Vampire The Masquerade RPG
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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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The Bear - Pt.3
Topic Started: Sunday, 2. December 2012, 03:24 (894 Views)
Vincent Tadeu
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Garbage Man
* *
Vasili had run out into the streets of London trailing blood and brick dust. His manner was bestial and his instincts had fully set in now, sending him pounding through to a location of relative safety - the small dingy apartment that had been set up for him prior to his arrival. The woman in his arms, the one he believed was his Zoya had long since stopped resisting - keeping her in his arms had been harder than it should have been, after all Zoya was only human - wasn't she?

Once he'd gotten away from the warehouses any thought of pursuers had been vanquished by his sheer speed - he was running at an incredible pace, though not a superhuman one. He still had enough sense not to break the Masquerade out here in the open. The rush through the streets had taken less than half an hour at his breakneck pace - taking the steps to his apartment three at a time he'd no doubt draw more than a few complaints from his neighbours about the noise; but that was a problem for another night. In his rush he'd abandoned his plans to locate the Baron, another problem for tomorrow, right now all that mattered was the woman he held in his arms.

Once he was inside his temporary haven he placed the woman down on the lump single bed that occupied a significant portion of the main room of the tiny apartment. As gently as he could laying her down so that she could rest - if he'd been mortal his frame would no doubt be defined by heavy, hulking breathes but as it was he stood before her, his face awash with wonder as he looked at the women before him. She was dressed differently to how he had remembered, but he was certain - she was the spitting image of Zoya.

"Zoya, Moy vozlyublennyy, pochemu ... kak ...? YA dumal, chto ty umer. Kak ty zdesʹ?"
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Nora Penvellyn
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* * * *
Nora lay in the grasp of Vasili's arms, defeated and hating every passing second of it. Never had she given up or given in without a fight. Never had she submitted so easily. Than again, never had she been kidnapped by a delusional Russian, either. While part of her itched to sink her claws into his thickly muscled throat, she quickly reminded herself just what the hands and arms that held her so carefully and close were really capable of. Fuck, the warehouse she'd been beckoned to lay in ruins just from one of this man's temper tantrums. How the hell was she supposed to explain that to Vinnie?

Vinnie... he's gonna be furious. So will Sully when he finds out what happened... Will he even find out? What did this ridiculous man plan on doing with her? He demanded to see her only to kidnap her? What did he want with her? Was it fate that lead to him carrying her off into the night to wherever he planned on taking her? And who the fuck is Zoya?!

It seemed in her series of scattered thoughts, she'd not been paying attention to where he was taking her, or that they were now in a shit hole of an apartment. He set her down gently, speaking to her as if she were supposed to understand him. She peered up at him with a look of bewildered confusion painted on her face, one that quickly twisted her pretty features with anger as she glared up at him, "What are you even saying?!" She cried, "I don't speak Russian! Do I look like I speak Russian?! Because I don't fucking speak Russian!"

Shifting uncomfortably beneath his gaze, she stammered on, refusing to let him see just how small he made her feel, "I don't know who you are, but I am not 'Your Zoya'... And I'm most definitely not someone you can just pick up and run off with..." She willed herself to stand up against him, slipping off the bed and to her feet without taking her eyes off him. She lifted her chin, setting her jaw as she finally got a good look at her kidnapper, "I'm your fucking Baron. Now, who the fuck are you and what do you want?"
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Stomalkov
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"Kak? ... uh..." Vasili spoke before he thought; addressing her in Russian obviously wasn't going to work, for some reason this woman didn't ... but she had to, she was the spitting image of Zoya; how could she not speak Russian, this couldn't be right - furthermore she'd called herself his Baron which must only mean she was Kindred like him; but Zoya had ... this was all too much; how could she be Zoya and yet look so much like her. It wasn't even as though it was a passing similarity, she was physically identical, certainly her clothes and her hair differed but those were things that changed with the passing of time as style did yet she spoke with no trace of Russian. Was this a deception, a trick to lure him out or fool him into revealing his haven? But this woman claimed to be the Baron, not a claim made lightly - he'd heard that the Baron was a woman but little else...

"Yebat!" He swore loudly as he staggered back and slumped down against the opposite wall; his hands held over his knees as he looked down at the floor in thought, "You...you are the...Baron?" His voice came through in pieces, his thick Russian accent making English difficult and the fact he'd not spoken the language in anything but blind rage didn't help; it was hard to modulate your tone to a tongue that wasn't native; "I am...they call me Stomalkov, Vasili Stomalkov."

Suddenly a spike of rage over took him; slamming his fist into the metal filing cabinet beside him, his fist didn't just leave a dent, but punch through with a horrific sound of torn metal. When he withdrew his hand it was clean, clear and certainly did not look like the hand of a man who'd just mauled a metal cabinet. Looking at his fist he sucked in air, a futile and defunct gesture but one which usually helped to alleviate the endless rage.

