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by: Samael Nachtweber
Tuesday, 7 February 2012
8:15 p.m.

There was something in the air. Something far too intense for him to enjoy. The children had been put to bed early tonight, a change from the normal curfew of 9:00 p.m. There was something about the professors, whispers shared between them and Markus or them and Anne Fernsby. Worry creased their brows. Anxiety was written all over their flighty little features. The tension was palpable--especially in his heightened state. Samael felt on edge, overwhelmed, and he didn't know how to handle it. He didn't know how to reign back in the sense of control and superiority, the sense of sheer power he had come to enjoy over the past month.

Samael had fled outside to the Black Lake with hopes getting away from the humans would help. He would be lying if he said he didn't hope for his murderous mentor to find him here and guide him through dealing with these emotions. He felt weak right now, weaker than he had since the fateful night his master had found him and fostered and shaped his new-found desires to suit his greater purpose, providing him with promises should he meet his standards.

He wondered: did master feel what he felt right now, too? Did he sense the way the castle seemed off, almost ominous? Did he sense the way the humans seemed to be hiding something? Had he overheard anything that would provide insight? Samael was almost afraid to know what that insight was. It surely spelled doom for his master. There was just something in him that told him that, something that told him the humans had figured out something that would bring this thing to a head. This had gone on for over a month now and had gone unchecked. And master had been playing games with Professor Witte. What if that was what had helped?

Samael shook his head firmly as he reached the rock he used to frequent as a student here. He sat on it and leaned forward, a foot resting on the rocks side providing the anchor for his weight. His hands slid through his slicked-back hair then clawed at his face involuntarily. He had to get rid of their emotions. He had to find his own. He had to find that center, that certainty. Master was strong. Master was invincible, a ghost. And their game would continue even if whatever tonight brought required a pause.


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by: Charon Nachtweber
Far away and above the grounds, a lonesome figure paced back and forth. He had waited with little patience for the sun to descend. Tonight, of all nights, he would die. He had promised it; he had anticipated it; he had planned for it; he still wasn't ready for it.

The single window that had shown him the death of today's sun now was filled with the silvery life of the full moon. Death, to any such as him if the wrong ones caught scent. And they had. Of course they had. Why wouldn't they? Hadn't he been hunted since his first escape, so many years ago? They'd tried to purge him, tried to burn him...failed. A slow grin grew and faded at the memories of that night. He needed to feed. He needed to prepare for tonight, prepare Samael for the destruction about to come to him.

He could feel his child's anxiety and growing emotion. The killer silently approved. Emotion was the palette that a young artist painted from. His little death angel would need to cultivate his tools, refine his art, grow up...all alone. It was the same for this killer in his inception and he knew no other way of parenting. Should he go down to his son or meet him in the castle? Or perhaps, the lair...?

Samael, my son...the hour for which I chose you has come. Meet me.

The direct words were accompanied by mental images of a tree flailing. The willow planted on the grounds concealed a collapsed tunnel. For the purposes that the killer had in mind, it would be perfect for the death and birth of his progeny. Like the mythical Death himself, the figure melted into the shadows and swiftly moved to meet the soon to be vampire.
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by: Samael Nachtweber
What if this is it? Samael thought to himself. What if it's al--

Samael, my son...the hour for which I chose you has come. Meet me.

The words, clear as though they had been spoken directly before him, echoed in Samael's mind, a welcome distraction. It was proof that he hadn't erred in making the decision he had to stray down the path less wandered, the path most living beings abhorred. In some strange way, the words were some reassurance his master cared. He could sense when his master was near in most moments, though he had felt so alone until this very moment. His emotions and his thoughts had clouded his awareness. It had been juvenile to allow them to overwhelm him, but even in his most lonely moment, he wasn't alone. His master was there, watching him.

But what if...? Samael shook his head firmly as he stood and began to walk toward the Whomping Willow. He scarcely allowed himself to breathe for fear that would allow the emotions to spiral out of control once again. He would not allow his beloved master to see him that way, could not. It would be too humiliating, especially since it should be excitement at the fulfillment of a promise that consumed him--not this, not fear.

