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| Welcome To The Night You find yourself in London - but not as a mortal as something entirely different. Welcome to the world of Vampire The Masquerade. The game uses the cursed and immortal Vampiric condition as a backdrop to explore themes of morality, depravity, the Human condition, salvation, and personal horror. Your fate is your own - Join The Camarilla or The Sabbat, rise and become powerful or scheme from the sewers. 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: |
| Lucien Chambers; Prince of London | |
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| Topic Started: Tuesday, 22. February 2011, 08:31 (1,094 Views) | |
| Lucien Chambers | Tuesday, 22. February 2011, 08:31 Post #1 |
Former Prince
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Player Handle: Mael Name: Lucien Chambers Age: 255 Place of birth: London, England. Age of embrace: 58 Clan: Ventrue Sect: Camarilla Species: Vampire Disciplines: Dominate, Fortitude, Presence Derangements: Infrequent black outs, due to his embrace after such lengthy ghouling. Appearance: Lucien Chambers stands at approximately six foot tall; his skin is weathered and full of character. He has maturity that no young man can offer. His light brown hair is normally combed over and his eyes are deep piercing blue. Chambers usually dons a business suit in most situations, wearing a long coat and a modern take on the trilby. He favours navy blue suits and patent shoes. Every aspect of his appearance is perfection, but things are much different when in conflict. History: It is May 15th 1756, a young woman cradles a newly born baby in her arms and the labour has nearly killed her. There are sounds of cheering in the streets and also sounds of drums. The citizens of London have taken to the streets, some of them with looks of patriotism; others with looks of horror. The French have invaded Minorca and once again Britain was riding to war. Juliette Dean clutches her newly born baby in those weak arms and slowly she slips away. A baby’s cry can barely be heard in times of war. It is 1772 and a 16 year old Orphan is scouring the streets, a pack of stranglers following and the smell of rotting fruit nearby. The young Chambers boy had grown, long passed were the nights of freezing cold streets and hungry stomachs. He was now a child of the streets, with knowledge and a passion for adventure. He was unaware of news that Lord Mansfield had now abolished slavery or that a volcano in distant lands had killed thousands, all that Chambers cared of was the chase. The smell of fruit lingered down the cobble streets of central London as the street rat clawed his way towards the nearest stall. Skilled, self reliant and cunning the child knew exactly what to do. Chambers quickly ordered his younger companions to harass the vendor whilst he filled his knapsack with anything he could grasp. They all scarped at once, leaving a very ruined stall keeper. The abandoned building to which they called home was located just south of the centre; it was here he led a group of individuals with similar tales. “Eat up” Chambers passed around the sack before taking what was rightfully his; he always took the biggest share – a little bit off the top. This was to be the foundations of his future, fate had always reared its head at Chambers and now it had turned full circle and he was staring it directly in the eyes. This small arrangement continued for some time, before finally the young boy realised he was flogging a dead horse. Vendors were running out of stock in the winter and they were slowly starving. They were shivering, freezing in the deepest winter hoping for a chance to escape and join those of whom they had placed on the highest pedestal. There was a sound from the corridor to the south, they all stopped shaking and hid underneath the rags they had gathered. It didn’t sound like other children; it certainly was not a mouse. It was men. Silence had now settled in the complex, no chattering teeth to be heard, no laughter and jovial behaviour – only the sound of heavy boots, striding across the tarmac. “Beckett” A gruff voice in the darkness. “I think we have found ourselves a little nest”. A tall and black frame appeared in the doorway, their eyes had not adjusted enough to see the features. ‘Please God’ their thoughts echoed between each other. ‘Let me live’. But it was fate that had appeared in that doorway, clutching a rusty blade in its hand. Another one appeared, smaller than the last – bald and a slim frame. “You have discovered something brilliant here John, finally we’re not going to starve this winter”. They were sadly mistaken, the children had no food – or so this was the thoughts of Chambers. The two pitch back frames had a different idea all together. With a flick of his wrist the blade had flown through the air and lodged itself into one of the smallest, maybe six – writhing in agony they all saw the life drain from his face. The smaller of the two