Xaviar's response pleased Lucinde. The enraged Gangrel's letter spoke passionately, albeit succinctly, of Camarilla betrayal, blindness, cowardice, and so on.  His refusal to join the Camarilla in putting down the Lambach menace was exactly what she and Pascek had hoped for. This minor victory gave her a temporary sense of control; a feeling that had been missing in the shadow of the current state of affairs.

Pascek, closing his cellular phone, said, "I am receiving reports that the Gangrel are engaging Lambach's horde in Los Angeles."


* * *


In the heart of the Bronx, beneath the local union hall, Donatello Giovanni paced anxiously as he awaited the next hourly report from his lieutenants.  He returned to his chair as the door opened.

Anthony blurted, "Michael was keeping watch from over a quarter mile away and the thing just absorbed him."

Visibly shaken, David added, "It's growing rapidly now and it is taking a toll on the city's infrastructure. There are cracks in the sewers, gas and water mains are breaking, and even the subway tunnels are affected.  Soon, the city will send workers down there."

Donatello Giovanni tried to maintain his composure in front of his men. "Return to your assignments. Inform me immediately if the damn thing so much as blinks," he said.

After the door closed, Donatello quickly retrieved his phone and dialed.

"Yes," answered Ambrogino.

"It's time," said Donatello.

Ambrogino, standing in the midst of six of the Giovanni's most powerful necromancers, replied, "Good. We are nearly ready."

Donatello asked, "Do you think the ritual will work?"

"It must. Otherwise, our study of death will continue on a very persona level."

"Look, attempting to siphon spirits destined for an Antediluvian isn't exactly a sure thing. Maybe we need help on this one..."

Ambrogino interrupted, "Like hell we need help! Listen, it isn't as if the family hasn't destroyed an ancient before. The ritual will succeed and we alone will reap the benefits!"

* * *


Hesha Ruhadze continued his monitoring of the power behind the Eye of Hazimel. Not only had Hesha determined the power source to be in New York City, but he also found that many spiritual forces were being drawn to that center.

"It is as though the entire incorporeal world has fallen prey to a spiritual black hole," Hesha wrote.  His journal, painstakingly kept, recorded his many observations.  He continued, "Ethereal voices sound stretched and garbled, telling wisps of smoke veer ominously and otherworldly beacons are distorted."

Suddenly, Hesha dropped his instruments and reeled as a torrent of energy rushed through the room.  Hesha struggled to extinguish the burning incense of star anise and acacia in order to halt the powerful wave, but it was as if he was walking against a gale and every inch of progress was slow and strained. He cursed as the beast stirred within him.


* * *


Lambach's horde was a bloody sea of rolling and writhing wet flesh.  Gnarled joints twisted in inhuman directions and appendages randomly combined and separated in step with the erratic pulse of the heaving mass. Lambach bore little resemblance to his former self; His face misshapen to accommodate the Eye of Hazimel. Lambach stood in the center of the pack, insulated from the main clash while his troops at the fringes battled an onslaught of Gangrel fighters.

"Son of a bitch!" cried Ramona, feeling the burn of caustic blood.

"For the Master!" said Dane, as he leapt at the wounded Gangrel.

At the periphery of the melee, Xaviar tore into Lambach's minions with unmatched ferocity.  His claws tore into Lambach's creatures, one after another, fueled by his rage at the Camarilla for letting matters deteriorate to this point.

In an instant, Lambach and his army were still.  Xaviar and his clan mates stood stunned and motionless as they watched their foes drop to the ground. As Lambach's legion fell, each creature expelled a spirit that darted into the eastern sky.

Beneath the city that never sleeps an eye opens.

 

 

Lambach temporarily established himself in Los Angeles after acquiring the Eye of Hazimel and leaving Tara's San Diego domain in ruin. An unfinished yet abandoned school made a serviceable haven for Lambach and his horde. Soon after sundown that horde made another of its nightly excursions.

Outside a 24-hour convenience store, a number of Lambach's new recruits pressed their faces to the glass to witness his work inside.

