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The information represented herein is OOC information.

Landon Merrick
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Landon Merrick



I say thank you for the scars

and the guilt and the pain

every tear I never cried

has sealed your fate!


Did you take me for a fool

or were you just too blind to see

that every effort made has failed

and there is no destroying me!




Contents

Known facts or assumptions...

  • Ivy Jane Carroll has acted as a Seer for Landon many times, and their relationship seems to be much more than an affiliation of covenant or belief.
  • Allows himself to be addresses as simply Merrick by all but unreleased or unaligned Kindred.
  • Besides his childer Nicolette and Serianna he has one other daughter named Kathryn, though she hasn't been seen in Carcosa for decades.
  • Is the acting Hierophant, though the story of him taking the position is untold.
  • Displays an affinity for the animal the fox as well as the geometrical helix, both of his forearms having a tattooed helix inked into the flesh as if he had inserted his arm directly down the center of the helix.
  • The Formal Ventrue
    • I am Landon Merrick, childe of Kyra Merrique, of the Anu Del-Merriques, raised and by way of Philadelphia I am the eradicator of The Six of the Guided Hand. My sire’s sire is Julianna Merrique, the Vala of Philadelphia until her eclipse in 1962. I am Lord of Pappelbon Row, Hierophant of the Acolytes of Carcosa, and Jason Cimarron, Sargon of Akkad, is my king.

((Continues as it is told...))

Anu Del-Merrique Lineage...

Keaira Merrique, Circle of the Crone - eclipsed

Mortal Life : What a skeletal wreck of man this is...

1885 - 1888 : The Surgeon's Report

The young boy had been dead for quite some time, almost four hours. His cold limp body now lay nestled in the weakened arms of the man, who kneeled at the foot of the bed. The man had been inconsolable as he held his young boy, less than a week from the sixth celebration of his birth. Through his tired, exhausted eyes he looked at the boy. He’d cried all the tears he had, and now he lost himself in the comfort and foolish wish that if he simply did not let the boy go, perhaps the boy would come back to him. The woman on the bed had not moved in more than forty eight hours, and if it were not for the surgeon sitting at her side would have likely died long before. Though at this point all he could do was make her ‘comfortable’, if such a thing existed. Yet there was no comfort for the man. He’d not slept. He’d not eaten. He’d done nothing, but rot with the only family that he had; watched death steal their vitality and beauty. Turn his loving wife’s hair from a bright gold that was as warm as the sun, to pale dreary silver that was as wispy as the web of a spider.

The man was caught somewhere between the dream world of slumber and the living nightmare in which he was sitting, neither fully awake nor ever asleep as he held the young boy to his chest. A few times during the night he’d awoke, in an obsessive excitement as the movement of his own chest as he breathed had tricked him into believing the small boy had finally roused. It was not his small son, wrapped in his arms, nor his own breathing that roused him this time. It was the bells from the monastery, the monastery he’d come to curse, sounding their midnight song. He’d as soon as fell back into his labyrinth of torment when the woman finally moved. It took the last of her strength to call out his name, and through her lips it was a haunting whisper that he would never forget. The man turned to look at his once beautiful wife, a look of horror as if a living ghost was calling out to him. Yet out of desperate hope he crawled to her side, carrying the small boy with him, and laid with her. The man did not hear the feeble apologies from his wife, as she used the last of her strength to beg his forgiveness. He’d never blamed her, but cursed God, and that he did the following morning when he rose from the bed of death that he’d slumbered in. Though the man had risen to walk the earth once more the next morning, he was changed forever. Sir Gabriel Breslin had died with his wife and small boy that night, his body just hadn’t followed yet.

