Rasa; September 7, 2009
Summary: Rasa spent the summer in head-space tracing back his lineage and learning more about the hopes and desires of all the Cainites that preceeded him.
In this new place, his ears and eyes could find some peace. Court had closed, and in those short nights when the sun found its apex, Rasa found himself wandering in place, his heart seeking after the shining thread by which he felt the pulse of the truth beneath the flesh of the world. Unbreakable and undeniable, yet slender beyond all mortal measure, that winding thread was immersed in a great sea of sentiment.
Tears and ground teeth, visions not meant to be seen by mortal eyes and anguish that drowned out every rational thought. Shapeless and immaterial, he drifted as he lay unmoving, swaddled in old, dusty blankets and crusted over with aging aromatics. His mind was not his body. His mind was not his soul. His soul was not restrained.
In those languid weeks, amid the stacks of old clippings and boxes, Rasa swam beyond the oppressive heat and touched upon the many as he sought after his true anchor, shaken by the knowledge that the past Rasa had been found lacking. He dove into the cavernous depths of those who slew to silence demons and watched the cresting waves of innocence crash to nothingness and rise again. With each soul he passed, he was able to touch upon memories and glimpses of the truth, tracing the vein of his life back to the cradle of its inception.v
Seren, Baroness of Gloucester, servant and advisor to Mithras of London. Where she had passed in the web, there was naught but the blinding brightness of rampant joy and the utter blackness of unmitigated misery. Her genius was like the changing of the sun and moon in the heavens, never faltering. Her loyalty was absolute.
Rhys the Rhymer, his wisdom difficult to articulate with a human tongue. What lore drew this ashen priest to gift the kiss to a noblewoman in the twilight of her life? Even the lingering memory of his passing left few clues beyond winding, incomprehensible turns of lyrical phrase, koans intended to depose the tyranny of the mind and release the spark of divinity. Where his milky eyes gazed up to the glory of heaven, his sire occupied herself with the earth of her feet and the children it bore.
Agnes of Romney Marsh, a wretched orphan child who dwelt among the reeds, taken in by a wise-woman who gathered wild herbs. Was it a gift or a curse that led her to catalogue that wealth in her mind so fervently, growing to know the very essence of each plant that grew within a whole night's journey of her hut. Poultices and balms, salves and oils, from her skilled hands, near miraculous cures came. It was of no incidence to her, these medicines by which she became famous; she simply appreciated the freedom given to her to ensure the safety of her land. A tool used by a man who lusted for dominion.
Vibius Antonius Dentatus, a man who conspired to see the whole of the earth brought under a single banner. Dead men piled higher than a war-horse and the despairing cries of womenfolk were to him nothing but the ashes necessary to building a proper hearth. When other Cainites huddled in cities and sent forth lackeys to enact their will, Dentatus personally ensured that Rome's empire reached to the ends of the earth. All-consuming, his desire to see the earth united burned like a furnace behind the smiling rictus he was named for. Born under an ill-fated star, he perished with the crumbling of his beloved empire, torn apart by an angry pack of Pictish wolves.
Kale, Watcher of Stars, who heard the whispers of the glittering souls in the heavens. Moreso than any between them, Rasa could palpably feel her great knowledge, even as she dwelt in the deepest slumbering depths, hidden away in the earth. She had known the lore of the ancient creatures that had given shape to the world, traveling between the squabbling Greek courts to bestow weal and woe in the name of ancient gods. She was, in death, as she was in life, a seer blinded to falsehood by the shattering power of a truth beyond comprehension.
Nissiku, the Clever Prince. Glorious, wise, incomprehensible in his insight. His understanding was enough to break lesser minds with but a word and turn men to beasts with a short phrase. Eventually, not even his body was enough to contain his elevated understanding. He crawled into the web, spreading the cracks that grew in the false world around him even as he bolstered the strength of the unutterable truths his mind held. A mind above all others, chosen by the being who was an island of truth among a sea of lies.
His lineage traced, the will of the great ladder of his forebears illuminated, the vessel known as Rasa came one step closer to holding the great wealth of his family's wisdom. The blood in him was indeed strong.
He will try to vary the times he scrys each day so as to get a more complete picture of Smith's life. If he catches him breaching the masquerade he may speed off in his jag to forgetful mind it all away (or do whatever he can to stop breach) if this seems particularly feasible.
The blood of Rasa is indeed strong, and the wisdom of his forebears unfathomable. He feels it, hot, almost burning, within him. He feels their gaze from within himself, and exults. But the joy of understanding gives way to the terror of knowing. Their gaze is unwavering. Infitite. Their knowledge was not given to him, and he has selfishly stolen the truth of them for himself. He feels the blood within him boiling. He is not worthy of them.
They rip the knowledge from him, and he is once more left incomplete and at peace. Whether it is a mercy or a punishment, he cannot know.
P.S. As those who watch within you, so too are you Feared, Exalted, and Well-Connected.
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