Peering through the window, Gage saw the front door open and observed two cops enter the store. "We must help our sire," he squealed. Before he could move to offer assistance, Lambach sent the first cop's head and torso flying along divergent paths.

Dane, Gage's elder by 48 hours, shouted, "The Master is invincible!" Lambach's kin released a unified roar.

The second cop drew his weapon but was unable to fire it before Lambach crushed him with a frozen-dessert machine. Shaking off the distraction, Lambach returned to the two store clerks feeding at his arm, simultaneously undergoing their Embrace.

"That makes six recruits just tonight," Gage said.

Lambach casually exited with his new troops, ignoring the red light on the security camera above the door. The security video had undoubtedly recorded at least part of the action, and Lambach's disfigured face was sure to be prominently displayed.

* * *

Hesha's ability to peer through the Eye continued to improve up until the moment he saw Lambach install the orb. Thereafter, his actual sight ceased completely. Fortunately, Hesha's gem continued to function by pointing out the direction of the Eye. It would have been easy to be distracted by the Lambach menace, but Hesha remained focused on a greater peril.

Hesha had previously felt the tug of the Eye upon his will but believed that the orb had no inherent desires of its own. His experiments confirmed his intuition. Since Hesha had first attuned himself to the Eye, however, he had felt the presence of someone or something watching along with him as he peered through the thing.

He cautiously sought the source of the energy behind the Eye. Probing with his mind while burning mugwort, he observed emerging patterns in the smoke as they solidified and dispersed in curious relation to his mental prodding. Hesha was not surprised to determine that New York might be the source of the Eye's power. The recent conflicting signals from the Middle East were unexpected, however, and not easily assimilated into his theories.

* * *

Moving through the Hamidia bazaar, Sascha Vykos reflected on how little things had changed over the centuries. The shopkeepers and their goods seemed mere reenactments of scenes from her earliest memories of the place. Advancing along the wide main thoroughfare, she turned right and continued down one of the myriad narrow alleyways. Vykos proceeded past a closed copper shop and up the stairs to the appointed place. The door, slightly ajar, was intricately carved and set with various mother-of-pearl patterns.

"Hello Hazimel," Vykos said as she entered the shop. He was clothed in Bedouin garb and seated at a low table studying the detail in a brass chess piece belonging to a nearby hand-made board.

"My lady," Hazimel replied, briefly raising an eye to take in the sight. "You are even more lovely than I remembered." He returned to studying a knight while Vykos found a seat. "For some time I have wanted to meet with you again, and there may be no future opportunity."

Vykos ignored the compliment but pondered briefly the comment concerning future opportunities. "You said you had a message for me, what is it?"

Hazimel turned toward her, shifting his face from out of the shadows and into a patch of light. His left eye socket was empty and dark. "These many years in torpor I have observed the machinations of our kine through my Eye. Though it served me well, I know that I was not the lone voyeur."

"Do you know the identity of your fellow spectator?" asked Vykos.

"I do. However, there is more to it than merely spectating-the watcher has considerable power. After a time our roles reversed, and my preeminence was usurped. Several weeks ago my ability to see through the Eye was shut out completely. My final sight was accompanied by a rush of energy that flowed to the bearer of the Eye. The identity of the observer then became clear to me. The power your clan believes it destroyed still persists."

Vykos knew what he was implying. She juggled the possibilities, all of them bad, in her head. "Who now bears your Eye?" she asked.

"One of your kin, Lambach, has possession of the bauble. I still sense his movements and know that his actions are not his own. Lambach now exists only as a thrall to it." Hazimel read Vykos's grim look and found pleasure that he had brought the Fiend as close to fear as she might ever feel. "I survived my Week of Nightmares. How will you fare with your own?"

"Go to Hell!" she barked.

* * *

Lucinde Alastor's visit was hastily planned, but she had little choice but to agree to meet with the Brujah Justicar, Jaroslav Pascek. Recent events demanded more of their personal attention and a coordinated effort.

