Magdeburg

[Dronaw]

*The two days past slowly but finally the night of the departure arrives. We head towards the South Gate. Karl drives the covered wagon and Irene sits by his side. We get this from my Sire – bless his name – to make our trip easier. Within it, I have my daylight sleeping coffin. We used to travel with this wagon anywhere my Sire send to, so Karl is really familiar with it. Of course Irene also prepared for driving it, because when we were attacked she had to do the job while Karl was in close combat. I ride right next to them. I’d prefer sitting on the wagon, even driving it, but in these circumstances, I have to ride my horse. Though the crowd is high, we easily reach the gate. Suddenly I hear the mocking taunt. We don’t slow down and I don’t even want to react on it, but when he offends my escort and I see their frown, I decide to take part in it. I slowly turn my head towards him. I’m sure he is one of us, maybe even a Ventrue, but I can’t remember his name or anything else about him. He was just one of the many who was introduced, but he wasn’t the Hungarian barbarian, nor the Lasombra bitch. Even so, I realized his ghouls packing into one of the iron carriage.*

- /Ger/ Ah, look, who’s talking! I see your little minions, you bring seven of them. Surely you will need them all and the protection of the iron carriage. But I can tell you, quality is more important than quantity. So hurry up, and barricade yourself and your pets inside. Don’t worry, my prince won’t let you get hurt… for the moment.

*I turn back forward while saying my last sentence and then look at Irene, who knows her duty well and keeps her eyes on the bastard to act or alert me. I see that Karl drives with one hand, having his other on his sword and also Irene’s hand is under her cape, surely grabbing her knife. Our trips to Hungary many times before, give them high experience how to fight from the wagon. I also prepare myself for an attack, but I hope that he is not that stupid to do it right now.*
_________________
Sunny Black

[Freiherr von Rosen]

Character present: Ernst Hirschler.

*As if the ceremonies weren't boring enough, now come two more days - or rather, nights - of useless preparations. Of course, for Ernst, it takes more like two hours, but then again, it's not him bringing the army.
"Army".
Apparently, they mustn't number more than a couple dozen souls, so things could easily get dangerous once they leave civilized lands, but that is a worry for months, or at least several weeks ahead.
As usual, no troubles arise with the loyal, blood-bound ghouls, they both nod and act obediently. Perhaps they'd be a tad more efficient with less of a supernatural mind control, but reliability is a rare treasure in these dark times. And eternal life is too precious not to be protected fanatically.

Having fed and visited his favourite place by the riverbank one last time, the night finally comes for Ernst to ride out and join the Crusade. There's quite the crowd already at the South Gate. The usual suspect Ventrue ghouls are in the majority with a great number of civilians and other non-combatants also accompanying, or at least helping with the legwork. Surprisingly, the tall Komtur, von Heidenauer seems to be doing the bulk of the organizing himself, not finding it beneath his status to interact with the common ghouldom and peasantry. In addition to the private carriages of most Cainites, there are three massive, iron-clad constructs, each drawn by ten ghoul horses, with the Black Cross painted on both their sides. The daylight resting places of those who do not have - or trust - their own protection.*

-/Ger/ Hey, you! Saloon-knight!

*The voice comes from one of Ernst's clanmates, the one called von Messer. Or something like that. He's been riding past from behind him, surprising him with his mocking taunt.*

-/Ger/ What an impressive entourage you have there!

*Karl and Irene frown in utter unison, looking up to Ernst with expressions that scream "AVENGE US!".
Unsurprisingly, the older vampire seems to have filled his seven-member personal guard limit; his soldiers are now packing into the third iron carriage like diligent little ants.*

Character present: Sophia d'Auxerre.

*Ah, back to the chattering butterflies from the sordid owls of the castle tower. The contrast is notable, but in all due honesty, it will be a welcome change to spend more time in the company of powerful beings. Finally, the puppeteering powers of Sophia can be put to a real test.
By comparison, securing the continued loyalty of the mercenaries is of course no effort at all, and the captain states with unflinching certainty that his men will be ready and sober (?) in two nights.
Though briefly, time still remains for the exploration as well. At next nightfall, whether in her carriage, or solo on horseback, Sophia can take a little tour of Town Magdeburg, drinking in the sights with the affinity of a cultural gourmand. Alas, the damage caused by last year's fire is still evident, and it might have a more ancient look, had she visited beforehand, but the new Ventrue lords of this place certainly ensure it'll have an even more German character.

When she's seen enough of tall, narrow houses, elaborate fountains and fortified church buildings, she inquires about the library's whereabouts in the castle, to be subsequently led into a side building of Magdeburg Cathedral. The monks here of course pose no trouble at all, eagerly assisting the "special guest" in browsing the library, despite her less than Adamic gender. Their blood might be bluer than that of most clergy.
The selection itself is good, though nothing out of the ordinary. A good amount of early post-imperial texts copied carefully into parchment tomes, particularly Christian philosophy from St. Augustine make up the backbone of the collection, richly "decorated" with various glossaries and commentaries on the side. Other tomes and scrolls are dealing with the lives of saints; a great many of them, indeed. Books of the Bible - even some of those not included in the final compilation - are also found and what should definitely be of note are the three pages from the Book of Nod hidden carefully from the eyes of those not privy to Cainite lore. Although these three are fairly common and Sophia has already seen them all, it is their commentaries and references that might be of some interest, shedding some new light on the mysterious words of its ancient author.
Since she has such a limited amount of time, this limited amount of knowledge seems almost too fitting for now. An utterly constructive way to spend the night, at any rate. If asked, the monks will also provide the means for her to make notes for herself - but the best notes are one's memories.*
_________________

[Sophia d'Auxerre]

Sitting back in her chair, Sophia studies those around the table as the Prince addresses them all before her gaze is drawn back to the figure of authority. That painted friendly smile does nothing to disguise the fact the smile is more predatory than it is inviting. At least to Sophia’s gaze...

As Decimus Flavius speaks, the “humble” words seem to only make the Prince impatient. To Sophia, this is found somewhat amusing, that one no doubt held high in the gaze of others due to his age is showing such submissiveness. Sophia is quite surprised at the lack of shown discomfort in the Roman’s body language. But then again, he is old enough to know how to control such things, one would hope.
At the answer, Sophia keeps her intrigued expression painted upon her delicate features. Of course she as well, no doubt as many others knew that subtlety was key. Marching in with an army would shatter almost all ability to catch the whispered and hidden knowledge of the lands.
Seven. Very well. She makes note to speak to the captain of her group upon leaving.
Sophia is brought out of her thoughts, after only mildly following the next question of the Romans by the loud, sudden trill of Eufemia’s voice. She closes her eyes for a moment, cringing at the sound. It’s brief before she looks to the Prince for his response to the woman’s question.
Two nights. A pity, she had thought there would have been time to at least explore the city. She casts a glance to where her ghouls stand, no doubt Fiona is already day dreaming about what is to come; disregarding the danger of what accompanies it! She turns her gaze back to those around the table.
All toast to the words victory, though some are hollow or simply not there at all. The Prince disappears before goblets can be lowered. Some of those called here are so swift to vocally assault the Ventrue Komturs, that the final words of Lord Jürgen still ring out against the stone walls of the grand hall. The chatter from the ghouls, as well as those trying to get their questions answered first would be deafening to most given the heavy silence that lingered when the Prince was present.

