Er, hello! waves It's been a few years since I posted here, but I got inspired washing dishes last night and decided to get the story down before it slipped away. :)

Disclaimer: Legacy of Kain and all characters thereof are (c) to Eidos Interactive / Crystal Dynamics.

Everyone remembers where they were the night Raziel died.

It is a moment that is marked indelibly on the memory of every creature on Nosgoth, no matter their status, their Clan or their nature. For us Razielim, it is a moment that burns as brightly for us as the fires of celebration that lit up neighbouring Clan lands for nights thereafter, while we wallowed in darkness, grieving.

I myself was in the arms of my lover that night, a warrior of some repute in the Razielim ranks. We had climbed to a vantage point to watch the moon rise over the southern lake. There we made idle plans for our future together; what sights we would see, what new skills we would learn, and how we would bring renown and glory to the Clan. How inconsequential and hollow all those dreams seem now.

I remember the moment of his death, even to the second. The crescent moon, sharp and curved as the scimitar at my lover's belt, was almost at its zenith, when a stillness came over the land, as though all of Nosgoth was holding its breath. I leaped to my feet, casting about me in panic, although I could make out no obvious evidence for the source of my sudden concern. I turned to Aryas, hoping for reassurance, only to see my look of utter alarm mirrored on his face. He was far older than I; he had reached Elite status long ago and had even sired a few fledglings of his own. I had yet to see him exhibit any emotion even approximating fear, and to see my own distress written so clearly on his countenance was enough to convince me that something was horribly wrong.

Each vampire is bound to its sire, and thence to his sire, and so on, all the way up to the head of the Clan, by bonds of blood, heart and mind. I had no idea how strong those bonds were until that day. Abruptly, all sound ceased, all movement abated, and gave way to a sickening void. The bedrock itself seemed almost to be cracking under the silent pressure of that instant.

Then it hit us, hard. It was as though a freezing wind, bringing with it all the sorrows and horrors of the world blasted across the land, dimming and scarring everything it touched. I myself felt as though my heart had been ripped from my chest; as though something that had always been a part of me had been wrenched out, silenced and destroyed. I felt as though all sanity might desert me at any moment; as though I had awoken from a long slumber to find everyone that I loved, everything that I held dear, was gone.

I fell to my knees and choked back a sob, lost for words, bereft of feeling. I still had no idea what had happened, and could focus on nothing but the bare earth beneath my claws. I grasped at it, digging my hands in so that I could feel some connection to the reality of the cold soil, splattered now with blood from the tears that were coursing down my face. I felt Aryas brush past me, his tread heavy and unsteady. His sharp tone reached my clouded brain somehow, and I realised he was ordering me to my feet, though he made no move to offer me assistance. I could not even feel affronted at that. At that moment I wondered if I might ever feel again.

We hastened down the long slope from our vantage point to find the fortress in utter chaos. Every vampire in the entire compound had felt the disturbance and had converged in the main hall looking for answers. The same look of barely contained panic, bubbling beneath the usual veneer of calm was worn by everyone present. It was like looking into a mirror and seeing my own doubts and insecurities on the face of every friend.

By now, three of our Lord's closest advisers, along with his two generals had ascended to the dais at the far end of the room and were talking heatedly amongst themselves. Aryas used his sizeable frame and reputation to force a path through the milling crowd, and I used Aryas as a battering ram to get myself as close to the front as possible, clutching his hand in a death-grip. The crowd was restless and spooked, and, with the burden of the mercurial vampiric temperament, could easily turn violent.

Presently, we were close enough to be able to make out snippets of the discussion between the five on the dais. Aryas' rank was not sufficient to warrant his presence there, and even he would not dare argue this point with Thorin and Palmo, the two generals who held sway. There were reasons they had attained such prized positions in the hierarchy. So we watched and listened from as close a distance as we dared.

"...not enough evidence to warrant us..."

"...should verify what the seer suspects before..."

"...going to cause all out panic..."

"...worse not to tell them anything..."