"We've leaned heavily on our resources within the police force, and we were able to have the security video conveniently misplaced," said Lucinde. "This would have been more difficult if they had realized they were helping cover for a cop-killer. We also found the missing city bus and sent it into a ditch in the suburbs."

"And the bodies?" asked Jaroslav.

"Even without an autopsy it would be obvious the crash didn't kill the passengers. We removed some of them and burned the bus to be safe. The bus driver was missing, so he'll probably take the fall." Lucinde, changing the subject to ask, "How is Tara faring in San Diego?"

"She's feeling pretty vulnerable not knowing how the Elysium ambush came about. She managed to keep the media out of the whole situation somehow, though. We might not be so lucky next time."

"Is it true that your people cleaned up a mess at a hospital where Lambach and his shovel-heads juiced the night staff before leaving town?" Lucinde inquired.

"Yes. That," said Jaroslav, curious as to how Lucinde acquired the information. "Unfortunately, we had too little time to clean this one up and could only scrawl satanic graffiti all over the walls. We're still working on it."

Lucinde broke a building silence, "You know we can't continue this way. We are no longer just putting out fires, we're trying to extinguish an inferno. We must suffocate the source."

"Agreed," offered Jaroslav. "However, Lambach will not be put down easily, and I am not willing to bear the brunt of a sacrifice of so many of my troops."

Lucinde replied, "Neither am I. However, that beast Xaviar would have no such reservations, especially if Lambach does indeed possess the Eye. And even if we were to offer our support, he would decline it, preferring not to fight side-by-side with us." Lucinde called out for and was attended to by a messenger. She composed a letter that both justicars signed.

 

 

Events

During the month of September, results of select Vampire: The Eternal Struggle tournaments from around the world will create the next chapter of this story. With Lambach intent on raising up his own legion of loyal Tzimisce, you have a voice in his rise to power and in the efforts of those who wish to stop him.

To coordinate a storyline event with a retailer in your area, take the order form to your local retailer so that the retailer can place a special order for the storyline support packages.

Storyline events will be listed (and results tracked) at http://storyline.vekn.org. When your retailer places the special order, send an email to Robert Goudie using the format described below, so that your event will be listed on the web page.

EMAIL TO: Robert Goudie
EMAIL SUBJECT LINE: LAMBACH'S LEGION
(Use that subject line exactly with no modifications or additions, to ensure that your email is routed properly)
In the body or the message (not as an attachment), copy the following lines and append the appropriate information:
Prince Name:
Contact Email:
Event Date/Time:
Event Location:
Webpage (optional):
Additional Info:

 

The Special Promotional Cards

lambachadvlegionEach player attending a designated story line tournament will receive a special promo-only card of an Advanced Lambach -- one of two cards created just for this event. In addition, new players (players who are not current Vampire: Elder Kindred Network members) and current V:EKN members who bring new players as their guests, will each receive a copy of the Legion promo-only card. The Advanced Lambach promo-only card will remain in tight circulation for at least one year before being released into general support packages. The Legion promo-only card will be released into the standard support packages at the conclusion of these story line events.

 

 

 

 

 




Format

Each player is to prepare a standard constructed tournament-legal deck. At least 75% of the crypt must consist of one clan. Players will have an opportunity to add one Advanced Lambach card to their decks before play begins. Only one Advanced Lambach card may be included in each deck. Players who play the Tzimisce clan and include Lambach (advanced or otherwise) in their crypts will be considered to be playing for Lambach's Legion. Tzimisce players without Lambach in their crypts will be considered to be playing for the standard Tzimisce clan. For the purposes of our tally of the winning clans, these two Tzimisce factions will be considered separate clans.

We will compile the list of winning clans as well as the number of new players registered in each region (US) or country. As the reward for the region that adds the most new players to Lambach's Legion, we will create a region-specific card in an upcoming expansion. The clan that wins the most events will also receive a special card in a future expansion.

"Suffer not a witch to live." Mercy snarled at Helena in the Widows' dining hall as she stepped around a fallen table. Chains to hold blood feast victims tinkled softly from the ceiling. Sunrise was half an hour away.