Sophia takes no rush in standing from her chair. Smiling politely to those who nod toward each other upon leaving. She pulls up her hood and gestures to Fiona and Adrianna to follow as she takes her leave. Exiting the castle, Sophia glances briefly up to the silver cross that was raised this night. She doesn’t pause in her stride however, already thinking of what possibly there is to come.

It doesn’t take long to get back to the inn and she allows Fiona and Adrianna to get some food and drink for themselves.
Sophia wastes no time in finding the Mercenary captain, buying him a drink before sitting down and removing her cloak. Letting the cloth rest upon her lap as she looks to the man opposite with a kind smile.
It certainly doesn’t take much time nor many offerings to convince the captain and six other guards to remain. The last three to be transferred to the ranks of the Ventrue to do as they seek with them. Money is promised and given the fact that they already see her as practically a saint, for her to ask them to accompany them in a “holy mission” doesn’t take much convincing. Rewarded with money, glory and the blessings of God, who could turn that down?

Taking her leave, Sophia makes her way to her room, where Adrianna and Fiona are already tending to the room. They pause when Sophia enters and Fiona rushes to take her cloak, clinging to it.

-/Ita/ Signora! Wasn’t everything today so beautiful? The cathedral was magnificent! Oh and did you see that barbarian? Dear Lord, he was huge! What about the p-

Sophia holds up a hand, silencing her excitable hand maiden. She moves to the mirror of the room, narrowing her gaze at the lack of reflection that refuses to meet her. She takes a seat and Adrianna begins tending to her bound corset.

-/Ita/ Yes, it has been a very interesting night. But be mindful of what is to come my dears. This will be dangerous. I will need you both to even more vigilant when you watch over me. Even when I wake, keep your eyes and ears open.

Sensing the seriousness in Sophia’s tone. Fiona nods quickly, curtseying before hanging up the cloak and moving to aid Adrianna. Both of them loyally chorus:

-/Ita/Yes Signora.

-/Ita/ And as usual, all information is just between us.

Sophia glances at each of them and of course they re-assure her of their loyalty.

-/Ita/ It has been a long night. Tomorrow we shall perhaps take advantage of the offer of the open library. We shall see.

Sophia’s thoughts linger on those she’s met this night, and what is still shrouded, that which is to come in the next couple of nights.

[Dronaw]

*After we are released, we go back to our residence. Karl silently follows me.*

<So, this will be a long journey. This will be really interesting. What a company! I can only hope that we won’t meet out final death on this.>

*We arrive to my room. As I step in, Irene stands up from the table. It seems she just started eating not long ago. I hear a little swallow behind me.*

<Sure, Karl must be hungry.>

- Karl, Irene, after you have cleaned and packed our ceremonial armor you may eat and rest a little. I’ll have to talk to you before the journey begins, but we have some time before that.

* Irene leaves the table, and helps us to remove our armor and then I leave them alone for the cleaning and resting. I go to my room, open the window and look the winter sky. The cold wind circulates me, but this makes no difference.*

<Soon, we will leave this crowded city. Finally! We have never been such a long trip. I must make to them clear that this won’t be that easy as it used to be. I have to refresh my blood in them before the start and also have to visit my peasants to drink.>

*A few crow caw somewhere nearby.*

<How good those creatures adopted to the humans! God, your highness is unquestionable.>

*I stay at the window for an hour then I go back to my ghouls to speak with them. They both lie on their beds, when I enter the room, they stand up immediately.*

- Just sit down! I have to give you some words about our journey.

*They sit on their beds and I start to walk to and fro in the room.*

- This trip will be much longer than we ever had. We went to Hungary a few times for my Sire’s interest, but now we even leave Europe. This journey has a high importance for my Sire and the same for me. As you may guess, this won’t be without danger. So I need exceptional caution from you both. When the sun is up, you, Karl, will not leave my sleeping place. Whatever happens, you must stay by me and protect me from anything you can imagine. And even what you cannot!

* I take a little pause, and examine their face. No question, no opinion. They just note my words.*

- Irene, if anything goes wrong, you must be at Karl side, to protect me. Otherwise, if he needs anything like food or drink, you must serve him, so he won’t need to leave his place! He is in charge, while I’m sleeping. If you are free, look around the caravan, try to collect information about the others. You may use any technique to achieve this, but try not to cause any trouble.

*I stop my walking and look at them.*

- Do you understand my wish?

-Yes, Sire!

*They both nod and answer simultaneously.*

- All right, soon the sun will rise, so I retire to my room. Begin your daily duty and also get prepared for the trip and refresh your stocks.

*I go back to my room, and begin my daylight-sleep.*
_________________
Sunny Black

[Freiherr von Rosen]

Characters present: Albrecht von Wulfhard, Ernst Hirschler, Sophia d'Auxerre.

*It seems to have been a much easier task to sit and listen than to actually speak up in the presence of mighty Lord Jürgen, and his question is certainly followed by a long and deep moment of silence. He yet again carries his piercing blue gaze around the attendees in a manner as if not merely two, but all of them were despicable members of the Low Clans, instead of his freshly-hired henchmen of at least some status and pedigree.
But the moment of austerity passes, and he quickly assumes a trustworthy, almost friendly smile.*

-/Ger/ Well?

*As if suddenly feeling encouraged, Decimus Flavius reaches into his well-oiled hair, shoving it even more perfectly backwards and speaks up on his warm and honeyed tongue, as if completely without pressure in the presence of the Prince. His accent is the ghastly reverse of what most people here are used to – that is, German, with the vocalizations of Latin. He does not dare to switch languages, it seems.*

-/Ger/ Just a slight nothingness, Great Host, something which your humble subordinates have not yet managed to answer, lacking the authority.

*Jürgen stares sharply at him now, but the Roman doesn't seem to express any signs of discomfort. Express being the key word.*

-/Ger/ How many armed servants are we allowed to carry with ourselves on this holy mission?

*Ah yes. The question of sovereignity. No doubt, the greater the number, the less individual vanguard members will depend on the graces of the Black Cross Ventrue. Most of the other Kindred follow the question with definite interest.*

-/Ger/ First and foremost, you will have to remember, my friend, that you are going to be the eyes and the ears and the tongue of the Crusade, not the Crusade itself. Whatever sheer mortal muscle should be required, we will provide, along with weapons, equipment and supplies. If you still wish to carry your own personal... pets along, then you are of course free to do so, but numbers bring attention, especially with the not-so-subtle needs of mortals. Bring no more than seven, and only if you must.

