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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.

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Marko Polivicz; Gangrel, Anarch
Topic Started: Saturday, 15. October 2016, 04:06 (274 Views)
Nox-Corona
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Player Handle: Nox-Corona

Name: Marko "Dandelion" Polivicz

Age: 59

Place of birth: Manchester, United Kingdom

Age of embrace: 27

Clan: Gangrel

Sect: Anarchs

Species: Vampire

Derangement: None

Disciplines:

Appearance: A flamboyant individual in life, and remaining so in Undeath; Marko has long brown hair, often heavily dyed with all manner of colours and worn half up. His roundish face is often heavily caked in makeup (often using pencil to give the illusion of higher cheekbones) and his fingernails are often painted. Underneath the make-up is a naturally pale face pitted with pockmarks from a childhood encounter with chickenpox, with piercing dark eyes. As a result from two past Frenzies, the Gangrel possesses more feline pupils and a patch of scales on both upper arms. He stands at 5ft11 in height and possesses a somewhat average build. Fashion-wise, he favours flamboyant items of clothing, some of which borrow heavily from the New Romantic and Glam Metal scenes of the 1980s and the modern Steampunk scene. In particular, his trademark is a furry leather coat that has been kept in good condition ever since the late 70s.

Haven: A small flat in the more dingier parts of Tottenham; whilst rough on the outside, its rather different on the inside. When one says different, one means that the flat seems to be adorned in beautiful artwork...replicas of expressionist and protest pieces as well as Marko's own peculiar pieces. The furniture is adorned with animal stripes, often in vibrant colours and not even the thick curtains are safe from the Gangrel's vibrant tastes...some would whisper that he should've been a Toreador instead of a Gangrel. As such, in a secret compartment placed in the large attic, there is a cannabis plantation from which Marko keeps a steady income. Indeed, the attic was the reason why he rented the place.

History: A story? Heh, everyone has one of those I imagine; it is all just a matter of whether or not they are an interesting thing to read or hear about. My story personally began on the 5th of April, 1957; my parents were young refugees who had fled Poland during the German invasion of their homeland. Both too young to do anything about it, mum and dad both had to watch as their fellow Poles reclaimed their homeland with bullet and bomb alike. When the war finally ended, they thought that they could return to their homeland...how wrong they were. Poland was due to become one of the Soviet Union's satellite states, and after hearing of the atrocities the Red Army committed during their march to Berlin, they decided it would be best to stay in the UK. They married, and years after that, I was born. Now, being born into a Polish family, you can expect them to be VERY Catholic...my own parents were no exception. Oh yes, I remember every Sunday, being made to go to church; I remember being made to say a prayer every evening meal, and I remember being made to attend Sunday school. Now, when I was but young boy, I played along with it, not really knowing any better, As I got older though, I began to question it all...and began to find it all very boring. Hell, I only got myself confirmed and kept going to church because of the free wine. Yet strangely, everything I learned became stuck in my head, as though it were a sponge absorbing all manner of crappy build-up. Now, come the early 70s, I got involved with the Hippies that had still been around at that point. Sure, I got bullied for growing my hair long, my parents sure as hell thought it was just a phase...a phase they were very determined to quash out immediately, thinking I was straying too far into Damnation. Sure the drugs were sweet, and the men and women were even sweeter (yeah, I kept quiet about the man-loving to my folks, they weren't too fond of men bumping uglies)...but what was most intoxicating was the freedom. Oh God, sweet delicious freedom! It was a release from the constant guilt tripping that often comes with growing up Catholic, to be able to act according to your nature was very delicious indeed. When my university years came, dear mum and dad couldn't be any prouder, and even more ignorant of what I was truly like; granted. I said I would get a haircut, which I pretty much lied about in order to get them off my back.. Sure, I considered myself a nice guy, but I also was a raving hedonist, enjoying any pleasure that had been offered to me. I was free to pursue whatever I wanted; oh, I lapped up everything the Lecturers told me...the beauty of Philosophy was that nothing is absolute. They didn't care whether or not we subscribed to the ideas they taught us, only that we were able to analyse them, to argue for them and argue against them; that suited me perfectly fine, I found myself agreeing with the likes of Derrida and Sartre; indeed, their writings on human nature certainly influenced my perceptions on many things...and proved surprisingly helpful during my transition into one of the Kindred. Now then, come the 1980s, when the New Romantics were on the scene and Glam Metal started to come out of Los Angeles, I had long since graduated from University and once more enjoyed the fruits of this new scene. It was in this period that I acquired the look that I would carry into my undying days; oh I travelled throughout the North. Liverpool, Blackpool, Southport, even want as far as the Scottish border; I wasn't alone though, I was the singer for a four-piece Glam Metal act hoping to make it big...before the guitarist quit over an argument about cocaine. I myself made a living of sorts, selling weed to whoever was interested; and I was not going to get any stronger than that, even I have standards on what to peddle. It was one night in '84 that things changed. I was in the alley out back of this club in Scarborough when I realised that I was being watched...this made me rather uncomfortable; for all I knew, I might've been selling on somebody else's turf. Unwilling to find out, I decided it would be a prudent time to bugger off whilst I still had the luxury. That did nothing for me however, for I still had the feeling that I was being watched, and now I felt as though as I was being followed. I remember trying to cut through a nearby park...big fucking mistake on my part. The area was pitch-black, I had hoped to lose my pursuer in the darkness, not realising that whoever was after me was far from a mere human being. As I wandered slowly, trying not to trip over my feet, it was there that a caught a sight that almost made me piss my pants. There, in the darkness, I saw a pair of large, blood-red glowing eyes staring right back at me. So bright were they, that I could see the narrow slit of a pupil there. Heart beating like a double peddled drum, before I could even begin to run, the thing those eyes belonged was upon me in seconds and a I felt a sharp pain manifest within my neck. Things got rather foggy then, I remember the pain transforming into ecstasy before unconsciousness took me.

