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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[ARCHIVED] - P&P - Prologue; Where it all begins
Topic Started: Wednesday, 22. April 2015, 14:04 (2,722 Views)
Graham Mason
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Steak Tartare (YODO)

[avatar=http://freshinfos.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/old-tv.jpg][alias=ST]
OUTSKIRTS OF BAYONNE
SOUTH WEST FRANCE
11:00 PM

The group of people was gathered in the parking lot, waiting for something to happen. Some of them had just arrived, some had been waiting for a while. They didn't know each other, and they didn't know what was the nature of their mission. They just knew that they had been selected to become part of a new beginning for the Sabbat in the city of London.

A truck arrived, and parked just in front of them. The driver, a small and nervous blonde man, climbed down and opened the trailer, without saying a word. He dragged a wheeled table out. Over the table, there was a small TV, with an old Video player attached to it. He connected the TV and the Video player to a small generator, and turned it all on. When the group of people gathered around the TV, he pressed PLAY.

A man in a dark shirt was staring at the camera. He was well groomed, although the background behind him looked nasty and dirty. Some of the people watching the screen knew him already, some didn't. He was Cardinal Almansa, one of the architects of the new Sabbat in Europe. A daring, and fear inducing presence. He spoke, and his gaze pierced all of the people there's souls.

Almansa's Words:
 
Listen to me, Brothers and Sisters, and pay attention, for I do not like to repeat myself:

The Archdiocese of London is in danger, and needs to be saved from itself. The murder of Bishop Alberto Espinosa has incited the treacherous flames of ambition, and now we have not one, but three self proclaimed Bishops of Hackney, each one of them claiming to be deserving the position of Archbishop of London.

I need a group of loyal servants of the Sword, such as yourselves, to go there and put an end to this madness. I need you to shed some light upon the death of Bishop Espinosa, and to assess the claims of the three contenders. You will need to remove the diplomatic obstacles that are tearing apart the fabric of our sect, and smooth the relationships between the four leading packs in the area.

After you have untangled this mess, you will report to me with your findings, and give me your honest opinion about who should be in charge there. I will be generous with those who pay a good service, and unforgiving with those who show lack of competence or discipline in the fulfilment of their task. I expect to see justice for the death of Espinosa, and to set an example for anyone who even thinks about trying to disrupt the progress of our Holy mission.

Go, the truck is waiting for you. Somebody will receive you at your new haven in London. They will give you all the details you need.


Do not fail me.
The small and nervous man collected the wheeled table with the TV and the Video Player, and made signs to the people there to go inside of the truck, where hard boxes were waiting for them. They were supposed to enter there, and wait until their arrival to London, or to whatever was their destination right now. Inside of the truck, there was a note stuck to the wall:

Note
 
It is your task now to commune as a proper pack. To simplify the process, I've already made arrangements to provide you with competent Ductus, Priest, and Abbot. Jonathan Dowd, Alexandra Bambi Barreau, and Grath respectively will take those positions.

C. Almansa.
OOC NOTE
Oh no! My souffle!
"Words", stress level, "MetaMason", "THEVOICEOFREASON"
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Iris Jacobsen
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Skuld of the North
* * * *
[alias=Grath][avatar=http://vignette4.wikia.nocookie.net/sawfilms/images/1/15/Jigsawcecil.jpg]As Grath retrieved Grath's goods from the boat, the bald man growled his piece. The tongue lashing from the man rankled Grath. Implication Grath was not planning ahead was there, but leaders often wanted to micromanage like stuffy property owners. Codes. Fuck they were always followed, but coming to the work site and demanding to see the plans, wasting time for explanations. Slowed the job down. If the bald man pushed much further Grath would be done.

As the orders came, Grath noticed something very distinct. The abbot. Not Grath. The abbot. And PIG OUT?! Was this an open asinine slight? 'Fuck the pig man he doesn't deserve a goddamn name.' Grath's face would be contorted by rage in response, but Grath had no human face anymore, but Grath's ears did both swivel to the side. Maybe the man was trying to inspire a sense of authority, but then he would have called the one called Bambi, the priest. In Grath's disturbingly deep tone Grath spoke.

"Grath's name is Grath."

Grath wanted to glare, Grath wanted Grath's face to convey Grath's attitude. Grath's face was could do none of these things. They needed the bonding soon, before things got much worse.

"The castle is secure, one bag inside. Nine to go... Well... eight..." Grath looked at the man the Angel had brought.

Grath turned Grath's head to the priest and ductus, then to the others.

"Preferences in bags? It is after all an abbot's job to deal with such supplies."