-/Ger/ I understand, thank you. If I may be so bold, how large will your own host number?

-/Ger/ Enough.

*Laevinus, knowing when to stop, simply inclines his head deeply in acknowledgement of the brief answer. Jürgen continues.*

-/Ger/ Anything else?

*It is now the Toreador's turn to speak up. Her voice is loud, dramatic and borderline obnoxious.*

-/Ger/ When do we set out?!

*For the first time, the Prince of Magdeburg forms a smirk.*

-/Ger/ Ah, such music to my ears. All things considered, you've had plenty of time for preparations, so we will leave no more than two nights for the final touches. The night after tomorrow, you will all report to Komtur von Heidenauer outside the southern gates. Ladies and gentlemen; I believe that was all for now. May God grant you the strength and wits on this sacred journey and may we all meet again drinking our cups to victory!

*With this, Lord Jürgen raises the goblet in front of him, waiting for those sitting at the table to follow his lead. He holds it even higher while uttering two words before drinking down the precious Vitae within. Almost all Kindred echo his words.*

-/Ger/ To victory!

*He storms off now as quickly as he entered, setting off a chain of events as the ceremony comes to an end. Most of the guests stand up, some of them practically assaulting the two Ventrue Komturs with their various lesser and more personal questions, while the Seneschal desperately tries to keep order. Many of the ghouls also begin to chatter. Four Cainites – Thiadward, Csongor, Reginleif and Albrecht – immediately take their leaves.*
_________________

[Sophia d'Auxerre]

*With a sweeping gaze, Sophia takes in the new surroundings of the castle courtyard. She eyes over the unmoving, statuesk ghouls, the banners, the shows of power. That small smirk sits upon her lips as she shakes her head subtly. The displays of power, of pride, were so blatant, it was difficult not to chuckle in amusement. Typical Ventrue. *

<How very typically egotistical. Adorable.>

*Upon entering the Great Hall, Sophia lowers her fur lined hood, pulling her hair so that the red locks rest over her shoulders. She drinks in the sights around her, noting the details of the grand hall, unable to help but be fascinated by the beautiful tapestries and decorations. Her brow raises at the quotes. Unlikely to draw human attention but... bold. Thinking upon that though, she gazes around the imposing room and those who fill it. It would be very unlikely that any human would have a remaining pulse upon leaving here... If they were to leave here at all.
As her gaze reaches the end of the line of soldier like ghouls, she has to summon her willpower just to suppress a chuckle as she studies the throne. *

<Wooden, when going to so much trouble to place the rest in stone? How fitting, the first to burn should there be a repeat!>

*She manages to hide her amusement in a smile. She allows her servants to bask in what is no doubt amazement of this gathering, and sends them to stand at the side as she swans to her seat, following her guide.
Sophia looks to the glittering silver goblet and the taunting , shimmering liquid within it. She isn’t distracted for long, however, due to one of the hosts calling for attention.

Naturally, when attention is called to the throne, she takes the opportunity to study those along the table instead. The eagerness from the sword bearers was enough to want to roll her eyes. Interperting this as blindness.
The “knight” who sat beside her seemed like he was about to fall asleep. Was he that confident in the presence of so many others? Or perhaps his intelligence was failing. No matter. The barbarian, but of course, his attitude made sense. One of the few she had pinned as thinking for themselves at least.
She arches an eyebrow at the flamboyant man before shaking her head. Yes it’s true appearances can be deceiving but...
She sighs lightly, finally looking over the hooded figure. She tries to see beyond the hood, frustrated at not being able to read them before her curiosity is interrupted at his arrival.

Sophia raises her chin a little in inspection of the Prince. Already the entitlement aura was enough to cause irritation that she would never allow to be seen. She eyes what she deems to be his guards, his trusted on each side of him, examining them with equal intrigue as she does the Prince.

His tone echos the aura of entitlement she pins upon him.

<German? My, my... >

*And there it was, full confirmation of what was to come, from the mouth of the Prince. Rumours and whispers had been proven correct. Sophia glances around the table as he pauses, looking to those who have been summoned to be the head of this, on the frontline... Looking back to the Prince she pauses at his stare, trying to ignore the unnerving sensation from it.*

<So we’re the cleaning attendants? How typical.>


*Sophia continues to listen to the words of the Prince, glancing to those at his sides again when he mentions them to be the extension of his authority. Well, it was expected. The subtle threats of “my way or no way” were not missed by her... The words of rewards were not missed either of course, but she held some scepticism on how true they were.

And so the introductions began. Her attention never wavering.*

Idézet:

-/Lat/ I give you... Decimus Flavius Laevinus of Clan Ventrue, Patriarch from the Eternal City of Rome!

*Sophia notes the name that is marinated with age and looks toward the smirking ancient. She studies him carefully, noting his features and making a mental note to perhaps find time to speak with him later. No harm in getting to know those who have been summoned, especially one who could hold hidden knowledge of passing time.*

Idézet:

-/Lat/ Eufemia Habladora of Clan Toreador, from the Kingdom of Aragon!

<Not even street women try that hard.>

*Oh how painful it is to supress a massive eye roll at this woman! Sophia chooses to adopt the very well known female practice of false smiling through this introduction... As well as thanking the fact she doesn't need to breathe due to the thick perfume.*

Idézet:

-/Lat/ Thiadward Zwertvegher of Clan Ventrue, Antasian from the town of Utrecht...

*As is with most no doubt, Sophia's gaze is drawn to the false eye. But out of curiosity, not disgust. Out of many of those present, this is another one that she finds herself not swiftly dismissing. Perhaps it has something to do with the irritated stares that a few of the Ventrue betray toward the man. Another to learn more of at least.*

Idézet:

-/Lat/ Bulgarus the Scholar of Clan Cappadocian, from the learned and illustrous city of Bologna!

*Sophia's gaze widens at this, genuinely surprised and caught off guard. She had never thought that he would be present here, though there had been rumours of his death not being permanent that had reached her and her sire's ears. Death has indeed been kind to him, frozen in time to how he last looked and clean. She's soon pulled from her thoughts as her name is announced:*

Idézet:

-/Lat/ Sophia d'Auxerre of Clan Lasombra, from the Republic of Venice!

*She smiles modestly, inclining her head in polite greeting as she meets the gazes of those who look at her. A handful of looks of disdain and concern not escaping her.*

Idézet:

-/Lat/ Friderich von Messer of Clan Ventrue, Patriarch from the town of Hamburg!

*Sophia eyes over the polished armour before studying the mans features, eyeing curiously over the scars before she meets his gaze. She matches his smirk with her own teasing one, letting her gaze purposely linger over him to indulge his confidence and ego flexing. She slowly looks away as the next name is called*

<Armour does not hide clay.>

Idézet:

-/Lat/ Ernst Hirschler of Clan Ventrue, Patriarch from the town of Salzburg!

