Brasenose College

Brasenose faces the west side of Radcliffe Square opposite the Radcliffe Camera in the centre of Oxford. The north side is defined by Brasenose Lane, while the south side reaches the High Street. To the west is Lincoln College. At its south-east end, the college is separated from the University Church by St Mary's Passage. The main entrance of the college can be found on Radcliffe Square. The college is also physically linked to Lincoln College through a connecting door, through which Brasenose College members are permitted to enter Lincoln College on Ascension Day each year. The door is opened for five minutes and it is the only time during the year that this door is unlocked.

Aubrey tapped her foot impatiently as her gaze trailed out the limo's window at the passing libraries and storied colleges she knew were older than most buildings she'd ever stepped foot inside. To think that some of the greatest artistic and scientific minds of the last millenium had passed through such hallowed halls would surely instill a humbling sense of awe in almost anyone who sought to follow them. Yawning loudly, she refocused on the smartphone in her hand, swiping lazily past several several new texts to get to Camille's. Her fingers quickly tapped away. arriving now!! : x  rather dreary looking tbh, certainly no Hamptons but c'est la vie call me later k? miss you alreadyyy x o x o It wasn't long before the limo finally pulled to a stop before an opulent-looking hall. Stepping out, she made sure to pat the driver's bowed head in appreciation. Despite her feigned disinterest, even she had to admit the pseudocastles she stood before did impress. There was a power that radiated from the place, that was for sure. Whether it was the covenant of kindred that called the college home, or simply its illustrious history, she couldn't say for sure, but for a moment — however brief it may have been — she found herself staring up with eyes wide, caught in Brasenose's imposing shadow. But that moment faded quickly like stars in the morning sun, and her attention quickly shifted to a small group of boys making their way across the pavement. With a fanciful wave of the hand she called over to them, flaring her Majesty as they approached.  "Which of you would love most to be a dear and run my things up to my room for me?"  Brushing her hair to the side, she dramatically pouts.  "They're oh so heavy and I've had a long day getting here." The Awe was hardly necessary anyway. Before they'd even reached her a few were staring in what she knew to be recognition. It was only a few minutes and a group selfie later she was settling into her dorm, her various bags spread out around her and the most helpful of the young men leaving with a dreamy look in his eye to match the grin on her lips. That had been her first night on campus, and the days that followed to wrap up Nought Week left her uneasy as the academic year began. For the first time since her Embrace, she was well-and-truly on her own. It thrilled her, of course. She'd dreamed of just that for so long. But she'd rarely hunted alone: Camille usually had her herd on hand for that. And that wasn't even getting into actual schoolwork. She sighed as she flopped onto her bed. If she truly had to stay here all year and do as she'd been told to, then she'd need to amend all of that. She'd need followers of her own. Fortunately, there was a whole university of them just waiting to fawn over her right outside her door. I just need to get their attention.

The Sunday of nought week follows the climax of the seven days of drunkenness and debauchery better known as 'Fresher's Week'. However, it's less than an hour after dusk when Aubrey is roused by a porter knocking at the door of her room.

Rubbing her eyes, Aubrey looks at her phone. She scowls. It was barely dusk, so who would be waking her so early? With a yawn she drags herself out from her bed and into the soft embrace of the bunny-eared slippers laying in wait below.  Stopping only briefly to check her hair in the mirror she runs a hand through it, then pulls the door open just a smidge enough to see out. “What?”  Her demanding tone is matched only by the dark-looking circles under her eyes. “Do you even know who you’re bothering right now?”

"Miss Knight," the porter confirms, apparently unperturbed by Aubrey's rude manner. "You are formally summoned to the chapel."

The figure’s demeanor and tone are unflinching, and through her grogginess the realization of who she was likely looking at dawns on Aubrey, spreading across her face like the blush of life she’d nearly forgotten to wear as well. Shite.  ”That’s… of course.”  If Camille heard any of this she’d never hear the end of it herself. “I will be shortly. Remind me, um, would you, where that is?”  Deference leaves an odd taste on her tongue for sure, these last few years without it showing their mark. 

"That would be the large, church-like building overlooking the quad opposite your staircase," the porter remarks dryly. "Wear your gown. Don't be late." His piece said, the man departs towards the stairs, his shoes clicking rhythmically on the hard floors.

