Vampire The Masquerade RPG
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The Times
The Kindred Chronicle
Key Figures
THE MONSTER OF EALING
Last night, several people reported the sighting of a "screaming red monster" in a quiet neighbourhood of Ealing. After a power shortage in the area, a building caught fire. It was then when, what was described as a "man shaped, footless creature" emerged from the flames, leaping, running, and screaming. One woman has told our reporters that the man had "teeth like a wolf, and the face of the devil". Police officers are still trying to get to the bottom of this; neither the power shortage nor the fire have still been explained. A spokesperson from Scotland Yard has stated that the "so called monster" might be a wounded person, escaping the fire.

TRAGEDY IN TOOLEY STREET
The police has found the bodies of three TFL workers in the construction site at Tooley Street. One of their colleagues raised the alarms last week, when the three workers didn't attend their shifts. The bodies of the men have been found in a deep hole, uncovered by the refurbishment works that are taking place in the area. According to the Police, the bodies were horribly mutilated, which has led to the wildest speculations. The names of the three workers are being kept anonymous, following the wishes of their families.

HOROSCOPE
MARCH 8 - PISCES
You are used to making sacrifices, to prioritising the happiness of others before yours. Even though that is a noble attitude, there are times in life where the only healthy alternative is to embrace your own selfishness and allow yourself some enjoyment. Reserve one hour per day to do something you really like. Treat yourself! Your colour for this month is blue.
Echoes from the past ring back into London. Their intensity increases until they are deafening. What once was a faded memory of a glorious time, now becomes a shocking reality. The consequences of actions taken decades ago ripple into the present, altering the lives of everybody in the City. Unguided and blind, Kindred wander around, trying to make profit out of the reigning chaos.


The appearance of four mysterious figures turned the city upside down. Mistrust and jealousy became the official currency of London. Serpents and fiends rise to power, misdirecting the blaming eyes of the Camarilla towards imaginary enemies. Only those with clear vision and the ability to trust each other strive, while the rest run towards a shallow grave.



Across The Board
Current Chronicle: Dragons and Lions; Pride and Fire
Current Season: Spring
Controlling Sect: Camarilla



Index
Getting Started
General Information
Central London
North London
East London
West London
South London
Miscellaneous
Out of Character


Population: 31

Camarilla
Anarchs
Other
Ventrue: 1
Toreador: 5 (6)
Brujah: 2 (3)
Malkavian: 7
Tremere: 2
Nosferatu: 3
Gangrel: 1
Ventrue: 1
Toreador: 0
Brujah: 2 (3)
Malkavian: 0
Nosferatu: 1
Gangrel: 1
Setites: 5
Sabbat: ???


THE CAMARILLA

Prince

Nobody

Sheriff
Meredith Furlong
Hounds
Robyne Sheridan
Rosella Marie Allain


Keeper of Elysium
Davvad Bisset

Grand Harpy
Catherine Wilke

Primogen
Ventrue: Marcus Antonio Russo
Brujah: Thomas Krusen
Gangrel: Alexa Mallik
Malkavian: Ellora Reese
Tremere: Hannah Sundling
Toreador: Arsenio Pozzi
Nosferatu: Dogan Khojak



ANARCHS

Baron

Khoza

Baronets
Enfield: Leslie
Haringey & Barnet: Clarice Harris
Harrow: Jelena Korolenko

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Welcome To The Night

You find yourself in London on a dreary, foggy night like any other. But what lurks in the shadows is the stuff of fantasies and nightmares, far from mortal reality.

This game uses the cursed and immortal vampiric condition as a backdrop to explore themes of morality, depravity, the human condition, salvation, and personal horror. We are a writing and roleplaying community dedicated to telling complex and engaging stories.

Your fate is your own. Mingle among the ivory-tower elite in the Camarilla, join the fight of the discontented and chaotic Anarch rabble, or set out independently and attempt to survive in London's nighttime underworld. Anything is possible in our World of Darkness.

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Beast for Tea (open)
Topic Started: Monday, 10. February 2014, 15:25 (2,634 Views)
Jelena
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Anarch Mama Bear
* * * *
Shit wasn't over eh? Did look like Seb was going to ignore her and storm over to the other way of the bar. Was he done already? That was lame, didn't appreciate a bit of fun and ran. Typical around here lately! The Brujah was disappointed. Until that son of a bitch screamed some shit at her and then she was on fucking FIRE. First impulse was to rip the bar out of the floor and throw it at him, and by God, if she wouldn't be able to do it now, what other fucking situation would get her frenzied enough to actually try something like that? Didn't get to that of course. Ellen was too busy being on fire and once she edged frenzy, she was more than busy to drop from the chair and roll on the ground to get the flames away from her.