"I am here to...sluzhit .... uh ... I mean I am here to offer my services to the Baron. I am...how is it said here? I am Brujah - I am Anarch."
Dol
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Nora Penvellyn
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* * * *
Nora jumped like a skittish cat at his sudden burst rage. She watched him cautiously as he slid to the floor and spat out butchered English. She sat down on the edge of the bed, keeping her distance. He put his fist through the filing cabinet beside it, watching him with an arched brow as it went skidding across the battered wooden floor. She scooted closer to him, resting her chin in her hands, her lips pursed for quite some time before she finally spoke, "Vasili? It's a pleasure to meet you..."

She slowly rose again, stepping around the colossal limbs that were his legs, and with a swift push, sent the filing cabinet across the floor to the opposite side of the room. She lowered herself to the floor gracefully, peering at him thoughtfully. She sighed, carefully taking his hand in hers, holding it and patting it gently, "I'm Nora." She smiled to him sweetly and looked down at his hand resting between hers. His monstrous digits made hers look like a child's, "You know, there's nothing I love more then dedication. It means you're determined," Obviously, considering he literally demolished a building and tore a guy in half trying to get to you, "And apparently have an anger problem... that's not always a bad thing." She pulled up the sleeve of her thermal shirt to expose a patch of very snake-like scales, dropping the subtle mask she'd been wearing so he could see her bright eyes fully, and the feline pupils that floated ominously in their icy blue depths.

"It means you have purpose...you've got a reason to survive. I like that in a man." She let his hand fall from hers as she pulled her knees up to her chest and held them close to her, cocking her head to the side so that she could look at his hulking profile fully. "Welcome to the London ranks, Vasili. I'm happy you're here." She smiled to him again before looking away, staring off into space.

"May I ask who you thought I was? Zoya?"
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Stomalkov
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"Zoya is...sestra, uh my...Zoya was my sister." The cloud of rage within him had ebbed now to a dense orange fugue; simmering gently away beneath the surface over which a storm of melancholy raged, erratically stabbing down and countering the well of hatred that defined him. His eyes reflected this, the pupils had focused to insane levels and every muscle quivered in his hulking frame. With a tight grip of his fists, causing joints and bones alike to crack and pop loudly.

The words of this woman, this other Zoya were soft and caring; but he couldn't put his finger on whether her tone was genuine. His rage made him impulsive, erratic, unfocussed; it also stripped him of the desire to resolve such matter which to a man so consumed by rage seemed petty and pointless. If she was false then he was being manipulated and there was nothing he hated more; his jaw clenched and his tightly balled fists put incredible pressure upon the floorboards causing them to split and crack. Before his hatred and spite could consume him utterly a spite of melancholy struck him once again; this woman looked exactly like Zoya, if she was not his sister then surely she must be her embodiment in this life. Vasili wasn't sure if he believed in reincarnation and didn't much care for the philosophical debate on the matter.

Raising his hands and opening his gargantuan hands he gazed into them; this spiritual and existential puzzle angered him and raised the heat, flaring spots of red among the orange cloud. Why did this not simply just resolve itself; why did he have to question things so with no means of resolution and no ready answer and WHY THE FUCK WAS HE EVEN CONSIDERING THIS? A fist suddenly found its way into the plasterwork of the wall leaving a cracked dent there, raising dust from the impact point. His figure hulking as it was shuddered with pointless breaths and he chose to speak once more.

"You look identichnyy...exactly like her. But...ona mertva...davno mertv....ah - she is gone."
Dol
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Nora Penvellyn
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* * * *
The floorboards beneath them buckled with a sickening crack, and Nora only tightened the hold she had on herself and hoped the there was something beneath them on the floor below that could cushion their fall should her pound a hole into the floor, or for others, ceiling of the apartment. While he was warring with the evident rage that brewed inside him, Nora sat in silence. It had dawned on her in that moment, as he confessed that this 'Zoya' was his sister, the gravity of the situation she was currently tangled in.

Essentially, this man hadn't kidnapped her, he'd taken her somewhere he believed to be safe. She wasn't his Baron, she was his sister...and he is a loose cannon that could easily bring this entire structure down brick by brick should she upset him. Nora glanced over to Vasili, who was staring at his hands with a despaired and confused look in his eyes. She watched the myriad of emotions physically warp him, as he set his jaw and he whirled his fist into the paper-thin dry wall beside him. The sudden burst of rage made her jump again. God, how this man put her on edge.

It'd been a long time since she'd actually fallen victim to fear; so long that she all she could remember of it was being small, and hiding, hoping that she could disappear and escape fear's grip completely. She stared at his hunched form for what seemed like an eternity, trying to keep herself collected despite wanting to let herself fall apart into a trembling, teary mess on the floor. His voice startled her, as he spoke of his sister once more. So, in other words, she was his dead sister's doppelganger? Fucking hell, this night was just getting better and better.

