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The Times
The Kindred Chronicle
Key Figures
THE MONSTER OF EALING
Last night, several people reported the sighting of a "screaming red monster" in a quiet neighbourhood of Ealing. After a power shortage in the area, a building caught fire. It was then when, what was described as a "man shaped, footless creature" emerged from the flames, leaping, running, and screaming. One woman has told our reporters that the man had "teeth like a wolf, and the face of the devil". Police officers are still trying to get to the bottom of this; neither the power shortage nor the fire have still been explained. A spokesperson from Scotland Yard has stated that the "so called monster" might be a wounded person, escaping the fire.

TRAGEDY IN TOOLEY STREET
The police has found the bodies of three TFL workers in the construction site at Tooley Street. One of their colleagues raised the alarms last week, when the three workers didn't attend their shifts. The bodies of the men have been found in a deep hole, uncovered by the refurbishment works that are taking place in the area. According to the Police, the bodies were horribly mutilated, which has led to the wildest speculations. The names of the three workers are being kept anonymous, following the wishes of their families.

HOROSCOPE
MARCH 8 - PISCES
You are used to making sacrifices, to prioritising the happiness of others before yours. Even though that is a noble attitude, there are times in life where the only healthy alternative is to embrace your own selfishness and allow yourself some enjoyment. Reserve one hour per day to do something you really like. Treat yourself! Your colour for this month is blue.
Echoes from the past ring back into London. Their intensity increases until they are deafening. What once was a faded memory of a glorious time, now becomes a shocking reality. The consequences of actions taken decades ago ripple into the present, altering the lives of everybody in the City. Unguided and blind, Kindred wander around, trying to make profit out of the reigning chaos.


The appearance of four mysterious figures turned the city upside down. Mistrust and jealousy became the official currency of London. Serpents and fiends rise to power, misdirecting the blaming eyes of the Camarilla towards imaginary enemies. Only those with clear vision and the ability to trust each other strive, while the rest run towards a shallow grave.



Across The Board
Current Chronicle: Dragons and Lions; Pride and Fire
Current Season: Spring
Controlling Sect: Camarilla



Index
Getting Started
General Information
Central London
North London
East London
West London
South London
Miscellaneous
Out of Character


Population: 31

Camarilla
Anarchs
Other
Ventrue: 1
Toreador: 5 (6)
Brujah: 2 (3)
Malkavian: 7
Tremere: 2
Nosferatu: 3
Gangrel: 1
Ventrue: 1
Toreador: 0
Brujah: 2 (3)
Malkavian: 0
Nosferatu: 1
Gangrel: 1
Setites: 5
Sabbat: ???


THE CAMARILLA

Prince

Nobody

Sheriff
Meredith Furlong
Hounds
Robyne Sheridan
Rosella Marie Allain


Keeper of Elysium
Davvad Bisset

Grand Harpy
Catherine Wilke

Primogen
Ventrue: Marcus Antonio Russo
Brujah: Thomas Krusen
Gangrel: Alexa Mallik
Malkavian: Ellora Reese
Tremere: Hannah Sundling
Toreador: Arsenio Pozzi
Nosferatu: Dogan Khojak



ANARCHS

Baron

Khoza

Baronets
Enfield: Leslie
Haringey & Barnet: Clarice Harris
Harrow: Jelena Korolenko

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Welcome To The Night

You find yourself in London on a dreary, foggy night like any other. But what lurks in the shadows is the stuff of fantasies and nightmares, far from mortal reality.

This game uses the cursed and immortal vampiric condition as a backdrop to explore themes of morality, depravity, the human condition, salvation, and personal horror. We are a writing and roleplaying community dedicated to telling complex and engaging stories.

Your fate is your own. Mingle among the ivory-tower elite in the Camarilla, join the fight of the discontented and chaotic Anarch rabble, or set out independently and attempt to survive in London's nighttime underworld. Anything is possible in our World of Darkness.

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Waiting for the Midnight Train; All welcome
Topic Started: Tuesday, 14. August 2012, 21:06 (290 Views)
Sullivan
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Ancilla
* * * *
As his coat hung from his shoulders heavily, refusing to billow in the piss-poor breeze and slowly getting soaked by the Smoke's trademark drizzle-down from clouds and gutters alike, it occured to Sullivan that had he thought this through fully, he might not have bothered patrolling Enfield tonight. He officially didn't live here any longer - in as much of a way that any Kindred 'lived', anyway - and he hadn't made a great deal of friends in the area - just wary neighbours, Kindred and Kine alike. But, traipsing around in the night like he owned the place felt a little more empowering than standing before the withering gaze of Lucien Chambers - and so here he was.