It was bright. It hurt like hell and the stink of grilled vomit, kerosene, sizzling flesh and burning hair and clothes filled the room. The fire ate its way into her flesh and burned skin and clothes right off her in some spots. Kept her eyes closed, but she could still see the flames sticking to her, feel their hot, sharp teeth biting into her until she thought she could no longer take it. She gave a fuck about the room she was in or what happened. All that mattered was to GET IT AWAY! PUT IT OUT ! All she could think of except for one thing. Don't make a sound! Don't give the son of a bitch a reason to take you as his bitch! Her teeth bit into her tongue forcefully, even when she could feel the blood oozing into her mouth. Clenched them together when she had bitten through the tongue, but the pain actually helped to distract her from the burning sensation around her for the fraction of a second before it came over her again and hurt twice as much.

Then, things felt colder instead of hotter. Pain remained. Didn't open her eyes, didn't know if she still could. She felt her limbs quiver and remained where she was without movement. Fought off the urges. Fought to remain sane, she held on to every small bit of her sanity not to fall down into the deep dark hole below. She could see it if she only tried hard enough. Something sticky was on her face. Tears, vomit, blood, some other shit? Couldn't say.

She didn't want to die! Not like this!
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NPC
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The Game Master
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The fire was small and only engulfed one person, so it didn't take long for the others that were still in the Tripper to get themselves back together and rise from their seats. The barman had used the time that Lazaruss was busy looking at his victim to get the shotgun from under the bar and level it at the guy who had started the fire. The others started to position themselves as well. Lazaruss could see several knives and also more than one pair of claws.

"I don't know who shat into your brain so that you think coming to our place again and setting it on fire again was a great idea. I guess letting the Prince deal with the last of you warlock bastards didn't send the message he thought it would. Or he sent you here to see how leaderless we are."

He pointed a finger at Lazaruss and the finger extended into another talon.

"No Nora to protect you this time. We are still more than able to deal with shits like you."

(OOC: Several things about your post. Your post described way too many actions within the given time frame. Adrenaline is not poor mans celerity. You do not have celerity and the post above is a serious case of God-modding other characters, which is a big no-no. Also vampires mostly can't vomit at will but need to trigger their gag reflex, something you did noticably not do. Not to mention the weaponry that Laz just happened to have there for field testing.

That post is chaos and insanity. You wonder why people treat you with disrespect? I am only allowing this scene to continue on express request from the other player involved. However, if anything like this pops up again, there will be serious consequences, Intime as well as outtime.)
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Lazaruss
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Elder
* * * * *
(ooc : As for the weapon, i have mentioned it three times before IC. I have also used it once before without igniting it. There was no problem with that.

Adrenaline did not accelerate Lazaruss's actions, only his thoughts, the rest was blood buffed. The actions he had taken were : To rip from her grip, to jump away, to shout, and then to put her out. He did this all in above-than-average speed, but not because of adrenaline, but because of blood buffing his speed. He was not the DC's Flash, but he was Jackie Chan. I made that sure in my post. I imagine it took less than a couple of seconds.

As for vomiting, i was under the impression that Ventrue vomit anything which is not their preferred blood type without sticking a finger in their mouth, and that they struggle to hold it in until it is safe (polite) to bring it out. Laz had merely stopped struggling.

And as for disrespect, Laz was attacked first, without breaking the rules of hospitality. According to him, he did not say or do anything that required her to attack him with Disciplines. She might feel differently, but he doesn't. He came there with the best intentions and he was attacked quite viciously for, again, no good reason. He is an old school Ventrue and he has eaten a lot of crap from others since he came to London. Yes, he would do such a thing to deter others from attacking him in the future.

He may have to put up with people insulting him for the sake of his clan, but he won't be anyone's punching bag.

And one more thing, her actions were done without PMing me about them first.)

