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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: |
| Familiar Faces; Open | |
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| Topic Started: Thursday, 20. January 2011, 23:09 (3,749 Views) | |
| Billie-Rae | Tuesday, 12. April 2011, 20:43 Post #41 |
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Childe
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As Rae sat talking with Benji and the others, they were joined by another Kindred who leaned on the bar and took a swig as the barman was now absent. Rae hoped they would return soon, she needed another drink. She had just asked about the baron when the new Kindred chipped in his two cents worth. "We can't agree ... than we already have." Rae turned to the new kindred and appraised him with a smile as he approached. She was a little shyer around new people that she let on but she was pleasantly surprised by the Kindred she had met so far. They all seemed fairly amicable enough. Approaching and ... "Name's Sullivan - mind if I join?" "Perhaps the Anarchs ... if you join us." The newcomer who identified himself as Sullivan sat down and joined in their conversation. "Appreciated… And we are all a ... bit of a moot point." Rae fell silent as the conversation took another direction and decided to become an observer. Alvin seemed to provide the theatrics. The Camarilla..." -"The Sabbat..." -"... angles of their ugly face" He had some good points, a little simplistic at the root but Rae was never for overcomplicated plans. It was at this point that Sullivan gave his retort. "That'd be great ... we ain't ghosts." Rae had her own smile at this. Also a simple plan and a little more feasible. However, still as direct. "I mean hey, ... doesn't get us killed." Rae decided to put her 2 cents in at this moment, however, she was cut off by Alvin who chipped in first. "Now, Sullivan, ... from the Brujah Clan" It was a little rude but a fair question. Rae had never met someone to whom clan had mattered so much. It was however interesting to have everything on the table. Rae turned again to look at Sullivan and placed her hand of Jensen’s knee. She was sure this was all a little overwhelming for him. He shrugged with ... got ripped apart." The two kept talking but Rae’s attention was once again distracted by the door opening and yet another joining in on their party. Shaw stepped ... 'Am I interrupting?' "So, have you ... a natural knack for?" 'I guess I ... answer he desired. "Interstingly, we ... on a new one." Rae stood up and walked behind the bar, her mind full of thoughts and her ears full of the words around her. She was very contemplative at the moment and a thought was forming as she went. She walked behind the bar and poured herself a glass of ice cubes. She leaned forward over the bar as the newcomers continued talking. 'Perhaps a new leader ... or so it has been suggested. " And as far as a chain ... the Sabbat leave." Leaning over the bar, Rae crunched one of the blocks and swallowed the pieces, feeling the cold slide down her gullet. She looked to the group of boys across the room. “What the hell... if i’gets London goin’ again, I’ll do it.” She looked to see for their respones. |
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Jansen, My Childe Lia, My Ghoul | |
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| Sullivan | Tuesday, 12. April 2011, 21:18 Post #42 |
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Ancilla
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Sullivan raised his bottle as you would normally raise a glass to the woman's suggestion of her taking the title, his features sharp, wolfish and smiling anyway, "If it helps, I'd follow ye lass. Plans are fine things, but I find they rarely survive contact with the enemy, be they politicians or psychopaths. Anybody with the danglers to try has my vote on their courage alone." He had given up on this conversation getting anything too definite decided upon done around the same time Alvin had started asking about why he'd been glancing at the door. If he had the time to be paranoid about someone else's paranoia, then that Brujah in particular wasn't quite ready to fight for anybody but himself, be they fellow anarchs or not - he just didn't know it yet. In short, he seemed to have somehow preserved the confidence of youth in how he spoke, while simultaneously catching on that not everyone could be trusted. Sullivan was familiar with the trust no-one approach, but having seen so many two-faced corpses - and that was just the latest Tzimisce trend - during his time in the Sword of Caine, he wasn't a fan. It bred contempt among allies, and you couldn't have that if everyone expected to survive - and since the Cammies didn't care and the Sword revelled in death, no matter whose, Sullivan saw it as almost the anarch's duty to represent thsoe kindred that still gave a damn about someone other than themselves. He grinned at the group, one face at a time, and raised his bottle in a toast of sorts, his friendliness genuine but his trust held back from a few - well, mostly the newest addition to the room actually - as he spoke, "This is a good night - ideas, conversation, and stickin' it straight up the man's shrivelled arsehole!" He said, a chuckle half-arriving before he took a swig of the whiskey, liquid fire and the twang of a taste acquired a long, long time before he'd knew anything about this world. Now that he knew about it? Well, it was refreshing that with enough planning, his bare hands could still solve the majority of his problems. |
