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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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Make me the Bride of the Lion's King; Piscina's conference room.
Topic Started: Sunday, 6. July 2014, 04:46 (549 Views)
Victoria Scott
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Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.
* * * *
The way up the stairs was made in complete silence, with Tory ahead. The illusory effects of Pisces' booze had scurried away like ants from a sudden downpour after the royal meeting, and her head was as clear as always. The rigidness in her shoulders tho, it remained and began to spread all over her body like the plague. She tilted her neck one way, then the other, to try and loose up some of that hardness like she did every evening after waking up, when the rigor mortis still had a grip on her corpse.

Piscina followed her like a modern Persephone and, contrary to the myth, she didn't even deign to turn her head on the Ravnos when she finally broke the silence in the long corridor that lead to her conference room.

"Well. That's not something you see every decade."

No, indeed it wasn't. A Prince trespassing borders to meet the Anarchs of the city about one of his boys having set fire to their meeting point, trying to openly deny this fact and coming out of it unscathed? Un -fucking- believable.

"Yeah." Her tone was apathetic. "He broke a world record uh? I would have never guessed that."

A record on holding the most pretentious, shameless bunch of horseshit in front of the most apathetic, free of fucks audience she had ever seen.

"I know you are set against him like oil and water, Victory. It was marvelous that you were so calm."

And then that.

"It was a marvelous piece of shit."

She had stood up to him. But what for? To award his gutsy move with her own dose of bathed in gold, politically correct vomit? As much as she wanted to believe it had been for the best, the unsaid brushoffs piled up against her throat demanding to break free. "So this is what they taught me?" she asked herself. "Did I really choose to be tactful or is it that Princes still get me weak on my knees?"

"Here it comes. Let's get in the room first." Pisces added, but she wasn't listening anymore.

Of course she had reasons to restrain herself. Mostly that she was a foreigner, London wasn't her city and, since nobody else seemed to care about it, she wasn't willing to bet her neck for them. Not with a blood hunt over her head in Chicago and specially with how quickly reputations and reports ran between Camarilla domains. It's not like she cared about them, anyway...

Then again, this didn't make her feel less of a hypocrite.

When they got to the room, she dropped onto one of the armchairs and lighted a cigarette. The glass of dreambooze was no longer on the table, where she had left it.

"So where were we? How I met the ghoul bitch?" her eyes met Pisces again, displaying a melange of feigned indifference and irritation. Shrugging the Prince's subject off and going back to the less thorny topic of her past wasn't going to be this easy. But hey, she had to try.
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Piscina
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Ancilla
* * * *
Pisces' thoughts as they went up the stairs were as different from Tory's as water is from fire. She didn't spend a whit of time grousing over the Prince's actions. She had a stake in his hands staying off the Northern Territories, but not a personal one. And as far as she understood domain, the Prince was perfectly within his rights to visit Hospitality unmolested, even if you did not buy into the Anarchs-are-my-subjects portion of his speech. Jason had extended invitations to all non-Sabbat Kindred who followed the rules, and Ventrue Princes fell into that category alongside Ravnos. Lacking a Baron, the eldest Anarch in the area was a perfectly reasonable person to apply for passage.

Tory seemed to be taking things very personally and grousing quite a bit. Poor dear. Brujah felt things so keenly. Pisces' offhanded comments were intended to measure exactly how much anger was stewing under the stoic patina. Quite a lot, apparently. Ah dear.

After she closed and locked the door to her conference room, she peeled off her conservative attire, stuffed it heedlessly into a bag in the corner, and began to pull on her more usual clothes.

"We were indeed speaking of the ghoul bitch, and I am almost alive with curiousity as to what happens next, but before we return to stories of the past, I would prefer to know your mind on another subject."

Pisces snapped her fingers and Alarik Blutcher appeared in the middle of the room. Blonde, reserved, dressed as he was downstairs. An almost perfect copy. Pisces had a very good memory for faces. The facsimile of the Prince turned to look at Tory and arched one thin eyebrow, as if waiting with polite reserve to hear what she thought of him.
"I am Piscina Sherwood, and this is what it looks like when I speak."