Grath left out that Grath didn't know if anyone was a ventrue antitribu. Bad manners to ask that, as it would sow distrust at the start of their mission. Grath waited for anyone else to lodge a request. If nothing held Grath up Grath would walk off with the men in search of meat.
Edited by Iris Jacobsen, Wednesday, 6. May 2015, 02:48.
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Oliver
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Dork
* * * * *
[avatar=http://s26.postimg.org/yl3vug5mx/image.jpg][alias=Ian]
"...Know that I blame myself and you are not at fault..."

Well that was fuckin' new!

Gathered with the others, around their badass-contrite-leader, Ian chewed silently.

"...Only tonight, I find 4 of you went ahead, on your own, jeopardizing the Cardinal's mission, fucking drawing attention when I did not give the clear for drawing fucking attention..."

Well shit...

He listened to everything, while Raz sniffed, moving around their perimeter and making sure that they weren't to be disturbed.

"...Ian, Reyes and the Abbott will proceed into the village..."

He nodded.

"Questions?"

Yeah, he had a couple of those, but better not.

So that was that. Pig's displeasure had been noticed. So when that one addressed them, he turned to the Abbot.

"Don't care much, Grath. Meat's meat," he said with an unpleasant grin, still chewing. "Lead on, Sir," he added, with a barely audible whistle that Raz immediately picked up, padding back to its Master.

And he'd follow their Abbot to get some meat... not sure why. But maybe the boss wanted reserves. After all, if they were going to exchange blood, why the fuck would they need food? Though some hadn't had any yet... maybe it was that. But ten?

Maybe they did things different here...

...or maybe they wanted ghouls, or human bombs and whatnot...
English German Czech Romanian Oliver
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Otis link - Bright Eyes
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Clover Greene
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Aminal
* * *
Bambi was visibly pleased when mohawkhead presented her with some local juicebox. He worked fast and efficient, just like the other three. These ones had potential. She gave mohawkhead a lusty grin as he dropped the juicebag at her feet. She didn't comment on it, though, because she knew egghead hadn't given them the order to do so, and she was fully expecting him to be pissed about it. They weren't a true pack as of yet, so none of them were in the wrong for doing what they wanted to do, but even now, each of them had a role to play, and egghead's happened to be Ductus.

"We should get a Vaulderie organized as soon as possible before the proverbial shit hits the proverbial fan. We'll go into the village and look for the church. On the way, we can gather whatever kine we encounter. A minimum of 6, no more than 10. We can always get back to the ferry to spend the day. But I'm inclined to the start our bloody rise to glory at the castle."

She agreed whole-unbeating-heartedly. "Aye, aye," egghead "Ductus."

She stood and listened as he asserted himself over the rest of them, while still being fairly humble about his duty. Cool! But, she really did not give a shit about his speech of authority right now.

"You stay with the kid. Make sure she understands the situation."

...

"...Aye..." This time, she was much more reticent with her agreement. She looked over to the kid, and approached her cautiously. Hopefully the kid wouldn't bite off her legs, because that would be fucking embarrassing. A few torn digits, a hand, an arm, that shit was fine. Getting diablerized by this loony would be almost funny, but she'd have to be braindead to let that happen, and last time she checked, Bambi wasn't braindead. Any minor blood bond that could occur from this interaction would be useless, as she planned on hosting the Vaulderie tonight. She made it a point to ask all of them about their past with their former packs at some point prior to the Vaulderie, as she needed to make sure that they had been subjected to the Vinculum at least once before, and that they didn't happen to be blood bound in the same method that the Infidels were. She had never observed a Purification Ritae, for there had never been a need for it in her old pack. If needed, she would improvise.

Approaching Alice, Bambi did not seem to pay any attention to the corpse at the child's feet. Alert to any sudden movement, she kneeled before the child. Bambi's cold eyes stared deeply into Alice's. "You must 'ave been so thirsty, love. Don't worry, soon... we will be whole soon. We are Sabbat, and we are pack. Stay close to me, and soon we will 'ave so much fun..." The Pervert promised, and as she did so, she slowly began to present her open, outstretched hands towards the child. Bambi kept herself a wise distance away from the child, and did not touch Alice, but she presented the option of having Alice take her hand. If Alice took the hand with her teeth, Bambi would attempt to remove whatever remained of said hand from the child's mouth before continuing to guide the child forward, as if nothing happened.

The Ductus assigned his orders, and Bambi had no questions. Pighead asked whether they had a blood preference, and Bambi answered without looking directly at that beautifully monstrous thing. "None." She answered to both. They had already proven capable of hunting, and surely they had been smart enough not to leave any witnesses. There was no reason to worry, surely.




After everyone had a chance to speak, she would go with Alice and Dowd towards the church, after confirming its location with the Sabbat playthings that came ashore with them. It would take less than ten minutes for them to reach it, and they would need another thirteen minutes to reach the castle, meaning that they had more than enough time to break in and steal the necessary equipment. The back door was locked, but the door lock could be easily broken if enough force was applied. She would let Dowd decide how he wanted to deal with getting inside, and how he wanted to deal with whatever mortals may have slept there, if any did.