Abruptly the whole bar turned against him, and so did his beast. Lazaruss wanted to throw the fire extinguisher down on the ground and scream in rage and frustration. And terror. He was alone, surrounded by hostiles armed to the teeth, with probably every Discipline imaginable, and some of them were probably Elders. Now was a good time to panic.

And a lesser man would have. Instead, his self-discipline kicked in. There was only one shot he had to make it out of this alive, and for that he HAD to be clam. Blood was already fueling his speed, but this time, he dipped into his will reserves, the leftovers of his mortal soul after his Embrace, and used it to help him restrain the beast which brought him to the brink of frenzy. (ooc : spending a Willpower point to keep the beast at bay.)

The struggle lasted a fraction of a second, but to him it felt like an eternity. Finally, with great effort he pushed the urge to fight and run as viciously as he could, back into the cage.

With Mr. Hide safely locked away, he bent down, and gently placed the fire extinguisher on the floor in a slow motion. Then he stood proud and tall, eyes narrow, not looking at any of them. Instead he faced the spot on the wall in front of him. Self confidence shrouded him like a cloak. Inside, it was a quite different story, but again, he knew the value of a good performance. And they still did not know what else he was capable of.

And he listened as hard as he could for the slightest stir in the room - a clink, a whirl, a whistle, a click - which would give him at least some warning if they decided to strike.

" Hospitality " He said softly, and in the silence that ensued, his voice filled the room. His nose had regenerated too, so he did not sound like a cartoon character any more. " was broken on your end, by a playground bully who turns to fists when someone looks at her the wrong way. What i have done was self defense. What she has done was worthy of a Sabbat and dishonors you all. "

" Even so, i regard this as a mater between me and her, and do not believe she reflects the entire Anarch community. I also offer apologies and compensation to the Anarchs for any harm i may have caused while defending myself. "

" So. " He crossed his arms on his chest. " Are you going to prove me wrong ? How much honor do the Anarchs have ?"

If they attacked him now, he did not believe he would survive it. But if they attacked him now, they proved that they were a movement of bullies and animals, no different from the Sabbath, and he pitied the world they wished to create. The honor of the Anarchs was at stake.

That was his last desperate gamble to save his life. Well, next to last. Sometimes he wondered how sane he really was, coming up with ideas like the one which had just popped into his head.
Edited by Lazaruss, Saturday, 14. June 2014, 23:33.
Quote:
 
Nobody hits as hard as life. Not you, nor me, nor anybody. But it ain't about how hard you can hit. It's about how hard you can get hit and keep on coming.
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The barman still had his eyes trained on the warlock making his display in Anarch territory. And if that guy wasn't shitting him, he was claiming self-defense and appealed to hospitality and their honour. That had some sort of chutzpah he could respect, but also a great lack of inside knowledge about how things worked in this place. He could have lectured the guy on those rules. Rules like no weapons in barfights. Not going for a kill in exchange for a punch, but keeping things in proportion to even count as self-defense.

But he didn't do that. He also didn't mention that almost setting a building full of... vampires alight after another guy had already tried was something that withdrew hospitality pretty fast. And that honour was something for decadent licks who could affort such pretentious shit and never had to risk getting killed over it. People up here were mostly the more down-to-earth and pragmatic sort.

And this guy was on top being an arrogant Cape bastard doing what they did best in the most blatant way possible.

He had tried to set the place on fire, willingly risking to kill them all. Best part ? After his Primogen had lost a hand and his tongue for doing almost the exact same thing some time ago. So he should have been warned. Yet he was here. Trying to bribe them. The real shitstopper ?

Talking at them about how it was not his fault and that he had done nothing wrong.

No, time for words was over. He had had his chance. A loud 'bang' filled the room as the triggers were pulled and two big and heavy slugs, one per barrel, were fired at the Intruder. The shorts were the signal for the others to close in on the Ventrue... There was a lot stirring in the room now, the sounds of it drowned out by the echo of the shotgun blast.
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Lazaruss
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Elder
* * * * *
An attack with disciplines, with celerity and potence, was no different than an attack on his life. When she started throwing Hulk-punches around on people who couldn't do the same, he had every right to assume she intended to kill him. Who among them would let such an unprovoked assault go ? When someone tried to kill him, he had every right to kill them back, and she was fortunate that he did not let her burn to ash.