1888 - 1891 : The Butler's Letters

Each morning reports come for Sir Breslin, reports about the homestead in the Americas. He doesn’t read them, though the plantations and mills that he owns there produce the largest section of his financial estate. He concerns himself with only one thing. Each morning when the butler receives the mail Sir Breslin is eager to read more about The Whitechapel Murders. Sir Breslin has become increasingly displeased with the world since the death of his wife and child, often commenting is ways that he’d never done before, blaming atrocious things like murder and the death of his wife and child on what he calls vile acts of humanity such as prostitution and sloth. The maids are so fearful of Sir Breslin that they refuse to enter his private study, and the duty of bringing him his meals has fallen to the butler. The maids have on more than one occasion cowered from Sir Breslin as he walked the halls of his home, as if he’d beat them or acted out physically against their person in some other manner. Sir Breslin sleeps most days, long past the lunch hour. He’s taken to sitting by his fire long into the night, and though the servants have tried to match his stalwart stamina to resist sleep they have been unable to do so. They wake each morning to a messy house, oddly dirty from when they’d put it to sleep for the night, and again, they find Sir Breslin sprawled out on his bed in a deep slumber.

The Whitechapel Murders continued for some time, and Sir Breslin continued to enjoy reading about them. But he seemed to be growing bored with the endeavor and had started making comments about how the authorities would soon catch up to the murderer. But it had been almost three years since the first of the connected murders had started, and Scotland Yard had no solid suspects and very little evidence. But once again the anniversary of his wife and child’s death was approaching. It had been six years since that time had passed, and this year was particularly hard because it was the age of celebration he would have had with his young son. Sir Breslin went hysterical the month of their death, beating himself as hard as any servant who dared walk into his room. The house was draped in black, to match his demeanor and outlook on life, and fell silent. Sir Breslin spent the night of his wife and child’s death curled in the same position, in the same room; talking to himself, or perhaps to the memories of his loved ones. The butler feared greatly to enter the room the next morning, feared to walk in and relive the scene he had done so six years prior, but feared most of all when Sir Breslin has vanished. It had been rumored at the time that Sir Breslin has killed himself, and that his servants, in afford him with the appropriate honors, did not reveal his death. It mattered not to anyone of real importance. Though before the death of his wife and child he had been an important and public man, he had become a recluse and it was rumored had lost his fortune.

1891 - 1893 : The Mistresses's Journal

Sir Gabriel Breslin was dead, or at least that’s what Landon Wells let the world believe. Sir Breslin died from the grief of his family, with the comfort that he’d be reunited with them in the afterlife. Landon Wells bartered passage onto a ship, with nothing more than the sack of clothes that he carried and a large chest that nobody ever saw the contents of. The ship set sail from London, England and was chartered to travel to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. That was how Landon Wells came to the homestead of Sir Gabriel Breslin. In honest he traveled from the port by way of horse and carriage, but that matters very little anymore. The local government and the homestead workers didn’t object to Landon Wells taking over the mills, plantations and estate. They argued very little because the man had both the paperwork that laid ownership claim and the coin to silence their tongues.

Landon sought after a life of grand comfort, at least compared to the locals who worked for him. He spent a good deal of money bringing the largest of the plantations back to life, and spent a good deal more making himself a person of note to the locals. The Atlantic seemed to have erased his disdain for brothels and booze houses, and the local community lacked the alcohol and a supply of young women to satisfy his thirst, or drown his memory, yet each night he tried to do both. The years passed and Landon knew woman after woman, none of them satisfying him for long. He found his reasons to push them away, but they were never meaningful nor accurate. He’d once again taken to a night life, poorly hustling cards, famously out drinking men, and unashamedly chasing women. There were a few women that he knew to stay clear of. He’d never heard anything in particular, but their demeanor, no their eyes told him to stay away.

Stay away is exactly what he did, but nobody said he couldn’t look. And that is exactly what he did, but he didn’t just look at her, he watched her. He followed her home on some nights, catching the last glimpse of her before he stepped into her home; just moments before the first rays of the sun came sweeping across the ocean waters. He’d wait some days, all day long, to follow her as she went about her business for the night. He asked around to the neighborhood people and every one of them told him the same story. She was the daughter of a wealthy French psychologist who had married a beautiful Sumerian woman who was much like a slave to him initially. Nobody was allowed in the home, they very rarely ever ventured into town during the heat of the day, and at night kept to themselves. The only person that could tell Landon the woman’s name was a young girl, who just happened to be playing near the cart that he had stopped to once again ask questions. The woman’s name, the interest of his affection, was Kyra Merrique.

The Embrace : Translucent flesh and feeble bone...