Once inside, she would be preoccupied with finding a communion chalice, candles, candlesticks, candelabras and a box of matches to lit the candles with. Cainites and fire did not go along, but the Sabbat made entire games about walking through burning coals, and those were Bambi's favorite games. She would still pay close attention to Alice, although with Dowd joining them, she felt comfortable allowing Alice to wander around the sacrilegious house.

Once all of those items were found, she would tie them up in a table cloth for ease of carry.


[alias=Bambi]
[avatar=http://puu.sh/fLlTz/83463e7769.png]
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Franca
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A person
* * * * *
Was she real, was she fake, was she the lady of the lake? Alice couldn't feel Alice was part of the bambie doll, but there was something in her and in her naked sand. And when she emerged from the bliss of her after-frenzy, she almost thought that was Mistress Eve always proud of Little Alcie and her Beast. But she wasn't her although she was her and she was the warlust and they were all together. No they were not all together. But she said. Familiar words. She said Sabbat and she said pack. We will be whole soon.

She was the warlust.

Had she to grab her hand? With her hand? With her teeth? Which one was her hand? Where did her body begin? Her body was another puppet real or not, where did the dream end and Little Alice begin? She looked around, looked at Bambi's hand, found Alice had Little Alice's own hand in her mouth. Oh if she liked her pointed teeth! She had been working on them for so long to make them sharp! It worked so so so much better after Alice had showed Alice how to nomnomnomnom the basilik's soul. Everything was better when you could nomnom a basilisk's soul.

She extracted Alice's hand from Alice's mouth. Blood. It was Alice's blood and didn't smell like her own Alice blood. She put Alice's finger into her wound, blood was colour, she was a crayon, she touched Bambi's hand with Alice's crayon, she painted a symbol, the one Alice liked the best the one that Alice had to make with crayon Alice.

She followed. They would be the warlust all together.





[avatar=http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j192/viclis/54d67c71-11a0-4165-a9fa-0fa1386c8858_zps33bd8c00.jpg]
[alias=ALICE]
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Hannah
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Wicked Witch of the West

Wasn't he the bold little grasshopper. Eager to make the squad feel all fan-dabby fuckin-dozy, instead of keeping his eyes on the ball.

" Don't forget him,"
the sergeant pointed at the bag Reyes brought. "He needs to go somewhere. And don't play too many nitpicky games. A'ight. Just grab what you can."

Waste not. Not time, not bags. Not the fuck now. Not while you are loose cannons I can't depend on. The vaulderie needed doing and a quick and dirty blood picnic was supposed to follow. Those were the next stops on the great road map of flawless victory. The sergeant knew that thing pretty well, having dripped blood over numerous times during previous campaigns. Those were the objectives tonight and those were what the sergeant currently had kicking around his noggin'. He was more used to being handed the reins just before a big push. More used to commanding a war pack. In the streets and you had to do little more than keep them together and point out the targets. Some primitives scraped together, bound together, then hurled into the deep end right next to the Cam gooks. Bloody hell broke loose. And usually the sergeant left a right impressive and dusty warzone with a grin.

Not this boyscouting across the sea, fingering the right one for Bishop.

Alice, Bambi and Dowd came upon the church in under 10 minutes. It was damn near impossible to miss, coming from the beach. Quiet as mice, they snuck their way around the back. It was easy as fuck as there wasn't a living soul in sight. In fact, if the mutinous rank hadn't gone and opened a few bags already, Cardinal's Gilbert and Sullivan would've the only ones he'd laid eyes on tonight.

Bambi crept up front and tried the back door. It was locked. She turned and gave the sergeant a questioning look. Naturally, it would be locked. But if the priest wanted in, she'd have to put her shoulder into it. The big man shrugged. He put his right paw on the knob. Biceps tensed, the latch snapped, as well a bolt he hadn't yet spotted.They were in.

But not alone.

The sergeant never knew he hated yokels so much. The first one of the kids was a skinny female, like a bunch of sticks crammed into a dirty Credence Clearwater shirt. Looking at her, she was clearly wearing it without irony. Both were asleep with their backs against the altar. Stoned as a kite, she opened one droopy eyelid and stared forward empty-brained. Next to her was a guy, equally space-brained, his pants around his knees. A bit further on the floor lay a small flashlight, lighting up the scene. Their nerves were clogged, their brains boiled dry. The sergeant gave her a few moments to enjoy the rush, and then for the micky to hit. And then the he advanced. Girl's head falls to the side and knocked against her oblivious lover, mouthing words like a guttering candle, never quite taking light. "Guh... whut... tha... fuck?"