Aubrey watches him go until the sound of his heels fades into the night, then quietly closes her door. Didn’t realize they’d come quite so soon.  She sighs, closing her eyes but a moment to let the last of the day’s rest wash off of her, then starts on getting ready, rolling her eyes at the gauche gown Camille had had delivered last week. With a quick ten minutes spent finishing up her appearance, she is off towards the chapel.

The chapel is dark when Aubrey steps inside and the heavy wooden door swings shut behind her with a foreboding thud. Before the altar wait three figures, dressed in formal gowns of scarlet cloth. Two have their gowns lined with dark blue silk and the gown of the figure in the middle is lined with black silk. Each wears a mask that has been crafted from an animal's skull. "You have been summoned by the Circle of the Crone," the woman with the black silk lining proclaims. "Will you heed the call?"

Aubrey pauses in the doorway, looking to each of the figures carefully. The scene before her carried an air of more than just formality, but forebodance. The masks unnerved her most of all, disquieting her instinctual urge to posit herself up. Camille had mentioned those above her were outside the world she knew — that of cameras and media and above all, the fancibly falsified faç ade of film. She'd seen things like this in that world, of course. Just a couple years earlier she'd had a small part in a picture with those men who’d done that Dawn of the Dead  parody .  This was different. It was immediate, and real. And she couldn't tell if the pulsing in her ears was more fear or excitement, or if she even cared which. She steps forward with a measure of caution, looking to the one that had spoken as she bows her head down. "Of course,"  she says with a curl to her lips. "What is it the Circle would ask of me?"

One of the masked figures with dark blue silk lining his gown steps forward and presents Aubrey with a beaked skull mask. "Take this, Maiden, and begin your service."

She examines the figure’s mask, and looks down to the one that was to be her own. It’s elongated beak ー nose? ー reminded her of a plague doctor’s, and she wondered if that wasn’t supposed to be symbolic of the part she was to play here. After all if she thought about it, this was but another role, albeit one she intended to make her own.  Accepting it with both hands, she gives the figure a small smile before donning it. It felt… right? In a way. Weird no doubt, that couldn’t be denied, but also, natural.  She stepped back once more, eyes passing anxiously from one figure to the next as she awaited whatever task they intended for her.

"We name you Artemis," the woman in the black silk declares, "the huntress of the night." The trio steps forwards to surround Aubrey, the woman in front of her and a man on either side. "Kneel, Maiden," she commands.

Behind her mask, Aubrey’s eyes light up at the name. A huntress. They want me to be a huntress. Taking a knee before them, she lowers her head as they loom over her.

The two men each take one of Aubrey's shoulders in their hands. Their grip is not tight, but is as firm and immovable as though their fingers were sculpted of marble. Aubrey hears the horrific crunch of teeth on hardened vampiric flesh and then the woman's fingers are beneath her chin, raising it to bring a bleeding wrist to the maiden's lips.

Aubrey looks at the woman’s wrist and frowns beneath her mask. She knew what she had to do, that was clear, but it felt somehow off. The only kindred she’d ever fed off before was her own sire, and Camille let her do that only every once in a while. A privilege, she called it. And it was. Hers was exquisite: a taste of the divine. And it was part of what made her mentorship so special. Was it betraying that to take another’s? She raised her eyes to try and peer through the mask of the woman, but the eyeholes in her own made that difficult enough. Camille wouldn’t have made me come here if she didn’t know they’d do this,  she reasoned. And it’s just a taste… Raising her mask slightly to allow access, she brings the wrist to her lips.

To a neophyte like Aubrey, the taste of vitae is like nothing else in the world. It is the taste of raw, unadulterated life . The woman allows the young vampire to drink for a moment before retracting her arm. The two men also release the girl and step back, upon which all three remove their masks "Welcome to the Circle of the Crone," the woman intones. She appears to be wearing the white collar of Christian clergy. "I am Hera. Walk with me, maiden." Hera moves towards one of the side doors to the chapel, while the two men disperse.

Licking the last traces of Hera's blood from her lips, Aubrey pulls her mask up onto the top of her head follows after her, savoring the last drops. Camille's was richer, of course, but it was like tasting a new wine. A different flavor, but still salivatingly sweet. 