I am the Beast of Piscina Sherwood, and this is what it looks like when I speak.
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Victoria Scott
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Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.
* * * *
Why? What? What am I supposed to do with it? Kill it? Cause I would, just not a copy. This would only fuel my frustration. Frustration over the fact that there's a whole lot of things I don't get about tonight, a bunch of stuff I don't know what to think about anymore. Starting by the Anarchs and followed by this dream Prince in front of me. I even wonder if Pisces is making fun of me. Suddenly I feel like a beast on a cage, being goaded by the audience to attack a straw puppet.

"Look Piscina, I get you like drama but the kids are in their beds already, it's too late for games and the last thing I want now is to talk about this anymore." I nail my eyes on her ignoring the illusion, speaking as calmly and kindly as I can. The dream frowns at me, visibly annoyed. "But if you really wanna know my opinion, I think every Prince hides something and Blücher's secret is not a kind heart. I don't buy his altruism. I think that there's a possibility he orchestrated this and even if he didn't, he's gonna take advantage of the situation. I think he expected a stronger opposition and he found a room full of shoegazers." I can see Alarik smile arrogant in the corner of my eye. "All he got on his way was me, a foreigner. Kinda lame."

I chose to omit the part where, midway on the conversation, I realise how easy it would be for the Prince to look for my reports on his World Camarilla Database and notice the "Blood Hunt" written all over my face in Calebros archives had he known my name. Contrary to the Ravnos, I hate to be dramatic.
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Piscina
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* * * *
Piscina made a face.

"You're no fun."

She waved her hand and the faux Prince vanished in a puff of gray smoke. Perhaps in recompense for her drama, perhaps simply to take up where they had left off, Pisces poured out another two glasses of whiskey from the bottle on the end table, and offered one to Tory.

"I completely agree that his altruism is nonsense. I also agree that he will take advantage. I do not believe he orchestrated it--it would be a brutally stupid thing to do given the youth and instability of the domain. There is Sabbat territory nearby, and you do not pick fights with Anarchs when Caine's motherfucking Sword is about. I do think he is afraid of you."

Regardless of whether Tory took a glass, Piscina would lift her own, as if she'd offered a toast, and then sip.

"He wouldn't have bothered with this if he were not afraid. And he would be stupid not to be. A nest of angry Kindred with no leader is a terrifying thing to have on your northern border, Convention or no. Hah. Though obviously you lot are doing a better job following to the old Thorns than the Tower right now. He will either try to annex you all peacefully or try to coax you into coming up with a Baron. I will wager money on that. Real money."

Instead of the illusory gold she sometimes bet on things. She took another sip. Pisces DID want to talk more about the prince and his plans and to speculate, and anticipate, and to pick things apart. She loved politics quite dearly for someone who maintained no direct part in them. But she also did not want to frustrate Tory.

"But you do not wish to speak of this, and I am being rude. So."

She gestured towards the couches where they had been sitting before, and implicit invitation for Tory to continue talking about the ghoul bitch should she so desire.
"I am Piscina Sherwood, and this is what it looks like when I speak."

I am the Beast of Piscina Sherwood, and this is what it looks like when I speak.
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Victoria Scott
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Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.
* * * *
I give the illusion a middle finger before it completely fades away. She's right, I'm no fun, but even if I was, making me hurl at a dream Prince like a clown for her to entertain certainly wouldn't be my idea of a comedy show. Being as old as I am, I can count myself lucky that I'm not one of those grannies whose sense of humor consists of a series of bad jokes from the past century that nobody else finds funny.

She quickly takes hold of the whiskey bottle, pouring a glass for us both. Now we're talking, woman sure knows how to patch things up. No wonder she's managed to survive the decades; I don't remember Pisces telling me her age, but there's a certain something in her clothing, speech and mannerisms that talks of somebody no less than a few tens old. I take mine and lift it back, gulping it down at once.

"You might as well give me the whole bottle." I smirk, kind of rude that I'm dismissing her comments on the princely apparition.

Things like this is why I like the Ravnos. Dreambooze and... well, all the other things she did for me back in NY. When she talks politics? Not so much. I don't like most people when they talk politics, and today is surely not the day I will endure a lecture on Big Fish's psychology. I got my own share back in the day, mind you? It's not that I don't trust Piscina's judgement, it's simply that right now, I'll rather pretend I don't care none. Though give me that bottle of auburn deliciousness and maybe...