Still, they did not get that. They did not get that she was the one who tried to kill him first. That she was the one who broke hospitality without a reason. That she had brought shame on their movement by what she did. A bully who turns to fists when someone looks at her the wrong way. And if her Disciplines were weaker, than what the hell was she doing starting a fight with Disciplines in the first place ?

If they wanted freedom, they had to be better than that. They had to be worthy of it. They had to earn it. Same as with what he had done by dousing her out. He could have let her die, but he didn't. Because he was better than that, despite the fact she had earned it.

Instead, they seemed to think that she was right. They wanted to beat up, kill and spill blood on their way to freedom. And how was that different from the Sabbat ? They did not understand that. They wanted him dead for defending himself.

Well, he would not be anybody's punching bag.

His ears, already keen on the slightest sound in the room caught the soft click of a shotgun in bartender's hands and it gave him the warning he was hoping for.

A momentary pang of grief for the damnation of his species went through him as he realized they would attack him after all, that they had chosen the path of Bullies and Animals, and it was the last emotion he felt before he grew cold and detached, switching into a battle mode. His beast stirred again, but the containment he had wrought moments ago still held, allowing him for clarity.

As soon as the shotgun made its first click, he kicked the fire extinguisher, conveniently placed on the floor between himself and the upcoming blast.

Now, a shotgun fired a load of pellets, but because of its barrel, its spread was not as large as people seemed to think. If one would shoot a barn door with a shotgun from ten paces away, he would find that the pellets had clustered in the area no larger than a man's palm.

The red cylinder flew upwards and caught the blast. And it promptly exploded in a large cloud of white smoke. It was, after all, a device under a lot of pressure. Lazaruss aimed the kick to position the device closer to the shotgun to catch as many pellets as it could.

It was not good enough. Some of the pellets got through. Lazaruss had already blood buffed his speed and reflexes, crouching down and avoiding most of the damage. Still, one or two ended up hitting him, but he worked through the pain. He could not do it forever, and his tank was growing empty with blood consumption, but for now it was holding. The force of those that hit him was weakened by passing through the metal and the pressure, but they still inflicted damage.

In the end, he got what he was hoping for ; a large distraction and a smoke screen. Fractions of a second to work with. This was his final trick. The thing that would kill him or save his life. And he had to endure, no matter how horrible it would be.

" PIRO FUEGO !!!" He shouted again. He had tricked them into thinking he was a warlock, and he saw no reason to drop the act. Besides, it would make them weary.

This time though, he did something far more insane than what he had done to Jelena ; he sprayed the liquid from his sleeve over his own back, careful to hit only the lower part of the coat, and pulled the collar over his head. He dislocated his shoulder in the attempt, pulling several muscles, but he had to make sure that the collar of the coat was dry.

Fire engulfed him. It was horrible, far worse than he imagined it would be. Every inch of him screamed in terror. His injuries abruptly seemed a hundred times worse and all strength and resolve seemed to flee him, leaving him nothing more than a panicked animal.

Still, the coat protected him. It was large enough to shroud himself in it, padded on the inside by fire resistant fabric, so the fire wasn't hurting him, but the simple fact that he was burning, that he was on fire, made him want to gibber and wail and soil himself with terror.

He did not. He was a King ! He was already fighting for his life ; what did he have to lose by this ? He brought more of his will, everything he had, into it and bolstered his resolve. They could not touch him now without getting burned ! That was the important thing ! The ONLY thing ! Work through it ! Suffer through it ! It is your last chance ! They would stay away now !

Shrouded in flames and tucked under his coat, he ran towards the nearest window, jumping through it in a thunderous crash, with all the speed he possessed. Or maybe that crash was so loud because of the panic which boiled in him. He did not know.
Edited by Lazaruss, Sunday, 15. June 2014, 11:09.
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Nobody hits as hard as life. Not you, nor me, nor anybody. But it ain't about how hard you can hit. It's about how hard you can get hit and keep on coming.
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The Game Master
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Giving the fire extinguisher a hard enough kick to get it off the ground hurt and it didn't really get into the air that much. One of the big calibre slugs nicked it as it was homing in on him, getting deflected and whizzing off into the wall or some piece of furniture. The second hit him full on, shortly before the first mist came oozing out of the dented cylinder on the floor slowly. Lazaruss felt the strain grow, especially with the hunger rising inside him as well. He shouted again but mot of the shock effect was lost. After all,he had done it before and he could get one of them, perhaps two or three but not every single one. They felt confident about their strength in numbers. Maybe the feint smell of burnt kerosene in the air helped facilitate it as well, it was hard to tell in the current situation.