*Ah, the bored pretend knight. She barely glances at the man, finding little of interest given how ghoul like he conveys himself like. A blank slate.*

Idézet:

-/Lat/ Gotzstaf von Schmitt of Clan Ventrue, Patriarch from the town of Bremen!

*The sound of the fist clashing against armour draws attention, even if his name did not. Sophia studies the man and notes him, thinking him to be the typical loyal knights that are eagerly awaiting their orders. Most are cut from the same mold.*

Idézet:

-/Lat/ Csongor of Clan Gangrel, from the Kingdom of Hun-... -/Lat/ From the Tribe of Kürt!

*The smash against the table is far louder than the crash against armour before. Sophia's brow rises at the display, glancing up the table to the hosts and back to Csongor.*

<What could they possibly have to lure him here? He clearly is straining to hold back such fury... This could be interesting...>

*The awkwardness is heavy in the air as the host swiftly moves on his introductions.*

Idézet:

Reginleif Valkyrja of Clan Brujah, from the Kingdom of Denmark!

*Not having seen a woman like the one who is introduced, Sophia raises her brow in how muscular the woman is. A warrior through and through, so far in first impressions the woman draws more respect than a couple of the knights in armour that sit with them tonight.*

Idézet:

-/Lat/ And last, but certainly not least... Prince Albrecht von Wulfhard of Clan Ventrue, most certainly a Patriarch, hailing from his own castle in the Harz Mountains.

<Prince?>

*Sophia tries to see beyond the hood, noticing the clean features. No nod, no acknowledgement... Arrogance or annoyance? The man was most difficult to read, this naturally claws at most peoples curiosity even more so, especially given his title.

Attention is drawn by Lord Jürgen's movement to the table. Eyes snapping back to him. Sophia's lingering upon Albrecht before finally glancing back to Lord Jürgen as he speaks... Only for her gaze to sweep the tensed table at the call for questions...*

[Dronaw]

*We enter the courtyard. Although I'm not too interested about the decorations I examine the surroundings. This meeting is why I'm here, and it's so important to my Sire, so it is to me. Karl stand nearby as instructed, and I sit down on my seat, and continue the examination, until the chief organizer draws the attentions. As the prince enters, I "hold my breath" a little.*

<Such a high power! I haven't seen him since I was brought forward but I remembered his highness right. He could easily destroy us all with only a wish.>

*I try to stay calm but I feel a little excitement when I see him. I try to master my emotions so no one can see my feelings. Or at least I hope so. Finally I get our goal clarified. It doesn’t sound too hard and includes many travelling. I like this! And we will be numbers to not to get endangered on the road, assuming that there will be no danger inside the camp. It’s important to find out anything I can about my trip-mates, so I give high attention when they are introduced. Not because I care about them, but I care about my own safety.*

[Freiherr von Rosen]

Characters present: Albrecht von Wulfhard, Ernst Hirschler, Sophia d'Auxerre.

*One by one, the attendees enter the castle courtyard, among them Sophia, Fiona, Adrianna, Ernst and Karl. It is much less decorated than the cathedral and the main square, but the presence of banners and weaponry certainly gifts it with a majestic-intimidating atmosphere; depending on the perspective. Adding to the effect are the two straight lines of knightly ghouls standing at attention on both sides of the road leading to the main hall, wearing virtually identical pieces of armour and tabards, a rarity almost unheard of in ragtag mortal armies.
The Ventrue really want to show who're the masters of discipline here.
The Great Hall of Castle Magdeburg.
Learning from the experience of last year's devastating firestorm, the building and its furniture are constructed out of as much stone, metal and other inflammable materials as possible, including, of course, its main chamber, frequently used for various assemblies by the town's new overlords after taking the reigns from the former Prince's hands of ash.
Along the way are majestic stands of armour, displayed weaponry, coats of arms, tapestries, banners, all bearing witness to the glory of, naturally, Clan Ventrue and its Germanic host. Entire scenes are reenacted from the Poetic Eddas and Tristan and Iseult on the decorations here, and the more learned can also recognize quotes, passages and illustrations from the Book of Nod, placed subtly enough not to draw any human attention.
Not that any unknowing human is allowed to linger here for long.
At the end of the ghoul-lines is the throne of the Prince, a mastercraft wooden construct decorated with dark red velvet carpets. It is completely vacant now, unlike the chairs placed on the two sides of a long, elegant table in front of it, to which attendees are invited to sit. Yet again, „tagalong” ghouls are instructed to stand nearby, at a respectable distance from the spotlight. Though the seats aren’t marked, every Cainite has a precise place he or she is politely guided to by the hosts, no doubt a necessity due to Ventrue feeding customs. In every place, there’s a brilliant silver cup with (the proper type of) blood in it.*

-/Lat/ Attention, attention!

*One of the hosts, apparently something of a chief organizer, an unremarkable man in a white and black robe speaks up now.*

-/Lat/ His Lordship is due to arrive any moment now, esteemed and noble guests! In the meantime, please entertain yourselves with each other’s company and, if possible, leave the seductive ambrosia in the goblets to the end of the ceremony!

*A small smirk appears on his lips and several in the attendance let out a chuckle at his ironic metaphor. The Seneschal performs a slight bow and stands beside the throne now.
Catching a glimpse of the auras of her fellow Cainites, Sophia can perceive a steady mix of attitudes and emotions. Strong enthusiasm around the sword bearers, curiousity in the loud-mouthed woman not far from her. Complete boredom in the knight who attended the mass next to her. Disdain and contempt from the barbarian who just started to sharpen a dagger. The Teutonic giant is notably absent, but in his place is now a man with dark, oily hair and anachronistic, flamboyant clothes – in addition to his extraverted socializations in classical Latin. Finally, her eyes slide over an old, hooded figure whose „emotions” are a near-perfect neutrality mixed with the slightest of curiousity.
Then, he arrives.
Tall and proud, the lord of the town steps in from a side door with his pair of bodyguards with heavy steps, commanding immediate attention and full silence at once. The Seneschal stands at attention and barks up again.*

-/Lat/ His Highness Lord Jürgen von Verden, the Sword-Bearer, Childe and Vassal of Hardestadt, Hochmeister of the Order of the Black Cross, Prince of Magdeburg, of Brandenburg, of Saxony and of all the Eastern Reaches!

*Arriving at the throne, but not sitting, Lord Jürgen folds his arms and gazes through the assembly with piercing, ever-critical eyes. To his right stands the man who led the cross-bearing process, a colossus of more than six feet, and to his left a strongly-built woman with braided dark hair, a simple dress and a longsword on her belt. Both of these two exhibit similar emotions of strictly reserved, austere calmness, flaming conviction and a touch of pride in their aura colours.
Finally, the Prince speaks up in a tone and with charisma that could be of kings.*

-/Ger/ Cainite brethren! All of you know why we are here and on what mission you are about to embark!

