San Francisco by Night
Ethan Reeves
In Uruk. My name was Enkar then. I walked the streets, warmed by the heat of that marvelous golden orb. Past the temples of Anu and Inanna, the patron deities, where so many of the lower class came to beg. The glory of those deities was nothing though, when held against the epic of tale of Gilgamesh. Gilgamesh and Enkidu.
Enkidu.
In Jerusalem. My name was Augustus then. I walked the streets, estranged from humanity for
millenia, even as the man called Christ offered salvation. He was an enigma, proclaimed
the son of a god. Just as Gilgamesh had been. Gilgamesh and his great friend.
Enkidu.
In London. My name was William then. I walked the streets, my true nature thrust forth,
for all the Kine to witness. They knew we were there, and they knew their god watched over
them. Pray unto the Lord, pray for your royalty. They are the extension of God's will.
Just as Gilgamesh had been.
Enkidu.
In Venice. My name was Vincent then. I walked the streets, cloaked. The Rennaisance had
risen, bringing with it the dawn of reason. Humanity's ruling class would soon fall, only
to be replaced by another. And still, the Kine sought immortality, blind to it's curse.
Gilgamesh.
Enkidu.
In San Francisco. My name is Ethan now. I walk the streets, unseen. The Final Nights are
upon us. I seek my childer and descendants. So many roam this city. They search for
something, yet know not what. In their searches, they dispense loyalty as though it were
in abundance. The Camarilla. The Sabbat. Tools. Avatars of the masters. They strive to be
supreme. They know not what it means.
They search. They all search.
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