"You fucking bet he's gonna do either of those. Now, he really dreads us, then I'm afraid this Ventrue is a pussy." Not that the Kings of Horseshit are particularly daring. Not when they hide behind rows and rows of brainwashed ass-lickers.

I'll try not to go too hard on Piscina. After all I do like her, and she's not yet aware of the amount of Camarilla related clusterfucks --mainly the one that got my face on a Wanted: Preferably dead poster-- that I carry on my back that make me so unwilling to listen to her. I've not yet decided if I'll tell her about Caspar's demise, but first, the ghoul bitch.

"Her name was Mac, like the truck." I begin, sprawling on the couch with a grip still on the empty glass, hoping to be filled. "She was a fucking beast of a woman. Balls ten times bigger than the average swellhead at the Elysium, Brujah clan included. I saved her gargantuan tits in the Sabbat warzone; after that, we got along pretty smooth. If only because we were the shit together."
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Piscina
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Ancilla
* * * *
"I know Mac!" Piscina exclaimed. She gestured enthusiastically with her glass of whiskey. So enthusiastically that some of the whiskey sloshed out over the side, an amber spray of liquid tumbling through the air to splash onto the...

The splash of alcohol froze midair. Pisces frowned at it and held out her glass. As if time itself were being rewound the spray of whiskey slid backwards through the air, retracting back into her cup. No spill. No mess. Piscina nodded in satisfaction, and gestured a little less enthusiastically.

"Anyway. I know Mac. Like the truck. She helped me kill the father of the fiend we met over. The one with the long claws? You remember? When you met Pierre and my distractions."

In the time Tory had worked with Pisces, she learned that Pisces often reused the same two people whenever she needed illusionary vampires to act as distractions in combat. A "Brujah" named Rita and a "Gangrel" named Emmet. Rita seemed to have celerity, because she moved as quickly as Piscina thought. Emmet seemed to have fortitude, because Piscina willed that he seem less hurt by the wounds that others thought they were inflictly. They often acted like real people. Pisces said this helped her make them seem real. Her characters.

"That fiend had a Sire, and the Sire blamed me, eldest you know, and he and his pack had chased me down. Bastard had eyes like a falcon, and they had me in a spot of trouble until she fell out of the sky with fire."

"Very scary," Pisces said, smiling into her drink. "I've used parts of her since. Goodfor scaring people off. You knew her?"
"I am Piscina Sherwood, and this is what it looks like when I speak."

I am the Beast of Piscina Sherwood, and this is what it looks like when I speak.
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Victoria Scott
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Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.
* * * *
Jesus fucking Christ on a bike.

"Yeah, that's very Mac. Crazy fucking bitch." I hide the neutrality in my voice behind another sip of amber ambrosia, and let the fakest of smiles take the place of surprice and annoyance in my face. "Met her in the Bronx, shortly after you left. Though in this case it was her ass I saved. We worked together for quite a bit before I moved. Aye, I got to know her pretty well."

Small goddamn world we live in. I mean what were the odds of us knowing each other separately? Ending up together at the same god forsaken place an ocean away from New York? 1 in 50 millions too many. Then again neither would have I bet on Mac getting all lovey dovey with a fanger, and popping her flares at me after… well, after all we went through together. I’m still more butthurt that I’d like to admit about that scene she pulled at the park. Maybe it was my general mood those days, maybe the fact that I got rejected by my past twice that month, but I sure as fuck expected something else coming from someone I fought alongside with.

I’m too old for all this teenage shit going on in my head.

“So that means we closed the circle? You save me, Mac saves you, and I save Mac. You know she’s in London right?”

I don’t know why I tell her this, probably both to show myself I’m capable of behaving like a proper adult and because Macintosh has managed to make Piscina forget the Camarilla Prince downstairs. Toast to Macintosh. I still hope she doesn’t plan on gathering us three together for a girl sleepover, though.
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Piscina
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* * * *
"I did not know that she was in London," Pisces mused, turning her glass back and forth in her hand, making the liquid slosh. "It's hardly surprising we all tumbled into each other in New York, with all the chaos, violence, and running about. I met so many people in passing. How funny it is we all came to London, though. I'm the only one with a proper reason, being born of Somerset. You two yanks are as random as dice. What are the odds?"