Upon the next night, I awoke with a gasp; pain resonated from within my body, all stemming from a hunger that I've never felt before. As the fog cleared from my sight, I caught sight of a woman within my room bathed in the light of the moon. Before I could speak, she turned, and I saw those eyes again; fear once more took hold of me, but then I realised something, my heart wasn't beating...at all. Before I could say anything, she spoke, in an accent I've never heard before. She told me that she was Hypatia, and that I was a Vampire of Clan Gangrel. Of course, like most Kindred who started off out of the loop, I thought I was hallucinating, that I perhaps had some very bad weed, but that did not explain my lack of a heartbeat and the fact the hunger I felt was nothing like any munchies I had ever felt. She then gestured to something within my bathroom, there lay an unconscious homeless man with an open head wound. Before I could protest, the scent that came from him overpowered me; it sung to me, compelled me. Something stirred within me, another thing completely alien to my then-psyche. Before I knew it, I literally saw red and pounced upon the unconscious human. I sank my newly-grown fangs into his neck, and the surge of pleasure that followed was...intense. Ecstasy shook through the very core of my being; better than any drug or sex that I had ever experienced in my life. I wanted more, the thing within wanted more, and it was in control. Yet, I felt something push it down, another will that was not my own. I heard Hypatia's voice speak:

"Now do you see? Take a look in the mirror."

Hearing those words, and feeling immense guilt within myself, I did as I was told; there, I saw more of the truth than I'd care to know. My eyes had changed; whilst they remained the same colour, the pupils have changed. They were like that of a cat now, and I saw for myself the enamel daggers that had replaced my canines. Once more, my Sire spoke.

"You are of my blood now, accept it...you may mourn for this man now, but you must not do the same for others lest eternity becomes unbearable."