1893 - 1895 : The Stalker's Gift

The twilight was softly fading, the air filled with the fragrances of the waters and the sweetness of spring. What a kind miracle it was that she had chosen such a place, and that it was so strangely deserted on such a divine evening. Landon Wells had thought he’d chosen the place. He’d arrived at her home at noon that day, and through several naps, waited for her to leave for the evening. Many alleyways, groves, and markets had he followed her through, taking care to hide or appear that he was simply out for a stroll each time she’d turn. He was half amused in the thought that she might know he was following her, and not only that she was aware, but perhaps she was as excited as he was. He was lost in the labyrinth of exotic passion as he followed her, finally gaining the courage to speak with her. The conversation he’d said to himself hundreds of times in the mirror prepared perfectly on his lips when his hand tenderly found the woman’s shoulder as she gazed out over the waters. He’d nearly forgotten to breath, standing in her beauty, and if it weren’t for the fact that her sheer magnetism had made him gasp as she turned it would have been more likely that he had. If asked about that night Landon Wells will recall the experience and describe it with fluid emotion. Those moments before sleep, where you can still feel the environment around you but have lost the ability to interact with it; you can hear, you can’t see, but above all else, you can feel everything around you. Feel everything with a heightened sense of perception that is beyond you when you walk the conscious world. The feelings are more potent, more pleasurable, and all together alien. When it’s over you feel satisfied and replenished, yet you yearn to return to that feeling of pure meaningless, meaningless relaxation. But that meaningless relaxation was something that Landon Wells would never return to. There were a great many things that Landon Wells would never return to.

Kyra Merrique changed a good many things about the man that night, most inconsequential of all was his name. But that changed as well, changed to Landon Merrick. He retained Landon after his last meager attempt to change his name, simply twisting the spelling of his favorite city; and Merrick, taking his own spelling of his Sire’s surname. But those may have been the only two human traits that Landon Merrick actually retained after the sun rose again that next morning. He didn’t understand, and what he didn’t understand frightened him. As the world lived and breathed each morning he would die, and when the world was darkened and dreary, he would walk. He was told to forget his memories, forget all the possibilities. She’d changed him into what she called the Annunaki’s Vessel of the Flesh, and she told him very little of what he was. She made it known to him, that much like the Blood Gods he would worship that he himself, being in liking so much to them, would also need Blood to sustain himself. There was no ease in transition from prey to predator, and he learned in the most brutal form possible what would happen if he denied himself for too long. He had been her creation for less than a week when he lost the innocence of purity, but the murder he’d committed worried her less than the fact that he seemed unchanged by it. He still demanded to know the answers to the questions he’d ask, questions that she’d told him the Gods would answer with time. Landon Merrick thought it was time, and if she didn’t answer those questions, and his new Gods didn’t answer those questions, he’d find someone who would.

Kyra thought that she would satisfy his hunger for answers by presenting him with his true existence, but it did not. What it did do was lead him to Valerie Desmond-Arquette, a Librettist in what was called the Invictus and a neonate member of the Circle of the Crone as was he. What Kyra had forgotten to do, while instructing Landon of all the things he would need to know to walk his Requiem, was to reveal to him that she herself was the most obsessive lover/mother that he would ever know; and that his sleeping with her protégé, the Valerie Desmond-Arquette, was the worst mistake that he’d make in the long life he’d yet to live. Her punishment for his short affair instilled scars that Landon Merrick would never forget; no matter the decades he spent trying.

1895 - 1908 : The Lobbyist’s Agenda

Life in a major metropolitan is a crafty game of politics, ass-kissing, and pandering. Philadelphia was made worse by the short-sightedness of the Carthian Movement. And for all the complaining and theorizing all the Citizens of the city did, they took no action, besides pandering like beggars and whores to the ruling class. Kyra taught this to Landon quickly. Most of the world is composed of nobodies and losers that sole purpose is to loft those of us that are worthy of greatness and leadership onto their shoulders. The Citizens of Philadelphia were no different to Landon or Kyra, they were a rung in the latter they had to climb. A latter they had to climb to ascend themselves to their true nature, children of The Annunaki. Each day that passed seemed to put Kyra into a fouler and more reckless mood. She started to do things without consideration of previous patterns of action. She’d become so displeased with the city around her she became a danger to herself, and those around her quickly pointed that out. So thirteen years after she had embraced her beloved son Landon, she set forth to discover new life. Philadelphia had become stagnant in the narrow ideologies of the Carthian Movement, stagnant with the political and cultural views of the young American nation. It was time to move on, move on to a city that had more potential than that of Philadelphia. Neither Landon nor Kyra had heard much of Carcosa, but what could possibly be worse than begging for attention to the powerful Carthian Movement.