According to Tumour - who Sullivan knew hadn't forgotten his debt, but the Nos had been kind enough (or at least mindful enough) not to mention it - The Archbishop was dead. Sullivan hadn't wanted to get into the struggle of words and debts and 'paid twice overs' - he was certain he'd discover the details soon enough on his own. What he knew was that the storm was no longer just brrwing - it was on its' way. The Sword didn't like having an Archbishop - not really. Archbishops meant strict control over who they could kill and when, and no psychotic Kindred liked that overmuch. No, they'd take their sweet time picking out another, or allowing one to come to the front - and while they were doign that, it was open season, especially on those who had attacked them recently, and where they lived. Sullivan, unfortunately, had been one of them.

When he, Nora and Vinnie had given that pack in Camden a going-over, he'd imagined they'd have a little mroe time to prepare a defense should the Sword come looking - while they hadn't struck yet, Sullivan didn't much like relying on luck. His choices and the choices of Vinnie and Nora put the Anarchs of Enfield in danger. Not many had befriended him, but he'd never been staked in the back by the Anarchs. They had his respect, even if they never learned to trust one another.

Worse was that they had next to no turf in the city, and near-to-no elders - certainly no big powers openly declared themselves Anarch. That made Enfield weak to the Sabbat's eyes. Were he in their ranks - again - he'd have hit Enfield with three raids and a big-ass fire by now. The fact that they hadn't meant they were planning - and a Sabbat pack with a plan was like having the driver of a mack truck on one hell of an acid-trip. It just didn't look pretty when the dust settled.

Jogging across the road, his boots slapping rainwater out of puddles as he went, Sullivan took refuge in the station proper, shaking out his sodden hair and ascending the stairway to the bridge above the two main rails. His eyes fell on the faint golden glow of the train times like a cat watching a cautious mouse - it wasn't doing much, but he watched all the same, his interest piqued. Trains were one of the easiest ways to get a lot of people - or Kindred - into Enfield en masse. If there was anywhere that needed a watchman... It was here.

His fingertips itched uncomfortably - as if being bare and entirely without the grim talons his kind wore so well felt wrong somehow. He supposed he and his did drift closer to the beast than most... But best to leave the claws out of this. If some harmless human wandered off the train and saw those... Well, then he wouldn't just have the Sabbat to deal with. After all... It may've only been Monroe's chosen strategy that kept Alasdair from razing Enfield to the groudn in the hopes Sullivan was there.

The midnight train would be the next to arrive in. If nothign happened when it did, Sullivan decided he'd slap up some notes - in the Tripper, the Dream, maybe even on the station's own notice board as he left - with a date and time for a gather, location to be determined. Those who knew what to look for in graffiti signs, Kindred symbolism and the like, would see more details sprayed on walls in the coming nights. Of course, he'd need to study-up on those first... But then that was the whole point - to study up, on various things. How many gangrel remained in the city. Who their allies were... And maybe most importantly, who out of all of them he could trust.
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Aleksei Steniatyn
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* * *
A figure with a black umbrella meandered towards the station, taking his sweet time getting there. It was dark where he was, not that the Cainite felt it was an issue. As he approached the light of the station his clothing became more visible. He was wearing a dark, charcoal grey jacket and a black vest underneath it. Black jeans covered up most of a pair of stiletto heeled boots which raised his stature to five feet eleven inches. He wore a long silver chain around his neck that was weighed down by a silver crucifix studded with obsidian stones. His hair, auburn and short was a little damp from being soaked earlier, but retained its vertical spikeyness in the front. He stepped under the overhang of the station out of the rain and shook his umbrella before folding it up.

Aleksei was well aware he was in anarch territory, but not overly concerned due to its weak and not terribly populated reputation. He had just come from the south, the Tottenham region where he had been hanging around little Russia getting a drink and making small talk with the locals in his native language. He had already spotted two nightclubs and one bakery he intended to visit. Not that he could eat the bread of course, but he still enjoyed the smell immensely. He had been trying to get a bus back to Hackney, but he had difficulty understanding the names of places on the maps still. His english wasn't quite as good as he wanted to think it was. That was how he had ended up going north as opposed to south and decided that the train was the best way for him to return to his haven before daybreak. Plus there was no form of trasportation he loved more than trains. Something about the smooth movement and the rapidly passing landscape was very enjoyable for him. Again, for he did this at least three or four times a day, the Tzimsice questioned if his idea of "enjoyment" was radically different from others of his clan, as most he had met were by far more interested in torture and fleshcrafting than trains, bakeries or nightclubs.