The minutes ticked by and still the figures on the dais did not address the growing crowd. Certain individuals, more given to dramatics than others, were starting to panic in earnest, and their behaviour was contagious. Thorin's men, recognisable for a badge of office worn by each at the left shoulder, were stationed around the edge of the crowd. Where they spotted anyone beginning to cause a disturbance, they were dealt with swiftly and without mercy. Although it seemed harsh, I understood that Thorin was making examples of them in an effort to stem the tide of dissent and chaos that threatened to engulf us at any moment. If he and his companions had the slightest idea of what was to come, they would have left the panickers untouched – but who was to know we would need every single Clan member battle ready in the next few hours?

"Silence!"

The command came at last from Thorin, who had taken centre stage on the dais between the columns and now commanded everyone's attention. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Aryas' brow furrow. The two had never been friends – exchanging only the barest of civilities when the situation demanded.

"At this time we know little more than you do..."

There was a grumbling murmur of dissatisfaction from the crowd. Aryas shook his head disparagingly.

"We have sent scouts to..." he paused. Every eye in the room was focused on him, needing him to convey what he knew, either to reassure them or to confirm their suspicions – but it seemed the General was not up to the task. "...find out what has happened," he finished, rather lamely.

"Where have you sent them? What have you told them to look for?" came a gruff demand from Gurt, the fledgling master. Gurt was never one to mince words. Centuries of dealing with confused newborn fledges with violent tendencies and no control over their own strength had taught him to be direct.

Aryas nodded to him, lending his support, while Thorin clenched his jaw.

"To the Lake. The seer saw something ... but we need evidence before we... jump to ..." he faltered, unnerved by the growing hostility and unease in the roiling crowd.

"What did she see?" Gurt demanded. "All these half -statements and nonsense," he muttered in an aside to Aryas. "Doesn't he realise he's making things worse?"

The General's eyes darkened, betraying his unwillingness to say what needed to be said. But there was no room for further dissembling.

"She ... saw our Lord ... he fell."

Again, the vagueness of the statement only served to disturb the crowd more, and the murmurs were quickly becoming ardent demands to know exactly what was going on. Even now, I think they knew. I think we all did, deep down. We just needed someone to say the words aloud.

"Raziel is dead."

I was almost swept up in the screaming hysteria that ensued, but Aryas pulled me clear. In a paroxysm of grief, the crowd had turned on itself and the scene was fast growing ugly. We hurried outside along with Gurt and a few of his seconds to await the return of the scouts in relative safety. Even when they came, even after they entered the hall and we had heard the reaction to the awful truth we all suspected, I could not quite believe it.

The skies were lightening above us, although it was still full night, and to the north and east the clouds were ablaze with a sickly orange glow. The Turelim and Dumahim had wasted no time in lighting the war beacons on the borderlands, and we were left in little doubt that their armies were massing to attack. They had waited a long time for this. There was not one of Kain's Lieutenants, or even several of them put together, who would contemplate a direct assault on our Clan territory if there was even the slightest possibility of our Lord being alive.

It was this that finally convinced me that Raziel was gone.

While Gurt and Aryas fell to talking in low voices, I tried to make sense of what had happened. The more I thought about it, the more confused I became. It was unthinkable: Raziel was eternal, second only to Kain himself in age, influence and power, and we his subjects had considered him little short of divine. We never thought for a moment that he could die. Apparently, neither did he, as he had put in place no contingency plan for this, left no legacy or instructions as to who would be in charge, or what should happen to the Clan in the event of his death. Now it fell to to his generals and advisers to work this out for themselves, each biased toward his own personal agenda, and I for one did not hold out much hope that matters would be resolved equitably.

Finding a lull in conversation, I quietly voiced my fears to Aryas, for I knew that I could trust him to keep his own counsel. His answer surprised me.

"That is precisely why I have petitioned Gurt to have you included in the council of war."

"I'm a herbalist, not a warmonger!" I protested.

"Unlike everyone else who will be seated around the table." He took my hand and kissed it lightly. "But you sell yourself short. Herbology is not your only specialism."

I nodded reluctantly. Much of my time of late was taken up as envoy to my Lord's brothers' realms. I had worked hard to maintain stable relations with difficult contacts in the lower echelons of the Clans, much as my unfortunate predecessor had done. Such relationships were essential for trade and diplomatic purposes – but could I turn those skills to calming a room of bloodthirsty killers, each driven by their own motives, and with much of their sanity and restraint stolen by grief?

We would soon find out.