The sergeant doesn't believe in hitting women. He doesn't believe in chairs either. He just knows about both of them. He grabbed the kid by the shirt and lifted her up. She was tougher than she looked, but that didn't get her far tonight. And so finally, at last, the sergeant could unload everything he'd been saving up since worming his way into the box. His shiny bald forehead smashed into hers. The second time, her skull collapsed with a wet crack, smearing the sergeant with brain. There's something intensely satisfying about being able to deliver a proper beatdown. She quit squirming. The large man buried his face in her neck and drank greedily until she was done bubbling and bursting. He hated getting splashed with juice from a warm bag. It stained the shirt, good thing it was black. And the smell… The sergeant took pride in his appearance. He stepped back, dropped the limp carcass.

Guy hadn't even noticed, not even when his rapidly-cooling girlfriend thumbed back against his shoulder.

" Look around. Take what you need." he whispered to the second.

While Bambi rummaged through the little church, he eyed the eerie little brat they brought along. Hadn't said a word and regarded what went on around her impassively like a cursed puppy. Silently, the sergeant despaired of ever understanding the little chit one fucking bit, let alone have a productive working relationship. Almansa, you fucking turd, he cursed inwardly, not for the first time.

He squatted down close to her and motioned towards the guy. Alice looked at him uninterested. Shit. He nodded again at the sleeping bag. " Come on, girl. Fuck him up good."

[avatar=http://i1296.photobucket.com/albums/ag17/hannahsundling/scene100F_cam04_zps0e2fe3d2.jpg]
[alias=Dowd]
There is nothing sadder than seeing dead eyes staring out of a dead man's face, particular when they're still moving ...
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Franca
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A person
* * * * *
Alice had been away, she couldn't tell where because her place had been taken by Alice and Alice was all too busy observing the lines in the sand to bother look for Alice. Because it was sand. It was still sand and always sand. Churches aren't churches they are castles made of sand. And all sand goes down deep in the sea and the sea as you can see is made of blood, since it's in the sea that the warlusts swim all together.

Blood had a good smell so good so good, even though she'd just gorged, who had said you can't want more? You can always want more, you SHOULD always want more. Moderation is a sin, she thought, but then couldn't understand her own thoughts, because they had been kidnapped by Little Alice.

When the bald puppet who maybe was real maybe was bambi maybe was sand directed her towards the bag, however, she could see. Sand is full of blood but flesh is full of screams.

She tore open the sleeping bag - was it she or Alice or were them all together? She could have drunk straight away but what a waste what a shame it's a shame when you waste good fun. She bit his cheek - he started screaming oh delicious delicious screams. Then she remembered. Since she had drunk the Basilisk. That. That was much more fun.

She handled his skin with her not so skilled hands, like a toddler playing with plasticine [Vicissitude 1]. She had no plan, why to have a plan? Why to plan when there is fun and there are screams and your blood screams. The man cried from his throat now he had no mouth but still must scream?

And she bit him, too. And drunk. Oh playing made her hungry! But not too fast, not too fast. It was such fun to make that toy a new and new and new toy. Blood is stream, sand is scream.

It was like in a fairly tale, except not at all but still like a tale and the lesson learnt was, always drink from basilisks if you want to make new toys to scream.

[avatar=http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j192/viclis/54d67c71-11a0-4165-a9fa-0fa1386c8858_zps33bd8c00.jpg]
[alias=ALICE]
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Clover Greene
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Aminal
* * *
Bambi's gaze bore the weight of its uncertainty as she looked onto Alice, alert and prepared to sacrifice an arm for the slim chance of placating the ravenous child. Such a thing was unnecessary, however, and soon, the little girl with razor sharp teeth reached towards Bambi's hand and... dead fingers began tracing a symbol of blood. The more Alice painted - and the more the symbol became pronounced against her dead skin - the more Bambi's inhuman smile widened. Her wet body was cold and pale, to the point that it seemed truly dead, but that delighted smile and wicked spark in her eyes were very much alive. It was an unnatural contrast.

Elated that her sister showed signs of a deeper understanding, the Pervert began to laugh with such intimate glee that it would have been utterly unnerving towards lesser beings. The laugh ceased shortly after the last vestiges of seawater gurgled out of her throat. She took a hold of the hand that Alice used for painting, and gripped it affectionately as she guided her sister towards Dowd, and then further inland, so that they may reach their destination together.

She looked on with playful interest as Dowd broke the door's lock with ease. It was good to know that he could do that. Whether he was a Brute or a Keeper, it did not truly matter; but her eyes squinted in apprehension at the thought that Dowd might be a Sewer Rat. She couldn't work for a Sewer Rat, they were simply too appalling to behold. Fortunately, the chances of that were slim. She doubted Dowd was the type to hide his nature out of a sense of shame, so the probability of him resorting to the uses of Cainite masks was very unlikely, and she respected that about him (if that was indeed the case).