*Eyebrows are raised and a few quiet whispers made at the fact the host ignores the international convention of using the Church's language and speaks his native German instead. Undoubtedly, it is a show of force, but perhaps such a gesture has further-reaching implications of independence as well.*

-/Ger/ The Third Crusade is a reality, and if the mortal herds do as they are instructed, it will be the greatest of them all! The highest Ventrue overlord, Hardestadt, has tasked me with carrying out the victory of civilized, Christian Cainites in the East, and you, knights and ladies, are going to be the arrowhead of this effort.

*He pauses to inspect the crowd again, and every attendee might very well have a feeling he's looking straight into his eyes, his very soul.*

-/Ger/ While myself and the mortal emperor are gathering our armies, you will move forward in front of us, following the order of travel in the spring by the bulk of forces. What I expect you to do is alert the various „rulers” in the way of our imminent arrival, make sure they prepare for our accommodation and will not try to foolishly resist. In the event the eastern fiefs are handled by incompetent leadership, make sure to clean up the lands in their place, of any setbacks and hostiles before the Crusade arrives. I will have no delays; „Outremer” is in a great deal of trouble already.

*Jürgen glances to his sides now.*

-/Ger/ The various details of the vanguard mission, as well as petty issues such as compensation will be handled by my subordinates, Komturs Anselm von Heidenauer and Lucretia von Hartz. They will also be your leaders on the field, carrying my authority. No failure will be tolerated, and any betrayal will be dealt with in the harshest of measures! On the other hand, you will receive the best available resources in rich supply, and should you perform successfully, you will be awarded substantial prestige and recognition. Seneschal?

-/Ger/ Y-yes, my lord?

-/Ger/ I believe introductions are in order.

-/Ger/ Yes, my lord. We shall go through the knights and dames comprising the mission now.

*The robed Ventrue now approaches the head of the table while the regal trio behind him take their seats on the throne and the two more modest chairs beside it. The Seneschal switches to Latin, taking great pains at proper pronunciation.*

-/Lat/ I give you... Decimus Flavius Laevinus of Clan Ventrue, Patriarch from the Eternal City of Rome!

*He first gestures to the nobleman on his left, the well-dressed charmer with a casual smile. Notably, he was also among the few who did merely touch, but not carry the Cross. His name would make him dangerously old, something his late imperial-era clothes would only reinforce. His friendly smile turns into a self-absorbed smirk. His „Patriarch” title is a reference to his allegiance to Lord Hardestadt's intra-clan faction.*

-/Lat/ Eufemia Habladora of Clan Toreador, from the Kingdom of Aragon!

*Next one at the table is a well-endowed-and-unafraid-to-show-it gentlewoman whose long, curly, raven-black hair falls upon her expensive and highly elaborate dress. Various types of makeup and an alluring scent of perfume also decorate her. Though perhaps not a natural Helen of Troy, this señorita certainly is the mistress of appearances, and not Christian piety. Tellingly, she blows a silent kiss to her future companions, much to the shock and horror of the more faithful.*

-/Lat/ Thiadward Zwertvegher of Clan Ventrue, Antasian from the town of Utrecht...

*The Cainite referred to appears to be a middle-aged man with somewhat long hair, a moustache and a long goatee, all of them ash blonde. His right eye is missing, in whose place is some sort of a construct that resembles an eye. He's wearing the clothes of wealthy Frisian townsfolk and guildsmen, something Ernst can immediately recognise. His blue gaze shines intelligently and he makes a polite nod, but nevertheless, many of the Ventrue present look upon him with a resentful frown. Apparently, he belongs to the faction rival to the Patriarchs of Hardestadt and Jürgen, the part of the clan led by the ancient Roman Iulia Antasia, who maintain the Ventrue should be more about wisdom and learning, than chasing feudal, worldly power. His presence here might be a token of a recent treaty.*

-/Lat/ Bulgarus the Scholar of Clan Cappadocian, from the learned and illustrous city of Bologna!

*Ah, so that is why he seemed so familiar! The man sitting on Sophia's right, clad in a dark robe whose hood he now pulls back onto his back is no other than the famous jurist and glossator from the University of Bologna. Although he "died" some twenty years ago, it is little surprise the ancient-looking man's death was faked and he was Embraced by the knowledge-seeking Graverobbers. He is shaved, he is well-kept, much like he was seen on the podium – but he bears the wall-white paleness of his clan now.*

-/Lat/ Sophia d'Auxerre of Clan Lasombra, from the Republic of Venice!

Please describe your reactions.

*Unfortunately, the name „Lasombra” also doesn't bode well for most ears here, though all but a few manage to keep their disdain to themselves. The stature and raw beauty of Sophia certainly command attention, though not as much as with the mortals she's perhaps too used to. Some of the knights to her left appear to be particularly impressed.*

-/Lat/ Friderich von Messer of Clan Ventrue, Patriarch from the town of Hamburg!

*Sitting between Sophia and Ernst in full plate armour sans helmet, he stands up for a salute, staring Sophia blatantly in the eye as he sits down with a confident smirk. Tall, thin and not especially handsome, his short, but well-kept dark blonde hair is in somewhat of a contrast with his slightly scarred skin. Alas, only the Tzimisce can „heal” injuries present before the Embrace.*

-/Lat/ Ernst Hirschler of Clan Ventrue, Patriarch from the town of Salzburg!

Please describe your reactions.

*His neutrality during the ceremonies and the distinct lack of nobility from his name certainly aren't points in his favour, but at least he himself – and his Sire – are from Hardestadt's lot. All things put together, very few Kindred give Ernst anything more than a fleeting glance. For now. One day, they might very well learn to fear him.*

-/Lat/ Gotzstaf von Schmitt of Clan Ventrue, Patriarch from the town of Bremen!

*Shorter and stockier than his other Hanseatic comrade, with short, dark hair and eyes, Gotzstaf follows the example of Friderich, standing up and clashing his large fist against his armoured chest. His round, bearded face bears a serious expression, as one would expect from a knight taking his duties honourably.*

-/Lat/ Csongor of Clan Gangrel, from the Kingdom of Hun-...

-/Lat/ From the Tribe of Kürt!

*The air freezes at the violent interruption of the Magyar barbarian. He actually stood up and slammed both his hands on the table in the blink of an eye, glaring at the court master and inviting gazes both seriously outraged and patronizingly amused. His aura is bathing in blood-red flames of rage now. Apparently, he's not too fond of the Christian kingdom his homeland has become.*

-/Lat/ ...As you say. Ahem. Moving on. Reginleif Valkyrja of Clan Brujah, from the Kingdom of Denmark!

*As the name suggests, the Cainite sitting next is a tall, muscular Viking woman, engraved in immortality somewhere in her thirties. Her head is not covered at all, her reddish-blonde hair is separated in two prominent, elaborate braids at the front, and her skin is almost as pale as the Cappadocian's. Though wearing a Christian-looking dress for appearance's sake, as she stands up to nod her head in silence, leaning on her sizable spear, the clearly audible metallic rattling indicates there's something much less womanly underneath it as well.*

-/Lat/ And last, but certainly not least... Prince Albrecht von Wulfhard of Clan Ventrue, most certainly a Patriarch, hailing from his own castle in the Harz Mountains.