Helena looked up from the metal disk in her hands and sighed. Mercy could tell the lovely one was weak and tired.

Eager and filled with righteous anger, Mercy ran at the infernally beautiful vampire, sword raised for the perfect strike. Helena's figure blurred and then she was three feet to the left. Mercy's swing missed. As Mercy pivoted on her heel she watched blood leave her body, stolen through the air to fly into Helena's open mouth like a fluttering red ribbon. Weakened, Mercy screamed in rage and her sword tip arced around at waist height to slice Helena in two.

Helena blurred again and Mercy found herself face to face with her adversary. The back of Helena's hand struck the side of Mercy's face with a crack. Mercy flew back against a stained glass window. It showered her in a rain of beautiful colored shards as she collapsed in a heap, her mouth open, a trickle of blood slithering out from her nose. The inquisitor's head was propped up at an odd angle by a toppled wooden chest painted in bright swirling colors.

"Helena"

That voice. She was too weak. She whirled to face him.

Menele's body was covered in cuts and bruises. He hadn't expended any blood to heal himself. Either he was deliberately leaving it that way to fool her, or he was very low on vitae himself. Helena's lips parted in a sensual smile. This was it. The end. Finally. She could see the hunger in his eyes too. Who had more blood? Really, that was the question. She'd taken a small bit from Mercy. He looked ragged. The two predators circled each other, wary.

Helena opened her right hand and a trickle of blood slipped from Menele to her fingertips. The most beautiful woman in the world smiled and then frowned as she noticed her own blood sliding into the fingers of Menele's right hand.

Menele tilted his head sideways and smiled.

Both figures blurred and found themselves face to face. Every slight movement by one was countered by the other. Three thousand years of attack and counter attack left each with intimate knowledge of the other. Shifting, darting, they danced.

Helena's eyes narrowed and she struck, her teeth sinking in to Menele's throat. He bent slightly at her strike, and sunk his own into her left breast. Clinging to each other in this embrace, they sunk to their knees and the true battle began.

Eyes closed, minds open, each tried to drink the soul of the other. Memories flickered through both minds simultaneously, the screams of the dying as Carthage burned, the wailing of mothers for their ash-coated children at Pompeii, the Mayans and the Conquistadors, all the murdered childer, all the lies, the betrayal, all cycled through each vampire's mind as they tried to consume the other. Their blood shifted, as it was pulled away by one, it was sucked by the other. Helena's nails sunk into Menele's shoulders. His arms crushed her waist.

Finally they pulled away from each other's flesh with a mutual cry of frustration. Wild-eyed, Helena laced her fingers through Menele's hair.

"Why won't you die." she pleaded through bloody lips.

Menele, his own mouth slick with vitae parted his lips to give an answer, and then covered her mouth with his own. Teeth tried to snap at tongues through the kiss. Their bodies twined together in the shattered glass on the floor.

Menele found himself sliding closer to Helena with every movement. She slipped her legs around his and he pulled her hair to keep her mouth crushed against his own. Their minds opened, linked through blood and telepathy, each sought to permeate the other and take over. They moved deeper and deeper into the other's mind, disregarding defense and diving straight through to the core. The truth they found there stunned them both.

Their lips parted and they regarded each other in shock.

"No."

"That's. not. possible."

Quivering they held each other, staring straight through from soul to soul, both desperately trying to deny what they saw there.

Menele's lips moved to speak but said nothing. A tiny cry slipped from Helena's throat. They leaned in to each other and rested, cheek to cheek.

"I hate you so much." she whispered.

Their lips met again in the most tender of kisses. And then again, and again.

"Two thousand years. Millions dead."

"I sold my soul to destroy you."

"I know." Menele's face twisted to avoid tears and he lifted a strand of Helena's hair and tucked it behind her ear.

He kissed her neck. She tilted her head to rest it against his and buried her face in his hair, shaking in disbelief.

Both screamed as the first rays of sunrise touched them through the broken window. They rolled away from each other into the shadows.

Sunbeams stabbed through the room like yellow fingers, illuminating torn tapestries, destroyed furniture, and causing the occasional kindred body to smoke.

