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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. Create Your Account! If you're already a member, please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| Cannibals in the North | ||
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| Topic Started: Thursday, 16. July 2015, 17:02 (417 Views) | ||
| Binbag | Thursday, 16. July 2015, 17:02 Post #1 | |
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Childe
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Now it was time. No more skulking. It had been about a week since the final move to London. Since the move a few things had gone horribly annoyingly wrong. Mostly the net, which had been down since arrival. It would be difficult to describe how irritating this was. At first Binbag thought it was just teething trouble getting hooked up into the local network infrastructure. But quickly realised this was not the case. The web worked fine. Connectivity good. Maybe it was a hardware issue? It was a good job that he had been encouraged to never rely solely on technology. This little technical issue plus the growing sense of urgency impressed on him by his sire to meet his contact in London made his planned trip to the north of London a much needed break from growing frustrations. The news of this so called clandestine pub fire and cannibal cults made it all the more interesting. He first saw it in the discarded front page of the London Evening Standard free daily. Then it was all over the media. It even made The Times. Enfield and Edmonton had some very attractive points of interest too. Some interesting old cemeteries, Deephams enormous sewage works plant and Edmonton Incinerator, the largest in London. Binbag had planned it all carefully. The journey would take a good hour and a half. He would allow much longer just in case. Some of it would be above ground. This made Binbag a little nervous and a little excited in equal measure. This would be his first real test. He rooted through his binbags of clothes, selecting a dark oversized hoodie and black teeshirt, a skeleton face scarf purple and black striped gloves, a pair of dirty grey old trackie bottoms and some battered and split old trainers. He stank of mank and homeless chic, perfect. Noone was likely to mess with him or even come near. He picked up his black bin bag inside which were three rats nesting in the garments. A couple sleeping. One eating some rubbish he'd dropped in. They had clear commands, scout and report back here. The first part of the journey was easy. All underground to Seven Sisters. From there it was overground train to Angel Rd. Edmonton. He selected a carriage with hardly anyone in. Those that were there kept away as he expected. He kept his head down studying the battered A-Z London map book he'd brought along. London commuter etiquette made things like this so much easier. That part of Edmonton, he found smelt like traffic fumes, dirt and sewage. He'd blend in nicely. First, he'd release two of his rats up at the sewage works and incinerator. They knew to find their way home. Now time to find this pub. Binbag looked at the A-Z page he'd turned over at one corner. It was slightly torn at its bindings ad very worn. He saw were he needed to be. It didn't look far. Edmonton was a land of overpasses and underpasses. The busy North Circular road running through that part. Sodium street lights made pools of orange glow among the shadows. Binbag moved quickly and with purpose. The road was quiet. The house a burnt out shell. Binbag took a good look around the street and the back of the house. There were no tags or gang markings that he could see. The windows and doors had now been boarded over. Police tape was everywhere still. Entrance through the back seemed sensible. He was in luck. One of the boardings on the window was fixed into crumbling brick. He got his fingers underneath the edge and began to prize it open. It pulled out of the wall slowly the boarding creaked and cracked a little under the strain. He made a silent mental note. A crow bar would have made this so much easier but all the more violent and noisy. Once prized far enough apart to squeeze in, Binbag dropped the bag in and climbed through. Using his mobile phone torch light he looked around, snapping a few pictures of interest. It was mostly just piles of ash and charcoal walls. It was clear there had been stairs going down. And a large area underground. He found a way down. It all stank of burnt. Now he did too. The ash covered his clothes wherever he'd touched anything. More snooping and more pictures and maybe an hour or so later he emerged, crawling through the same gap in the boarding of the back window. Edited by Binbag, Thursday, 16. July 2015, 17:11.
