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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
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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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Drink With the Living Dead; Sully and Harris
Topic Started: Monday, 5. November 2012, 22:27 (429 Views)
Sullivan
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Ancilla
* * * *
Sullivan hadn't had to hurry to the Tripper, but he knew his timing was usually off for meetings - best to arrive early rather than leave somebody hanging. As he approached the Tripper, he didn't hear much noise from inside - though in all fairness, that was usual. How the place stayed open - and not suspicious - was anybody's guess... But it was still the same little slice of nowhere, and that was fine by him.

Stretching out a hand, Sullivan pressed against the door and headed inside, immediately filled with the same sense of belonging that he'd always felt in the ring all those years ago. He imagined as he strode towards the jukebox and started it up on something that laced the air with rough country guitar that he was walking like he owned the place - but, as luck would have it, that was what he was aiming for.

Like it or not, he and Harris had to admit - even if only silently - that each time they met, they weren't just talking. They were organizing what could one day become a whole coup, given the right pushes and shoves. Harris didn't want that right now - that the Irishman knew for sure. But that didn't mean he couldn't be given the chance to see how much less frustrated with the system he'd be if the Anarchs held more sway.

With a smile, Sullivan nodded to the barkeep and mouthed the word 'usual', before breathing deeply and revelling in the twin smells of ale and well-aged wood. It wasn't going to be easy, but no contest of wills ever is. He didn't have to win a landslide. he just needed to plant seeds and twist only the right words - if Harris was to come around(and that was still very much at the if stage), then Sullivan needed him to think that it was his own decision.

He hoped the explosion wouldn't be a focus point of the conversation, but he knew he'd need to cover it somehow - hopefully without implicating anybody. The youngblood yank had guts, if not perfect timing - given the chance to learn a little of what he lacked, Sullivan was hoping he'd make for a decent ally should the sword or the cammies start dropping the hammer on the north. That said, if wishes were cows they'd all be eating steak. "Here we go... " He muttered, taking his drink with a nod and sitting himself at the furthest table, "Put up yer dukes and give it some, lad."

As he settled and shed his coat, Sullivan couldn't say for sure if he meant himself or Harris.
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George Henry Harris
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Methuselah
* * * * * *
Let's hope that the plan is still manageable after this talk. After all, he might be expecting that I heard of some plans for Brent, which I haven't... Anyway, I could try to become Primogen, even if that would mean having to deal with this lawyer... Could help...

A couple of minutes later George entered the bar, wearing clothes looking exactly like those he had worn during their first meeting. Upon entering he went to the bar and ordered a Red Special and a glass of rum. After getting the drinks and paying, he went to the table and sat down, nodding a greeting.

"Evening, Mr.Sullivan. As I said on the phone, I managed some developments on a point we talked about during our last meeting... Unfortunately there is nothing spoken about Brent that reaches my ears, but that can and will change..."
Languages: English, Welsh
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Sullivan
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Ancilla
* * * *
Sullivan nodded, trying to lessen the outward splay of his mane with one careless hand, "Aye. Afraid I've been outta the city fer a while, so little development on Sabbat info from my side - at least through me." He took a swig of his drink and continued, "Aside from making sure one of their bigger guns doesn't get back inside the city - and even that's not necessarily the end o' it - I don't know too much. Just enough ta be dangerous, or so the sayin' goes." He'd been wrong - the tripper had changed. Oh, it'd do just the same - but the walls of the building itself, the creaky floorboards and the dusty bar... It was as if the structure knew more about the coming bloodstorm than he did, and that didn't sit right with Sullivan at all.

"As such, I'm willin' ta let ye keep any info ye have - fair trade, nothin' fer nothin'. It doesn't seem in tha interest o' a good ally ta screw over another, especially not when we've barely got a scrap o' info between us... Tho Christ knows we could use some discipline ta strike tha youngbloods back in line." Sullivan sighed, just the thought of Rob's stunt making his head ache, "I don't s'pose I'm lucky enough fer ye ta not have heard o' what happened in Hounslow?" If he was going to deal with it, Sullivan opted to do so now - best approach this with a fair hand and all cards face up.