The Tzimisce remained completely oblivious to the Gangrel overhead as he contemplated the reasoning for his differences between his kinfolk again, for he also did this at least three or four times a day.
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Sullivan
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* * * *
Sullivan's eyes shot onto the newcomer as soon as he heard the collapsing and shaking of his umbrella. Wuss. Silently, keeping tabs on the man, Sullivan breathed deeply and raised an eyebrow - residual baker-bread and vodka, but his scent wasn't one he recognized - and he doubted that was what he actually smelled of. No, it was more likely that those smells had followed him - though where from was largely unimportant. With the man slightly rainwashed, those scents had faded - giving way to another that while still unknown, was devoid of any of the lingering city-smoke that permeated London's buildings and residents equally.

Well-kept hair, clean and tidy clothes - clearly a mannered indvidual... Somewhere, anyway. The little trace of bling at his neck - silver as opposed to gold - indicated a form of traditional class, or someone seeking to emulate it. Something Sullivan was happy to be without.

Either way, this was noteworthy - sure the station would take you out of Enfield, but no Anarch in their right mind would leave the turf right now. It was close to balls-to-the-wall, guns - and buildings - ablaze warfare out in the streets beyond what few city blocks the Anarchs had. Stepping beyond your own safety without serious safeguards in place was as good as staying up to watch the sunrise.

So, what he was looking at wasn't Anarch - assuming he was Kindred at all - but something else. Kine could stay up this late, but nobody did that on purpose. Who - and what - are you, Tall-Heels-Harry? Sullivan thought with a furrowing brow. The temptation to speak up, initiate conversation or interaction was looming large, but the Irishman held his tongue. If this guy was Sword, he didn't want trouble without somekind of contingency. If he was Cammie, he had a similar problem, but felt a little confident of his ability to talk his way out of it.

What if he was worse? Christ, a Garou even? Sure, there was such a thing as other-thinking, but Sullivan wouldn't move on so little info - and addressing the man without anything to go on seemed a premature and stupid move, something a novice would do. While not quite the rival of a Nos, Sullivan considered himself a little better than that. Besides, this was Britain - you didn't talk to other people if you didn't have to. While capable of playing 'that loud Irish bloke', Sullivan wasn't convinced that was the right tactic to take. No, this time, he waited. He'd turn around and catch sight of him eventually - and then it would be Mr. Mysterious' turn to make a decision.
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Aleksei Steniatyn
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* * *
Aleksei looked around to ensure that there weren't any humans out and about. He had smelled something... unpleasant. The Tzimisce nonchalantly looked over his shoulder using his auspex to see the auras of others around him. A couple of humans were inside the station but what was above really caught his eye. The aura was a deep crimson and this was where the stink was coming from.

Making sure not to miss his chance, Aleksei walked over to the stairs and carefully ascended to the top as a train hurtled through the station, blocking the other Cainite's view of the Tzimisce temporarily. He briskly walked across the walkway and stopped only for a moment to politely wave to the Cainite before making his way over to him. Perhaps Aleksei should have been significantly more concerned about interacting with some stranger, but he made the assumption that, if nothing else, he could get away if there was any trouble.

The Tzimisce stood next to the Cainite and propped his elbows up on the railing so that he could relax and lean over the edge a bit. "You smell an awful lot like a wet dog," Aleksei said casually and with a warm smile. "Do you not own an umbrella or something?" he asked looking the soaken and dripping Gangrel up and down.

He of course realized that these were silly, pointless comments, but that was what normal people did. They talked. About the weather, about politics, about the football game, it didn't matter. Just because they were Cainites didn't mean they had to expect to be eaten alive by others at any given time, or so the Tzimisce liked to think.
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Sullivan
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* * * *
Sullivan shrugged, his nonchalance his best defense for now - he needed to get talking to a Nos on a professional level. There had to be a better way to gain info than this. "I like ta think of it as nature's musk." He said, a lop-sided grin pushing itself into view on his face. "But no - no umbrella. Gotta get drenched at least once in London to really get a feel for the place. After the first time, I s'pose I got a taste fer it."

So you're a talker, eh new guy? Interesting. Sullivan tilted his head slightly towards the board displaying the train times, "Where ya headed? Not many go out from Enfield so late - surprised ta have company." He said, taking note of the accent too. Eastern European - Russia, Ukraine, Kazakhstan - one of the countries in that area anyway. He imagined that there were plenty of those coming into British shores, but something about that trait put a point back toward the man being Kindred.