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Binbags Thoughts Feral speech "Binbag's speech" A guide to Binbag's speech impediment "W's" and "Vs" become a rough guttural fricative "gh" "P's" "B's" become a more breathy "kh" or "h" "M's" "F's" and "V's" become a breathy "h" or a nasal fricative "ng" | ||
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| NPC | Friday, 17. July 2015, 01:30 Post #2 | |
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The Game Master
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[avatar=http://cdn.londonreconnections.com/assets/Seven-Sisters-Depot-Destination.png]
When the thing climbed out of the carriage, he nearly spat his can of Ka on the screen. That thing was hideous as hell. He quickly looked around, making sure none of his work mates was nearby, and started typing furiously on his phone. In less than two minutes, his buddy Anthony had already deleted the footage of him boarding the train down South. The video recording of the thing inside the train was scheduled for deletion too. Forty seconds later, an email was appearing on Prince Henderson's computer, signed by one of his trusted employees, and featuring an attached video file with the thing walking carelessly through the station, leaving the area designated for the Tube, and entering what used to be the Greater Anglia station, now a part of the Overground system. The thing just sat down, waiting for a train to pick it up, and go on further up North. Mike sighed, slightly worried, but confident about having made a good job. He did something else... After making sure he was alone, he copied the video footage of the thing in the station to his own flash drive, and then deleted it from the server. It could be worth nothing, but it was always a good idea to keep an ace up his sleeve. |
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| The NPC is not an admin nor does it have one singular user behind it. No PM's may be sent to the NPC and neither can you communicate with the NPC outside of role-play. Please contact Staff if you have any questions or queries. The NPC serves to only bring new information into role-play, members of staff have access to the NPC and will regularly be different people. | ||
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| Tsar Ilya the First | Friday, 17. July 2015, 01:44 Post #3 | |
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Claiming Tsar
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Ilya was not feeling very happy that night. It was a few days after the fire had eaten that place, and he was still trying to get the pieces of his personal puzzle in order. The only way he had of focusing was distracting his mind, and the numbing effects of fiction had little effect on him. So he watched. He had made Rostik drag an old bath tub to the basement, and then fill it with water and ice chunks. He undressed, and stood behind the tub. Inside, a young man in a suit was doing his best not to jump out. The promise of money made the flesh machines do the most strange things. That man was going to die tonight. The question was if the cause of death was going to be hypothermia or a broken neck. From Ilya's perspective, the freezing yuppie was just one of many visual stimuli. He had in front of him his wall of screens; more than two dozen old screens, piled in a chaotic way, automatically flickering through the different cameras around the Anarch Domain, switching every five to ten seconds following a random pattern. Over stimulation was generally a great way of setting his brain in a highly productive attitude, one that excited creativity and strategic thinking. Not this time. It was all working fine, until something odd caught his eye. A rat walking his barony, shamelessly peeking around Edmonton, close to his fortress, advancing up North. Where was that one heading? Another spy? Judging for the quality of the last one, this one was probably sent by the Camarilla to find out more about them. Incompetence seemed to run in their ranks. He merely had to half wish it, and Olga was already there. She walked in front of him, peeking in his eyes in submission. Meanwhile, she subtly pushed the frozen man's head down, in a playful way of condoning gratuitous murder. The lack of resistance of the cold banker made it clear that his heart had already given up. Ilya fixed his gaze in her eyes, and muttered some words. Half an hour later, Olga was standing outside the remains of Hospitality, wearing a fitted red Adidas tracksuit, her hands in the pockets, staring blankly at the charred remains from the other side of the road. She seemed to be waiting for something, or somebody. |
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Languages: Russian, Japanese, English, French, Finnish, German Oleg's Voice You may know me as Yuri Mikhailov or as Khoza. | ||
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| NPC | Friday, 17. July 2015, 01:57 Post #4 | |
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The Game Master