Carcosa City : The kind of temple where the whores and villains...

1908 - 1918 : The Inquisitor’s Dogma

Landon arrived in Carcosa with Kyra, Valerie Desmond-Arquette, a Haunt known only as Vincent, and a very troubled young woman who had been serving as a ghoul to the entire coterie know as Seraphina; which Landon had commented several times on how she gave him the creeps, and refused to let the young woman have access to him during the day. Within a year Kyra’s question was answered. What was worse than being a lobbyist whore to the Carthian Movement? Forced into being a loyal subject of the Lancea Sanctum and the impious doctrine of Longinus, that was worse than being a political whore. The move from Philadelphia was no light matter for the coterie however, and what other choice did they have besides stay in the shadows, play the game the Spears demand they do, and wait however long it takes for things to change.

1918 - 1928 : The Devotee’s Interlude

Landon spent most of his spare time torturing things to amuse himself. This period of Lancea Sanctum enlightenment led to the greatest loss of humanity that Landon would ever experience. Like all the Acolytes he was forced to ease his mind with murderous wishes of change, and so Landon wrote. He wrote most of the night, he wrote until the sleep completely consumed him mid sentence, he wrote during the Lancea Sanctum sermon. That writing no longer exists, but Landon can recall every feeling that flowed from him through the pen.

Whoever appeals to the law against his fellow man is either a fool or a coward.

Whoever can not take care of himself without that law is both.

For a wounded man shall say to his assailant, if I live I will kill you, if I die you are forgiven.

Such is the rule of honor.


Broken the paradigm an example must be set.

Invoke the Siren's song and sign the death warrant.

This is what has been wrought for thirty pieces of silver.

The tongues of men and angels bought, by a beloved betrayer.

I am the result, what’s better left unspoken.

Violence begins to mend what was broken.

You’ve been talking, I’ve been all ears.

Words meant to dwell in darkness shall never see the light of day.

Words can be broken, so can bones, execute the mandate.

Mouth full of dirt, your name removed from the registry.

St Peter greets with empty eyes and then turns and locks the gate.


Cheaply venal, stupidly verbose

A slip of the tongue, a slit of the throat

Six feet under with no marker

Keep my name from your mouth forever

Free speech for the obedient, dead men tell no tales

Your laughing finger will never point again

Preach at me now

This outlook only soured his demeanor further after Belial's Brood was blood hunted and illegally killed. Landon found it most difficult to keep his mouth shut in regards to the Lancea Sanctum and their empty laws. If it were not for the safety of the other Acolytes, he surely would have proven just another situation where the Kindred Laws set forth by the Lancea Sanctum were disregarded to boost their already swelling power.

1928 - 1938 : The Unknown’s Sacrifice

'These are days when many are discouraged', Kyra told Landon, 'but we, even with our extended lives cannot understand time and pattern as The Annunaki see it. Depressions have come and gone. Prosperity has always returned and will again.'

Tablet XI of the Epic of Gilgamesh, which tells of the Deluge

The Sumerian myth tells how the god Enki warns Ziudsura, of the gods' decision to destroy mankind in a flood - the passage describing why the gods have decided this is lost. Enki instructs Ziusudra to build a large boat - the text describing the instructions is also lost. After a flood of seven days, Ziudsura makes appropriate sacrifices and prostrations to Anu and Enlil, and is given eternal life by Anu and Enlil.

The hero Gilgamesh, seeking immortality, searches out Utnapishtim (whose name is a direct translation into Akkadian of the Sumerian Ziudsura). Utnapishtim tells how Enki warned him of the gods' plan to destroy all life through a great flood and instructed him to build a vessel in which he could save his family, his friends, and his wealth and cattle. After the Deluge the gods repented their action and made Utnapishtim immortal.