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| Alvin Benedict Blake | Thursday, 14. April 2011, 11:38 Post #43 |
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Childe
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Alvin kept silent while Sullivan spoke, he was going to say his name in response to the Gangrel´s question but suddenly the door swung open one more time to show the figure of a tall, military fashioned kindred. The words he had spoken showed that quite rapidly. And he seemed to be Anarch, you did not enter one of the Anarch headquarters asking for the Baron unless you have quite the balls and some serious power; Benedict kept his mouth shut as Sullivan and the newcomer kept talking, the newcomer seemed to go straight to the point and to act now. Just what Alvin wanted. Then Rae went to the back of the bar and started to mess around with ice cubes, the activity seemed pointless yet only to keep the mind going perhaps; her straight attitude also was of the Brujah´s approval; a wide grin started to dance on his face. "Well, in response to your previous question; Sullivan, you can call me Al or Ben... whatever fits you better"-Said the Brujah as he stood up and walked towards the center of the locale with intention and trust-"Aye, I think we should get this ideas into action... I myself will be starting a campaign to recruit all the Anarchs we can get and then we can strike the Sabbat"-Said the Brujah lauching a short hook punch to the air to show his enthusiasm. He then looked at the newcomer and said-"Brujah Clan, Alvin Benedict Blake, mate"-Said extending his left arm to shake the newcomer´s hand. |
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| Vincent Tadeu | Thursday, 14. April 2011, 15:11 Post #44 |
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Garbage Man
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Vinnie had been sat at the bar for some time running his finger around the edge of a glass of rum, he was never going to drink it of course, but the barman poured him them anyway and he was always more than happy to pay for them if only to secure himself a seat. This place was ideal for getting jobs, not least because the landlord passed them on to him. But the strong Anarch presence tonight was unusual and that was getting to him. He'd listened quietly to bits of the conversation and now some Brujah was going all Bolshevik with the fist in the air and declaring his intention to start kicking Sabbat arse. Now Vinnie couldn't say that was a bad goal, but he was possessed of a bit more cynicism that idealism, the Sabbat wasn't about to simply roll over at take a drubbing, especially not from the Anarchs who were almost totally marginalised in London at the moment, confined to two boroughs and one of those they struggled with the damned Capes over. "Precisely how are you going to strike the Sabbat? And I don't mean with fists and claws and whatever. The trouble is the Sabbat are organised, at least to an extent, and what are we? We're a bunch of fucking kids and punks with big ideals, we need to get more organised. Its okay to say that everyone understands the plan and the goal but we are going to get nowhere except dead real quick if we don't start getting better organised, and I hate to say it as an Anarch myself, but we're going to need someone capable of going toe to toe with the higher ups in the Ivory Tower. Otherwise we risk rattling the cage too much and facing a war on two fronts." |
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| Mauno | Thursday, 14. April 2011, 18:53 Post #45 |
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Childe
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As introductions were being made, Mauno decided he would include himself in the proceedings. With a slight nod he joined his name to the list being passed around. 'You may call me Mr Shaw.' At least for now, he considered. Whether anyone here would become close enough to learn his less formal name was still a matter of decision, and there was time for that answer to discover itself. They all seemed keen, which was always a good start for an Anarch. The problem was getting them to act together in a manner that not only benefited them all but which damaged their enemies. He smiled when the man called Al (or Ben) had claimed he would be trying to mass an army. His indecision on his name gave a point of worry. A name was an important thing, especially for the undead. It was part of the mask one wore, part of the symbol of who you were, or who you were trying to be. For him to have no clear idea of his name said one of two things: either he wasn't sure who we was, or he didn't want to be anyone. Or maybe he was at that point of indecision when he first contemplates taking a new name. Shaw couldn't help but test him. 'You are going to recruit a strike force? Please tell me how you plan to do said feat. Most of us have already picked a side, so either you intend to change their allegiances by way of some sort of press gang or you intend to create more. Personally I'd avoid the press gang stuff. Not only does it return memories of the imperial age when England had no true friends to speak of, in which case people would only grow to hate you, plus there would be the time required to re-educate them to the Anarch ways which could take anything from a few months to several years, or even decades in extreme cases. Personally, I like to have my fight and be home for tea before the cock crows.' He ended by giving Alvin a grin with just enough cheek to show it was representing comedy rather than insult. Edited by Mauno, Thursday, 14. April 2011, 18:55.