Before I knew it, she had gone, and I couldn't ask her any questions that I had. Turns out, that my Clan is somewhat notorious for letting their Fledglings wander alone. Some teach them a thing or two for a few days, some simply notify their childer of what they are and leaving them be, to prove that they were worthy of the blood all along. Survive I did, but it was far from a picnic; thanks to popular culture, it was generally well-known that sunlight was anathema to my new kind...fire was a no brainer either, for everything succumbed to its touch. 1984 goes by, and I learnt a few more things the hard way. After trying to eat normal food, I realised quickly that I would just simply regurgitate it from the moment it touch my tongue. I also knew very well that the North had a considerably scummy element to it, plenty of people that deserved their fates twice over. As I still plied my little cannabis trade, I knew it would prove ample opportunity to scout out prospective prey among society's moral undesirables. Indeed, it would help ease my conscience a great deal, before I got use to feeding in general. At the same time, I felt something surge within me, an intensified version of the wanderlust that drove me to travel in life. Another thing I learned that night is that we Gangrel aren't particularly fond. In this case, I felt like returning to Manchester...I could not help but wonder how things have changed in my absence. When I arrived in the city, I began to wonder how my parents were; I haven't seen them since the year of my graduation. I asked around my old neighbourhood (or at least those who were active at night). It was then I learned that they had died in a car accident approximately a year ago. Boy, did that make me feel rotten; they had been dead a year and I never knew. See, we had not parted on the best of terms and both sides of that argument were VERY stubborn; it started with the hair, and then it became the case that I no longer saw God the way they saw him, which was less than flattering at the time we parted.. I knew where'd they be buried, they were pretty devout Catholics after all. I found it there, the headstone was rather bland besides from a few Polish flags and several rosary beads. Overcome by sadness, I found myself praying in my parent's native tongue to a God who I thought was a real nobhead; my opinion dropped even further once I learned of the Kindred Lore that describes him as the root of our curse. In such an aggrieved state, I found myself looking at a bunch of lowlifes defiling some of the graves. Of course, this brought out my ire, and when I say ire, I mean it was once more that I saw red. I found myself leaping into one of them and sinking my teeth into his thrice-damned neck; oh I remember it well, tearing into his neck like a rabid dog tearing into a carcass. Whatever it was within me, it enjoyed it, revelled in the brutal murder. As I finished draining the unlucky sod, with his friends having ran off, I felt control return to myself and it was then that I truly saw the face of my victim. My heart, metaphorically at least, sank as I realised that I'd killed someone who was barely an adult; boy did that make me feel like shit. To make matters even worse, I knew I had been watched. The figure revealed himself from behind one of the cemetery's trees, and he didn't look to happy, and his voice conveyed as much.

"The fuck you think you're doing mate?! Don't you know that kind of thing is uncalled for!"

He then looked into my eyes and noticed how inhuman the pupil's were. An exasperated came from him.

"Fuck, another Gangrel? Bloody hell! How long have you had the Blood?" "Two months", I said in response. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "So your Sire left you alone then, not long after your Embrace...you know, when you get made a Vampire?" I pretty much nodded, this was the first time that I had a proper encounter with another Kindred. "Name's Wyn, some call me Winnie, though if I ever hear you call me that in front of everyone else, I...will...stake you you hear?" I nodded thusly, and from that moment on, he was sort of my mentor on Kindred 'life'. From Wyn, I learned a fair bit of what I know; that much of Northern England was under the 'rule' of the Anarch Movement. After giving me need-to-know on the Anarchs and the other two sects, it was then I made a decision. I dislike rigid adherence to tradition and what was essentially a gerontocratic pyramid scheme, therefore the Camarilla was not for me; when he told me of the Sabbat, I was like "Fuck no!". To me, the so-called Sword of Caine seemed like an angrier, roid-raging version of the Catholicism that I had left as a mortal. Both of them were ultimately the same at core according to Wyn; that both have Elders that screw the younger Vampires over in their politicking and their power grabs. It was in that moment, that I decided being a part of the Movement was the better idea, sounded like it suited my values rather well. Whilst he was, indeed, Brujah, he did introduce me to the concept of Disciplines. As a Gangrel, I learned that my own Clan's disciplines consisted of Protean, Animalism and, to my surprise, Fortitude. Within two weeks, he had left me to my own devices, thinking that if I've managed well enough on my own for two months, that I would do fine on my own. So, I remained in the city of my birth, doing my usual work to make basic ends meet. I learned that, as a result of the Beast within and my own Clan's traits, we take on more animalistic aesthetic traits; this certainly explained the change with my pupils and the new patches of scaly skin on both my upper arms. Things seemed to go pretty smoothly for the next seven months; a constant cycle of feeding on criminals and selling dope to foolish young Kine. Eventually, it would be one night in September that things would get a little hairy. At the particular pub I hung out at, known as the Pomona, the Sabbat would hit us hard; I remember the first time I killed one of my own. I remember bringing my newly-acquired axe into the neck of this Shovelhead...couldn't have been older than 18 as I put him out of his misery. It made me shudder, to think that I could've been in this lad's place. Wyn told me how Shovelheads are made, and that made me pity the poor bastards; especially with, for all their troubles, the Sabbat don't even consider them true Vampires even after they survive the battle they were Embraced for. Still, it was a small encounter, just the Sabbat telling us that they were still in the area and that they will do anything to those that oppose them. It was in that moment, that I truly was grateful that I had not been Embraced within the so-called Sword of Caine, though at least the release of death would be much more likely. After this event, I occupied my time by experimenting with my Disciplines as much as I could; you know what they say, practice makes perfect. Would've no doubt been easier had I had a teacher from the start. Well, upon the first anniversary of my Embrace, once more dealing some sweet weed to young, the foolish and the habitual users, I once more felt that same experience of being watched. I had a suspicion about who it was...and my leaving my patch proved me right. As I walked through Debdale Park, I made use of the Eyes of the Beast, allowing me to see into the darkest depths, and their I saw her. Closer inspection revealed a look of pride on her face, her voice conveyed as much as she spoke.

