| Akiyl, Defender of Alamut |
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| There are many legends which tell the stories of the past, the libraries in Damascus are filled with such narratives. Such are dead documents with a beginning, middle, and a conclusion; this is not one of those texts. This is a living, growing dissertation of a life long ended but of an existence still continuing. The frail human life of the Elder known now as Akiyl al Etci began in the hot desert sands of the Ottoman Empire. Born of a higher then average station, he enjoyed the prestige of being the second son of the second son of a the Sultan, a member of the Osmanl? House. As was befitting of such a birthplace he was raised to serve in the courts and much of his youth was spent reading various languages, learning from visiting diplomats and dignitaries as well as from his own personal tutors. It was during this time that he grew closer to his older brother Suleyman, long known to be chosen as the next Sultan and destined to be called the most influential leader by Muslim and European alike.
Aside from the times when forced to study mathematics, linguistics and prose Akiyl could always be found digging deeply into every military text and strategic treaty he could lay his hands on. He was fascinated by the beauty of it all, how the slightest movements and positioning could mean life or death, victory or defeat. This information was absorbed like a sponge which refused to be filled; he had a thirst for this knowledge which refused to be quenched. When Suleyman came into power one of the first actions he undertook was the expansion of the Empire and it was to his little brother that he turned for advice. With his acceptance of his brother's offer and request for help Akiyl the Human started down a path which would lead to both his death, and his awakening. Victories followed more victories; it seemed that each battle Akiyl led was destined to be a success. His men adored him; his countrymen idolized him, and as his popularity grew his brother felt threatened by him. In an attempt to disenchant his armies as well as Akiyl himself Suleyman began to follow the advice of new advisors, young Ventrues bent on bringing Constantinople under their control. As the advisors influence grew Akiyl found himself time and again forced to abandon causes whilst he stood on the threshold of Victory. After capturing the Bastion of the Knights of St. John he watched with disgust as they were released back to their countrymen to appease the ruling Europeans, and more secretly the Elder Ventrue. At the battle of Moh�cs his forces defeated the Hungarian King Louis II and proceeded to Vienna where they drove back the forces into the city gates, suddenly he was ordered to withdraw. The Ventrue advised it was not the right time, as they were ordered to do by the Ventrue refusing to give up their hold of Vienna. With this final insult the Human Akiyl abandoned the position of Military commander, and decided to return to his small holdings in modern day Turkey to live out his days with his wife and child. Such simple plans do not always end happily. The smell of blood, that thick sick smell.... the stickiness of it's touch and it's coppery taste. Such were sensations all too familiar to the former Commander of the Sultan's Armies, it was a feeling an environment which Akiyl had thought he had left behind. Yet, here he stood, the blood on his hands the blood of his kin, the blood of his bride mixed with the blood of his son. It had appeared at first to be a band of rogue bandits yet as he heard the screams and came running he saw their actions were too precise, too practiced. With a simple scythe he cut them down one by one, but alas too late to save his family. With a cruel gaze he kept a single attacker long enough to name who ordered this.... and the word burned through him and ignites a fire which took centuries to extinguish, a rage which seemed unquenchable.... the word... a name... Suleyman. Once more adorning his military gear he marched alone toward Constantinople, death was accepted. He would use his name and status to get to see his brother and would die exacting his revenge. As he marched though, fate would intervene in the form of a mysterious man known only as Kharma. Around a raging bonfire Akiyl and Kharma debated the futility of his quest until the sun began to rise. With promises to return the next evening Kharma asked only that Akiyl consider his words and ideas. Such the human did as he marched the next day, and when the sun set and Kharma returned he asked what other options might exist. The option offered and received was the dark embrace and admission into the Children of Haqim. An offer accepted with the stipulation that vengeance would be his on his brother, and that no others would interfere. Akiyl stood over the body of a seventy year old Suleyman, surrounded by the ash of three Ventrue advisors. Forty years had passed and yet the rage still roared as it had the day Akiyl had buried his family. The blood of his mortal line rolled down his chin and dripped into the sands. Hadd was served, and yet it did not quench the anger, nor did it satisfy the rage it merely intensified it. The beast was truly awoken and it would terrorize the world of both the kindred and humanity for centuries. The wolf was born and with it he brought the fangs of the undead. Caliph ... the military commander of the Children of Haqim. He