*Though his head is currently covered by a traveler's hood, the refined, noble features and shaved face of the final Kindred are very much visible. He seems to be occupied with his thoughts, not even paying as much attention as to nod, let alone stand up. On his back is a beautifully impressive two-handed sword.*

-/Ger/ Well now...

*Lord Jürgen stands up again, his movements immediately mimicked by his lieutenants. He walks to the table, a single move of a finger sending the Seneschal back into the shadows.*

-/Ger/ Any questions?
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[Dronaw]

*As we leave the cathedral, Karl fall into line with me.*

- Sire?

- Just stay close and keep a sharp eye out.

*We continue our journey towards the castle. As the boy with the pail begins to shout, I see Karl is straining every nerve, but I make him relax a little with a beckon. I don't care about this interlude, just pigs playing. I observe the others, and take notice about the outfit of the vampires, but don't care too much about them. I'm just hoping that the meeting will be start soon and will be quick, so we can leave this crowded city as soon as possible.*
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Sunny Black

[Sophia d'Auxerre]

Sophia embraces the cross to her, burdening it upon her being as much of the others do so. She eyes those who she’s pinned as Ventrue who merely brush the cross with their fingers. As she studies those around her, her gaze is drawn by the young noble again. She studies his expression, finding it odd that one dressed with such a show of nobility, shows such passiveness and indifference to the grand ceremony. Granted, she herself hardly is inclined to follow the skilful weavings of the churches words over her own thoughts and debates. But it was quite unusual to find others who seemed to reflect similar or perhaps what was just blatant boredom during mass, especially one as grand as this.

<Curious...>

If his gaze meets hers, she smiles before looking forward to where they have begun to walk up the hill toward the grand castle. The chants echo through the cold night air, carried on the voices of the faithful and those wishing to please. A far cry from the beautiful music that rung through the streets of Venice. .. But there is almost a... haunting sadness to the tone of the hymn, one that could be considered somewhat beautiful in itself.
She does not sing. Keeping her head high though, she listens to the words. Looking up to the cross that she and others bare, eyeing the symbol of hope, faith and promise to many. Her grip tightens upon it as she does her best to cointain a sudden anger that fills her, not allowing a touch of it to reflect on her features, though some of it may shimmer in her eyes.
But who can see them under a hood and in the dark? Then again, it is not all mortal eyes that watch this night.

The sound of running feet draws her attention and she glances in the direction of the boy with the bucket. As he cries out his accusations, she can’t help but bluntly stare at him. Studying the expression of anger upon his features and the faith in his tone. Barely a moment passes before the boy is felled, lying broken upon the street and the blood and red liquid trickling around him. Her gaze remains on the now lifeless young man as the gloating words of the archbishop are yelled.
She stares at the fallen boy coldly.

<Foolish. A death for nothing and for misguided beliefs... Ugh. Though many here will suffer similar fates no doubt.>

She turns her gaze away slowly as they begin to once more walk. Leaving the scene behind, she ignores the further preaching of the archbishop. Thoughtfully pondering on what was to come, especially for one like herself who carried no sword.

The cross is raised and with the radiant light that seems to emanate from it, she pulls her hood forward out of habit. The light of the torches providing some annoyance to her gaze... It does give her an excuse not to sit and mumble prayers like some others.
The sight is ominous, one that will remain in the minds of those here for some time, no doubt and should it do so, it’s certainly fulfilled its purpose.
This night continues to force her to think of the past and her current debates on her view on faith and the church. A debate that rarely silences in her mind. She sighs, pulling her cloak around her shoulders to sort her appearance.

<A night of silence would be welcomed after this....>

It’s clear to her though, that she has to no longer ignore her debates, bitterness and beliefs, knowing that they will now be fed more than ever with this new crusade.

The wind blows her cloak around her and the wisps of hair that are visible from the hood dance around her face as she begins to make her way to the castle gates without a glance back to the cross.

[Freiherr von Rosen]

Characters present: Albrecht von Wulfhard, Ernst Hirschler, Sophia d'Auxerre.

*And so, the great Cross is lowered onto the backs of its faithful followers. Ghoul and mortal alike gazes in awe at the spectacular ceremony, giving way to the silvery construct headed by the Teutonic colossus. Most of the Ventrue hold their shares admirably, though some of them just symbolically touch the Cross as it is being carried by others. Ernst might be surprised by the absolute ease displayed by Sophia in this ceremonial task, despite her apparent frailness. The Discipline of Potence is not especially common among Ventrue noble ladies, so she just might be from one of the simpler warrior clans.
Conversely, Sophia can clearly discern the lack of enthusiasm on Ernst's part - not that he's not hiding it skillfully enough. Other Kindred might more easily be fooled in this zealous crowd.
As they leave the cathedral proper, heading up the hill that leads to Magdeburg Castle, a more humble, last-century hymn is starting to be sung.*

-/Lat/ Hail, holy Queen, Mother of Mercy,
Our life, our sweetness and our hope.
To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve;
To thee do we send up our sighs,
Mourning and weeping in this valley of tears.

Turn then, most gracious advocate,
Thine eyes of mercy toward us;
And after this our exile,
Show unto us the blessed fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
O clement, O loving, O sweet Virgin Mary.

Pray for us O holy Mother of God,
That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.

*As the sanctimonious crowd edges forward, singing loudly, the "ritual" is disturbed for the first time. With the last mention of the Messiah dying down at the end of the song, a young man, barely an adult, comes running up against the Cross, carrying a small pail from the cover of a nearby building, ready to launch its contents right onto the nobility.*

-/Ger/ Murderers! Murderers! You defile the name of God by your repulsive violence! Have you no souls left to fear for, or have you sold them to the false pope on the throne of Rome?!

*Something heavy flies through the air for a split-second there. Half a moment later, the sound of an arrow hitting its fleshy target can be heard, exploding into the boy's body with such force, it comes out from his chest and continues into the ground.
He falls with barely a sigh, the pail lashing forward, spilling most of its red fluid - perhaps dye, perhaps animal blood - on the ground. Some of it also reached the vampires standing closest, and a single drop managed to land on the Cross.
As the red liquid mixes with the disruptor's blood down below, the prehistoric Magyar warrior trots closer to the line on a gigantic ghoul horse, holding an impossibly large composite bow. He leans down and stoically retrieves his arrow.*

-/Lat/ Hah!

*Exclaims the archbishop at the helm of the congregation. Some of the more learned ghouls make themselves ready to translate to the mob.*

-/Lat/ I knew I should have included heretics in my sermon, as part of the filth we need to wash off from this earth! Continue! Leave him to the dogs!

