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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



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Population: 31

Camarilla
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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
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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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The Toddler Czar; Majesty Training - #1
Topic Started: Wednesday, 12. November 2014, 18:09 (372 Views)
Tsar Ilya the First
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Claiming Tsar
* * * *
The experience at Alexandra Park had been equally promising and frustrating. He nearly had it. Or not. That crowd was answering quite well to his influence, until he pressed too hard and he lost them. What was the problem? He had seen Roman and Valera do that; jump from sympathy to attraction to respect, in no time. They did that all the time. People bent in front of them, as if they were kings or gods. He wasn't that far away from that goal, he just needed to find the right piece to push. Last time, in Alexandra Palace, he had tried with his own holiness. He was trying to present himself as a God to them. Maybe that was pushing it too hard for the time being. Maybe he needed a different approach.

He climbed the stairs to the ground floor of his fortress, wearing just the trousers of his tracksuit, the terrible hand shaped scar clearly visible on top of his heart, and called his Flesh Machine Slave, Rostik. He was not fast, but he got there. Bags were forming around his eyes. He was tired. Very tired. Ilya had heard of flesh machines dying out of exhaustion. It was a bad sign.

"Master! You called me! How can I help you?"

"Do we have any rebellious girl right now?"

"Rebellious? No! I'm working on that! They are not rebellious! Seven of them have graduated to the top floor, and the other three... They are just slow learners. But they will learn. I promise. Please, don't hurt me..."

"I just want to know if any of the girls is specially rebellious. That's it. I won't punish you. I need a rebellious girl right now."

"Really? Well... On room four... Olga... She is not responding very well to my advances. In fact, she bit me just yesterday. I wouldn't say she is rebellious... she just misses her family, and her home town, and her boyfriend, and her passport, and her freedom. Nothing important. I can deal with that."

"Perfect. Bring her here."

"Like... here? With you, master? Are you sure?"

"Do as I say, and don't question my decisions."

Rostik dragged his feet towards room four, scared to the bone and quite confused. That situation was a clear breach of the protocol. A girl who wasn't compliant couldn't abandon her room in any circumstance. Those were the rules. Was he expected to unshackle her and drag her in front of the master? What if she attacked him? Not that she could hurt him in the very least, but the thought still concerned Rostik. A girl so poorly behaved made him look bad, and that was dangerous. He didn't want another knife in his guts. He opened the door, and turned on the light. Olga was there, crouched in the bed. The shackles were obviously hurting her wrists, but she didn't seem to care. She looked like a feral animal, nothing like the sophisticated escort lady Rostik was trying to turn her into. He opened the locks, grabbed her by the neck, and dragged her in front of his Master, visibly terrified. She tried to resist, but she was too weak. He dropped her at the Master's feet, and took a step backwards.

"This is Olga, Master. Olga, look at the Master. Behave like a lady."

"Fuck you, pig. I'm not your slave."

"See what I mean? She is not rebellious, just nostalgic.

Ilya grabbed Olga's jaw and turned her face towards his. She was actually a beautiful lady, but it was nearly impossible to see that behind the layers of filth that covered her. She was obviously filled with hatred against Rostik. And probably against him too. Antagonism wasn't a good starting point. At least, it would make it all more... challenging. Time to try. Time to lie.

[PRESENCE: AWE] "Look at me. I get it. It is horrible. That man is horrible, and you miss all that you had. I get it. But you need to understand me too. Things are not easy back there, at home, and we are trying to give you, and more people, a better life. More opportunities. More resources. What would you want, to live in poverty, back in Russia? To have to struggle to feed your children? I'm just making sure you have a better, brighter future."

Her expression softened a little bit. She was still distrustful, but now she had something to think about. It was obvious that she wanted to be on his side, to agree with him, no matter how crazy it all sounded. Time to push a bit further.

[PRESENCE: ENTRANCEMENT] "You need to make this easier on him. You need to make it easier on me. We need your cooperation. Without it, we won't be able to help you. And we'll have to send you back, to live a life of poverty and humiliation. I just need your help. It is very important for me. You can make my life way better. Help me help you, please."

