The Speaking of a Name - Dragon's Lair

Raz0r had walked away from everything that someone could use to track her.  She was in the middle of a park, no electronics anywhere around her.  

And she whispered the name to herself as she walked.

It was in her mind that it spoke.

Good Evening, Razor. I'm afraid this will have to suffice, as there is little else to speak to you through. Very uncharacteristic of you, I'm told. Unless you fear the uncontrolled sparse wildlife, you are very much alone at the moment. But I do not believe you do, not that you have any reason to be.

And it was spoken at the speed of thought, begun and over in the briefest of moments.

She didn't speak aloud, only thought her response.

This is all on purpose. At our last meeting you proved that until I know how to counter the magics of others, my electronics are at risk. Until you have taught me, I would prefer to be as safe as possible in our discussions.

Another voice joined, a presence felt at the same time, the same as she spoke with two months ago with the Ventrue.

My apologies, Miss Raz0r, but you have only now spoken to my sire, Charnabon. While you were promised teaching, yes, I am unsure if his person has time available to instruct you upon the death of magic.

Again the first, and now realized as unfamiliar voice, continued.

Bring Armageddon to Mexico City, it will be a suitable precursor to my arrival and your new abilities will be sufficient to herald such. I will instruct our guest on matters, it is the least that can be done for ensuring the offer has passed to their Inner Council's Justicariat. But first, Razor, a gift.

Images flooded her memory, now. She saw, first, a familiar pair within a stone home. It was daylight outside, but her Beast did not fear it. It was a memory, nothing more. Each woke in a start, first the female Toreador, and after a moment of tired jostling the male Tremere.

It was Paris, judging from their surroundings. But something was wrong. Each faucet in the house had begun to run at once, the stove already alight but burning at unnatural angles. The fires burned down, as if trying to reach the pair of Kindred in the basement. Winds whipped through the domicile, grabbing whatever they could and rushing them towards the basement as the very stone walls shook in protest against themselves.

The pair argued, now, but it was not audible in the memory. Only the terrible shaking, the furious burning, the haunting wind. The fire and water contacted as the stove and furnace both had been burned through in the flames efforts, yet the water did not boil, the flames were not quenched. Instead, they spun together, the water seeming to bring the fire further, faster towards the quarry in the basement.

As the wind brought the first flame-burdened water fast down the stairs, they too lit, the water almost seeming to refuse to dampen them. Torrents of water flooded down the stairs, now, as the Toreador feebly attempted to put out the flames with a sword, to ward off the water with furious -- but pointless -- kicks. The Tremere blew water against the walls, where it froze in place for a moment before it seemed to free itself from what magic that kept it.

As the water continued to pour down the burning stair case -- whose flames also sought the pair of undead -- a vortex began to form in the center. The wind whipped around, swirling the flame and water faster. Debris added to destruction-created whirlpool, a large rock from the wall striking the tiny Rose in the back and sweeping her into the fray. The man yelled something, reaching out with one hand.

The realization, now, was upon both of their faces as the reached towards one another. Fear. The end. Resignation. A hundred emotions wrapped into one moment of fruitless efforts as the roof collapsed upon itself, every stone vying against the next to land on the pair. Air swept through them, fueling the fires that refused to be put out, water carrying its deadly cargo faster towards its prey.

And in one final moment of utter chaos, it was over. The house had, in less than five minutes, flooded, been torn apart by a centralized quake, burnt down, and tore away in hurricane-force winds from the inside.

She had stopped walking as the vision hit her, a feral smile crossing her face.

Thank you. And as for the teaching, it matters not who fulfills the bargain so long as it is fulfilled. And for the sight of their deaths, you may ask a small boon of me. It is not a good as if I had been there, but it is better than I had.

The presence of the 'younger' Tzimisce had vanished during the events she saw as the elder of the pair continued.

It was a gift, Razor. Not solicited for and not wanting of payment. When you are prepared, transportation will available to bring the location where you will learn how to destroy the Usurper's feeble tricks.