Once inside, she waited for Dowd's order before hastily searching through the lower levels of the church for the items she wanted, leaving the other two to play with the kine sleeping inside. The church was designed more for practicality rather than pomp, and thus her search was rapidly rewarded once she broke into a storage chamber. After the items were wrapped together in a table cloth, she rushed back up towards the other two to find her sister drinking from a mouthless juicebag. The way in which Alice handled the juicebag was reminiscent of a kid playing with her doll. To Bambi, who had developed a weird sense of appreciation for the girl, the scene seemed strangely soothing, but the kine was making a little too much noise with his throat. Bambi walked over to him, and he looked pleadingly up at her. She raised her leg and planted her foot firmly against the kine's neck, inadvertently providing that pleading look of his with a full view of her exposed crotch. Bambi did not seem to care about that, and she began to press down slowly and forcefully on his throat, silencing him. When she spoke, she spoke towards Dowd.

"I'm assuming she did this? I didn't take her for a Tzimisce. Oh! I don't think we should take this juicebox with us. Don't want to make it easier on the others, right?" She released the pressure from the kine's neck just enough that he wouldn't suffocate before Alice was done with him. "Besides, I don't think it is going to make the journey while our little darling's at its throat."

Once Alice was done, Bambi confirmed that she had all the items she needed, and the three of them proceeded towards the Castle Gorey.



Regularly, the walk towards the castle would take thirteen minutes, but Bambi insisted - with Dowd's permission - that they hurry, and thus they reached the meeting point much faster. There had been no obvious sirens blaring off as of yet, but it was best to finish this quickly, return on the boat, and high-tail it out of this little preparatory stop. On the way, Bambi addressed her two companions. "The, uh... the pighead said the castle was secure. Do we trust 'im? If so, no need to scout it anymore. I just need a good room - spacious -, evocative of power. The throne room? We let the Harvested outside the room, though. No juicebag, dead or alive, should be in there." At least, not if her preferences were to be followed. She did not want the smell of kine blood to corrupt the scent of their Vaulderie Communion. Regardless of preference, though, she would follow Dowd's judgement on the ineffectual details of the setting. During their first Vaulderie, she would allow practicality to overshadow her preferences.

Soon, they were at the castle, and waited to see what the other group managed to haul.

[alias=Bambi]
[avatar=http://puu.sh/fLlTz/83463e7769.png]
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Clover Greene
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Aminal
* * *
They convened together at the gates of castle Gorey, where the harvesters would have the opportunity to display their spoils to the Ductus. Once they were certain that no alarm was sounded, and that no kine authorities were on their trail, they would proceed inside. Even within, the pungent scent of seashore would be present in the air. The stone walls around them were old, weathered, and murky; they were further emphasized as such by the lack of any lighting, for they would not use the light systems installed by kine in order to avoid drawing attention to their location. It was a hollow place, for most of its ancient accommodations - the furniture - were long appropriated for conservation.

Grath would lead them towards the place where he had immobilized the guard. There, the Priest would ask that they do a similar task to the rest of their prey. Meanwhile, she would would move into an adjacent room - a room without windows and shrouded in darkness - to light and appropriately place the candles for her soon-to-be-realized intentions. They were mounted on the floor - using their own molten wax as support - to form a large circle in the middle of the room. Once this was done, she would usher in her packmates and urge them to stand on the perimeter, and in close vicinity to the dull flickering flames, forming their own circle in the process. Rotschreck would not manifest from such feeble sparks, and the majority were well fed. The light casting from beneath gave each of them a sombre visage.

She positioned herself between the Ductus and Alice within their circle. As such, even if she was the one conducting the ceremony, the Ductus’ presence by her side would show her fealty to the man. Conversely, she wanted to guide Alice in case the girl needed any guidance.

With chalice grasped firmly with both hands and presented forward, the Priest began to speak with ominous passion, the likes of which the others have never seen in her before. The rest were expected to stay silent. She was lost in the reverie of this looming communion - this offering to the demiurge, and the subsequent wholeness that they will achieve - with such ecstasy and zeal, that she subconsciously manifested her presence, letting it ooze freely with depraved radiance.

[PRESENCE: AWE]

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O Great Artisan,
whose Magnum Opus we know as Father.
We, archonic fragments of thy grace;
who shimmer like gold on the bed of chaos,
beseech thee.
Grant us your strength,
and let the fools who stand before us be destroyed by our fangs.
Let our holy blood serve as Communion.
Let it cleanse our impurity,
so that we may be whole.