"Helena" Menele called from beside the sunbeam. A corpse burst into flame beside him.

Helena reached out and snatched the metal disk she'd been holding when he found her from the sunbeam. Menele flinched internally as he watched her beautiful white hand turn black.

"I'll help you."

"You can't." Her voice came from the shadows.

He heard dragging and the sound of a door shutting. Another corpse flared up in the sun. Menele sighed and slipped away into the gloom.

 

 

"Pale Wolf, what brings you to the circle of elders this night?"

"I seek guidance, wise fathers." Menele replied to the old men sitting cross-legged around the fire pit in the center of the lodge.

"You have helped us much. We will tell you what we know."

"The first people have fought long against the defilers, and you know your enemy well. If one has given their soul to the defilers in exchange for power. How can that pact be broken?"

An eagle feather passed from one shriveled hand to another.

"The pact can not be broken." said a white-haired man wreathed in smoke "save by one more powerful than the defilers."

"Who is more powerful than a defiler?"

"If we knew that," a kindly face smiled "We'd have sought their help already."

The feather passed to another hand.

"Who is it that has done this vile thing? Why help such a one?"

"Because" Menele looked up with tired eyes. "After all this time, and all this horror, I still love her."

"You may be a great spirit, Pale Wolf, but in your speech, I hear the words of a fool."

"People who attain new wisdom often seem as fools, Grandfather."

"You speak truth."

"All this time I thought I could not rest and join the great spirit until I destroyed her. Now I know. I have to save her."

"I see dark times ahead in this path you choose, Pale Wolf. I do not know that you will find the peace you seek."

"I know, Grandfather, but I have to try."

 

 

Helena wrinkled her nose. The eye in the door regarded her placidly as she waited on the steps. It blinked twice and then the door opened in silence. A purple thing with too many arms and too many eyes bowed to her on the other side.

"Pleassssssss enter, honored guessssst." Helena shivered slightly as she stepped on to a floor carpeted in living tongues. Traveling through two hallways and several rooms, the purple creature took her to a courtyard garden in the center of the living mansion. There, Sascha Vykos stood facing away from her, semi-translucent in the moonlight, it's many mouths gently singing a Gregorian chant in six part harmony.

Helena sat down on a stone chair by a pool of moonlit water and waited until the song was over.

"Welcome, most beautiful one." The mouths all over the Tsmisce's body spoke in chorus.

Helena inclined her head politely.

"What brings you to us?"

"I am told you read Enochian."

Vykos tilted its head and raised one hand. An eye grew out of it on a stalk to look at her.

"Yes." the mouths fluttered.

"I want to know if you will translate something for me."

Vykos turned to face her. Helena shivered at the alien beauty. It repulsed her to her core, yet she could not take her eyes off of the Tsmisce. "Why come to us when the one you serve could do this for you?"

Helena swallowed. "I was given the service of a tongueless D'habi ghoul."

"Aahhh." Vykos' mouths smiled, "you are here to determine the accuracy of the translation you have already received."

Helena nodded.

"You are here because you want to know the precise wording regarding the Dark Mother."

Helena's eyes widened.

"It happens often that one who sells their soul for knowledge decides they want it back. But how does one defeat a demon? That is not known, but if anyone could do so, it would be the lover of Lucifer himself."

"Will you help me?"

It paused. Wind whipped down into the stone courtyard carrying dead leaves and bits of frost to swirl around them, making Helena think of the inside of a snow globe.

"Yes. Like you, I would like to compare contents I obtained from elsewhere."

Helena placed the metal disk in its outstretched clawed hand.

Half an hour later, Helena stood on the doorstep of the mansion. The eye behind her was closed. Sascha Vykos' words still rang in her head.

"Ahi hay Lilitu" Helena whispered before disappearing into the night.

 

 

"Look at this city! Packmates slaughtered! Knowledge stolen! The Widows' Heart, ruined!"

Shouts from all around came to add their voices to Ezekiel's accusations. They had called it an assembly, an inquiry. It was a lynch mob. Benezri's angry eyes glared at the vampires of Montreal.