The Great Depression’s source, traditionally thought to be in the stock market of the United States, was nothing more than another Deluge of The Annunakis’ design to rid the world of the corrupt that had littered their beloved nature. During this time Landon took to ritualized worship with Kyra and the other Children of The Annunaki and through the performance of some of the most elaborate and brutal sacrifices managed to shift the Deluge. The Annunaki, while busy making sure that Enki did not interfere with their plans this time, failed to see that Utu was offering the world another escape from the Deluge. He offered them a grand war, a grand war that after which would leave the world in shambles, but survived.

1938 - 1948 : The Trendkiller’s Intolerance

The tribulation, though survived, was a rough period for Landon, and he’s lost even more of his humanity. He was dangerous, there was nothing more that anyone could say. He was killing kine at just about every feeding, and for the first time in his Requiem he experienced wanton lust.

The following conversation takes place after Ivy Jane Carroll finds Landon after yet again one of his murderous rampages in his living room. His victims are once again black and latina.

Ivy Jane Carroll: If it ain't Carcosa's deadliest white boy.

Merrick: What the fuck are you doing here?

Ivy Jane Carroll: Congrats on four more notches for your gun belt. I'll be praying for the families of your victims.

Merrick: They're food Ivy. The victims are the family men and women, and neighborhood children that these fuckers exploit. Food, Ivy. Food.

Ivy Jane Carroll: As evil as those people were, they had a right to live.

Merrick: Now that you're all militant, why don't you just say it? You think I'm a racist.

Ivy Jane Carrol: You have another explanation?

Merrick: No I don't. Because if I bring them home and they are black, yellow or brown, I’ll use them to satisfy myself and then cut their throats and let them rot at the bottom of the river. But if they're white, I'll give 'em a ride home and tuck them into bed. You know why? Cause I'm a racist. Fuck you.

It wouldn't be long after that Landon deflected the Bloody Fist of the KKK from Ivy Jane Carroll. An easy task, because after some of the things he'd done in the past few months, it wouldn't be a far stretch for people to believe that if Landon wasn't a part of their group, he at least tolerated their ideologies better than most, or so he let them believe.

1948 - 1958 : The Hunter’s Monologue

Smoke rose from the earth. Cries and screams again. With a hard, shattering blow, Landon struck a wall and a floor. Horses went by, the hooves barely missing his head, sparks flying from the stones. A woman laid bleeding and dying before him, her neck obviously broken, blood pouring out of her nose and ears. People fled in all directions. Again the smell of excrement mixed with blood.

It was a city at war, the soldiers looting and dragging the innocents from out of archways, screams echoing as if off endless ceilings, the flames coming so close they singed Landon’s hair. Landon looked up. He wasn’t in a street at all. He was in a huge domed church, with gallery upon gallery of Roman arches and columns. All around him, against the glittered of gold mosaics, men and women were being cut down. Horses were trampling them. The body of a child struck the wall just above him, the skull crushed and the tiny limbs dropping like debris just before him. Landon knew that face, what was not disfigured. He’d never thought he could forget it, but he had, just until that very moment. That face still haunted him, his young boy, nearly six years old. A cold horror stole Landon’s breath and he looked around in a panic.

All around and high above, the golden mosaics blazed with faces which seemed now transfixed in horror as they beheld this slaughter. Landon knew that voice, so young and vibrant. He could recognize her scream anywhere. He’d often heard it when she was startled by some small rodent all those years ago, but now there was pain. He gathered the dismembered body of his small boy and limped toward the screams, toward the front of the church, up to the alter. Landon saw her, his wife, struggling against the robed inquisitor. The inquisitor wielded a black sword that glowed an almost eerie green with the hatred its victims had bestowed upon it.

The boy fell from his arms as he started to run. He fell twice, his ankle had been broken, yet he got to his feet once again. He couldn’t lose her a second time. He plowed into the robed man, pushing him to the ground, his hood flying back. Landon stared into the face of horror. The skin was the color of midnight, stifling dark. The jackal looked back at Landon with deep swirling red eyes. The fire was so close Landon could no longer breath as the flames stole what little oxygen was left, yet he couldn’t pull away. The robed jackal burst into flames, yet Landon couldn’t pull away. The black skin blistered and coiled onto itself revealing the pink muscle and blood underneath. The muscle and fat dropped from the skeletal structure of the robed figure, and Landon watched in horror; watched in horror because he was looking at himself. Landon was watching the robed jackal burn as if he were looking into a mirror. He tried to close his eyes and not see, but unable not to see.