At first the fire seemed to hold them at a small distance. Well, to be fair, who could have counted on him setting himself alight ? But he had to act quick. The coat might have protected him for some time, but he didn't know how long unless he had tried it out. The smell of sizzling fabric was not yet eminent , hidden under the thick smell of kerosene, but it was only a matter of time until the fire resistant fabric would surrender to the heat and the burning fuel.

He ran towards the window to get out and was already about to jump when a chair was thrown at him and hit his back hard. He stumbled and fell to the ground. Just
next to the window that had been meant as his means of escape. If he were able to properly reach out, he would have been able to touch it. As it was it remained just out of reach as if it wanted to mock him. He was still under the burning coat. The the first hard object hit him. One of the long bar chairs by the feel of it.


(OOC: Conveniently placed or not, a several pound cylindrical fire extinguisher in a pressurized steel flask is no football. Lobbing it into the air is no small feat. Also, please read the post carefully before replying to it. Lazaruss might expect pellets, but it has been explicitly stated that there are two shotgun slugs coming his was, so where do those pellets come from ? Also attempting to run and crash through a window is another thing than just deciding to do so.)
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Lazaruss
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Elder
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(ooc : I see you are playing my char for me. Fine. You're the GM. I can't argue with you. I'll roll with it, but just a couple of things to point :

Fire is fire. It keeps the vampires at bay. They can make a save vs Rotshreck, but they should not be able to approach him and they should move aside if he runs their way.

If he had to break his foot to kick the fire extinguisher that high up, he would do it. And it would explode, giving him the cloud cover and serving as a distraction. He's almost a 100 years old and it should be like a football to him. And with blood buffed speed and hearing the click before the shot, he'd have time to dodge the second slug. Unless bartender had celerity too, which you did not mention.

Fire resistant fabric does not burn. It even does not let the heat through. The leather on the surface of it can give off a stench, but not the fabric.

I'd just add that this is the most fun i have had since i came here.

Other than that, sorry about the pellets. I'll be more mindful in the future.)

Lazaruss fell. Despair overwhelmed him. So close. Just a foot and he would have been out. And now they would kill him. Fire burned on the surface of his coat, but he clung to it. It was still his only layer of protection.

So this is it ? He thought gingerly. This is how i die ? It was not a bad way to go, standing up for what he believed in fighting a room full of monsters. Making a stand against tyranny in a world of tyrants. Songs had been made about less. He did not regret it, and if he'd have to do it all over again, he would do exactly the same.

And this was tyranny, for they all had weapons when they allowed no weapon to anyone else. They were free to slam anyone's face in with potence and celerity or even worse, and if someone fought back they killed them.

In this moment, burning, beaten and bruised, his shoulder torn, nose broken and probably his foot, and with a slug in his chest, all he felt was nothing. His beliefs were wrong. They were monsters. All of them. Even him. There was no redemption for any of them. Where would his soul go after this night ?

A second chair hit hit him between the shoulder blades. He heard something crack in his chest. Ether someone had thrown it, or the kerosene on his back was burning out, allowing them to approach. He did not know. But there was nothing he could have done ether way. It was time to die.

No.

That one word broke through the haze and the pain in his mind. He did not die like this, on his back, helpless and weak. He did not give up. He was not a quitter ! If he had to die, he would die like a man, dragging kicking and screaming all the way, and taking the bastards with him !

But not yet. Now he fought ! He fought with everything he had because that was who he was ! When someone punches him, he fights back with everything he has until he has nothing more, and then he fights with nothing, for that was what MEN did !

He reached in and found the core of the Ventrue given to him at his Embrace, Disciplines, dominate and presence. He found more ; there was resolve, self discipline he had honed his whole life, command, leadership, diplomacy, guidance, manipulation ! He found them all and armed himself with them. And there was just enough blood left in him to pull one last desperate trick.

When next attack came his way, he waited until the last possible moment, then he sprang into action, still blood buffed, and rolled out of the way. As he rolled, he slipped out of the coat. He did not rip or tear it, for it was already loose, and with a swift graceful motion, the coat was on the ground next to him.

He held on to the sleeve though, and ended the roll on his knees, swinging the coat around him, then hurling it away.