Now she was eager to please. She was motivated. The logic of the argument was no longer that important. From her point of view, helping that man was very, very important, and it would bring her great satisfactions. She wanted to help him. She wanted to go back into that room, and put on those shackles herself. She wouldn't do that; all of her education was against that, but it was a strong temptation nevertheless.

Now Ilya needed to take it all a step further, to make her feel something more intense. Spiritual adoration did not work the last time. He needed something different, smaller. What about love? Wasn't that one of the primary emotions? Love should do the trick. It should be really easy to make that flesh machine love him.

[PRESENCE: MAJESTY - FAIL] "You'll help me because you care for me. Because you can't stop thinking about me, at any time. I'll fill your dreams, and I'll become one with your every thought. You'll do as I say because you are a woman, I am a man, and you love me. That's the natural order of things."

Apparently, the natural order of things was for the woman to slap the man in the face and to shout some very hurtful insults. Rostik, also angry at Ilya for no apparent reason, dragged the woman back to her cell. Another try, another mistake.
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Tsar Ilya the First
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Claiming Tsar
* * * *
It wasn't love. Love had failed him. How was that possible? He remembered the faces of the soldiers that Valera pushed, back in Russia, and they were all shinning with love and adoration. But both love and spiritual adoration had failed him already. He was lost and confused. This training was quite draining, both emotionally and in terms of blood. But he knew there was something else after servitude, something that was deeper and more intense. He needed to understand that feeling.

A week after his first brush with Olga, Ilya called her again to the living room. Once again, he was wearing just his red tracksuit trousers. She was cleaner. Rostik had taken his time to wash her and make her look better. Without all the filth, and with some nice lingerie instead of rags, she was actually quite attractive. Some numbers flashed through Ilya's brain, as he evaluated how profitable was that flesh machine. He could make quite a lot of money out of her. That made him feel a bit protective towards her; he didn't want to harm that precious creature, that delicately formed product, that high peak in a profit chart. He put his most charming mask on, and did his best to talk to the flesh machine as if he considered her more than just a pile of bones, flesh, skin, impulses, programming and potential profit.

"Come here, dear. What is your name?"

She was certainly confused. After three months of being tortured, raped, brainwashed and mistreated by the other man, the crazy guy was talking to her, asking her questions. Was that part of the process? Were they going to make her addicted to heroin now? She was up for anything, at this point. She had already given up on most of her resistance; fighting against them was useless, and they could really provide her with a life without working. They could find a suitable rich husband for her, and turn her life into some twisted fairy tale. The perspective was not that bad, once she got used to the sexual side of things. She decided to play along, as this could make her masters -she used to call them her captors, but that perception was subtly changing lately- appreciate her more.

"Olga, sir. My name is Olga."

"Beautiful. That's a great name. How do you feel today, Olga?"

Feel? She was averting his gaze as a sign of respect so, when he grabbed her chin and forced his eyes upon hers, she couldn't help but blushing. Why did he want to know how she felt?

"Feel? I guess... Good? Yes. Good."

"You don't need to fear me, Olga. I'm your friend. I don't want to harm you. Do you understand that?"

"Yes. I do."

She was afraid, Ilya could tell. But she was also curious. She did not understand what was going on. Altough he noticed that, he could not imagine what she was thinking, how she was preparing herself to be sexually approached by him. If he had considered that, he would have found the idea quite disturbing and unfounded but... He did not realize that sweet talking to a girl in that situation, without even wearing a shirt, and forcing his physical proximity on her could be read as a prelude for intimacy.

He wanted to try a different approach to his experiment. He had tried religious fervour and failed. He had tried love and failed. His new approach would be empathy. He needed her to understand him, to consider him a friend, someone she could trust, like a priest, a father, or a brother. Obviously, the setup he was building was anything but adequate for that concept.

"I know you've suffered here. I know what has happened to you, but it is all for your own good. We don't enjoy doing those things to you. Believe me: our only concern is your happiness." Unaware of how flat and threatening he was sounding, he still didn't understand why she was not reacting in a better way to his words.

"Huh... Yes, sure. I know that. And I'm grateful. Really grateful."

She was shaking. Was that empathy? Was that what he wanted to produce in her? Maybe that was her way of showing it, after three months of captivity. Maybe the warm emotion was too much to handle at that point. Ilya resolved to go for the kill.