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The inside of a burned down building was a place that no Vampire walked by without having a strong feeling of danger. That place, just a few days ago, had been a burning hell. Just imagining that could test the resolve of the bravest. However, now it was all ash, and blackened pieces of wood. The whole building had collapsed, such was the intensity of the heat, and all that remained was a grey expanse with carbonized chunks of wall mocking the old structure of the place. Walking around, he could find a few pages that were spared from the flaming horror; random passages of Moby Dick, and 1984, barely recognizable, lying around the place. There was little evidence to be found there, at least little for anybody who had no training as an arson specialist. Those specialists had already been there, and had reached their own conclusions. They had even shared some of those conclusions with the press. But for an untrained eye, under the unreliable light of a smart phone, that was just a very dull grey landscape. There was something unexpected that caught his sense of smell, though. Between the horrifying aromas of burned cedar and charred paper; lying beneath a blanket of pungent calcined leather, there was something else... the unmistakably sweet and juicy smell of blood. Not the hot and provocative scent of hot blood pouring of a gush, but the more sophisticated and tangy smell of preserved blood. Cold, chemical, treated... blood. It came from a specific section of the grey nothingness that was the building. Upon walking there, it became apparent that the section was a charred piece of wood of considerable dimensions. It covered a trapdoor, a tunnel, a hole into another place, a place that stank of preserved blood, a smell that danced with notes of whiskey, vodka, and cannabis. Outside, at the other side of the road, a woman in a red tracksuit waited patiently, staring at the remains of the building, letting the intruder have his fun before interrupting him. He could have seen her, but he was clearly much more invested in finding clues and pieces of evidence among the blackened remains. |
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| The NPC is not an admin nor does it have one singular user behind it. No PM's may be sent to the NPC and neither can you communicate with the NPC outside of role-play. Please contact Staff if you have any questions or queries. The NPC serves to only bring new information into role-play, members of staff have access to the NPC and will regularly be different people. | ||
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| Binbag | Friday, 17. July 2015, 14:04 Post #5 | |
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Childe
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Kindred not cannibals Cannibals eat people not store their blood and sell it by the glass. Kindred if caught in the fire would have eaten their way through whatever stood in their way to get out of there. The thought spun round Binbag's head as he squeezed out of the window filling him with a sickness and fear he'd not felt for a long time, the beast churned inside. Half expecting a noise, the touch of a claw or even fangs upon him he cursed his rashness. Fuck that was stupid, fuck fuck fuck Taking his mobile phone out he held it inside the binbag he carried and checked the time in an effort to cut down the glow from it. He needed to start heading back. What if he'd been spotted? Quite possible really. Binbag made a strange soft high pitch noise calling his pet to him. He moved away from the window into the darkness and waited. He made the soft strange sound again. Barely audible to the human ear. The rat appeared and replied its obedience. Look around outside manthings watching warn me A few minutes later it returned. Watching other side light. No fear, they know this place, could be theres, He went through the computations and it didn't look too good Fuck! Binbag surveyed the back for options like another way out. |
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Binbags Thoughts Feral speech "Binbag's speech" A guide to Binbag's speech impediment "W's" and "Vs" become a rough guttural fricative "gh" "P's" "B's" become a more breathy "kh" or "h" "M's" "F's" and "V's" become a breathy "h" or a nasal fricative "ng" | ||
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| Tsar Ilya the First | Tuesday, 21. July 2015, 13:56 Post #6 | |
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Claiming Tsar
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[avatar=http://images.starpulse.com/news/bloggers/684225/blog_images/laura-slade-wiggins.jpg][alias=Olga]The building had been reduced to ashes and fragments of walls. Still, under that charred piece of unidentified matter, there was a tunnel. From the tunnel, the aroma of bottled blood was apparent. But there was no time for that. The back of the old pub lead to a back patio with a mid height wooden fence. The fence connected with the patios of the houses around. He rushed towards the patio, hoping that nobody would notice he was there, but it was already too late. A very obvious footstep noise behind him made him turn around. A young woman was there. She looked quite naive, although there was something absent in her expression, as if she was not entirely in this plane of existence. She was wearing a fitting red adidas tracksuit, and staring at him blankly. "You don't belong here. Go away. Leave now, or they will let the dogs loose." She took a step to the side, clearing the path to the main exit, and kept on staring at him, a few meters away, filled with a mix of curiosity and indifference. |
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Languages: Russian, Japanese, English, French, Finnish, German Oleg's Voice You may know me as Yuri Mikhailov or as Khoza. | ||
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| Binbag | Tuesday, 21. July 2015, 16:04 Post #7 | |
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Childe