After all, whether he liked it or not, whether he and Harris' plans ever came to fruition... In the end, the dealer always won. If they wanted to end the Sabbat, they needed the Capes holding more cards. If the Camarilla was ever to surrender London, they needed to lose. Somewhere between the beginning in earnest of the war on the Sabbat and the inevitable chafing under the Capes' thumb, they needed an Anarch or two capable of stacking the deck.
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George Henry Harris
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Methuselah
* * * * * *
Good start... At least he's being honest...

Taking a sip from the Red Special, George sat and listened quietly to the 'I don't know anything, so I don't want to hear anything in return' speech... On the part of 'striking the youngbloods back in line' he couldn't help to throw his opinion in.

"May I ask, how you'd want to do that ? That is your problem: How can the Blakes and pyromaniacs you have be disciplined and see their mistake without you resembling us or the scum... Tough thing, I'll to say..."

After that he took another sip of his drink when Sullivan happened to mention the folly of Rob. The glass stopping rising instantly and the grip around it tightened visibly. His voice was a sharp hiss, trembling with rage and barely audible.

"I've seen it... A flaming sign, what idiocy... If I ever find out, who that idiot is, I'll teach him endangering everything we are working on, every chance of a cooperation and a coexistance...This moron proves to the wrong people, that their opinion that you can't be trusted could be right... We don't need that and you don't need that... But enough of that, I don't want to get in a rage and do things I regret later like tearing the furniture to pieces..."

He needed five minutes and a glass of rum to calm down again to a level, where he felt like he could talk about the plan...

"Last time, you mentioned that we'd need targets to avoid it getting ugly... I managed to get some..."

Languages: English, Welsh
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Sullivan
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Ancilla
* * * *
Sullivan nodded - that, all things considered, had gone well. With Harris still onboard, the Anarchs still had a chance. Vinnie's dislike of the plan was unfounded, but he didn't think the same way Sullivan did - be the offhand jab, snapping forward and back before the enemy knew what hit him, and the Camarilla would deliver the hook. They weren't the muscle - the Capes were.

"Well, I've got good and bad news on that front. Bad news is we lost Blake, and so we have no idea where he got his guns." Taking a swig of his drink, the Irishman continued, "Good news is, we have a newer, more trustworthy supply chain... And we lost Blake. Wherever the poor bastard ends up, I hope the one he pisses off first makes it quick."

Scratching the stubble decorating his face, the Irishman finished his end of the conversation for now, "So we have the weapons and the men. Where do we need them?"
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George Henry Harris
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Methuselah
* * * * * *
They lost Blake but have a 'trustworthy' source... I wonder whether it is really trustworthy or just has a mentality like Blake... Anyway, sounds good, but I fear that this might not be as easy as we think...

George tapped his chin,thinking.

"A more trustworthy supply chain, you say ? Does more trustworthy mean 'without prejudice' or 'doesn't show them, but has them' ? And would that chain supply me, if I needed it ? Anyway, I think I'd need a bit more time to gather my half of our small force, so perhaps you could try to convince the Baron of my plan as we'd need to brief everyone once the preparations are finished..."

Interrupting, he got a map of East London out of his pocket and unfolded it on the table. His finger pointed to a marked spot in Redbridge.

"This here could be the first target. Belongs to a Tzim calling herself 'Warwick', not very heavily guarded, if my source is right... Would at least be good to serve as a 'test run' to see, if the operation works the way I planned..."

After that the finger proceeded to a second marked spot in Hackney.

"This here is a tougher target, a private haven belonging to a Nazi Malk who happens to own a security company. Heavier guarded by armed ghouls and ghouled dogs and Silias herself is quite adept with rifles..."

Here he made a pause for emphasis to let the words have an impact.

"But my source says, she could get us in... How depends on how many we would be, but I thought as I didn't plan to muster an army but just a small force operating behind enemy lines, it should be manageable. But before I make a deal with her about that, I'd like to have your opinion on that matter and that of the Baron, if possible..."
Edited by George Henry Harris, Saturday, 10. November 2012, 23:42.
Languages: English, Welsh
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Sullivan
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Ancilla
* * * *
Sullivan nodded at the required points, leaning forwards to get a decent look at the map - not that he needed it to know where Redbridge and Hackney were, but it felt as if he were contributing more in some sense.