She leaned back, looking up at the ceiling.

"Sometimes, Victory, I think all the worlds a stage. Not a metaphor, like Bill meant it, but in truth. Sometimes I think there is no God but stories. Or that God is a storyteller, who cares nothing of good or evil, but only that we all dance for him before we die."

She waved her fingers and made vague, dancing figures in the air about their heads, that soon faded and collapsed into nothingness.

"I suppose that she's here doesn't change much. I don't imagine she'd be aglow to see me. Not the friendliest sort, she wasn't."

Piscina took a sip of whiskey to wash down the understatement of the year.

"You are proper terrible at hiding your feelings, love," she added, pointing at Tory.
"I am Piscina Sherwood, and this is what it looks like when I speak."

I am the Beast of Piscina Sherwood, and this is what it looks like when I speak.
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Victoria Scott
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Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.
* * * *
"...You two yanks are as random as dice. What are the odds?"

Sometimes I think Pisces reads minds, which wouldn't be surprising at all, given that we are reanimated corpses talking about our lives over a glass of dreambooze. She sure wouldn't be the first. The realization of all this fuckery we call unlife puts a smile on my face, a genuine one this time. I kick out my ragged boots and sprawl out on the couch, hand holding the glass hanging over the edge while the other supports my nape as I follow Pisces stare to the ceiling and listen to her.

"Jack used to believe something along the lines, back before the era of emancipation came crashing down and the notions of religion and God were dumped down the drain. That our fates were written in blood upon our foreheads, fixed, immovable, and we were to follow the same path onwards the day we left this mortal coil or else be miserable if we were to drift away from it." I sit up to gulp the last drops of whiskey with a quick jerking move of my neck, then lay back again, feeling it burn in the hollow cavity my guts used to sit at. As the figures dance above our heads, I contemplate telling Pisces about my sibling, but quickly dismiss the idea of adding more Christmas past's ghosts to our talk. "Then we concluded this was a fucking joke. God or not we are indeed dancers, moving to a schizoid's rythm, except without a demiurge it makes it all the more senseless. Not sure if I want a God to blame, or the certainty that my mistakes are mine, and mine alone."

The puppets collapse, and our topic goes back to Mac being a bitch and I being the lamest liar in the whole damn universe. It fills my throat with a drunken's chuckle.

"Guilty." I raise the empty glass in front of my eyes, then offer it to Piscina as if she was some sort of modern Bacchus, alcohol-filled puppy eyes nailed on hers. "Does my acceptance of my own social inability deserve one more glass of divinity?"

Guess I'm getting a little tipsy. Hell if I want it gone.
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Piscina
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* * * *
"I think taking your mistakes as your own is the proper way to go about it," Pisces said approvingly. "If we are fated, there's no way for us to know about it, so there's not much gold in worrying whether things are bollocksed because God said bollocks it all or because we've bollocksed things up ourselves. My gran made good money pretending to tell fate and fortune for a time. Not a proper con, mind, she just observed what other folks missed and pointed out to women when they were obviously pregnant but too daft to notice. Anyway. Anyone who says she can tell the future is mad, lying or selling something and likely all three."

Philosophy was fun, and seldom offended. She snorted amusedly at the manner of Tory's request.

"You're dear when you're sloshed." she observed. "I wish this worked so well on me. It's like trying to tickle myself. Doesn't work quite right. I'm half playacting. Though drunkenness is half a state of mind, so that works a bit."

The whiskey bottle floated over to Tory so she could pour herself some more. As she did, Pisces watched her contemplatively.

"How are you feeling about your fate, lately?" she asked the Brujah, moving the conversation from past to present. Tory's reminiscing had given hints, but hadn't actually painted a clear picture of the Brujah's present state of mind.
"I am Piscina Sherwood, and this is what it looks like when I speak."

I am the Beast of Piscina Sherwood, and this is what it looks like when I speak.
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