now moved, finally showing his appearances. They all clutched each other’s hands in terror; his face was incredibly disfigured, like a monster from the tales they would tell around the fire. He approached the dying child and horrifically started to lap at his blood. The possessed creature was in a state of euphoria, draining this child dry of his life force. Some were too scared to move, a few attempted to run but found themselves in the corner of the room, contorted and missing limbs. Until only Chambers remained. “You can take this last one John” The horrific creature murmured. At once the hulking beast had turned his attention to the boy hiding underneath those rags and began advancing. This was it, he thought, the end of all ends. But it was merely the beginning. Suddenly – as quickly as his companions had been disposed of, the room was full of other men. Less twisted and deranged that the ones before him. “SABBAT SCUM!” one of them roared. Chambers had never felt such terror as he watched the creatures fight for supremacy. The sheer strength of the new men was remarkable and before he knew it the two beasts had fallen into ashes. Now fate had a new master. The creatures that now remained scanned the room slowly, there were around five of them. “It seems that we have a little guest. We’ll need to erase him” A beautiful woman spoke. Chambers was transfixed by her beauty, even with such words of murder he did not care. There was a minutes silence before the largest of the group spoke in a hushed tone. “No. We have just lost Nathanial, we need a replacement. Perhaps this urchin could fit the bill” There it was – the beginning of a new chapter. He came to learn that the creatures that had stumbled across his hunting party were a band of rogues known as The Camarilla and he was to be ‘ghouled’. It only took a few weeks before he was placed in front of a man, ‘The King’ or something along those lines. He was youthful and full of energy and explained everything that Chambers needed to know in order to survive in this underground world. To this day, Chambers has no idea why they saved him, it is not necessarily in the character of kindred to show mercy, perhaps it was just for convenience. Years drifted by on the wind, years of drinking blood he was given in order to sustain his youthful complex. Chambers was put to every test imaginable; even though slavery had been abolished it appeared that he himself was still a slave to his masters will. But behind the scenes wheels were in motion, spiralling slowly out of control. Soon it was to be Chambers as the master and not the puppet. 1782. The Spanish have captured Minorca, the United States of America are beginning to establish themselves in civilisation and a 26 year old ghoul sits in the waiting room of the Prince, ready to be summoned. The years had flown by and in this period Chambers had acquired a vast knowledge of the workings of his kindred masters. He had been put to task on many a mission, including scouting for Sabbat dens and keeping tabs on the Anarchs. “He will see you now” an attractive Toreador welcomed Chambers in the quarters of the Prince of London. It was cold winters evening but the warmth and splendour the Princes domain was welcoming. He was stood with his back to the kindred, eying the Palace of Westminster which was soon to become Big Ben. “Son, I have something to ask of you” the Prince spoke, he was older not just by kindred age but by appearances. “Where do you see yourself in a hundred years?” The question he had never expected to be asked. “Within our organisation I assume?” “Yes sir, I expect to be serving you until the day I die” Chambers responded with vigour. The prince turned away from the window, showing his decrepit aging face. “Good. I will have it no other way. Now down to the business in front of us, we are colonising out to the new lands. We expect the Sabbat to increase their presence there also and we would not want them to control a continent. I have teamed you up with the best and brightest, you will aid them in anyway possible. You understand?” Chambers nodded, a small sense of foreboding inside him, a new land, new dangers and leaving his home country for the unforeseeable future. “The Yanks seem to be winning this revolution, so we need our best to plant the seeds for coming years. You will do me proud boy. Now go – Lucia will escort you to the docks; we have packed all your possessions” “Do not fail me”. The clocks chimed midnight and the celebrations commenced on the first day of 1792. The country town is full of joy as the band plays songs and the locals dance. Yet hidden deep in the shadows of the country lays a party of Sabbat. Lead by a most powerful bishop. They moved silently like predators before smashing through the celebrations and creating a massacre. They could feel dawn on the horizon as the group kindred returned to the town on horseback, they all stopped at once and gazed at the bloody feast. Chambers at the rear, 36 now but not looking a