"We have been attacked, Artemis," Hera tells Aubrey as they step out onto the quad. The older woman's voice is rich and smokey and her mask appears to have disappeared entirely. It quickly becomes apparent that Aubrey should do the same, giving them the appearance of two ordinary college members in their subfusc.

"Oh?"  Taking note of the change, she quickly pulls the mask down under the robes of her gown, leaning in closer at the sound of an attack. "By who? And how?"

"By a careless vampire," Hera scoffs with disdain. "Do you recall the hullabaloo on Thursday night? The police ? Somebody made a mess and jeopardised our masquerade in the process. That is where you come in, huntress ."

She stops mid-stride for a moment, then picks up the pace once more. The last few days had been mostly unpacking and walking about at night under cover of a cap and baggy jumper, just to get a feel for the campus a bit. That said, she did hearing the incessant blaring of sirens after waking near dusk one day. A lot of them. "I take it that amount of police isn't  common here, then." If the masquerade had been jeopardized to the point mortal authorities needed to come, then someone surely must have been having a fun evening.  "So you want me to find the poor, misguided fool who did this." Her mind lingered on the title she'd been given. Huntress  sounded exciting and fun, but even she knew she wasn't much for actual hunting. Not that she'd admit as much. "How should I go about doing that?"

Hera gives Aubrey a sidelong glance and a her lips curl in a smug smirk. " That is for you to work out. Otherwise, this would not be much of a test. Seek out Odin. He can share much wisdom with those who are ready to learn."

Aubrey pouts, the woman's answer far from satisfying, but holds her tongue. This is why I'm glad I never did this whole 'schooling' thing; I abhor tests.   "Very well, so I use my wily wily charms to bring our messy friend into the light, and then you... give them a stern talking to or something." She pauses and puts a hand to her cheek. "Oh! I do have an idea! There was a band I once saw. One of them was kindred as I recall. Driveled on about being a professor here I think. Very nice hair, that one."  The statement comes with a bit of a bounce from the girl, her excitement at the prospect of a real life murder mystery getting to her.  "Anyway where can I find this Odin? Would he have the deets on like, who the mortal was or any leads or whatever?"

"Or something," Hera echoes with an amused grin that shows off her fangs. "The mundane details you can gather yourself. Odin's guidance is of a more mystical nature. You can find him at the top of staircase six, above the porters' lodge."

A mystical nature?  That catches her attention. Ever since her requiem has begun, Camille has taken teaching her a great deal about the world she’d been brought into. Most of it concerned the nature of the masquerade, and some of it was in regards to the danse and politics ー though she’d yet to really engage in any of that herself ー but a good deal was spent on more occult matters, a topic she’d been fascinated in even as a child. She raises a curious brow at the room hoping for more details that don’t come. “You know between the short short taste you gave me back there and now this little tidbit, I’m starting to think you’re something of a tease, Hera.” She raises a hand to cover a light chuckle. Something about the nature of this meeting and the vitae she’d drunk was relaxing her, the whole thing more of an exciting mystery game than anything serious. “But sure, I will see to Odin right away. I swear I will prove right for this role. Au revoir, madame.”  Taking a deep bow, she backs away, starting off into the night to find this mystical Odin.

As Aubrey backs away from Hera, a calico cat winds its way between her feet, rubbing its neck against her ankles. The animal has been following her since Thursday night and seems determined to remain by her side. Looking up, she also notices a Persian cat walking along the path besides Hera.

Aubrey stops as the cat makes its presence known, noting the one Hera walked with. Leaning down to stroke its fur, she extends a hand for it to sniff and smiles warmly at it. “You’re part of the deal aren’t you, cutie? We’ll have to think of a name for you,”  she stands, starting off to find Odin, “Unless you’ve one you’d prefer?”

The cat sniffs at Aubrey's cold, dead hand, before licking the fingers and rubbing its neck against them. It stares at her as she speaks and meows confidently in response.

Aubrey gently runs her hand along its back, nodding in response to its mews, “That sounds like a ‘yes’  but I don’t speak cat, tragically.”  She pauses. “Yet.” Was that something a vampire could do? She considered what Camille had said in the earliest days after her Embrace ー the promises she’d made to Aubrey, of powers beyond her wildest imagination. Of making the creatures of this world bend to her will if she so wanted. And she did want it.  Standing up straight with a longing sigh, she pushes her hair back over her shoulders. A goal for another day . For now, she had to find ‘Odin’, and that musician, too. 