The kerosene was still burning, thank god, and the added rush of air only inflamed it more. And the Anarchs could only move away, not to get singed. Someone might attempt to shoot it out of the air, but for a moment, the coat was flying through the air towards the large group of them like a black burning comet.

And that was when he struck. He struck with Dominate, and with Presence, with the voice of Kings, of command and authority, with everything that was Ventrue within him, dating back to the beginning of his line, hitting the group with it all ! He struck with debilitating terror he felt, and the stone of his beliefs, with the rock of his homeland and the last of his strength. The wall, and the window were behind him, and the Anarchs were in front. And he was facing all of them.

" ROTSHRECK !!!" He shouted. The word gave his power shape, and it tore from him like a torrent in a wave. He intended to catch as many of them as he could, beyond the group even, and he spread it in a half-circle before him. It would vane as it went, but it was powerful. It was not fine or subtle or the best executed discipline he ever pulled, but it was beyond anything he ever did or thought he could do. He could see it as it spread from him, or maybe he only thought he could, but for an instant, he saw a brilliant green streak, green like his eyes and shaped like half a ripple in a pond, rushing out and into the closing Anarchs.

The last of his blood reserves evaporated, as it left him, and pain he was suppressing crashed down upon him making his teeth grit down on a scream.

Another attack would come soon. He rolled again - stumbled actually - to avoid it as best as he could, towards what he hoped was the window he had been trying to reach moments ago.
Edited by Lazaruss, Sunday, 15. June 2014, 18:37.
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Nobody hits as hard as life. Not you, nor me, nor anybody. But it ain't about how hard you can hit. It's about how hard you can get hit and keep on coming.
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The Game Master
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OOC



The group started to close in on the Ventrue as he got out of his coat and prepared to hurl it at them. Slowly, after all, they knew he wouldn't be able to get out of this situation anymore. They were already anticipating giving that guy the medicine he deserved for his infractions. Nice and slow, so he also got something from it, of course, but they could arrange that. One or two ducked out of the way as the coat came their way, the others sidestepped it and came in closer. This was when he struck and shouted at them, again. A command. All of them were looking at him. A young asian woman with yellow eyes and claws stopped a bit dumbfounded and confused but closed in to the others quickly.

He rolled away, but got caught by another slug while doing so and then the Anarchs were over him and began to stab and slash at him. He tried to fight back, but it were too many and the blood loss and the increasing number of small wounds started to get to him and his resistance became weaker and weaker. A hard punch into his back and the piercing pain were the last thing he felt before darkness came over him and the sounds from the bar room faded out of his consciousness.

After the struggle was over, they cleaned up, getting the two bodies out of the bar room and Tidying the place. People knew it was pretty rough in here at times, but someone calling the fire department or the cops wasn't in their interest. After the chaos had been taken care of, they settled back in as if nothing had happened. Having taken action, most of them already didn't feel that upset anymore, having shown the man who was boss. Spreading the news would be something else entirely, but there were people for that too.
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Lazaruss
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Elder
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(ooc : Two bodies ? Jelena's character was alive the last time i've checked.)
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Nobody hits as hard as life. Not you, nor me, nor anybody. But it ain't about how hard you can hit. It's about how hard you can get hit and keep on coming.
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Lazaruss
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Elder
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The next night, when the bar was full, a stranger walked in. He was old, with gray hair and bags under his eyes. He looked like a homeless man with a few bucks for a bottle of booze.

Then he pressed the switch in his pocket, and the C4 he had underneath his coat detonated. It was the same C4 which the former Prince Archon Hamilton had given Lazaruss for the task of getting rid of the Sabbat in the Burrough of Camden. Lazaruss had never used it.

Sergei Slavicki, Lazaruss's ghoul, the only man who knew where Lazaruss was on the previous night, had avenged his fallen master. Since he felt the bond break, he had been at work. First, he took the CCTV footage of last night in the area of the bar, then he placed a small hidden camera to monitor the entrance. He compared the people he best assumed went into the bar the night before with the people who went in tonight. And once he was sure that the same people were in the bar, he made his move.

He sent no letters to anyone.
Edited by Lazaruss, Sunday, 15. June 2014, 20:23.
Quote:
 
Nobody hits as hard as life. Not you, nor me, nor anybody. But it ain't about how hard you can hit. It's about how hard you can get hit and keep on coming.
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