[PRESENCE: MAJESTY - FAIL] "Relax. We are here to help you. We know what you are going through. You need to understand that this is as hard for us as it is for you. Do you understand?" Ilya smiled like a saint, or like a serial rapist just released from prison only to find out that his boss had kept his job for him.

"You are a pig. You both are pigs, and I'm going to kill you. I'm going to crush you! YOU DON'T KNOW WHO MY FATHER IS! AS SOON AS HE FINDS YOU, HE'LL MAKE A NECKLACE WITH YOUR BALLS!!! HE'LL DESTROY YOU!!!" Memories of her past life came back to her, flooding her mind. All the confusion was gone. These two guys abducted her and raped her several times. They were monsters. They needed to die. Any sign of empathy or understanding was gone. She was not to become their slave, or to be part of their repulsive business. She charged towards Ilya, trying to pull his eyes out of their sockets with her thumbs. Somebody dragged her into her cell, cuffed her back and put a gag in her mouth, to stop her shouting. Then the man came into the room and, with just one word from his mouth, she was sleeping soundly.

Another fail. What was the problem? Ilya just couldn't understand what he was doing wrong. Walking back towards the basement, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Something was wrong. He understood his mistake. He needed to step up his game, if he was going to influence people. Next time, he would wear a suit.
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Oleg's Voice

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Tsar Ilya the First
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* * * *
He was lying in bed, quite depressed. Adoration, Love, and Empathy had failed him. He tried and tried, but it was useless. He was never going to learn how to project his charm as efficiently as his sister or his sire. He was just too... detached, to inhumane. Why bother? Trying the same thing over and over again, only to get no results, was a clear proof of insanity. Maybe that was it. Maybe he was just crazy, his psyche finally broken forever, impossible to mend and bring back to shape. Maybe he was damned, and his Beast was coming after him, ready to take hold of his identity and use his body as a puppet in an orgy of blood and destruction. His failure here was proof enough... he was going to the deep end, and there was no coming back.

All of his rationalization about what humans are, and what Vampires are... all of that brainpower invested in reconciling the philosophy he learned with the Sabbat with the vital experience he already had, all of those tiny bridges of fuzzy logic that were there just to justify his own existence... He thought about that. He realized he had been crazy for a long time now, and that he had been deluding himself, trying to categorize it all, in a futile attempt at establishing some structure in his rotten mind. It was useless. Sooner or later, the walls of self delusion were going to crumble down, and rain chunks of reality on him. The disappointing bit was that it happened that way. It wasn't when fighting the oppression of the Camarilla, or when trying to convince new allies to join his cause; it was when trying a new parlor trick, a new gimmick, when dealing with those hollow flesh machines, when he had to realize that his world had not been his for a long time, that it was his Beast, pulling the strings all along to throw him in a pit of despair and self doubt.

Wait a minute. Wasn't it possible that all of his problems, that strange feeling of his life being controlled by somebody else... could that be... his Beast? Was it possible that all of his inner paranoia was not created by Roman, or Ivan, or Vlad, or anybody else, but his own inner demon? That idea became quickly an obsession. He stood up and gazed at himself in the mirror. His Beast was there, evidently, on display, for all to see. He looked like a corpse, a scary one. He pictured himself in his own Red Army uniform, in the barracks, back in Stalingrad. What would his fellow soldiers think of him, if he had seen him with that corpse like face? They would have been terrified. No idolatry, love or empathy for him; fear, maybe respect. Repulsion, that's for sure. Nothing positive. His dead eyes didn't inspire warm feelings.

He felt a rush of optimism and proactive energy shaking his body. That was the key. Why try to work on human emotions, when he was clearly inhumane? Why bother with their petty little feelings, when he was as big a monster as those who populate kids' nightmares? He was not there to make friends with sad flesh machines; he was not there to make his human meat products feel at ease around him; he was the Czar, and he was to be respected, and feared. Love could come afterwards, as a coping mechanism. Also, his attire needed to change urgently.

His wardrobe was quite specific. A couple dozen red tracksuits with white t shirts, and a couple dozen tailored designer suits. There was no middle point. The red tracksuit era was over. Ilya was not a man of the people. He was a dark God among mortals, and he needed to dress his part. He grabbed a black suit.