Once he reached the Whomping Willow, Samael shone his lit wand at the tree then reached out and hit the knot. The tree froze, and Samael found his way through the hidden doorway. He hadn't known this about the tree until everything that had happened. It was...nifty, for lack of a better word. A perfect hiding place: hiding in plain sight yet in a seemingly impenetrable fortress save for its singular little known weakness.

"Ich bin hier," he said, as though the use of a tongue few knew in the castle was necessary here in this seeming safe haven. "I'm ready."
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by: Charon Nachtweber
Hands reached out from the shadows to embrace Samael like a child. They were cold, wiry, and strong. The rest of the killer followed the embracing hand to surround and comfort the only family he had left. In the same language, he addressed his progeny.

"And I am here too, Samael. My child...my dear son...after tonight you will never need fear, for I will be closer than thought to you."

A silver clawed hand gently caressed the younger man's face, tracing its way through his hairline before taking a possessive hold of the back of the human's neck. A hot breath and a sharp bite signaled the beginning of Samael's transformation.

Draining a human took time and effort. The killer had drunk his fill before he was finished, gorged but still incomplete. Both arms surrounded Samael in an embrace. The killer used the position to slash a claw down his own wrist before putting it in front of his son's mouth. The instinctive bite and pull from Samael indicated that all was going well.

Traditionally, Nosferatu didn't do a drain like this. They didn't simultaneously feed their new kin. They didn't transfer memories, for that was what the killer was doing with his own shed blood, into their children. What the killer was creating was, essentially, a new and independent self. Half an hour from the first bite, it was finished.

"Samael Nachtweber...tonight you are born. Now, you must flee and not look back."

Charon watched his son, still unsteady from being fed upon. Not without care, he steadied the new vampire and handed him an old and worn book.

"In this is all of the magic of our kind. Use the memories I have given you, learn the spells, and grow, my son. Be the Death Angel I have named you. Tonight though, you must run. Garou are here, and I will not let them end your life that I have so recently created. Do you understand?"
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by: Samael Nachtweber
The embrace was comforting. Such a move showed an acceptance and a fondness his birth father had never shown him, a connection he had not known since his relationship with his ex-girlfriend. It was a strange feeling to him to have it now from master, a master who had given him a name, who called him his son, who treated him as his own. It was in that moment that Samael realized just how much this creature meant to him, and while he had imagined this moment since they had entered their pact, nothing could have prepared him for the immenseness of it all.

Samael's eyes glistened in unshed tears, for he refused to cry though the emotions of all this urged him to, as the other--no, his father--caressed his face, and he leaned his face into his touch only to gasp as he felt Father's sharp teeth pierce his skin. By the end of it, Samael felt no pain. In fact, he felt nothing but coldness. So, this is what being near death feels like? Samael thought to himself as his eyes fluttered closed, suddenly heavy with effort at being kept open. Somehow, it was welcome, though he knew he had nothing to fear. His master would not let him teeter over that brink. On cue, Samael felt Father's wrist and the moist warmth of his blood against his lips, and Samael latched on, soon reaching to grab onto Father's arm and hold it to his mouth.

Blood was the stuff of life, and here Father offered it all to him with his unselfish gift. As promised, all as promised. A sense of relief overcame Samael at that thought. As promised, he was being given the gift of a life beyond what his former mortal self could have dreamed of.

Memories pervaded his senses, memories of death, of murder, of all kinds of savagery, yet Samael realized they were not his own. The connection Father had hinted at... Was this what he meant by "closer than a thought"?

Samael stood before Father as he released him, feeling weak yet stronger all at once. It was a heady feeling that was overwhelming to the point it was somewhat difficult to grasp onto Father's words, but he understood though he did not want to accept.