had served in the position for well over a century now and it was simply no longer enough. Gone was the Fida'i and the Rafiq, now sat the Silsila still filled with the same blood rage. The warriors were not performing to his standards, it was beside the point that they vanquished every challenge or that they followed him without question. Since joining the Du'at he had served alongside his peers Master Rhael, the old man of the mountain, Master Kezia and with his sire Master Kharma but recent developments which he saw as betrayals has frayed these bonds. As he walked by the statues in the mountain he raged anew and in a fit of anger he tore them down, shattering the stone limbs as one might a dried branch. Du'at, Khabar, tenets be damned. It was the time of the beast. And he raged... and grew stronger.... and raged anew. Medina ... the first great war. Tzimisce creations walked the streets in broad daylight and in the process impeded the Assamite. The great War Vozhd stood blocking the ferry and he young Fida'i were unprepared for such a challenge. The old man was a teacher not a warrior and the other elders had disbanded the Du'at fifty years before. And so the Caliph from the shadows with intensity that scorched the mountain from the inside out. As he walked up the mountain the taste of the Vozhd's lifeblood filled his mouth and tempted his tongue, it's decapitated body sunk beneath the tainted waters. Blood dripped from his armor, much of it his own. Some victories come at expensive costs, and in this one the ancient armor he wore was all which kept his frame from falling apart, and thus he healed within it... Using it like a moth would a cocoon. Fire ... burning timbers ... the stench of decaying bodies ... mmmmm ... Narbonne ... Let the fools rage as they wanted. While the clans debated, he and his brother Master Mnayr destroyed everything which would burn. Water sources were tainted, centers of gathering left as piles of burned timbers. The Toreador museum, the opera house, the many taverns ... all were rubble. It was a time in which amid the death there were births, from this union of two raging souls the first tendrils of a web were spawned. If through the determination of a pair of kindred spirits such destruction could be waged then imagine a society based on such.... The Web of Knives ... an unspoken reality after decades of building and training. From deep within the hidden stronghold the most fanatical and dangerous Assamite ever conceived ventured out, unleashed upon an unsuspecting world. The actions created drew forth the terror and shock desired from the whole of Kindred society, this was unthinkable ... targets were decapitated at will and havens burned as a sign of things to come. Death had come, and it was hungry ... ravenous ... and thus it fed, and fed, and fed... The victims were countless... Kindred, Kine, human, Mage none of it mattered for all bled. More then a single Assamite lay dead beneath the path, buried and forgotten. Fida'i spoke in hushed tones wondering if they would survive the next wave of anger. The deeds accomplished were legendary, as were the atrocities. The city of Damascus grew and was protected, the old Fida'i became Rafiq among them Master Masaw and Akiyl's only surviving childe Master Krutvek, and under their watchful eyes the clan remained as it was. And the beast slumbered, awakening to walk with the Eldest called Haqim and slumbering again.... New voices ... new worries ... a new age ... the cries echoed through the darkness, through the peace. The mountain was threatening to crumble from disuse. War again threatened the twin cities, the humans had learned and grown in number and danger. They now hunted the children of Caine and hide from the carriers of the sign of the Cross. And the beast's eyes opened and he returned, though not quite as he had remembered. The rage seemed there and yet as suddenly as it appeared it dissipated. It was gone, this rage. The beast remained, but the anger did not. Through eyes which had grown less clouded with violence a cold wisdom glistened. The followers of the Christ have grown in power and ability. Perhaps the Children were not to be the means by which Caine's seed would be destroyed. They see no difference in the Childer of Haqim and the Childer of Caine, but Akiyl's eyes see everything. He sees the reason for the Children of Haqim, and how they must offer their dark gifts to the children of Seth. After eons of watching the Cainites ravage his children the God of the children of Seth had joined the battle. His children were united under the sign of the Cross, and they marched with purpose. They thumbed their nose at death, they saw this life as a doorway to another, they existed to die just as the Assamite. They are warriors that embrace their fragile nature and are somehow strengthened by it. They rejoice in dying, to kill one brings joy and purpose not defeat. Under such conditions they simply can not be defeated. And so the battle is joined by the ones carrying the dark gifts, The mission remains, destroy the children of Caine, but it is not a solitary cross to bear. For the time has come that the picture is more fully revealed, the sheep have grown armor, claws and fangs. The flock has grown into a pack, and they are secretly joined by an ancient predator who intends to see them victorious before he steps into the warmth of the sun one final time. |
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