"The mass defection of Clan Lasombra to the Camarilla ranks came as a surprise to us all, my lord. Yet I must tell you that our allies in the other clans mark it too highly. They may have been the leading figures of the Sabbat, but they were also their only stable element. The same ruthless pragmatism that brought them into our ranks, also imposed discipline and common sense onto their former allies.

Clan Tzimisce is now the de-facto master of our most persistent enemies. I tell you now, my lord, if The Dragons are not checked at once, we will be left begging the kine for a swift end. Few remember the darkened days when they held Eastern Europe in their grip, but I do. Sorcery bred from their home soils, ghouls bred into super-soldiers, and enough hoarded wealth to swallow the earth.

What I fear most though are their more...experimental powers. Where many clans have declined in their knowledge of the disciplines, Clan Tzimisce has never relented in the development of their flesh-shaping power. And without the Lasombra to look over their shoulder, they will have free reign to take their depravities to new heights.

********

A Plane. Perhaps it was only fitting for "a dragon" to travel through the air. But in daylight, and in such opulence...it baffled Kristof beyond reason.

"Born to be a pawn, and a pawn to maniacs at that." He thought of centuries past when he defended his family and homeland. Those battles where he felt pride in their cause, and the master they served, were pleasant to recall. "A champion to lords and even kings. Now I am chained to waifs and would-be prophets."

Those seated around him, his fellow Zadruga, lesser ghouls, and bribed mercenaries seemed more enthusiastic. Many of them smiled and laughed at the thought of killing the Camarilla dogs waiting for them in Phoenix. While others boasted of the deeds they would perform, and how those successes would win them The Embrace from their master.

Kristoff might have vomited, if not for the presence looming above him.

"Master Kristoff." The kindred above him, Pietro, grinned with open fangs. His fine clothes and almost Victorian manners contrasted with his large and proudly kept red beard and long hair. "Our illustrious patron has summoned us."

"Has she now?" Kristoff was a larger man than Pietro and reveled in that as he stood above the bearded fop. But any hope of intimidation was dashed by Pietro's still prominent grin, and Kristoff simply grunted in annoyance before making his way to the back of the plane. "We should not keep her waiting then."

Passing the different sections of the large and opulent jet, both revenant and vampire finally reached the rear cabin. What was essentially this craft's version of first-class seating, was locked behind a thick steel and lead composite door, and kept closed by an electronic lock.

"Of course! How silly of me." Pietro gracefully brushed past Kristoff and typed in the code for the door. So the old revenant was left to absorb the varied and oddly conspicuous precautions featured on this aircraft. Chemically treated windows that blocked out the sun, runes, and iconography carved into the inner hull to deter supernatural incursion, and Kevlar lined chairs for use as cover in the case of an interior battle.

No expense had been spared in the making of this craft, and yet all of it seemed needless to old Kristoff. There were more covert and safer ways to travel, and all of them much more cost-effective. Yet he was just servant of greater powers. Who was he to question them?

"Here we are." Pietro, at last, opened the door, and with the creaking of that weighty metal came the onslaught of foul scents and pained moans that Kristoff was just barely used to.

"Gaudier than my workshops, but certainly a sight for the eyes." Pietro's half-hearted critique did nothing to hide his admiration. There were other vampires beyond the door of course. The clanless, or Caitiff, that so often functioned as hardened yet expendable soldiers for the Sabbat, were here in force. They fed upon the still-living humans that hung from the ceiling. The helpless mortals were kept alive and docile by copious amounts of drugs, while all dignity was taken from them, and replaced with barely clotted fangs marks branding their naked bodies.

They would have begged for death, had their sanity remained.

"Such bounty is wasted on the young." Pietro beckoned for Kristoff to follow, and the dutiful soldier obliged. Treading upon the bloodstained rug and pushing past the crazed monsters around them, the two greater servants, at last, arrived at their master's private apartment. A simple curtain separated it from the carnage outside.

"Mistress Veronica? I've brought him." Pietro peeked slightly through the shock white curtain and somehow managed a courtly bow as he did so. "Might we enter?"

A whisper, somehow piercing the carnal symphony behind him, caressed Kristoff's senses.

"Enter."

Stepping through the curtain, Kristoff saw the other members of his master's inner circle.

"You lose your way, Pietro?" The call came from the large bald man stooped over his arsenal. Covered in biker leathers and wearing engineer's goggles that seemed several centuries out of fashion, he disassembled and reassembled firearms of all sizes and grades, even as he wore a permanent scowl.

"Bjorn, you promised you'd behave when he returned." A lithe and predatory-looking woman placed a hand on the large man's shoulder. The ringed bracelets and gaudy jewels strewn across her arms did little to affect the wire-thin muscles of her body. While contrary to her casual demeanor and folkish voice, her entire ensemble was of designer brands.

"Thank you most kindly, Helen. But we should get to our business." Pietro's voice was firmer now, with undisguised authority. Though he softened upon turning towards the luxurious bed at the very back of the apartment. "With your leave, of course, mistress."

The shape on the bed was vaguely feminine, in its silhouette. Yet it remained obscure as if scared of what little light the bulbs above might give.

"Isaac..." The whisper came again, louder and somehow commanding despite its exhausted tenor. "He must die."

"Yes, mistress. But of the finer details-"

"Your assignments...the table." A taloned hand just barely entered the light and indicated the table where several USB drives were laid out, a different name upon each.

"Take them...read, then destroy." None of those present argued, and one by one each member of the inner circle took their respective drives and left, all except Kristoff.

"My faithful...slave." The whisper became a full voice now, and the talon beckoned. "Attend me."

Kristoff moved towards his mistress and then knelt before the shadowed creature.

The thing leaned forward and was at once illuminated with the bare glow of the light above.

She should have been beautiful. Her Chinese dress clung to and barely concealed her voluptuous body. While no speck of jewelry dared cast its shadow over her high cheeks and full red lips. Every inch of her was sculpted into a masterpiece of unnatural perfection

But that was just it, she was unnatural. An indescribable horror seemed to tremble and crawl beneath that perfect façade, barely perceptible.

But Kristoff had seen it. He had once seen its cruel and truthful form in the light, and the tide of deaths that followed.

"My lady." He rose to kiss her hand, now shrunken just enough to look mortal. "What would you wish of this servant?"

"I wish...for no more than you have already done." The bright yellow of her eyes and the unkept lustrousness of her hair seemed to wash over Kristoff like a gentle storm. "Isaac Sharpe has adopted a new child."

She licked her lips in anticipation, with no less than four tendril-like tongues and baring several rows of spiked teeth.

"You shall take her from him. As you have the others before her."