"Impressive my Childe, it seems you've managed to survive well as one of us; it seems my blood wasn't wasted on you after all. Still...I do apologise for leaving you to your own devices but..." I broke her sentence "that is the way of Clan Gangrel." She crosses her arms and continues to smile. "I see you've learned well my dear Marko, and it is my understanding that you've ingratiated yourself with the Anarchs of the area...have they treated you well?" I confirmed that they have done, and that I feel like being one of them. Hypatia snickered, "Like sire like Childe, it seems I truly chose rightly." After that night, Hypatia began my tuition in full and there was indeed very much she had to teach. I learned that she was born in the Greek city of Corinth during the mid-Byzantine period back in the 1100s. Her family were crypto-Pagans, adherents to the old gods of the Greek people. In life, she had pledged herself to Artemis, the virgin lunar goddess of the Hunt, but her service would not last long. One night, agents of the Greek Orthodox Church came and burned down the sacred grove at which she served, with all of Artemis' servants inside. Only Hypatia escaped, and it seemed someone was watching her as well. This being turned out to be my Grandsire, a former Suebian tribesman known as Giltheric. He offered her a chance, a chance of revenge against the Christians who had wronged both their peoples. With rage burning in her heart, my sire agreed and was thus embraced on the spot. The way she sees it, after extracting her goal, to only see the moon now brings her closer to Artemis. I suspect that she was probably pleased that Constantinople fell to the Ottomans in the 15th century. One important gift she gave me was our history; our founder was Ennoia, one of the Antediluvians. Members of the 3rd Generation, Hypatia told me that such god-like beings were why the Sabbat were as they were. I learned more of our history, how we Gangrel had strong ties to both the Norse and Greek civilisations, of how our blood feud against the Blood Mages of the Tremere. Now, I didn't particularly feel angry, but I did shudder. Becoming a Sabbat shovelhead is one thing, to be turned into something unnatural even by our standards is another. I've also heard of...even more deplorable things carried out by the hands of the Warlocks; this made me wary of them, I shall be on the lookout once I find myself in a place where the Camarilla reigns supreme. Ten years would go by, my tuition under Hypatia proved most...fruitful, for many were the gifts that came with the Disciplines of our blood. "The strength of the Gangrel comes from our bond with the beast," my sire said, "you must learn to understand it, to know when to anticipate it and to know when to please it as necessity demands." Indeed, I learned to the full extent of what one could do with Protean, if they lived long enough; to be able to become mist, to bond with the earth itself and to become the creatures of the wild. Once we grow in strength, we must choose our forms; I myself, being the flamboyant soul that I am, feel drawn to the Hawk and the Lynx. Both are creatures that find themselves living in freedom, caring not for those that would dare restrain them. Suits me well in more ways than one I reckon. Needless to say, I learned how to speak the Greek language from her; as flawless as her English was, even she still preferred her ancestral tongue. Come 2000, the wanderlust that is within the blood of all Gangrel called to both me and Hypatia, but where it called us differed. The South called to me whilst Scotland called to my sire; knowing that I am more than capable of taking care of myself. The only thing that surprised us was the fact that it had taken 15 years for our inherent nomadic tendencies to kick in. On the night we parted, Hypatia gifted me with an athame; written in Greek, the dagger bore the name of the goddess Artemis, with the moon in its phases etched onto the surface. She wished me well, and hoped to see me again...if I still prove myself worthy of her Blood.