*Apparently not shaken, even managing to fire up the crowd once more, the talented mortal keeps the show on the road while the little sectarian - probably a Cathar - lies already forgotten on the ground, now wetter with the spits of a few more passers-by.
But he accomplished his mission.
Soon reaching the castle hill, the Cross is stopped not far from the gates and lowered into a prepared sinkhole. After some minimal effort from the Ventrue hosts, it stands proudly yet again, brilliantly illuminated by the moon, the stars, and the many torch-bringers around.
As inconvenient as it sounds.
Now, the archbishop switches to German and begins a more mundane speech, obviously signifying the fact the Kindred have no more use for him now. After spending some time admiring the Cross, one by one, the elites of the night gather their retainers and make their way towards the castle gates, as if walking over into the world of concrete reality from this majestic, almost magical religious cacophony.*
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[Sophia d'Auxerre]

*Appearance:
Sophia’s physical age would be guessed to be about the cusp of twenty. Her skin is flawless ivory which only enhances her topaz blue eyes. Long, flame red hair frames her face and falls around her shoulders. A few crimson strands fall into her face naturally. A subtle but pleasant smelling perfume clings to her hair. Her lips are painted ruby red and where a soft smirk would usually linger, in this case her expression is unreadable.
Her robes are made of fine silks and expensive textiles. The frame of the robe is patterned subtly and coloured a royal blue. A loosely tied decorative, golden coloured fabric belt hangs around her waist to give her figure the appealing definition. The same golden embroidery is set around her elbows, allowing the material to flare out toward her hands. The skirt has a parting, allowing a small slice of the under, golden coloured lining to be viewed.
Given that she has dressed for the occasion, she wears a couple of rings upon her fingers and some tight fitted bracelets around her wrists, depicting skilled carvings.
A heavy winter, hooded cloak, dark in colour, sits around her shoulders, fastened over her chest with a silver elegant clasp. The cloak is lined with fur, with the hood currently down and embracing some of her hair.
Around her neck she wears a silver chain, upon which a silver cross sits just below her collar bone. *

*After parting with her servants and taking her seat, Sophia indulges in admiring the building’s interior. Beautiful on the outside and breath taking... if she had some to gift, in the inside. Despite her internal conflicts upon the maker of this world, she could never fault the beauty that are cathedrals.

Of course she has subtly glanced at those that sit within the pews, noting those who clearly come from exotic lands. She tactfully glances to their weapons, but what intrigues her more so is their expressions. The shows of unease and distress, which so many seem to struggle to hide. She finds this curious, interested to what their thoughts could be to make them so, in some cases, fearful.
A bitter amusement is made known to her at the sight of the gathering and more than anything, why it’s being held. Far too much lately has she been dwelling upon regrets of things she perhaps did not say, did not explain to him.
Her eyes move to study one of the many crosses that hang around them. In a place that is ideal for dwelling upon her debates of religion and God, she knows that this is not the time for it.

Her delicate fingers however, do idly toy with the silver cross that sits around her throat. She becomes aware of this and straightens her robe before forcing her hands to her lap.

As those still arriving take their seats, her gaze is drawn by the “apparently” young man who sits near her. She makes no turn of the head to show that she studies him, instead choosing to do so in the time it takes him to sit. She eyes the symbols of status, the sword and clothing. But she studies his expression in the brief few moments she faces him before turning her gaze elsewhere.*

<Here out of duty, no doubt...>

*She glances to her right, taking a quick note of the man’s very unusual appearance. The braids, the leather armour, a battle axe? Hrm, an old fashioned warrior, not one who depends on the gleam of their armour to try to fend of enemies. The symbols of course she recognises, which brings yet more surprise to her. Naturally she makes no such surprise known upon her expression. To avoid an accusation of blatantly staring, she smiles kindly and inclines her head in greeting before looking back to the altar.*

<The Ventrue have called far for this gathering... Why would he even answer?>

*She ponders on this before they are interrupted by the beginnings of the mass. Songs ring out, some voices ringing out louder than others before the praising silences for the archbishop’s words.

Sophia listens intently, her gaze, for the most part, fixated upon the archbishop and his gesturing as he speaks passionately to the crowd.
She narrows her gaze a little as he echoes out his speech. Of course there had been whispers and rumours of the plans of the Ventrue. But to pepper it with such blatant pandering to the sheep of the crowd. Turning a little she peers over the rows of faithful, to some of those who watch the archbishop with obvious fanaticism, listening to his words without a thought to their own.

With the sound of the snort to her right, she glances to the out of place warrior, eyeing him with a small touch of a smirk before looking forward to the alter again.*

<Well, someone is managing to think for themselves at least.>

*She listens passively, noting that at least Marcus’ predictions of the armies travels had been accurate, this made known by the archbishops words. This thought brought her mind out of the lingering annoyances she tried to banish at the beginning of the mass, choosing now to focus upon the future, not the past.
As the noise within the cathedral begins to soar with the preaching words, she can’t help but admire the man’s way with words. To manage to sway a crowd of this size and power so easily. But naturally, many of them are so very willing to let themselves be influenced to what possibly may be for some, a trip to their end.

As the sermon reaches its apex and the chants, prayers and mantras are carried out through the excited crowd, she turns with some surprise to the absolute unity the Ventrue display in their answering words to the archbishop...

Sophia digests all that has been preached, her thoughts of what is to come as she stands with the crowd , moving to gently pull her fur lined hood up, to shield herself from the bitter cold... not that it would matter of course.
She moves to the line, glancing to the large silver cross and as if drawn and barely known to her, her fingers once more find themselves toying with the silver cross around her throat...*

[Dronaw]

*Appearance:
Short, dark-brown hair, a little bit unnatural green eyes. The smell is fresh, no perfumes. The skin seems a bit alive. The chain-mail glitters in the light of fires. The scabbard on the belt is shining white with some gems on it (red and green colors). The handle of the sword seems to be gold with diamond and ruby inlay. The sword is approximately 1 meter. Black, long trousers with some non-figurative green graphics. A golden necklace with a small cross. A white signet-ring on the ring finger of the left hand.*

*I take a deep breath and enter the cathedral.*

<Again, the crowd! Well, it has to be done...>

*As I'm heading towards my seat I nod to Karl and he takes his seat rearwards. I sit down between the knight and the lady. They are both noticeable in their own way, but who cares. The ceremony begins. I take a glimpse backward.*

<So many sheep! They don't know the real greatness of God. The power of nature.>

*I try to listen to the bishop's words, but my mind is out of the city. I hear what he says but only as an ambient noise.
I'm in a high mountain, observing the forest below. It's almost dawn.*

<Oh, God, give me the strength to see your glory. Let me see this beautiful view in daylight.>

*The sun slowly rises and its first rays reach me. It feels warm, but not burns. Slowly the light reaches the top of the forest...*

-/Lat/ Amen!

*This draws me back to the reality. I also stand up and step into the line. Not because I want to. I have to.*
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Sunny Black

[Freiherr von Rosen]

Characters present: Albrecht von Wulfhard, Ernst Hirschler, Sophia d'Auxerre.