"It all sounds very do-able. As fer the supply chain extendin' to ye, that's awkward but easy to work around - or so I'm hopin'. There's an anarch gun-runner I'm acquainted with - I haven't managed to make contact with him since comin' back, but I've barely been here three nights now. He'll supply me in exchange fer cash or labour, whichever he has more need of. He doesn't much like the Capes - no offense - but after I've bought the shipment, where the weapons go isn't part of the deal."

The Irishman nodded and leaned away from the map, finishing his drink and raising his hand to the bar indicating another - he didn't know if Harris would stick around after this meeting, but he intended to. Good ale was hard to find on the roads beyond the city, much less finding a bar that didn't stink of Lupine - and that in itself was a battle not worth the gamble. "As fer a meetin' with the Baron, that I can't guarantee, but I can try to bring it up. She's got a heck of a lot on her plate - ye'll hafta forgive us if 'negotiatin' with the enemy' isn't high on the list. Especially with stupid young 'un's sendin' buildings up without so much as a how's ye father."

Remembering Harris' resposne to the incident being mentioned, Sullivan raised his hands slightly, "Don't go breakin' nothin' - I like this bar - but don't fret about them needin' ta be sorted out. I've been given that job." He said, only half lying. Sure, he'd given the job to himself, but Harris needn't know that. "We'll get 'em in line. Meantime, I can bring this up when I next get chance ta chat-up the Baron."
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George Henry Harris
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Methuselah
* * * * * *
Scratching his head, George listened and nodded about the part with the manageablility, but the point with the gun runner caused an embarrassed smile.

"No offense taken... Well, it might be an inconvenience for you and him, but phosphorous rounds are hard to get if you don't know a dealer, which I don't, and therefore very expensive... But I'd say, I get my half of the force together and then we'll meet again and discuss the final matters with our troops present, as it would help them understanding the goals and necessetiesof the mission..."

After a pause to take the map off the table, fold it and get it back into his pocket, the smile turned into a more friendly one.

"I'd really appreciate it, if the Baron would be at least willing to give me a chance to meet her and the community, a safe road just in case and some time to present this plan to them... Given the prejudice that some of you have it still may be a lot I'm asking for but asking is free, isn't it ?"

With a quick movement he raised the remains of the Red Special and emptied the glass before speaking on.

"That is good... Especially in this dire situation we can't afford angering Prince or Sheriff with actions like that... We'd lose a lot of talented heads if the worst would happen and I'd hate to see that, not only because it'd be a shame to lose you but also because I'd like to keep mine as well..."

Again a pause to change the theme.

No, don't worry, I won't break anything here, as long as I can keep myself under control... As mentioned, I'd be very grateful if this would work out... If you'd excuse me for a moment, I'm getting some more drinks..."

With that he picked the empty glasses up and went to the bar.
Languages: English, Welsh
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Sullivan
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Ancilla
* * * *
Sullivan nodded, letting Harris amble away towards the bar without any further comment. The other kindred was by no means a repacement for his friends among the Anarchs, but he was another man focused on the eastern threat, and that was alarmingly rare. It was a waste to throw themselves against the Camarilla - they were simply to well fortified. If they all were blowing up buildings, none of the current Anarchs would live to see the next generation of disenchanted neonates join the fold.

That said, though, he knew the kind of dislike Rob had burning in his gut for the Capes, even if the Irishman aimed more of his own at the sword. It wasn't something you just stopped - you couldn't. But it did need tempering, patience and careful moving of resources. To really stick it to the Camarilla, they needed a distinct absence of the easterlings, and there was no war fought on two fronts that had ever succeeded as long as Sullivan could remember - so pick the least predictable foe, and thrash it apart before you needed to respond to seemingly random tactics.

The Camarilla, as a lumbering beast built upon deals and betrayal, was prey best taken down with its' own weapons - part of the reason for talking to Harris, if truth be known. But most importantly, if you failed to convince, you let them go. The Camarilla had ways of retaliation best avoided, the Sheriff being only one of many. You plant thoughts of fairness and freedom into a kindred's head, and give them chance to take root, even slightly... Well, then it became a waiting game. Sullivan had had to wait and scheme and plot his way out of Alasdair's clutches once - it was a game he knew well, and one he hoped to excel at in turn.

For now, though, the planning discussion seemed nearing its' end - he would let Harris choose to continue or cease the current topic, but they both had little to actually move on, and so that left them both holding a drink with themselves and an old jukebox for company. Least they could do was be sociable.
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