"Won't you come with me?" Samael asked in his native tongue. The thought this might be the last time he saw Father made him suddenly frightened. "Closer than a thought." He'd promised. Surely he couldn't mean these memories or the book he had given him. He needed him. There was still so much to learn, so much potential to realize. And he wanted someone to share it with. He wanted Father to share it with.
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by: Charon Nachtweber
Charon drank in his protege's changed appearance with a small smile full of regret. He knew that tonight was the last they'd spend together unless a miracle occurred. Such was the rage of the mangy wolves that they'd called a hunt upon him. After all, did he not deserve to be slain and left in a salted grave, never to taste the repose of an afterlife? He had slaughtered his way through history and earned several unsavory titles. Who was he to think that he'd find one worthy of continuing his name? Had Charon thought such a possibility existed, he would never have killed so wantonly. No, this family moment would need to be their only such reunion. Long, thin fingers traced through Samael's hair. Perhaps this would be the last moment of care he could express as a father to his son.

"So it must be, my child. I wish it were not so, but the wolves are here, now. Did you not scent the crossed path of a female on your way to the tree? That she is here, as well as the one called Soren, means that they've prepared for this fight. Before I met you I promised my death to him. He fights well, and it will be an honorable death. I shall hide you from him as my last act of defiance in this world, and you...you will be my legacy. You will remind them of me, even as you become greater than I."

It took a force of will upon Charon's part to not flee with his child. After all, they could hide for a decade, reemerge, and kill again. Samael would be better trained, better prepared...but honor demanded the answer to the thin howl that carried from above ground. Regret and love battled with sorrow and pride to express themselves on the otherwise expressionless face.

"Flee now, my son, into the city. Your father commands you."
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by: Samael Nachtweber
Samael nodded as Father asked if he had not scented the female on his way here. He had and he had scented Soren as well. He had smelled them both the night of the Death Eater meeting at the start of this all. It had only made the fear he had felt settle in further. Now, the fear was back a hundred fold. Yet he listened without word to the other before him despite the fear that pushed for him to scream, to yell, to argue, to insist! It was harder than usual to maintain self control in this situation with the newness of the emotions and everything happening to him and around him. He had been prepared, perhaps, but not fully. He had not been prepared for this, for the immediate loss of one he now realized treated him better than his biological father had in all his years despite only having known him for so short a time.

Samael swallowed in an attempt to contain the emotion and keep it from his voice. "But you'll defeat him, won't you? You'll try?" He felt compelled to listen to the command to leave, to flee. There was no denying the talk of death made him aware of how much of a threat he should view Soren and his friend as, but he needed to know before he left. He needed to know Father would try. Promise or not, it wasn't right to give in, to be weak. Honor or no, at least try. At least try to live and survive. Ensure his fighting was truly as good as he insisted.
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by: Charon Nachtweber
A sour look crossed over Charon's thin face. The effect was a darkening of disappointment, but the impact upon the Nosferatu was memory. How could his protege have so little faith in him? Was this a fear borne of love or of a belief that he would honestly lay down life like an offering to the beast-people? Had he, Charon the Death's Child, not felt the same way upon hearing his own father a century and a half ago? The wolves had come then, and he'd been the one to run. Perhaps he needed to remind Samael of this history. The creature's countenance softened as his hazel eyes bore into his son's pleading face. Compassion? Love? Yes. A killer such as this could feel such things.

"I will make every attempt to live this night. Would that I could grow old and teach you everything, my son...but I cannot. I have laid claim by blood to this territory of mine and I must stay to defend it, even as your grandsire once stood to protect the clan from a similar fate. Our first lesson, my child...close your eyes and remember beyond remembering...the forest at night, the scent of blood and fire, and the dead Garou who had trespassed upon our family's home. It forged me. You are the next link in the chain, my darling son. It would honor me if, when telling your tale, it echoed of mine. I shall fight. In fleeing I would live...but even I cannot take a Garou in his beast-rage. Your second lesson, my son...a beast is most dangerous under the full moon. Hide until darkness and slaughter him on the nights the moon is dark. They rule one night a month, but we possess the rest. "

He sighed and longed to flee. A stirring in his heart, however, demanded that he fight and face the beast. He would try to survive for his child's sake. He would fight. Perhaps he COULD destroy a beast...it would be glorious to find out.
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