Sleek. Distant. Cold. Powerful. Fear inspiring. That was an armor fit for a Czar. He was there to attain his triumph.

He climbed the stairs up, with the poise of an aristocrat, and approached Olga's door. Rostik was eating some soup directly from the can, and spat half of it from his nose when he saw him dressed up like that. He mumbled some sycophantic comment, still drooling soup. Ilya opened the door. She was there, chained to the wall, her eyes red with tears, trying to adapt to the new source of light. After another week with no shower, she looked filthy and disgusting again. Not his problem. He stared at her, without even coming close.

[PRESENCE: MAJESTY]

She averted her gaze. She looked away. She collected her legs. She adopted an obedient pose. It was working. She feared him, and respected him, and was ready to obey him, and somehow, she even loved him, but that idea was too shameful to admit it to herself. Ilya nearly laughed, out loud. He couldn't believe it. It was working. At last, he made it work... until...

[FAIL]

Olga started shaking. She looked at him with red blooded eyes, and tried to tackle him. She jumped against him with all she had, but her wrists were chained to the wall. A nasty sound echoed through the room. She had broken something. But she kept on going. Silent. Not even screaming. Just cold murderous intent. She wanted to pluck his eyes from his skull, and then reach for his brain.

With a few commanding words, Ilya managed to put her to sleep. She was quite damaged. Damaged products were quite hard to sell. He considered his options, and resolved that he needed to heal her. He tore a hole in his arm using his fangs, and fed her. Against his work ethics, and for the first time in his life, Ilya gave his blood to a slave. This was new. Someone who didn't know him could even think that he cared for her. In fact, he was quite happy, just knowing that for a couple of seconds he had been able to project his charm over this broken flesh machine filled him with joy.

Olga tasted the blood, and something new awakened in her. She wanted more.
Languages:

Russian, Japanese, English, French, Finnish, German

Oleg's Voice

You may know me as Yuri Mikhailov or as Khoza.
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Tsar Ilya the First
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Claiming Tsar
* * * *
Study on Charm intensification,
Part I

With enough concentration, willpower, skill, and blood, we can expand our aura, making everybody around us feel strongly for us. I've seen Valera and Roman do that several times, and the effects are devastating. However, the exact formula, the mental short cut to get there, is still sort of an incognita for me. Asking Valera has given me unsatisfactory answers, and my experiments have provided limited results. My first attempts all tried a step by step approach, expanding my charm through different methods to get to the point I was looking for. That didn't work. Let's analyze the tests:

During my research sessions, I've tried to project a specific feeling, or the idea of that feeling, into my target's mind. I started trying to visualize myself as a God in their eyes; that means shifting my perception to theirs, looking at me as if I was a God, coming back to my perception, and looking at them as if they were sheep. It failed terribly. I believe it has to do with making the process too complex.

My second attempt focused on the concept of Love. It's a romantic notion that sometimes renders incredible results on flesh machines, so giving it a shot was not such a bad idea. I tried the step by step approach, making the target first agree with me, then try to help me, and finally making her love me. It backfired badly.

Third try, I went for Empathy. I even talked to the target. It was a massive waste of time. I tried to understand her, and to make her understand me. What was I thinking? How could that stupid flesh machine ever get to understand anything that happens to me? Her chances to get under my skin are... none. Obviously, this was a terrible mistake. I tried the step by step approach for the last time. It was a massive and ridiculous waste of blood.

Last week, I made a breakthrough. For starters, I took care of my appearance. I dressed up, and made sure I was looking like a proper Czar. I also decided to ignore my target, and focus on myself, on my aura. It worked. The mind path is fairly new, so I couldn't hold it for a long time, but I got the main idea.

Next week I'll try to deepen my research on the subject. Going from the inside to the outside, focusing on what matters instead of wasting my energies on the target. This training process is moving forward at a nice pace, and I hope I'll see definite results in about six weeks.
Edited by Tsar Ilya the First, Thursday, 8. January 2015, 13:35.
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Oleg's Voice

You may know me as Yuri Mikhailov or as Khoza.
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