day over 16. He was slightly powerful, however changing vitae so often was continuing to bring him back to his mortal self. “God damn” spat a Brujah close by, “Sabbat in America”. It continued this way for some time; Chambers spent most of his time assisting who he could, travelling from one end of the country the other to assist in establishing The Camarilla in the US. He would take his share whenever he could, buying and selling at every outpost he came across. He amassed quite a fortune and just like in his childhood – he was become quite the businessman. Chambers finally settled in Atlantic City, before the time the hotels starting sprouting up in 1853. It was a simply existence then, he had worked hard for many a prince and now he set to establish this little seaside resort via assistance to his kindred masters. It was residential, it was peaceful and it would be home for a long time. 1802. The turn of the century and one of the most important chapters in Chambers story. Atlantic City had grown slightly as settlers drew in from all corners of America to claim residence, all humans and all kindred. It had been long sleepless nights, tossing, turning and screaming. The blood that Chambers had been provided had suddenly run out and his ties to all kindred were slowly being severed. It seemed the new American kindred cared not for a British ghoul and slowly his body had aged to an older more truthful self. Maddened by the blood loss, Chambers found himself in a state of frenzy – crawling through the desolate marshlands in search of kindred to aid. Finally he collapsed on the shore, the sea beating against his side, filthy sand in his mouth and only the sound of seagulls to comfort him. Light signalled his awakening, the man sat upright slowly, he was lying upon a small bed surrounded by kindred. The one in the centre he recognised immediately, the Prince of Atlantic City. “You have been ghouled for too long mortal. We had no choice than to release you from its bonds” He spoke majestically. Truth be told, the lack of kindred blood and made Chambers slightly insane, screws loosing in his already fragile mind. “You are fortunate that I am still in contact with the Prince of London. We have discussed frequently about you, your service to The Camarilla has not gone unnoticed, we are in need of your services once again – but in a different field entirely”. It was then that the powerful kindred thrust himself upon Chambers and embraced him. 1860. The kindred who now became known as Lucien strolled the boardwalk by starlight. It had been a long time since the night he had been officially invited into The Camarilla and how things had changed. He was now stronger, faster but was still hindered by a slight mental complex. His sire had long from been destroyed and a more powerful kindred had taken his place. Such is the way of the new world. Atlantic City had begun its transformation into the city that time would never forget, hotels, casinos and tourism had began to flock into this lucrative real-estate investment. Unlike the Giovanni Las Vegas to the west, Atlantic City had a large population of Camarilla, a well established primogen and an unforgiving prince. Lucien Chambers had invested wisely and bought up a few hotels and casinos, capitalising on the incoming tourism he could foresee. The local law enforcement was controlled by the Camarilla, finding a sheriff and dominating him was an easy task for Lucien. The hotels began to spring up and bit by bit Atlantic City became the working class Nevada. Time passes.... Atlantic City had become a thriving metropolis of bars, restaurants and casinos. The boardwalk was filled with tourists and punters alike and The Camarilla had established themselves very strongly. 1919 in a drunken USA, soon to be forcefully ejected into the world of prohibition. The party had begun, it was the night of the final legal drink and Lucien’s casino was thriving with politicians, prostitutes and punters. He watched from the shade of his office the large open space where the intoxicated mortals sang and drank themselves into a spell. There were other things on the kindred’s mind however. He was old, older than most in Atlantic City with the exception of the Prince. Keeping Elysium was difficult, maintaining law and order in a monstrous city was no easy task. He listened to Aria da capo on the vinyl in the background, pondering over his situation. The music soothed the remainder of his soul, the piano gracefully tracing every note of the melody. He sighed and took himself away from the hustle of the party. He had now placed controls for the shipments of liquor to the US, delivering a major profit for himself and his allies. It must now be noted that although Lucien was a fierce businessman he is indeed a Ventrue hybrid – much like his ancestors he would also lead his comrades into the darkness of battle. The track had now turned to an Allegro and his mind was soaring, conspiring plans to dominate the shores he had found himself on. It