*Magdeburg Cathedral.
The pinnacle of this town, in both a geographic, an architectural and a spiritual sense. Especially today, on this cold January night, when everyone important assembles here. Various noblemen and women, clergy of a dozen different ranks, knights in shining armour, plainer and simpler warriors, servants and the common folk alike gather on this special occasion.

First among the various rulers and nobles of Germany, it'll be these humble Childer of Christ to take up the Cross and formally dedicate themselves to the new Crusade.
There are, of course, reserved seats for the most important of the attendees, those who really matter here. One by one, they walk through the majestic gates, some of them with strange, though barely visible frowns, hisses, or other displays of obvious discomfort. This place certainly has a presence.*

-/Lat/ Come, come. This way, brothers and sisters in the Christ. First three lanes on both sides. You are all indispensable.

*Strangely enough, those words came from the same archbishop - von Seeburg, was it? -, who presided over last night's mass. Given his prestigious position, it is somewhat surprising how he personally receives the elite. At the entrance.
Having filled his body with the proper type of peasant blood earlier, the Ventrue Ernst Hirschler feels a whole lot better tonight, perhaps even allowing himself to use it to look a bit more "alive". His ceremonial armour and sword are of course an inconvenience, but every man has to look his wealth and status. In his early living days, he could barely even dream of one day being in the company of dukes and knights as an equal. Tonight, it's exactly what it is. His father would be proud.
Leaving the ghouls behind in the seats immediately following those of the Kindreds, he takes his own place between a more typical, brutish knightly Ventrue he's seen here before, and a disturbingly beautiful, newcomer lady with rather immodestly flowing red hair.

Entering the holy house of God - and a rather monumental one, at that - after all that happened in the distant and not so distant past definitely tingles a certain irony in the back of Sophia d'Auxerre of Clan Lasombra's mind. This time, however, she hardly needs to fear any treachery, or betrayal; even the Ventrue know their limits. In fact, their clan is full of limits to begin with...
Following the personal guidance of this high-ranking clergyman, she finds her way into the first row, her maids staying behind. To her left is a less typical knight in shining armour and unimpressive build she's never seen before, and to her right is a truly out-of-place man with long, dark brown hair in braids and tresses, a thick, sizable moustache, ripping muscles, leather armour and a one-handed battle axe. On his equipment are various runic symbols she recognizes as the pagan, pre-Christian script of tribal Magyars. What is this warrior even doing here?
Regardless, he acknowledges her arrival with an impossibly slight nod.

In front of the altar is a colossal, silver cross fixed into its standing position by a collection of ropes. The pulpit is significantly elevated, so that the archbishop can take his position well above the congregation, behind and slightly above the cross. When he arrives there and the mass begins, the songs of the faithful echo gloriously among the giant walls for many minutes.*

-/Lat/ Children of God! You are here by the hundreds, and for that, I give undying praise to our Lord! You have been called and guided here by His Spirit in the knowledge that He and His flock need you! Yes, you, undoubtedly the finest and most valiant of Christendom, here to take up the burden of Christ and rush to the aid of your fellow believers in the Levant as the first among many! In our dark age of heresy, apostasy, treachery, lies, deceit, perversion, selfishness, internal strife and brother wars, there is no more magnificent treasure in this world than pure-hearted, heroic sacrifice in the name of God! For it is written; greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one’s life for his friends!

*This particular biblical quote certainly opens up to new interpretations in Kindred context, a fact that doesn't escape a few attendees whose lips curl into a subtle smirk.*

-/Lat/ The storm clouds of the Devil have already been assembling in the East for many decades! The armies of moon-worshipping, godless pagan hordes! *Sophia's neighbour snorts* Turk, Saracen, and whatever else spewed forth from the depths of Hell gather to kill our innocent pilgrims and valiant knights! Jerusalem, the Holy City, has fallen to the arch-devil Saladin!
How long are we to wait idle?!
How long are we to tolerate the filthy merchants and money changers in the temple of our Lord?!
The Kingdom of Jerusalem, the Principality of Antioch, the Principality of Galilee, the County of Jaffa and Ascalon, the County of Tripoli, the Lordship of Sidon and even our wayward eastern brothers of Byzantium are all waiting for you with arms tired from battle, chests bloodied from wounds, and rich banners pushed back, but never faltering under the barbarous onslaughts of the godless enemy! For all the gold and treasures held by the Levant, brothers and sisters, never forget that the greatest riches, those in Heaven, are acquired through your acts of true, selfless struggle, charity and perseverance against all odds and all the forces of Satan!
For thus speaks Christ in the Gospel of Matthew: "Do not think that I came to bring peace on Earth; I did not come to bring peace, but a sword!" And again, in Luke 22:36: "But now, whoever has a money belt is to take it along, likewise also a bag, and whoever has no sword is to sell his coat and buy one!"

*The archbishop extends his arms and raises his head as his feisty sermon reaches its final part. The filled cathedral is already beginning to get noisy from the excited chatter of the commoners.*

-/Lat/ We linger no more! His Holiness the Pope Clement the Third has decreed a new Crusade! Accords have been made with the many great kingdoms and rulers of Europe to set aside their grievances and hostilities and all their petty differences, to unite in this holy cause in an army already set to rival, or even outmatch that of a hundred years ago! The First Crusade founded kingdoms, my children! Let the Third found empires! Let it accomplish the ultimate historical mission of our faith: to bring the word of Christ, to bring the Evangelium to the entire world!
Come now, righteous, faithful men and women! Come and begin your journey, this hard, but wonderful pilgrimage on the narrow path with the symbolic action of our predecessors, and our Lord Jesus Christ, who died for our sins on the Cross! Come, believers, come, pilgrims, come, Crusaders... and imitate our Lord! Filled with sacred fervour and angelic zeal, take up the Holy Cross and carry it to the castle where your road will begin! By the power given to me, I, Archbishop Wichmann von Seeburg, bless you and your coming deeds!

*By this time, the cathedral is akin to a frenzied beehive. All but a stoic few are moved into a fanatical state of mind, chanting various catchphrases, prayers... or threats to the enemies of Christendom.
Von Seeburg almost needs to shout his final words.*

-/Lat/ In nomine Patris...
Et Filii...
Et Spiritus Sancti...
...Amen!

*At this point, the local cadre of Clan Ventrue - about two-thirds of the presumed vampires present - stands up in unison, replying in a firm and loud voice with the following words.*

-/Lat/ Christ conquers,
Christ reigns,
Christ rules supreme!

*In the midst of the ovation, the gigantic silver cross is slowly lowered down, while all the nobility and clergy, all the lords and ladies who command servants begin to move under it in line, headed by a blonde giant of a man.
This is how Teutons go to war.*

Ambience

Please make sure to give a detailed description of your character's physical appearance, clothing, jewelry, or anything else the other one would see or otherwise perceive.
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[Freiherr von Rosen]

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