Staircase six is right besides the entrance to Brasenose college and leads up to the principal's lodgings at its top. Aubrey has to walk several flights of red carpeted stairs to the top of the tower, where a large, ornate dark wood door stands at one end of a hallway. This part of the college is especially finely furnished.

The girl groans in relief upon reaching the top of the long flight of stairs ー anymore than one was honestly too much, to be sure, heightened strength of a vampire or not. But the promise of some occult knowledge spurred her on, and she confidently approached the door at the end of the hall. She raises her knuckles to the darkened wood, preparing to knock, her hand on her mask beneath her robes.

"I'd think twice before doing that, if I were you," a male voice advises from across the hallway behind Aubrey, interrupting the Maiden before her knuckles touch the door. "Baal rarely appreciates behind disturbed." When Aubrey looks around, she finds a bookish man peering up over his glasses  at her  from where he sits reading in an armchair with scarlet upholstery. She could have sworn that he hadn't been there a moment before.

The man's sudden appearance startles Aubrey, who pulls her hand back and spins around. "Excuse me?" Looking the man over, she stares down her nose at his oddly innocuous dress, "And who are you exactly?" 

"You may call me Odin," he tells Aubrey friendlily, closing his book and setting it down on his lap. "You must be Artemis. Hera said to expect you."

“You’re…?”  Aubrey’s eyes widen, then set as she nods. “You’re not what I was expecting. Regardless, I was told you had something to teach me.”

"One might say that," Odin acknowledges with a contemplative nod as he rises from the armchair. "Others might say that I can merely open a door for you. Only you can step through it." He sets off down the corridor heading away from the principal's lodgings. "Tell me, Artemis, how much do you really know about our Circle?"

Aubrey gives a last look back at the dark wooden door she’d nearly knocked at before following after the man. “A bit,”  she shrugs, “Not as much as I’d care to. I adore my sire dearly but she’s been teasingly vague about the whole thing. As was Hera. But if I’m right,”  she skips up next to him, flashing a coy smile,  “you’re the one to talk to to shed some light, no?”

"Just as you are a Maiden, I am what the Circle calls a Hermit," Odin admits. "Above all else, we are educators." He guides Aubrey past another staircase. "Hera's role is that of the Mother. She maintains the day-to-day affairs of our covenant, addresses problems and offers advice." Around the next corner lies a door with a round, brass doorknob. "Are you familiar with the concept of the triple goddess?" Odin asks as he fumbles in his pocket for a key.

The name triggers a faint memory in her of something Camille had mentioned early on, and again when she told her she'd be attending the school, of a triangle or triathalon or something of a goddes —  "Oh! A triune! The three stages or whatever of like, being a woman." The pieces click neatly into place in her mind as she thinks to what he had just said. "Ahh. Right. Maiden. Mother. Crone. So then Hera isn't at the top. There are Crones who run things, right?"  She beams at him, proud of herself for remembering any of that. Her earliest days of requiem had been such a blur of heightened sensations and new experiences that all the information she'd been given seemed to have mostly washed over her, but she'd definitely heard it. She had so much to text Camille about later, that was for sure.

Odin nods slowly and smiles as he listens, opening the door with a click to reveal a small study. Every wall of the room is covered in bookshelves and the space is densely packed with tables and chairs littered with vaguely occult looking objects. "I see that you were not left entirely  unprepared for what lies ahead," Odin remarks with a chuckle, gesturing for Aubrey to enter. As he does so, two cats quickly squeeze past her ankles. The familiar calico and another tortoise shell cat. "The triple goddess has a male triune counterpart - the horned god. Thus, we all have our part to play in the Circle as a whole." Odin walks around the desk and takes a seat behind it, reclining leisurely in the wing-backed chair. "What about you, Artemis? Why do you want to belong to the Circle of the Crone?"