is here that we see an inexperienced orphan transform to a ruthless, tactful war machine. “Although it is not strictly to our code” He spoke, his voice deep and every sentence clipped. “I will need you to dispose of our competition”. The ghoul in the corner had become silent. “There are others in the same field, some who could aid our organisation and others who are simply standing in my way. I will entrust you with these human affairs, make sure our profits run high and deliver to me what I am due” He turned with those strong piercing eyes “I trust you can do this Mr Capone”. The years faded like an old photograph, no longer vivid and meaningful; now simply a time gone by. Lucien walked his boardwalk, answering to no one than the Prince. He was established, he was powerful – perhaps even more so than the Prince. He held politicians in his back pocket, the police in his wallet and the church in his palm. Talks of Sabbat rising to the south did not concern him, unlike most neonates in Atlantic City at the time. Chambers was more concerned with his homeland, longing to see it once again. He had no love, no emotional attachments simply a pulsing urge for power. The blackouts had begun again, he dropped to the boardwalk in agony, the moon watching over his pain and smiling. The air shattered with his howls and laughter. “KNOW ME – FOR I KNOW NO FEAR!” he slumped up against a stall, breathing heavily. The attacks had gotten worse; the embrace had left him broken, shards of his mind colliding together. He needed to control it, it would come with time. Atlantic City had served his home for so long, it was now time to return, to that gothic city that he served so religiously. A place that knew his heart and made it beat within his dead shell. “London, you know me better than myself”. 1960. How London had changed, but how the world had changed too. Now everyone spoke of equality, free rights and music had now exploded over the universe. The Camarilla in London had found it difficult to adapt to these modern times, they stilled operated from the Dark Ages and the new Prince was a man of little backbone. “Lucien Chambers my Prince” The tall kindred introduced himself, bowing with courtesy. This so called leader stood at 5”4 and was a toreador which boiled Chambers blood. “Poetry and glamour have no place in politics” Lucien mused to himself. “This is no warrior” “Please stand Mr Chambers” The prince whispered through pursed lips. “Now do tell me, what brings you to my city” Chambers cringed on the words... MY CITY... “No my brother, I have known this city and your kind shall not last too long” The words in his head whispered. “I wish to return to serve my Camarilla here; I have been assisting over on Americans East Coast on the orders of the former Prince of London. He was a mentor to myself and fine leader. It is my intention to return to the homeland of my youth and blend into the background and assist The Camarilla on every front. I have word that the Sabbat presence to the east of America is growing in number and I will not allow them to occupy my holy land”. “You have my permission Chambers, you will no doubt be useful in our endeavours. Now I must go – I have a play to attend” The Prince sauntered into the distance. “Yes I have play to attend myself, a most calculated play”. Lucien spat through clenched teeth and left into the cold evening wind. The Anarchs had begun to establish themselves in the North, normally dwelling in clubs that promoted sex, drugs and free love. The Anarchs themselves only cared for one thing, the disappearance of The Camarilla and a free state. The mere thought of such a world made Lucien physically convulse, there would always be a Camarilla, there would always be a ruling class and there would never be a free state. Drugs were now Lucien’s trade, shipping and distributing. Turning old acquaintances into lucrative business partners was an easy step towards his final destination, the throne. Television and the media now played a major role in shaping the world; it was Lucien who was the first to suggest the control of the media was the control of the people. The BBC was paid for by its public, but behind closed doors it was The Camarilla who pulled the strings. The foundation of his rule had been set; he had his foot firmly in the door. Creating those connections once again was natural to a prime specimen of kindred such as himself. From the shadows he waited... For years he waited, for that one opportunity to strike. The century had turned once again and Lucien grew older... wiser and more focused than ever before. He could sense the ticking motion of fate coursing slowly towards his being. News had spread fast, The Sabbat had over run Atlantic City and most of the east coast of America. Something Lucien did not intend to happen in London, like parasites they moved swiftly and engulfed all those in their path. It was on an exceptionally foggy London evening that Lucien found himself in a small pub on the outskirts of South