Monday, August 23, 2004
Final Epilogue: Winter
With the fresh beginnings of every chapter, one must begin to prepare for the inevitable. Like with every blossoming rose which would stand defiant against its circumstance - carelessly and confidently displaying its beauty, unafraid of the future, there will come the cruel winter that would harshly remind it of its frail mortality.
However, that rose like any other roses will not stand stubbornly through time eternal. For cold winter will come as surely as warm summer would go, and that beautiful rose will wither. Noy because it has given up its fight, but because its mortal body would not allow it to shine on. That winter has finally come for Ian Lee.
“I will assist the Kindreds of Singapore for one last time. Whether we succeed or not, I will fade into obscurity from this night on, for that name Ian Lee will no longer exist, I will have to go by other names.
I treasure my name, but it’s the dire circumstances that I will have to renounce it. I renounce it for the love of our kind, for the mortal authorities have put a price upon that name and “Ian Lee” has become a burden to the process of peace with the mortals.
Though my desire to lead all of you have been a dream of mine, I will have to shelve these dreams for good for I fear that more pressing matters require my attention. I believe the Camarilla was traditionally ruled over by the Clan of the Kings and in the case of a power vacuum, members of Ventrue will most certainly rise up to the occasion to provide a capable leader.
Though we shared many difference and a slew of painful vendettas, lets put aside these petty quarrels and take on our common enemy. Is it freedom you live for? This is your chance to seize it. Tonight we shall take the Camarilla by force from the false Prince Jacque Duggary. His farce of a Camarilla will never work in this nights, simply because it cannot co-exist symbiantly with our mortal counterparts due to his inhumane occultic rule, and his utter disregard for human and kindred life alike. Today, we fight the future! Good luck my friends.”
Hopeful looks and silence came over the group. The burden and the responsibility of restoring the Camarilla lies heavily upon them tonight, a fight that will go straight into the Kindred history of Singapore. They quietly nodded and left purposefully. They take each step like their last as they slowly ready themselves for the war that is at hand, a tragic war for peace and humanity.
What irony, that only violence could be use to prevent further violence.
The pieces were in place but so were theirs, for a crafty plan laid in wait for our heroes. Duke knew that they were coming.
Confidently and according to plan, Ian Lee’s majestic presence humbled the mortal guards to their knees as we walked into the meeting place that would be our battle field. He has taken the fight straight to Duke and today, he was certain it would all end. Ironically, it truly ended that night.
In his best crimson fur coat and blood red silk shirt, he walked unknowingly towards his doom accompanied by his best friend Kurt, who would be the last individual Ian Lee would ever see. A malicious glint shimmered in Ian's deep grey eyes as he fingers his holstered weapons.
Confident and cocky as ever, he knew no fear that moment, for he spoke to an Elder the way one would converse with a fledgling. I believed he savored every shard of mockery he threw at Duke, all the glory would go to him.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, I apologize for interrupting the nights proceeding but I came here to speak to Duke. Duke! Step out from behind that table and face me like a man. What are you so afraid of? Why do you hide so lowly behind those shadows? What do you have to hide from?”
He pauses, miscalculating his circumstances, believing in total success in tonight’s confrontation.
“Why are you always running away Duke? Running away from the truth? It not that, you just cant handle the Truth! The fact that the Camarilla you claim to rule is a farce and a failure frightens you doesn’t it? So what if I am blood hunted? How can someone claiming to be so decorated in Status be so fearful of one devoid of any? You are a disgrace to the system of decorum and status you claim to uphold. “
He pauses glancing at his watch, taking a mental note of the time, he wanted this assassination to end within five minutes.
“I don’t have time for this. To sum things up crudely Duke, you simply have no balls. Tonight Duke, you shall die.”
The conspirators that seemingly served Duke casted away their masks of loyalty and drew their weapons against their former leader, firing away madly at the silhouette . Ian Lee drew his favourite katana and his trusty Desert Eagle as he unleashes a barrage of fiery phosphorous into the arm of his enemy.
But he overestimated the effectiveness of his pre-planned ambush. In a matter of seconds, the odds were greatly turned against the revolutionaries. There was another lurking among them within the shadows, it was the monstrous scourge. The one man that has claimed the lives of many kindreds and mortal, the one reason that even unacknowledged kindreds who are naturally nocturnal fear the dark.
Ian Lee gasped as it appeared from amidst the shadow. It lumbered forward, its spines crashing the furnitures to splinter as he hoisted a massive object from his rotten bag. With its uncanny gift of strength, it howled a searing warcry that shook the room as he threw a gigantic discus shaped projectile into the chest of our hero.
With the main objectives of tonight's coup in mind, he ignored the pain and relentlessly fired at the original target of this assassination – Duke.
But the relentless assault of the devilish scourge weakened him dearly with every lethal blow. However. the adrenaline fueled him on. Eventually, like the rose that stood defiantly against the circumstances, his body gave up before his immortal spirit.
Finally, one brutal blow sent Ian falling backwards towards the ground. As he stumbled, he caught sight of the shimmering lights reflected off his blade. His mind created for him briefly a moment of peace and comfort.
In that moment, he swore he saw an angel and he believed it was Veronica garbed in angelic vestments gently reaching out for his fingertips. He allowed his firearm to slip from his grasp as he reached desperately for those ethereal fingers. He was delirious, but happy in his delirium to be reunited with his love. Who cares if it was just a dream, it was good enough, good enough for him.
Kurt grabbed him before he hit the ground and cradling Ian like a child, he ran out of the House with our semi-conscious hero. Just when escape was certain, another monstrosity of a kindred slinked out of the shadow and in one decisive motion slashed a severing wound across the marble neck of Ian.
Kurt glared and growled at the new adversary.
The wound did not immediately sever the head from his body, giving the two best friends precious seconds for their brief goodbyes. Only the slowly emerging crimson liquid from the gash betrayed Ian’s apparent well being.
Kurt gasped as Ian’s eyes suddenly threw open.
But those eyes were ones belonging not to the warrior Kurt had remembered, blazing and burning with ambition and dreams. But tonight, just for a few seconds, they belonged to a friend, an old companion whose tired soul sook absolution and solace. They blinked as tears fell from Ian.
A familiar voice suddenly spoke in Kurt’s head, Ian's skill of telepathy.
“Thank you my friend for never leaving my side. The time has truly come for me to rest and perhaps to atone for my sins. Goodbye my friend.”
As those grey eyes closed shut for the last time, Kurt was at peace, somehow knowing that this was how Ian wanted to go. Falling as a knight to the belief of Liberty and Freedom, the fighter to a new regime without oppression, without corruption.
His body slowly disintegrated into ashes as the winds carried him from the arms of Kurt. The angry gangrel shurugs off his last shred of humnanity as he lets out a bone-chilling howl of rage. He will win this fight at any cost, he will let their deaths be in vain.
The story ends here today for Ian Lee, and truly how I wished he could have been the one to have penned the end to his own novel. He would have liked to very much.
But I guess we always underestimated the future and what lies install for us, hiding behind the belief that we are truly the ones in control of our destiny. Even in death, Ian has renewed the will in many to fight on, like a field of roses clinging together in a final stand against the impending winter, beautiful but inevitable as they would all wither and fade away into obscurity. Like a shooting star, his life was beautiful - blazing and glorius but short lived - in kindred relativity that is.
That name Ian Lee as well would also one day fade away from the memories of the people that knew him. But in due time, another rose would blossom to take his place and give hope once again to the ones that need it. One soul that would make a difference.
His story ends here but your will go on.
- annoynomous -
Posted by Jo