"Lextalionis! You have failed to protect your pack from the enemies of the Sabbat!"

"Silence Serpent! You go to far!"

"Is it not true that you allowed the infernalist Helena to enter and remain in this city?"

"We do not know that she is infernal. Mercy is invest-"

"Mercy is gone! She fell defending our city from your Toreador mistress!"

Alfred Benezri's knuckles clenched. "We don't know that."

"I have a witness."

The room hushed.

"Bring forth the witness!" Ezekiel called.

The assembly bayed their response like a pack of dogs.

"The witness!"

"Bring forth the witness!"

"Bring the witness!"

Two Malkavian antitribu brought forth a large, brightly colored chest.

Benezri raised his eyebrows. "You can not be serious."

Ezekiel raised the lid and the quadriplegic monstrosity inside screamed.

"That is not a witness. That is a paperweight."

Ezekiel frowned as the mob laughed. They quickly hushed.

"Toy. Tell us what you heard."

The Samedi writhed in its bindings. Blackened skin oozed vitae from a keyhole-shaped brand across his face and chest. "Heard it! Heard it! Burning!"

"What did you hear Toy?"

"Pretty pretty hurts the nasty stuck up bitch."

There were chuckles in the assembly at Mercy's unofficial title.

"How did you hear this Toy?"

"Heard it! Heard it in the box. Burning! Burning!" It repeated "burning" several more times while screaming.

"Toy."

The Samedi became silent.

"What exactly did you hear?"

"I sold my soul to destroy you." Toy recreated Helena's inflection precisely.

The crowd shrieked with rage.

"Kill her!"

"Death to the infernalist!"

"Inquisition!"

"Inquisition!"

"Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!" one of the Malks chimed in from the back.

"Hunt her down"

"Burn her!"

"Boil her in oil!"

"Wild Hunt!"

"Justice!"

Ezekiel waved his hands to calm the crowd. The screams dimmed to snarling.

"You are either an infernalist sympathizer, or you are incompetent, Benezri. Which one is it?"

The archbishop snarled. "That sounded like an accusation. The false accuser shall suffer the punishment of the accused, Ezekiel. The inquisition does not take kindly to lies for personal gain. Are you accusing me Ezekiel? Yes or no?"

Ezekiel's fists clenched and a hush ran through the crowd. Benezri had been accused before. The inquisition had given him ad mutelam, incontrovertible declaration of his innocence. In Mercy's absence, questions about Benezri's infernalism would require a new inquisitor, most likely far worse than the last. No one wanted that.

"All Sabbat shall serve their leaders!" Benezri shouted into the silence, capitalizing on the failure of Ezekiel's momentum.

"All Hail the Sabbat!" The crowd yelled the ritual response.

"Only as long as said leaders serve the will of the Regent and the Sabbat!" Ezekiel shouted back. "You are unfit Benezri! I challenge you for the leadership of this city."

The mob howled.

"Challenge!"

"Monomacy!"

"Trial by combat!"

"Fight! Fight! Fight!"

Flexing his fingers, the archbishop smiled.

 

 

To: Mr. M

From: H

The demon raised an eyebrow at the deformed little vampire sitting on top of the over sized package. "How did this get here?"

"It was delivered via FedEx, my lord." Midget answered.

"Interesting. Open it."

The tiny vampire made quick work of the packaging, revealing a large wooden chest. The lid creaked on its hinges.

"Oh Helena," Metathiax chuckled, "You shouldn't have."

Inside was the torporized body of Mercy, Knight Inquisitor. Stuck to her lifeless forehead was a shiny red bow. A letter was wedged in her bound hands.

"Read it." Metathiax pointed.

The undead circus freak unfolded the paper and read out loud in an almost childish voice: "Sorry I won't be by later. I got what I wanted myself. Please accept this gift as a token of my continued friendship."

Metathiax frowned. "Really Helena, you shouldn't have."

He reached down and twisted a lock of Mercy's hair in his fingertips.

"I do not like being teased."

fiction by Daria Patrie

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