Landon awoke with a scream. He looked over at Kyra, moments before the dusk settled in and she awoke for the night.

1958 - 1968 : The Defector’s Narrative

The oppressive dictates of the Lancea Sanctum would continue no longer to Landon nor Kyra. For many years Landon held the story of his Inward Hunt close to himself, he hadn’t even told Kyra. He held it close until the night Kyra told him she was leaving Carcosa to once again return to Philadelphia. After years of the same day-mare and now the departure of his beloved mother he knew what The Annunaki were telling him. The change Landon and Kyra had been waiting for, for over a half century, was coming. The time was at hand for him to separate himself from the obedient masses. He started this by missing the required Midnight Mass, and never did observe another. To this day Landon cannot explain why the Lancea Sanctum did not notice his absence, but those years were a time when the Spears busied themselves with a good deal many other things, why would they notice one Acolyte.

1985: Valerie came to Landon after she’d embraced Damien Costello. Landon supposed she was simply looking for some measure of support for her action, but at the time Landon offered none. He was far too concerned with himself to really examine the meek individual she chose to bring into her esteemed lineage.

1968 - 1978 : The Father's Prodigy

1975, October 1: Are you afraid, afraid of the truth, in the mirror staring back at you. The image is cracked, but so is the view. Landon’s words were barely audible over the gasps the girl was taking to try to breathe. He was holding her firmly around the neck, lifting her off the ground in front of the full body mirror so she could watch her fate. Such a strange path of events that had led to this young woman’s current situation, but like most things in life, it was entirely beyond her control. A smile slowly flickered across Landon’s lips as he thought of an old saying he actually hadn’t heard in years, 'nothing matters so much as blood.' A family heirloom signifying the importance for trusting and relying on your family, yet in all his decades Landon had come to discover the perverse irony of that saying. Nothing matters so much as blood, he was going to take all of hers, just as he had her sister who was lying on the bed behind them, and by giving her his blood he’d make them his family; because nothing matters so much as blood.

A Re-visioned Dream : Try to tempt the holistic tomes...

1978 - 1988 : The Politician's Bargain

1976: Landon’s sour mood didn’t improve much. The empty building and corrupt politics made influencing the streets even more difficult to those with age. He’d lost touch with some of the younger types that had the authority to traffic through the underbelly of the city. What made matters worse were these young childer, so disrespectful, so full of misplaced pride. It was time to target a few of them and instruct them on their role in Society, because obviously Carcosa and the Lancea Sanctum were creating a myriad of Sires who failed to instruct properly.

The following conversation takes place in a back alley near the docks… Landon has appeared out of the shadows and moves toward an Underworld transaction.

Merrick: Konnichiwa.

Kien's Thug: What?

Merrick: Konnichiwa, it means what’s up. So what the fuck is up.

Kien's Thug: Konnichiwa is Japanese. It’s insultin’ to Chinese.

Merrick: How am I supposed to tell if you can’t?

Kien's Thug: Fuck’s that supposed to mean, white boy?

Merrick: It means you got eyes like apostrophes, you dress white, talk black, and drive Jew. So how am I supposed to know what kind of zipper-head dog-munching dink you are if you don’t?

Kien's Thug: Yo. D’you know who the fuck we are?

Merrick: Yeah. You’re a couple pan-heads buying a machine gun out of a trunk.

After that night a good deal of the local lower to mid level thugs were hesitant to do anything in the underbelly of the city, and for good reason. The monsters that they knew lurched in the dark were even more scary than the ones that ordered them around.