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Binbag gave the girl addressing him a sort of side ways glance, not sure whether to make full eye contact or not. He quickly weighed her up in a split second according to the circumstances. A messenger,....... most likely. Eastern european by the accent. Mob possibly. Dresses like a chav so no rank low threat on her own. Has confidence in the power of who she works for. Not looking for conflict. Unsure of what she was dealing with. He gripped the bin bag tight in his left hand and slid up to her keeping half an eye on what she was doing while he moved to walk past. "Ok,..... just looking a klace to sleeg..........I just got into London" Spoiler: click to toggle Binbag scratched at his arm in a nervously irritated way as he moved. Possibly giving the air of someone weak and exposed. The flesh eating parasites under his skin seemed to come even more alive when they sensed the increase in blood running through his limbs. An unfortunate side effect of his beast beginning to rumbled inside, aware of a very present threat. |
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Binbags Thoughts Feral speech "Binbag's speech" A guide to Binbag's speech impediment "W's" and "Vs" become a rough guttural fricative "gh" "P's" "B's" become a more breathy "kh" or "h" "M's" "F's" and "V's" become a breathy "h" or a nasal fricative "ng" | ||
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| Tsar Ilya the First | Sunday, 26. July 2015, 19:00 Post #8 | |
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Claiming Tsar
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[avatar=http://images.starpulse.com/news/bloggers/684225/blog_images/laura-slade-wiggins.jpg][alias=Olga]She stared at him slightly amused by his speech pattern, but not very involved in what was going on around her anyway. Outside, in front of the burned building, an old Citroen C4 was waiting, lights on. The car had a sticker that singled it as a minicab. Inside, there was a man of Middle Eastern heritage, idly checking his phone behind the wheel. The girl in the tracksuit addressed the intruder again. "He will get you to Central London. Free advice: get friendly with a cabbie, and avoid public transport like plague; your disguise doesn't fool anybody. If you want to get in touch with... us... follow the traditional channels. And before you ask: if you don't know what those channels are, you have no business in the North. Pleasure meeting you. Goodbye." Her accent was borderline atrocious, and her way of speaking definitely odd, as if she was repeating something she had learned phonetically, but she didn't understand the words. She stood there, pointing at the cab, with a slightly smug "matter of fact" attitude about her, as if she had just told him something people learn in school. The driver opened the door in the back, and smiled at him, flashing a couple of gold teeth. |
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Languages: Russian, Japanese, English, French, Finnish, German Oleg's Voice You may know me as Yuri Mikhailov or as Khoza. | ||
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| Binbag | Tuesday, 28. July 2015, 15:50 Post #9 | |
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Childe
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A way out or an invitation to enter the spiders web? How magnanimous. Whoever wanted to get rid of him wanted as little fuss and mess as possible. A minicab...why not? ...he made a mental note to get the details of the company and also driver if possible. Binbag looked at the cab guy's gleaming grin then back at the young woman. "Ok, thanks......, see you." Binbag moved to the the car with shoulders hunched and head down and got in the back. Slouching down into the seat he made himself comfortable as best he could with the restricted leg room available. Even at his very average height the best way to sit was more sideways than facing front. Could be a trap, Out of the frying pan into the fire. He slouched down further. He'd know soon enough. The driver got into the front. "Where you going mate?" he said in the thick middle eastern version of the North London brogue. Binbag took a minute to fish out the battered A to Z of London he was carrying. Turning to a creased-over page he quickly scanned it under the orange street light that shone though the window. He showed it to the driver, pointing to a street, Randells Road just round the corner from York Way. Close enough to Kings Cross, The Grand Union Canal and some small industrial units to keep any inquisitive minds guessing. "Randell's Road" Not exactly CENTRAL central London but on the edge and only maybe an hour or two through the network of old service tunnels and sewers to the safety of his new haven. He'd not been quite so far out as this before. But he was pretty certain that once he was under Kings Cross he'd be fine. Joseph Bazalgette, architect of the Victorian London sewers had provided his kin with magnificent highways and halls of grandeur. The trick was planning how to connect the old to the new, the sewers to the service tunnels and ducts of the underground. It's like changing trains, without the platform announcements. A trick Binbag had planned for and practised. A compass was always handy too. As he showed the driver, he seemed not to notice the dried out maggot that had been squashed in the page binding on the edge of Regents Park. The car pulled away into the night. Binbag went through his planned route in his head. The first part would be the trickiest. Moving the short distance from Randell's road to the dis-used tube station on the corner of Bingfield Street. It was only 100 yards or so away. Just round the corner, in fact. Still, after tonights encounter he didn't want to push his luck any further. Us.......In the North ...traditional channels.....what's that all about ? Edited by Binbag, Tuesday, 28. July 2015, 16:24.
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Binbags Thoughts Feral speech "Binbag's speech" A guide to Binbag's speech impediment "W's" and "Vs" become a rough guttural fricative "gh" "P's" "B's" become a more breathy "kh" or "h" "M's" "F's" and "V's" become a breathy "h" or a nasal fricative "ng" | ||
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1:15 AM Jul 11