One hand removes itself from the chalice. The Priest’s fangs lacerate her wrist open, from which she pours her blood into the chalice.

Through our war, we gain peace;
Through our blood, we gain freedom;
Let us walk as one through the path of destruction.

In Thy great name.
In Caine’s name.
We labour.


The Priest presents the chalice to Alice, whom the Priest - if needed - would help to replicate what the girl had done on the beach, when Alice bit her own hand. She would help Alice guide Little Alice’s blood into the chalice, before passing it on. Dowd would be the last to add his blood. This was not a show of disrespect; quite the contrary, it was meant to show that while Bambi was the one to instigate the ritual, it would be Dowd who would incorporate the finality of it. It was meant to symbolize that he would always have the last say, as long as he remained Ductus.

Once everyone added their blood into the chalice, and the chalice found itself back into the Priest’s hands, she whispered just loud enough for all to hear.

In nomine Caine; et Patris; et Gladius; et Sanguis Sancti

And with that, she drank from the liquid that became so pivotal to the faith of their sect. The taste had almost sent her into mindless rapture, as it had done during her first esbat. This time, however, she had the experience to detach herself before drinking at too much length. Alice received the chalice next, and Bambi would guide the girl - in order to make certain that she didn’t drink too much of the alluring mixture - before passing it on to someone else.

Once Dowd drank, they were whole at last. A true Sabbat pack. The enormity of such a blissful sensation would hit Bambi soon, but for now, she would address the congregation only briefly.
“Tonight is a beginning, my brothers and sisters. We will drink heavily to celebrate, for as of now… we are one.”
She looked at Dowd, and bowed her head, indicating that if he wished to address them, or give them orders, he could do so at his will. The Blood Feast, while important, did not require her immediate attention, and she wanted Dowd and the others to have their share of freedom and discussion before moving onward.





[alias=Bambi]
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Hannah
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Wicked Witch of the West

"Attagirl," the sergeant whispered as Alice kneaded her bag to dead. Tzimisce kid. The Keeper rolled his eyes. Armies of mortals addicted to their blood tit, most of which were more clear-minded than their vamp chiefs. Legions of monstrous corn-fed ghouls, all of them more tame and less twisted than the fiends that stitched them together. Millennia of ruling castles and the fucking mountains of Whogivesafuckistan and still their minds kept getting clogged with flesh and rancid fucking notions. All surfing in Nebraska. And they kept embracing wrong. Exhibit A was busy slurping the last bit of orange juice from the boy. The sergeant smiled thinking of the police guy before the cameras in front of the church tomorrow having to come up with some witty shit that fit.

"Besides, I don't think it is going to make the journey while our little darling's at its throat." Bambi said.

"No," the sergeant conceded. He nudged the anklebiter with his boot. "Hurry it up, will ya, Rainbow. We gotta go." The sergeant had never visited a castle and he'd visit one today.

"The, uh... the pighead said the castle was secure. Do we trust 'im? If so, no need to scout it anymore. I just need a good room - spacious -, evocative of power. The throne room? We let the Harvested outside the room, though. No juicebag, dead or alive, should be in there."

Grunting his assent, the trio walked across the causeway to the gate, passing the dead guard Grath had made. Better be fast, the sergeant reckoned, checking his watch to time other half. The others had 6 minutes left. Inside, the sergeant followed the priest to whatever room she found good enough.

Minutes later he found himself standing in a rough circle with the others. At last, they would have their vaulderie and maybe some small bit of peace of mind. The urge to fuck over the closest body you could find should become more manageable. His own orders should hit home with the force of the blood behind it. They were unreliable now. Unfit bunch of assholes and the problem with assholes is that they only talked shit. After this, the ritual, there wouldn't be a Cainite among them he wouldn't trust his own mother to. He thought that one over. But then the hag had been dead for years. What harm could they do her now?

This building, the flickering candles and silent assembly of monsters created a morbid, foreboding scene and got the sergeant in a grim frame of mind. The effect was amplified as the priest started her prayer, a prayer the likes of which the sergeant had never heard before. The undead woman, while small and fragile-looking, seemed to grow ... more important, more dangerous. Overflowing with zeal, she kind of straightened up, flipped her hair back, which now looked perfect. She got taller and.... brighter? The priest had her own personal spotlight right there in that castle on fuckwad little island. All of a sudden this girl demanded attention and there was not a thing any of them could do but give it.

You ever have the feeling you were in the wrong place? That if you could just get over the next hill, cross the next river, look down into the next valley, it'd all...fit. Be right.

The sergeant had, all his life, more or less. This here event was one of the things that set off such feelings. All his life spent getting ready for the next thing, fighting for the cause, preparing for when things would be different, when the point came peeking round the corner.