1978: Valerie had only ‘summoned’ Landon but one other time in there requiem together and she’d been near death when she had done so. The previous time was decades ago before they had come to Carcosa, when Landon was still young. It appeared that she had called him out of desperation, and she never did explain why of all the Kindred she could have called that she chose Landon Merrick to aid her. But even back in Philly, all those years ago, Landon didn’t feel her fear when she ‘summoned’ him. She was weakened after the attack and daylight was merely a half hour away. If she’d hesitated any longer there would not have been enough time. But even then he didn’t feel her fear. This time, all these decades later, he felt her fear when she made the link again. He knew that she wanted him immediately, he know that she was terrified, and he could guess why. The Consilium had come for her. Valerie wouldn’t have been hard to locate. She was so well burrowed in society that she was a figure-head, a respected and well liked woman. By the time that Landon arrived to her apartment the rubble was still smoldering. Her pull had faded before he arrived, yet he found the strange pile of ash that was left behind when she was vanquished from this world. Madam Valerie Desmond-Arquette died on her own accord, the iron masked wraiths would not steal her pride.

1987: When the Consilium constricted the area Kindred are allowed to occupy none are stressed so much as those few individuals that already had claim and sovereignty over a section of Carcosa. North Row had always provided everything Landon needed. He didn't particularly enjoy the environment, but the people were corruptible, very rarely ever missed when they disappeared, and could connect you to the right people for many things. Landon allowed many of the newly condensed Acolytes to make their homes in Pappelbon Row but the stress from the situation was clearly seen in his mood.

1988 - 1998 : The Oracle's Insight

1989: Roman Ventimiglia was the most pompous Hierophant that the city of Carcosa had ever sustained, the fact that he was a gluttonous Incubi made him almost unbearably intolerable. Many of his lovers claimed that his call for wanton embrace was nothing more than a covenant wide tribulation imposed by the Gods, and the individuals that opposed him were shunned, ignored, or bullied. Late in the year, after several embraces in which the Sire’s could not sustain suitable living situations for their childer, Landon along with a few of the other elders who were carrying the load started to object to further offspring.

1990: Roman Ventimiglia, his entranced lovers, and his votary harem start to suggest that the Acolyte Elders are actually the individuals to blame for the failure to uphold the tribulation that has now imposed great difficulty on the entire covenant. It is suggested that if the Elders were gifted with the long sleep it would free up their resources and those resources alone could help many younger individuals flourish. Though this imposed torpor is never openly spoken about, Landon lashes out several times in retaliation for what he claims to be uncouth indulgence and selfish lack of personal fortitude that is being displayed in the young Acolytes and notes how the chorus has turned into nothing more than an unruly high school classroom without an authority figure.

1990 (Winter): The room goes silent. The look of shock on the pompous face of Roman Ventimiglia quickly spreads concern through his beloved followers. Landon Merrick was bruised, but only lightly as he pushed open the doors to the meeting hall. The twenty yards from the doorway to the gluttonous throne that Roman had placed himself were covered quickly, Landon’s blade kissing the ground as he neared. Of course Roman’s meager neonate hit squad failed, you don’t send three pups to kill a monster that has been playing the game for nearly a century. The room blurred as Landon neared Roman’s throne, he didn’t tell friend from foe, battle participant from non combatant. The swing was sharp and precise, Landon’s blade split through Roman’s flesh spraying his blood through the crowd. The grappling mosh pit that had formed around Landon, Roman, and the throne came to an abrupt halt. With one quick push Roman’s throne was laying on its back, covered in the ash that used to be the Hierophant. As Landon turned to face the crowd the future of the Circle of the Crone turned as well.

1994: Landon had seen it before, the all too familiar look of the group of predators circling their young prey. The Spear's would never try something so foolish with an individual who was their equal, or better yet their superior, but they were quite confidant in exploiting the young Invictus and Crone. The girl was simply lucky. Lucky that Landon just happened to overhear the seductive lies of the Spear pulling the young girl toward them. Lucky that in those days Landon still instilled some fear into the remaining members of the Lancea Sanctum. Lucky that Landon himself was in the mood to simply aggravate the Spear. Landon didn't know who this young woman was. He'd seen her in passing, but that wasn't enough to actually justify having business with her. That didn't matter. The look of defeat that quickly swept across the faces of her would be executioners was pleasurable enough that Landon though the service was well worth it. It surprised Landon when the young woman turned out to be Silvia Bancroft. He knew that name, and now he had the face to go with it. Who could have missed the childe of Prince Zhao's. At that point it didn't matter much to Landon, he'd have done what he did for anyone, but he was pleasantly surprised that the young woman showed enough instilled humility to offer him a medium boon which he accepted out of formality and quickly gave her an overly simplistic task to get herself out of it. After all, all is well that ends with the Spear on the losing end.