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"I hope I can bring the realization that everyone is controlled by fear. Whether it is imagined or actual, the fear is real to them and controls every aspect of their lives." | |
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| Sullivan | Thursday, 14. April 2011, 23:56 Post #46 |
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Ancilla
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Sullivan sat with his back leant against the bar, his whiskey running lower than he liked - but he could always grab another bottle before he left. He had a lead he was interested in following up on, and he was hopeful it'd lead somewhere. Of course, if it didn't he could end up balls-deep in shit - but then, when you were thinking of going into Sword territory, that was always part of the equation. The only question was when it came into play. With one final swig of the bottle, the liquid fire he'd come to enjoy was gone, and he admittedly began to feel the very first effects of tipsyness. This talent, he couldn't attribute to his current state - he'd had an iron stomach long before he'd even known what the word kindred had really meant. He suspected that in some capacity, though, it helped to be mostly dead tissue - difficult to poison something that won't die as a result, certainly to noticable levels. Setting the bottle aside with a slight look of despondency, he shook it away - he could always get another - as Alvin began talking of strike forces and setting up a team, and a lot of other tings that were far above Sullivan's pay-grade. He was a grunt, and intelligent one or not - deep down, he knew it, and had long ago made his peace with the fact. hat Alvin was suggesting was the kind of plan that heroes were born from - but heeroes still needed leaders, and leaders needed support. No director, or general, or whatever you called them, then no strike force. "Still need a Baron. Even if it's just to keep assuring the Cammies that we aren't about to start attacking them too - they're slower to act anyway, but the longer we can keep their suspicious minds at ease, the easier we can work on the ground." He glanced at Alvin while helping himself to another bottle of whiskey and thumb-flicking the top off, "The problem we've both got, Al, is that we've got ideas and we've got suggestions - some good, some not - but we're still grunts. I'm 98 - and I don't know for sure, but I might be one of the oldest neonates wanderin' the Smoke. I've been around enough to know who I can tangle with and who I can't. I can handle an ancilla with a decent wingman, but on my own? Old for a young 'un I might be, but I'm still a footsoldier. The guys in charge? They've gotta have experience and the power to back it. So, my opinion as it stands is this - let's form a group. Officially - here and now. Friendship isn't important, individual trust isn't either - but trusting that each of us is willing to work towards an anarch London? That, to me, seems key. And whoever intends to put effort and intelligent planning toward that goal is welcome to consider my claws at their side." |
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| Vincent Tadeu | Friday, 15. April 2011, 16:25 Post #47 |
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Garbage Man
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"Fuck age man, we're Anarchs not Cammy pissant nobodies. Who cares? Okay so we can't stand up in a fight against the likes of no Prince or his elders but hell, I'd go visit him my own damn self and represent our cause if it meant giving the finger to the Cammies." |
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| Sullivan | Friday, 15. April 2011, 20:32 Post #48 |
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Ancilla