Climbed a lot of hills. Crossed a lot of rivers. Crossed the ocean and tore into a nation, left everything I knew, came back empty-handed. There I was, at the airport getting off the tarmac, same man, same life. Died. But shit never changed. Next valley ain't no different from this one. No better anyway. Reckon I would've learned by now.

The sergeant had learned all kinds of things from his many mistakes. The one thing he never learned is to stop making them. This blood sharing they all did, blood that fucked with their brain, played hell on their emotions, would bound them tight. It would leash every Cainite to an acceptable buddy to keep them all safe from being bound to fucking unacceptable ones.... because elder Mustangs decreed it. It was fucking policy and it was fucking insane. What's more it smacked like Camarilla antediluvian bondage.

Paying attention to the priest alone did not mean the sergeant grasped every nuance of her worship however, nor could fully appreciate the imagery Bambi tried to evoke. Archonic? Shit. But he sure felt it, deep in his gut. The feeling, that bond, that he was more than he was, safe, hungry, fierce as a god. A single mouthful would forge a connection between all of them and through it, they would fucking own whatever bitch in London didn't feel like cooperating. Almansa had spoken, and by everything holy, they would fucking do this thing to the letter. With willing hearts and skillful hands, the difficult they'd do at once, the impossible would just take a bit longer.

When it came, he tore deeply into his wrist and bled heavily into the chalice, giving off himself. He tried to shake off the treasonous thoughts and half succeeded. Tired and weary of thinking shit like that. The runts wouldn't have to suffer because dad couldn't get with the fucking program. There'd be no backsliding, even if it made him feel like the only rational being in the room. He'd make it so.

The big man passed the chalice back to Bambi. It would make more sense in a minute. It always did.

When it came the second time, he drank the last of the thick dark liquid that clung to the bottom. Liquid fury and raging fellowship blazed hot in the sergeant making him feel like a motherfucker. Flinging the cup away, the ductus regarded the pack. He felt savage and terrible and saw himself reflected in their eyes.

It was fucking beautiful and his voice reverberated low from the stone walls.

"Gents. More than any time in recent history, the Sword of Caine's destiny is not of our own choosing. Left and right we are besieged by the forces of evil that seek to enslave us, deny us our blood-rights and make us less than we are. Camarilla, the old amongst our own that forgot the point, the fucking ancient demons of the night... Yet the true measure of a vampire's strength is how he rises to master the moment when it arrives. Every time a warpack thinks they have measured their capacity to meet a challenge, they can but look up to the skies and they're reminded that that capacity may well be limitless. And so will it be for us. This is the time for fucking heroes, for the wild and free, for young blood and horrible cunts. We will do what is hard. We will achieve what is great. We will get this Cardinal's job done. This is the time for heroes and we reach for the stars."


It was a bit he'd nicked from a former ductus of his back in the States. It had seemed like a badass thing to say in a situation like this and what's more he agreed with the sentiment. The ductus pointed towards the room behind him and the groaning mass of battered, barely-conscious kine. "Individual Meal Packs in the other room."

They'd eat up, get back to the boat and tomorrow night they'd land in England.

And then the operation would begin proper.
[avatar=http://i1296.photobucket.com/albums/ag17/hannahsundling/scene100F_cam04_zps0e2fe3d2.jpg]
[alias=Dowd]


There is nothing sadder than seeing dead eyes staring out of a dead man's face, particular when they're still moving ...
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Leo Fleming
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Invisible & Silent
* * * * *
[avatar=http://s24.postimg.org/f3kegfu9x/Angel.jpg][alias=Angel Reyes]

Finally there were orders. Àngel liked the thought to become part of a pack again. He wasn’t really made to be alone a long time, since Dolores’ death nothing was like before. He had tried to attach to other packs, but that fucked up Tzimisce Ductus had a problem with him all the time, so he left…
This to be-Ductus here seemed otherwise…
And now they would start to be a pack… hunting the party snacks was a nice start indeed.

Grath was hard to read for the Brujah, Ian… even harder. Ruminating and spitting, with this dog creature at his side. But fuck yeah, finally on hunt! He needed to move, being static for too long made his beast itchy.
After Àngel stored his half full bag at the darker side of the street for picking up later, they moved to the village along the main street. He jumped up on a wall and balanced along it, overviewing the area, but no bags… The shit cattle was all in their stables to sleep, boring!
On the other side of the street Ian and his dog had found a bag toddling homewards with a drunken head. Àngel just heard some blows and a groaning, when he joined back the two others, food was already nicely tied up for transport.
Pighead had made out the pub where the other Mortal was coming from. They decided to go there and have a look at the groceries. It was a good decision and they harvested all the six bags, five men and a woman. While Ian and Àngel tied the prey, Grath organized a ride. The pub owner was so friendly to let them the keys to a Renault Espace.
Throwing in the writhing cattle, they drove back and collected the other bags on their way.
Àngel jumped out of the car to get “his” first drink and found another Mortal bent over the unconscious man, tapping his cheeks and calling out to him. Before the one could react, the Brujah grabbed his hair and smashed him face first on the sidewalk. Timber! He laughed and pulled out some cable ties to add this one to their loot. Throwing the two last in the car they now drove up to the castle.
The three men unloaded their haul after Bambi had decided where to let them. Eight and a half, some of them pretty boozed. Not so bad for about half an hour of hunt.