1998 - 2008 : The Hangman's Fate

2005: He'd been cast into the viper pit before, there would be no difference this time. Prince Kien Zhao was still alive, for now, and that was the only reason to still be doing business with these shiny mannequins. Because in all truth, what had they done these past years that the Acolytes couldn't have done on our own, what do they intend to do for us now, that we couldn't do on our own. Landon sat slowly, looking across the table at that proud bitch Josephine Blackwell-Finch. It couldn't escape him each time he was the woman, a primal urge to break her, like one would a vase that has become annoying in it's beauty and craftsmanship. But when the First Estate is happy, and particularly happy with the Acolytes, it makes it easier for the Acolytes to do as they wish. So Landon Merrick swallowed what pride has yet been stolen from him and begins bartering with his snaked tongued opponents.

The Annunaki : Those who from Heaven to Earth came!

Making themselves apparent to existence 432,000 years ago, the Annunaki Gods, also referred to as Nephilim, Nefilim and Elohim, are known to those of the Sumerian faith as “Those who from Heaven to Earth came.” In Sumerian Mythology they were a pantheon of benevolent and maleficent Gods and Goddesses who came to Earth to create the Kine and Kindred races alike.

For the Annunaki, pattern is more important than community or individuality. A specific Kine or Kindred are unimportant. Likewise, a specific village, family, clan or covenant is equally unimportant. The most important issue for this pantheon is the discovery of patterns that repeat in cycles or loops called Time. The concept of these patterns is so far reaching that even the battles of the Annunaki reflect reality as another duality or perhaps even continuity. For if the Gods’ themselves or the Vessels of the Flesh that they choose can understand Time, they can predict and alter the world around them. The precision of the pattern, math and metaphor require bloody sacrifice, and even is the worshipers of other Gods deplore the Annunaki Gods’ methods, they cannot deny that at least the accuracy of their patterns proceed.

The Sumerians believed in their Gods and saw the intentions of their Gods as good and powerful beings that controlled their world. The Sumerian explanation for their hardships and misfortunes were the result of deeds that displeased the Gods. They believed that when someone displeased the Gods, the Gods let demons punish the offender with sickness, disease or environmental disasters. However, the Sumerians believe that when one suffered it was best not to curse the Gods but to glorify them through the tribulation, to appeal to them, and to wait patiently for their deliverance.

In giving their Gods human characteristics, the Sumerians projected onto their Gods the conflicts they found among themselves. The Annunaki have weakness, naturally, and their greatest stumbling block is their desperate and sometimes obsessive need to fulfill that which fuels them, be it blood, sex or sacrifice. Blood fuels and expedites all Annunaki magic and divine powers, and while Anu might need only a drop of blood or a light kiss for most of his workings, Inanna seems to need bucketsful and orgies. The Annunaki are sometimes depicted as humanoid, at other times they are bird-headed with wings, and often they are Reptilian in appearance especially when depicted as warriors.

Merrick's Gallery of Kur - Nu - Gi - A

While few Kindred have ever been invited to view the most exquisite creations of Landon Merrick, he keeps each of them in a section of his home known as the Gallery of Kur-Nu-Gi-A. One half of the room is vivid and eloquent with lavish decor while the other half is grim covered in shadows, giving it a somber mood that drives most viewers to look away.

Valerie Desmond-Arquette

Each side has the painted works of Landon Merrick, the eloquent side showing colorful images and the somber side in black, white, and gray. The commonality between all of the painting is the grainy texture of the work, as if a dust was mixed with the paints as Landon worked on each portrait.

Tamara St.Croix

The Six of the Guiding Hand

Merrick's Human Retainers

Chris Ludlow

Naomie Ludlow

Kyra & Kylie Diskant

Merrick's Vehicles

Buggati Veyron

Merrick's Valuables

Court Mask

Anu Del-Merrique Crest

Right Index Finger

14 Zumwalt Street, North Docks (Personal Haven)


1 Lombe Drive, Pony Way (Sumerian Communal Haven)

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