Reviewing his 'notes', the Irishman had discovered with near-certainty that the newcomer was Kindred, that he wasn't afraid to talk to strangers - another Kindred trait, at least in the sense that in Britain it was often a more 'proactive' slant that the undead had to take, or they'd never lure in a meal at all - and then there was the wet dog comment. Was there something more to that? Did Auspex even tell you clan specifics, or was that just rumour-mongering?

Sullivan decided to test himself a little, and began to outright lie, "Although, funny you should mention wet dogs - used to be an urban legend of sorts round the station area. Tall dog - scruffy black fur, no known owner - allegedly used ta show up at tha station and watch folks. Seems innocent, right? But it'd start followin' 'em, and it'd get closer an' closer - and then allegedly, it'd go fer the poor bastard's throat. Not sure where the story started exactly - lotsa old English legends about black dogs, so I s'pose coulda been one o' them, altered and switched about."

Sullivan offered his hand to Tall-Heels-Harry and grinned, "Anyways. Name's Sullivan - yourself?"
Edited by Sullivan, Wednesday, 15. August 2012, 01:02.
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Aleksei Steniatyn
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"Aleksei," the Tzimsice replied and took the Cainite's hand firmly. He rarely met anyone he didn't like, at least and first, and this one was no exception. His accent gave him away as being Irish, and he wasn't lying about the musk. The subtle hints of fresh pine, sweet, black earth and blood were beneath the somewhat overbearing wet dog smell. "Rugged and Irish? That's hot," he thought to himself, giving the Gangrel a wolfish grin.

"Interesting story by the way," Aleksei began. His auspex was telling him that Sullivan was lying, but he didn't understand the motive behind it. "Sounds like a smart dog, but when did Irishmen start putting stock in the tales of the English? They cowered in the face of dogs while the Irish were out fighting the Selkies and Fae. Speaking of stories, ever hear the one about the Moon seducing the Wolf?" Aleksei winked at Sullivan, hoping that he might get flustered enough to give some information away while trying to detach himself from the conversation. That or he'd be interested. Either way the Tzimsice would be very satisfied.
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Sullivan
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Sullivan shrugged, a wry smile on his face, "Can't say I have. Sounds a little far from my neck o' the woods - Wolves ain't been seen on these shores fer years. Certainly longer than I've spent walkin' an' talkin'." It was strange - this man wasn't going out of his way to hdie anything, but nothing sinister was being brought into play. That was different for a Kindred - of any side. Sad to actually acknowledge it, but Sullivan had rarely met another dead man walking who didn't feel like he had something to prove to somebody.

It sounded like the beginning of some Garou-focused scare-story, but he kept that to himself - with the Sword experiencing the ripple-effect of a power-vacuum, the lyco groups in the countryside wouldn't want anything to do with London until the dust settled... They had more to bring to bear per individual, but even a small group of garou were instantly enemies of the state in a Kindred controlled city.

Well, nothing appeared to be happening tonight - which meant nothing in the grand scheme of things, but it did mean the Irishman could rest another day without concern, if not much else. Loosening his grip on the railing and stepping away from it, "Well, looks like my friend's opted not to turn up - and worse, decided not to let me know beforehand. Joy... But either way, best go out and get the repeat-soaking over with." Gripping his coat collar and jerking it straight, Sullivan smiled a crooked but jovial smile, a weight lifting from his shoulders as he moved to leave, "Was nice ta chat with ye, Aleksei. Check out the Night Tripper if ye have the chance - nice local bar around the corner and two streets up."

The wolfish Kindred friendlily slapped Aleksei's shoulder as he left, the rain clattring down upon his head like falling ice shattering on stone. It woke him up to the fact that, in all likelihood, he would see Aleksei again - potentially in combat, of one form or another. But, the man had been pleasant company enough - and for just the once, just that was enough to ignore the storm rumbling closer. The wind, finally strong enough to pick up his coat-tails, toyed with his loosely-worn shirt and coat both as he jogged down the nearest backroad and bent his form downward, his clothes unnaturally shrinking away beneath a new coat of sodden black fur. Padding down the street as a dark-furred, scruffy hound, Sullivan considered his options as he approached the crossroads exiting Enfield's station area - he'd only put up a notice in the Dream tonight. Having mentioned the Tripper to Aleksei, he wasn't about to run the risk of him seeing a stray black dog and puttign two and two together.
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