Now standing here in this room with his future pack mates surrounded by flickering candles. Àngel felt a wild vibration of excitement in his inner. He never was a member of a new built pack before, always just joined in along the way. Never before he stood there with individuals to forge a new sword for the Sabbat. So far, he always only was an addition to an already forged sword… But now! Now he was a part of the very ore to melt together and being forged with blood! He felt vigorous and when Bambi started her chant it seemed to him as if every word flew from her lips in burning letters.
The priest was burning in a halo of forge fire and when she passed him the chalice over the girls head their fingertips touched for a splitsecond and the Brujah felt as if the fire jumped over on him and his skin tingled. With a swift bite he opened his wrist and let the dark Vitae flow in the chalice to meet his new packs unity.

When the chalice with all the mate’s blood came to Àngel, he truly shivered in reverence. This was the moment! Inhaling the scent of their merged power, lifting the chalice to his lips and taking a deep sip of the Vitae. Deep in his chest his beast howling in a wild wardance, waiting for the magic sip to flood his system. The Brujah savored the glowing liquid on his tongue, then swallowed. The power and the euphoria almost swept him away. Passing the chalice to the next of his pack. Feeling the molten steel pumping through his body, feeling every nerve sucking up the united powers of these Kindred standing together here and now. A pulse hammering in his temples, the hammer forging the sword. Finally the pieces were in place, the notches filled and the blade ready to clear their way through London’s nights.

After the Ductus’ speech Àngel’s eye followed lazily the others getting their food. He would feed, sure… but for a little moment he wanted to keep this feel of bliss, the feel of being not just an addition.

Edited by Leo Fleming, Wednesday, 10. June 2015, 16:06.
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Franca
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A person
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Alice wanted to play and Alice wanted to play, the Basilik made by plasticine the meatball made by screams. And blood and screams and screams and blood, the Basilisk made by screams.

Cut scene.

Alice couldn't tell. What had happened to the screambag? To the mad in the bag the hole in the tag the war in the flag? Couldn't couldn't couldn't tell.

She could see, though, and she could smell.

Bambi oh not a puppet not at all, so radiant of darkness so so beautiful she almost seemed -real-.

Bambi and her moves, Bambi and her words. Alice didn't understand but she did -feel-.

It was coming.
Almost there.

A chalice in Little Alice's hands. How had it went there? Her hands were her hands but they were not her hands. The chalice was a chalice but was not, it was Mistress Eve's chalice but it was Bambi's chalice too. But it was real. It was Bambi and Pig and Gaston and Frollo. They were all real. And maybe they even had names but they were not their names and everyone was Alice and Little Alice

after such a long

time

woke

up

from her dream and -saw-. She saw them. Her brothers and bloodmates and her flesh and her blood. And the Basilisk too since he was inside her too. They were. They were real where everything was a joke in the mirror. And although she didn't know the other did. And they had prevailed. Because they were the only real dream in the land of screams.


[avatar=http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j192/viclis/54d67c71-11a0-4165-a9fa-0fa1386c8858_zps33bd8c00.jpg]
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Clover Greene
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Aminal
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Bambi stood entranced by the discarded chalice. It was a cheap, old thing - likely to have been manufactured en masse. Light from the surrounding candles reflected on its polish, flickering in the permeating darkness. Her gaze followed every crevice and every indent in its contour, burning its image into her memory. A thin, gentle stream of lingering blood seeped from the chalice's inside, dripping languidly onto the stone floor. The vessel of their communion seemed so delicate now, yet only moments prior, it contained holiness that not many objects could claim to have touched.

She stood enraptured by the scene, and would have to be broken out of her reverie.




Once her mind became free once more, she fed copiously, and went to collect the chalice and the candles - careful to scrub the floor from any stains of wax and blood. When it was time to return to the boat that would ship them across the English Channel, they no longer proceeded individually - they remained together. She threw the candles into the sea, but kept the chalice. Crowded within Dowd's dhingy, they sailed on. As a pack.








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Graham Mason
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Steak Tartare (YODO)

This mini quest has been officially

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Oh no! My souffle!
"Words", stress level, "MetaMason", "THEVOICEOFREASON"
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