Kensington. The electronic jukebox was playing David Bowie and the kindred sat in the corner of the room, sipping a flask of fresh blood and typing furiously on a laptop. Reading stock levels, what did AMEX close at? What were the biggest fallers of the day? “Dump those” He muttered to himself. Lucien had become very adept at technology, which was sometimes odd for a venture, but they were business capitalists – he needed to find any way he could to maintain his finance. Most importantly he needed a way to keep abreast with Kindred society. “You there” A large voice spoke, Lucien’s aged eyes peered over his laptop across the room. It was no other than the Sheriff. “We will need this room for The Prince”. “The Prince” Chambers thought to himself. “Yes, this is the time”. Prince Lemort entered the room and silently sat down at the bar. The Sheriff signalled for Chambers to leave, but the Prince raised a hand. “No, why would I deny a fellow kindred the right to calmly drink here with me”. Chambers raised an eyebrow and stood, buttoning up his suit jacket. “Prince Lemort my name is Lucien Chambers” He extended his hand, The Prince took a glance at it and returned to facing the bar, sipping a fine blood. “David Bowie” He murmured. “Good choice”. The Sheriff dismissed himself seeing no major threat in Chambers, how he was wrong. It was from this moment that Chambers and Lemort began to converse on a regular basis, mainly via email. It took nearly six months before a situation arose that made Chambers stop and stare at his Blackberry. “... Unfortunately I am having an issue with certain members of our organisation Chambers, surely a good friend could lend some advice to me” The message went on; Lemort was referring to the Primogen of the city. The Kindred who ruled the city via the hand of its Prince; many of which were younger than Chambers himself. “This needs to be discussed privately my Prince. Meet me at the usual location; I have a solution for your problems”. Chambers stood on the south bank, the picturesque view of The Houses of Parliament greeting him in the distance. He was then silently joined by his companion. “Let’s make this short Chambers” Lemort spoke, he still maintained his distance – although he was clearly desperate for some guidance. “They want to remove you clearly my Prince; we cannot allow that to happen. I know how much you wish to continue serving this great city. You must understand that my idea is simply as a final solution” Chambers long dark coat shifted in the wind, the clock struck twice. “The Primogen need to be silenced and even more so you need to make the position a cursed one. You must dispose of the Primogen” There was a silence, Lemort faced directly into the wind and spoke only one word. “How?” And so began the series of events that lead to the destruction of Prince Lemort; by the very hands of the Justicar. But that is another story, of a time long gone by. Through all this time Chambers remained a background figure, investing in any property that he could, establishing a property acquisitions company to be his mortal face. With his wealth, his political standing and his contacts, Chambers was nearly there. Just one more pedestal to overcome. The Sabbat had now risen in the east and it made Chambers furious with rage. The blackouts had become less frequent but there intensity had risen. He would go for hours without having a memory of his actions, highly dangerous when his plans were laid out on a time frame. Lemort’s replacement did not last very long; Chambers did not intend him to. Monroe, he had heard his name whisper through the elders of The Camarilla, this new Archbishop that was leading the savages through the east like that parasite that engulfed his Las Vegas of the east. Hackney was the first to fall, with its history of crime it was no surprise. They thrived in the east, poverty and crime was at its most high. But Chambers remained attentive to all events, he was now well established in all clan communities, save The Tremere and a few Venture rivals. He had his fingers in every pie, organised crime, the media, the police, the NHS, the government. His faded and aged skin appeared out of the darkenss when the word hit the street. “Monroe has killed The Prince” A Nosferatu growled from the sideline. “Pretty interesting stuff, don’t you think?” “Interesting indeed Markus” Chambers mused. “Thank you for bringing me this news, as always you will be paid your fee” He threw him an envelope with a few notes. The Nosferatu disappeared almost immediately, Chambers stood silently the sound of traffic murmuring overhead and the hum of a central line train approaching. Mortals piled onto the tube, all except Chambers who remained silent and steadfast like a statue. This was the moment. It was time to claim his birthright, from the gutter to the upper echelons. The wheels had begun to linger, ticking to the final conclusion. Where everything finally... Stopped. |
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