Aubrey steps inside and marvels at the various occult artifacts and the ornate architecture of the space, walking past Odin's table to examine what appeared at first to be a sonophone nestled in the center of the bookshelf. She plucks a random book from nearby and idly turns it over in her hands.  "I... don't totally know,"  she begins. That was true. She hadn't given it a lot of thought. She'd been told to do it by her sire and that seemed as good enough a reason at the time, even if she did protest. "It does take away a bit of time from my career, you know? That's kinduva drag but my sire says it's necessary. yeah? Will help towards it in the long run, power-wise. She says its how she got to where she is." Glancing back over her shoulder, she raises of brow,  "Lot of power in it, innit?" "That's what I want," she turns, facing the man with a more sure look on her face, gesturing towards him with the book. "Help the circle, and get the power in turn to help myself." With a saccharine smile on her face, she takes a seat in a seat opposite him, crossing one leg over the other.

"Not an uncommon perspective," Odin admits with a laugh. "For the Kindred, real power comes from our blood. It is how we take our power and how we wield it. You must have felt that already in some small ways. In the motions of your body and the disciplines of your clan." The tortoise shell cat leaps up into Odin's lap and curls up there, purring as he runs his fingers through the fur behind its neck. "The Circle takes that further. Our rituals draw upon the innate power the Beast by sacrificing vitae."

She gestures to her own cat — or at least, the cat that seemed to be following her now — and tries to get it to hop onto her lap as she listens. Indeed she had for a while now relished in those changes. The effortlessness with which she could move. The grace she found herself exhibiting in her walk without even trying, where before her mother had scolded her for so long on a proper gait. The way mortals seemed to innately turn and stare in awe when she entered a room. That one she really loved.  "And what kind of power do these rituals grant?"

Odin smirks, the lamplight glistening off of his glasses as he peers over them at Aubrey. "What kind of power do you need ?" The cat at her feet meows in agreement, but remains on the floor.

With a bit of side-eye thrown to the cat at her feet, she crosses her legs to the other side and hums aloud. "Well, what I want  and what I need aren't exactly the same at the moment, but I need to find the little troublemaker who caused that scene on campus the other day. Gave the mortals a fright and Hera says she'd like a word with them." 

"Hm," Odin chuckles, "indeed." He reaches for an implement atop his desk and passes it to Aubrey. What, at a glance, had appeared to be a letter opener is, in fact, a fine, sharp blade with its triangular hilt carved into the three faces of a triune. "Do you know what we call our rites?"

She runs a finger along the edge of the blade, examining the intricate relief of the triune in the hilt as she thinks back to what else Camille had told her. "Crúac," she nods. "Riiiight. Blood magic and stuff. Like, actual witchcraft. Sacrifices. Vitae. Sorcery, and all that jazz, yeah?" Looking up, she gives him a perky smile as a strang of her falls across her face, which she brushes aside with the knife.

"All that jazz," Odin echoes, now passing Aubrey a small bone bowl. "There are five types of blood sorcery: creation, destruction, divination, protection and transmutation. Tonight, we will begin with divination. Spill your vitae into the bowl and focus on the object of your hunt. Summon your beast to seek your prey out for you.

Twiddling the blade around in her hand, she looks down at the bowl before her, and pauses. Her gaze swept over the bone, lingering on every crevice and small crack that lined its concave curve. This was what she'd wanted— A path to greater power. To control. To freedom. So why are you pausing? A face flashes in her mind, formed from the inset lines and holes of the bowl. It was a face she'd seen every night before bed as a child, staring down at her with those same wanting eyes, that same cold expression. It was a face she hadn't seen in several years now, at least not up close. And yet her mother's eyes were unmistakable. Her grip tightened around the hilt of the dagger, digging into the banding with her nails until they nearly crack. The face keeps shifting, though. It softens, rounds out, and gets younger, morphing and twisting until it was unrecognizable as her mother any longer. But still she knew it. And her eyes close, almost out of instinct, or perhaps fear? Shame? She shakes her head, pushing her sister from her mind until all she can feel is the tip of the knife pricking the tip of her finger, and a breath she didn't even realize she was holding floods out with the first drips of blood into the bowl below. She watches each drop seep into the pale white of the bone, and refocuses her breathing and mind. Come out come out little mouse. Where do you hide...

Blood pools in the bottom of the bowl and for a moment Aubrey feels a tugging sensation in the back of her mind. Shades of black and red swirl in the mass of rapidly congealing vitae. It seems as though they're trying to pull together to form an image, but then the cohesion is lost and all that remains is a rorschach inkblot of blood spatter on bone.