Perfidy and her enigmatic sight to show me the magnificence of a great Greek past.

Her separation from humanity during this time makes me think she must have been as a god to these people.  She changes her elaborate French dressing to no more than an ornately draped sheet just before we depart the boat.  This is the first time I have seen her without clothes and although as a human I would have lusted after her curves winding like the cliffs of Athens and her areolas as small and erect as the tiny houses on the cliffs, my higher minded kindred brain sees an aureole over her naked form like the Venus' rival.  Her skin is as white as the statues as well; so much so that one would not have known, were she standing still, the difference between her and the marble of those statues.

"The Kallisti are said to have started the Trojan War, my love," She remarks with glee as I stand by the base wooden door staring at her donning her gown. "We are more than the goddesses ever were and twice the fluidity."

Cyrilla, unlike myself, never maintained any ties to Greece.  She explained to me that she was never a royal and never a commoner either.  She transcends the human understanding of class or existence altogether.  Whatever she is, she is like an angel in my visage and in her presence as well.

When we depart the boat, I notice we are followed through the streets by unknown assailants.  We stay at the finest hotels to remain public and our habits, although they spark the interest of local people do not threaten them in any way.  We must be far more cautious as Greece is not nearly the warring state as France is or even the nearby Turkey.

The nights roll on in magnificence and the beauty of this land grows on me until one night that I will never forget.

May 18th, 1864:  The night is crisp and clear and I watch Cyrilla from our balcony as she leaves our hotel to wander free for the night.  As she gets to the opposite side of the street, she is set upon by 4 black shadows who grab her and begin to take her off.  I leapt from the balcony and set upon feeding on two of them while she tore apart the other two with ease.  My blood potency was high at this point due to our feeding on each other from time to time and exchanging her ancient power so we were easily able to rip these assailants apart; however upon tasting their blood, we were a bit taken a back.

I noticed that this blood was that of the kindred.  More than that, the tiny bit of blood that I had managed to sample of Arabella De Gall the last time I had met up with her, during the rise to power of Augusto Vidal, had given me the ability to know that this blood was that of the Lancea Sanctum: the vicious papal monarchs of the kindred world.

It was of this instant that I realized our European fun had come to an end.  I had no idea that the workings of Cyrilla's capture had just begun.  We made haste and prepared to leave Europe.  We made our leave over land due to the wild nature of the Mediterranean and left Europe from the inconspicuous port of Newquay in the south of Great Britain in August of 1865 with all papers and lands secure in France.

My regret now, as I look back, is that it took us too long to leave that wretched continent...

Kindred: James Toulor: Part 5

Clara LeMieux, New Orleans:

I cannot remember the date or I do not allow myself to, as time stands still for me now but I remember the events as clear as day and recant them for the first time here as some closure to the beginning of this eternal nightmare:

I saw him in the corner with a black haired woman.  I knew somehow that this would be the end.

They stood in a circle like moving marble statues.  His svelte, gaunt figure ornately dressed as finely as a French clergyman should be.  He stood across from another man whose face or stature I can not even guess, save the knowledge of his blood on my petticoat.

I remember the ravenous undulation of the crowd as some of them talked of Monomacy and a champion.  I can only guess as to what was what and who was who suffice to say that I was chained down and beaten as a steak awaiting the platter.

I don't remember much but there was much blood.  There was a king or a prince or some sort of monarch fighting my valiant Frenchman and he showed neither love of the task nor rapture of it either.  It was not until the fighting began that I began to see him take any pleasure in the sordid game.

I make no mistake to call it a game, either, because later in my undead viciousness, I would learn that my maker took pity on me for the first time in his sorry existence and took no joy in that either.

As blood spatter began to hit the wall, the crowd began to growl and I began to feel a growing sense of detachment from myself and everyone I'd ever known.  After a while, I began to even fear myself.  It was at this moment that I noticed the black haired woman with my French knight eerily staring at me and the confusion of it all made time and relative understanding impossible to follow.

It seemed an eternity in the darkness.  As if some cruel spell had overtaken me and I knew no one but sat in the dark room of my own mind alone.

When I came to, the room was drenched in blood and many of the statue people were either gone or in pieces.  I could still see one or two people challenging each other to some sort of right of duel.  Before not to long, I was being stood over by the black haired woman, my French knight and a third fellow for whom I could gather for all intensive purposes to be Spanish.

"Take her, friend," said the Spaniard.

"With all my pleasure," said the Frenchman.

The woman, who spoke in Greek looked on with sorrow but allowed the Frenchman to bite into me with intense vigor and begin the process of taking my life.