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Sullivan glanced at Vinnie, and sighed - he had a lot to learn. In an effort to at least get him to recognise it, he talked right back at the Brujah, not seeing another way - the Brujah's lack of political inclinations and excessive interest in honesty, brawling a shouting their mouths was both the part Sullivan liked about them and the part that hobbled them most. "So you haven't done it yet because?" He let a slight twinge of a smile curl his lips, but not for long, his intention to speak to the Brujah like a Brujah. "I'll tell ya why. You know just as well as I do that goin' up there an' givin' 'em the finger would get you staked and chained - at the very least - and if you're actions did anything to the Prince's opinion of anarchs, it would be to make everyone around us think even more that we're useless and not worth the time of night - or worse, useless and therefore easy to walk over. I'm not a fan of either." He shrugged, his continuation he suspected to be irritating, but not wrong - and as an anarch, he'd found that to be of greater importance, "I don't like it any more than you do, but in regards to our condition, age and experience equals power. Without our own equivalent, we are going to get stepped on." He drank deeply from his whiskey bottle, and got up from the stool he'd sat himself on, wiping his mouth and beginning the walk to the door, waving backwards at those he had been conversing with, "Either way, this seems about as far as this talk's going to get. I got things to do, and something that needs my urgent attention elsewhere - See ya around, I guess." He said, shoving the door out into the street and leaving the Tripper with the whiskey bottle in hand. With a yawn, crack of his neck and a grin, the Irishman set his sights east and his eyes twinkled in the night, "Now then - Camden." In a few short strides, he was away from the Tripper, down one of the alleyways and gone - if Alasdair wasn't comign to him, then he was going to go looking. Patience was never his best virtue. |
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| Vincent Tadeu | Friday, 15. April 2011, 21:38 Post #49 |
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Garbage Man
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"I'm a man of modest means, and south of respectable if you catch my drift. We need someone that knows how to tango and that means finding a Blue Blood whose willing to soldier for our cause. But fuck if blue blooded Anarchs aren't rare, I always did wonder at why...actually judging from our choice of venue and the look of us, myself included I can understand why. No we need someone who can pull off that upper class charisma and I'm not seeing it here." |
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| Mauno | Sunday, 17. April 2011, 08:58 Post #50 |
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Childe
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Shaw hadn't sat down and so was still standing over the table amidst the conversation. He realised that in doing so he had positioned himself as an outcast, as one separate from the group. Sullivan was his one connection to the group, being their spokesman who engaged with him on their behalf. As he had departed that connection was severed leaving Shaw in a room with strangers. He had, however, spoken a lot of truths. There was wisdom in his words and Shaw was uncertain whether those present would grasp them. One thing he could decide on was that there were no leaders here. The Anarchs were disorganised. Shaw loathed the idea of having to develop them and so decided that unless one rose to claim command he would ignore them until they showed signs of progress. 'I believe Sullivan is right. All things in their own time.' The words hitting too close to home for Shaw's liking. He turned and moved towards the door. He was met by the freely falling rain, the kind which was light but which eventually soaked everything. It cooled his skin and he smiled at it. The rain, the cold, the overcast days; they didn't bring cause the melancholy that was often claimed about Europe. The gave Europe character. Melancholy came as a continental reaction from the spirit of the generations, groaning at how far their grandeur had fallen, laughing immeasurably at the stupidity that was driving the new cultures. Turning onto the road he noticed three eyesores. Being the make that they were, Shaw doubted they had any of the speed and handling of real vehicles, but couldn't resist having a little fun. A little flick of a knife and a spark and the bike stirred to life. Let's see if they can keep up, thought Shaw as he revved the bike and tore off down the road. Edited by Mauno, Sunday, 17. April 2011, 08:58.
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"I hope I can bring the realization that everyone is controlled by fear. Whether it is imagined or actual, the fear is real to them and controls every aspect of their lives." | |
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3:54 PM Jul 11