And so it came to pass, I slowly wondered my way throughout England, even crossing over the border into Wales, to feel the wilds in that place...and to test a theory Wyn once suggested; "that Welsh blood tastes like sheep", safe to say, he'll be disappointed to say that it is no different from the Blood of most Kine. Once had a run-in with a Lupine there, managed to hide myself; had I remained among the living, I probably would've needed a new pair of underwear. Indeed, I began to enjoy the wandering greatly; to be yourself within the city would feel rather strenuous to the psyche. Here in the wild, it was liberating. Knowing the full extent of who and what I've become, I appreciated this even more, for it was all according to my nature. Eventually, I decided to go back into England; being a pragmatic lone wanderer, and not willing to risk more encounters with the wolfmen, I stuck to the urban areas for as long as my nature. Most Gangrel aren't fond them, I think of them as a wilderness all of their own, but with considerably less Lupines thank God. Granted, it still had the taint of civilisation and conformity, something I had long been against even before I was Embraced. As such, the wanderlust kept calling, eventually turning into a sensation that pounded within my mind, compelling me to stay for an even shorter period of time. Eventually, I would find myself within my first proper Camarilla city; much of the North was under the control of the Anarchs, but Norwich, being in the south, was more or less under the thumb of the Camarilla. I remembered what Wyn had taught me about them, how it was best to introduce myself to the local Prince so as to avoid their enforcers knocking on my door late in the night. It was then, that I saw for myself that all I had been told was disturbingly true, and much more besides. Everyone was out to unseat each other to some degree, hoping for a smell whiff of power that came from the Prince's arse. He was little better, a snivelling little worm that would do anything to maintain his power. As such, with the collective brown-nosing and endless cycle of betrayals that rarely lead anywhere, I found myself truly sickened by the Camarilla. At least release in the Sabbat was easier, but for the Capes, release came with having your name dragged through the mud until the sheriff came and left you staked to bake. For the first time, I realised that I found myself truly identifying as an Anarch; I merely thought of it as a label, until you really see what the Movement is trying to break free from. They say we Gangrel are stubborn, and it seems its a stereotype well-founded; I became entrenched in my belief that Anarchs were the way to go for the future. A monolithic entity like the Camarilla would only drive their neonates into the arms of the demented Sabbat. No Cape could convince me to swallow the pill that their Elders offered, I in turn told them what I really thought of their laws and the fact that the same Elders ran the show for many centuries (It was less than polite shall we say). It was that same night that I decided to leave Norwich, determined to channel my semi-nomadic inlinations to a palce where there are more Anarchs. In due time, very recently in fact, I found my way into London; Manchester was but a patch of woodland compared to the metropolitan Amazon that the capital of the United Kingdom. I would make my Haven in Tottenham, where my sire told me where the Anarch Movement held its seat within the capital. For all its being an urban monstrosity, there was a surprising abundance of greenery here; places that hadn't been touched by humanity. Either that, or the Kine had placed them there just to give the area some semblance of aesthetic appeal. Regardless, it was good to have a wild place to run through...and it seems the local Gangrel thought so too at the same time.

Notes:

Languages: English, Polish and Greek

Weapons: Fireaxe and athame

Religion: Though he doesn't like to talk about it much, in terms of Religion, Marko is something of a Hellenic Pagan of the Artemisian variety. Out of habit though, he may do the sign of the Holy Trinity when in a Catholic Church. He may heavily disagree with it, but he pays some modicum of respect to it.

Face Claim: Terrence Zdunich
Edited by Nox-Corona, Monday, 31. October 2016, 14:34.
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