As the light slipped from my eyes and mind, he tossed me to the floor and I sensed the Spaniard leave the room and felt the blood all around me.  The Grecian woman looked upon my lifeless body on the floor and began to leave when another figure entered the room.

She was dressed in rags but her figure was as statuesque as a princess and she carried herself in due accord.  She looked to the Spaniard and she looked to the Grecian.  They spoke but my ears were as lifeless as my body so all I heard was the low droning of my heartbeat.

It was later that Arabella DeGall would recant how she forced the Frenchman to save my life and make me kindred as she was.  She would become my confidante, my lover, my savior, my princess but she would never tell me the nature of the one who made me.  All she would tell me, from time to time, was that, "god damned James Toulor."

Kindred: James Toulor, Part 4

March 3rd, 1800,
The Yazoo Lands were as boring as any I had been to but with my commanding fortune, we quickly became the leader in every venture we undertook.

I am briefly contacted by Augusto Vidal who, through his haste and paranoia, begs me to use my influence as a duke to deter the French from taking his princedom away.  I have to move vast amounts of wealth but I manage to stall for him.  The rest is like a forgotten life; for the chaos that New Orleans brought was of little comfort to me and my stunning companion. Our life is here now and our growth is phenomenal when we're not caught up with my position as an advisor to him from 1770 up unto 6 years ago.  The fires were the last straw in our new life here in Yazoo.

Our preternatural minds gave us the stunning ability to understand complex concepts at an alarmingly quick rate. Through powers, unbeknownst to me, Cyrilla only had to touch a book, close her eyes, and she would absorb the knowledge within. She was always two steps ahead of me but whether it was through pity or through love, she never looked down upon me for my shortcomings.

A kindred seems to lose his soul and understanding of love through his transformation but never, frozen in time does he lose the passion he was born with. Through something they call, "the beast," sometimes his passion can be amplified to unimaginable levels.

Although I didn't know it at the time, nor did I care, Cyrilla was in the prime of her 2,075th year of life. She was daunting and quiet but must have heard the thoughts and felt the concerns of many for as terrifying as she could be, she was equally just. It was for this reason that one of my better qualities is the justice I had learned from her.

Looking at her now, on the veranda, I mused over how hard it had been to be allowed to have this union, partnership and dark kinship with her. Were it not for that brief coup de etat of sorts in 1779, we may not have found such romance...

Kindred: James Toulor, Part 3

"January 12th, 1742, New Orleans, Americas,
It has been 150 years of life thus far and 124 of them spent as the cunning and beautiful vampire I grace the world as.  My lands are still in tact and the deeds passed down to heirs that look hauntingly identical to myself.  I wonder why.

In any case, meandering this cold, dark, tepidly vapid road, I have traveled far and wide in search of Aribella DeGall, the Portuguese Vampire who inducted me into the Ventru; The Ventru, I have been fortunate to run across many times since but not a peep from her beautiful acting.  Unfortunately, none of her bloodline have found me.  How fascinating it was to find out that no other Vampires can read one's details from the blood.
Curses.  I was wondering who I was thinking of having for breakfast.
The Ventru are like all aristocrats, conceited, petulant and boring because of their constant vie for power. They prattle on about rules that suit them but forget that in the chaos of our kind, rules only give way to the anarchy of strength. For instance: you are a king. I am a pawn. I kill you. I am the king, and long live the king.
Many others have crossed my path to tell me of great meetings,  Those hosted by "noble" Ventru.  One, a "Bron," even told me a story that he claimed was the origin of "our species."

'Lo as Jesus Christ was crucified on the cross,' he said, 'Judas Iscariot was put in front of the masses for his crime of betrayal of the son of God. He was beaten terribly and cut to the point of death's embrace.  For sure, he was to die.
He came to Jesus after his death and wept, 'lord! I deserve death for my crime against you.  How can I ever live up to your love again?  I would give eternity to find you again and avoid the gaunt hand of Lucifer.'
and a voice spoke from within him, filled him, thundered around him but only he heard, 'I shall give you life, Judas, it was my will that you betray me and through eternity, you will see my love and your heaven will be with my brothers and sisters, children of god, and you will have your eternity to see my love and its genesis first hand.
it was with this that the son of man told Judas to drink of his blood and forever drink of gods children in his quest to live forever.'

Honestly, I had to laugh.  I laughed so hard he showed his fangs and almost screamed 'BLASPHEMER!' I apologized for dexterity and because he said he had something to show me.

'I am...'
'James Toulor of France.  Your reputation precedes you, kindred, otherwise, I may have challenged you to Monomacy and taken your heart.  You will not be as lucky if you insult out lord again.  Toulor, you are well on your way to becoming an advisor,' he said.
'an advisor?  I shudder to think of those I advise,' I said, thinking 'kill yourself,' would probably be my best and most merciful advice to those who cross my path.
'Your jobs can be diverse, young fledgling but you will be...'
'Fledgeling? I am one hundred and fifty years old, you know?' I said.
'you are young compared to the millennials, child,' he said.
I let his insult go with a laugh because of my reluctance to kill him and his promise of tickling my curiosity. In addition, I have read that the Bron are incredibly resilient to attempts at their life.  One such report said that a Bron had been tortured for hours before he finally took the mind of his captor and ended it out of boredom.  That Bron would definitely have fascinated me more than this zealot has so far.

The walk through the French quarter seemed endless and the Bron who brought me there talked all about some Invictus and how it would change my life.

I zoned out in favor of a rather vivacious woman. The way she swayed gave me rise to thoughts of all sorts of evil debauchery.  The lines between feeding on her blood and violating her the way only a vampire can were crossed and I was filled with a drive to have her.  Fortunately, as we turned into a ornately decorated mansion just outside of town and ironically far from the French quarter (I hadn't noticed due to my distraction) She turned in with us.

I looked behind me and noticed the long walkway to the french doors.  The looming trees took my eyes off the woman for but a minute and when I looked back she was gone.

The Bron laughed and said, 'Now it's my turn to laugh.  Seeing you lust after a Macellarian is just rich.'

'why's that?' I said.

'They're gluttons! Disgusting creatures that eat the humans they feed on. Barbarous, if you ask me,' he said.

'Delightfully curious and twisted.  I think I'm in love,' I said.

He gave me a look of disapproval and a slight hint of disgust and began a diatribe of our "esteemed host."

'Today, we meet in the home of a prominent man named Augusto Vidal.  He's a member of the Holy Lancea Sanctum and an even younger fledgeling than you, however, he gains ranks quick and you'd do good to listen and learn from his wisdom.

My curiosity was piqued but I had little to do with politics outside my own lands back home.  I had a commanding nature due to my prowess, good looks and money as well as owning slaves and top lieutenants who I had conveniently captured in a trance like state.  Akin to zombies but they were mortal and quite alive.  Many who heard of the ordeal assumed it had something to do with me being a vampire but hypnotic suggestion even when I was a mortal was something I had mastered and abused long before I had a powerful enough mind to make it 'mind numbingly easy'; no pun intended.

With us were tribes innumerable.  The Bron with me explained the differences:

'...And to the corner, you'll see the dauntingly beautiful Kallisti.  They go nowhere without a host of powerful protectors on account of their value to elders and their ability to use the discipline, Perfidy; a mean discipline if I say so myself.  These beautiful, evil creatures will ostracize you from your closest friends with this discipline.  I would not associate with such creatures if I were you,' said the Bron.

Naturally, I made a point of making a note to get closer to the beautiful Kallisti at the top of the stairs.

The "meeting" took place after hours of fraternizing with countless bloodlines including the Malocusian bloodline who invited me all over the world to see their homes and lavish luxuries that I "couldn't imagine" even with my regal and noble past.  Augusto Vidal even spoke to me briefly to tell me to meet with him within the next few weeks about power vacuum that needed to be filled.

I would do so and even gain the title of Advocate to present day under several regimes but it was a passing pleasure; especially because Vidal wouldn't even gain his title of "Prince" until 1770.

The meeting got under way in a surprisingly democratic fashion as they discussed concerns and accomplishments and the Malocusians made sure all the Ts were dashed and the i's dotted.  It was all too vapid for me to even write down suffice to say I didn't age during the waste of life it would have been had I been alive.  I made my connections and took my leave.

As I left, I noticed the Kallisti getting into an ornate carriage and I got in, commanding the driver to drive with my dominate discipline. She looked at me and seemed to attempt using Perfidy and Dominate on me to stop my attempt.  I laughed at her for her attempt.  She was quite strong and it made me sweat but I had considerable training in ignoring psychological suggestion.

'You're quite powerful.  You must be rather old,' I said.

'Old enough to be your grandmother,' she coyly told me.

I laughed and kissed her and to my surprise, she kissed back.  Upon biting her, however, I found that neither one of us could bond to each other.

'What's your name, elder, mine is...'

'James Toulor. Duke of Rennet France.  Your friend, Bron bloodline, George Christo told me about you. He said you would try to talk to me, I had no idea that you would try to win me.  I am Cyrilla Kay De Kallisti,' She said.

'Captivating.'"

The years were kind to us both and between us, we would move to the Yazoo lands to study the nature of mankind and forget about mortality.  Upon the flood, she would be whisked away from me by assailants unknown.  Hence I joined with a scientist who worked for me at my one of my research facilities and a local business woman to find her.