She had a choice to make. Although, there really were no choices beyond playing by his rules that ensured safely leaving this place. Her eyes flitted about the apartment once more, as she was beginning to hate these god forsaken walls and the cage she felt like they imprisoned her in. She could either go along with all this and hope he found the self-control within himself to calm the fuck down, or she could try her best to outsmart him and escape... If she could get out a window... she was as good as gone.

But this man could be useful to her, and it seemed like even though he was a loose cannon, he could be her loose cannon. His intentions weren't as dark as she'd originally suspected, but if only she could reason with him... Find an angle that he'd respond to without irrationally flying into a blind rage.

Nora moved to kneel behind him, a shaky hand wavering deftly above his shoulder, weighing the risks of letting it rest there. Would he relax or would that same fist that had just went through the wall come flying at her face? In such a tight space, she didn't have much of anywhere to really scurry to should her snap on her... But for some reason, knowing she resembled someone he obviously cared deeply for was rather comforting. Perhaps it would be what saved her.

She sucked in a breath and let her hand fall, landing timidly on his muscled shoulder blade like a butterfly, "I'm sorry for your loss, Vasili... I can tell you loved her very much." She let this strange, almost maternal comforting instinct carry on, hoping she wasn't crossing too many boundaries as she moved closer to him. She hugged him, her hands resting on his chest as nuzzled the side of his head softly and spoke sweetly in his ear, "It must be exhausting being so angry... You have no enemies here... You can relax... If you want." She let go, measuring all of her movements slowly as to not rattle him anymore than he already was.

"If it'd make you feel more comfortable, I could wear a different mask." She said carefully, waiting for some kind of response to her reaching out to him, "I don't have to look like her if you don't want me to..."
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Stomalkov
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"Net...no, it is well. I am dovolʹnyy...ah yebat! I am glad? Glad to see her face again; even if is not her." This calmed him for a moment, more than a moment; his entire body sagged and the tension was slipping away. The drooping of his frame and return of his muscles from their taut and quivering state was like watching the erosion of a mountain occur in moments; the rage diminished as it seemed to become clear that there was no deception at work here. With an effort he slowed the burning of blood, trying to bring down his temper further; after all this vision of Zoya could not be risked to his own wrath - how could he even bring himself to destroy such a creature?

She told him that his enemies were not present; if she was the Baron then this must be true, although beyond the confines of this tiny room they most assuredly did lurk for now he could feel safe - secure within this little box. His mood shifted from bubbling rage to melancholic; the red heat of his wrath giving out to be consumed by blackness - he recalled the winter in Stalingrad, the city of his birth; the snow coating the streets, crisp underfoot - his hand enclosed within the soft grip of his sister's a few short years after it had been renamed in honour of Stalin. As he remembered he walked the streets of the city hand in hand, side by side; grasping a hunk of bread in his other hand, the meal for himself and Zoya.

These memories rose in his eyes, replacing the smouldering hatred with the cold glow of regret; he was silent for a long moment then as he was stuck in his reverie. His monumental hulk hung soft and limp against the wall, his legs splayed out before him; looking at him at that time anyone would have wondered at his sheer size, a brutal example of the extremes of human anatomy. His bulk incredible, even as it shrinks with the loss of rage fuelled passion; almost inconceivable to anyone not witnessing it first hand; how could a man of such size exist in such regular proportion?

The reverie was suddenly broken by his own words; coming without warning their sound surprised even Vasili as they broke the silence; "I am polnyye ... no I am filled? Filled with hatred and anger. It is sinonimichnyy - ah! It is what it means for me to exist."
Dol
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Nora Penvellyn
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* * * *
Nora shifted, bringing full attention to him as she gently cupped his face. She felt him relax against her, and in those short moments, decided if there were ever a time to reach into this creature and tame it, now would be the time. This man was heavy with a lifetime of seething hatred and livid rage. She couldn't begin to imagine what it would feel like to know nothing of life but anger... but it couldn't have always been this way. No one is ever born angry. They learn to hate, and in turn, attach that anger to themselves and reinforce it with that burning flame that fuels said rage.

How could any kind of being exist on just that. She couldn't fathom feeling just one singular thing. As dark as it was, it was also simple...and transparent in the depth. This man had to have felt more then that to be this angry. He had to have loved once, and hurt once too. She knew his torment, but for some reason, she felt his troubles far outweighed hers. Or maybe it was just because he was so anatomically big. The weight of his head resting against her chest was comparable to that of a bowling ball. She didn't mind though. It was always a pleasure to be share comfort with those that don't always get it.

"But you've lived far too long to know nothing of the possibilities you've blinded yourself to by succumbing to that hatred, Vasili..." She stroked his cheek lovingly and smiled softly, "There's more to this world then fire and brimstone, lover. If you could only look through own eyes and see that beyond the dirt and smog, there's a beautiful place to be found."

Sighing, she let her hands fall to her sides and continuing peering at him thoughtfully. She wasn't sure if he'd even understand what she just said. It was hard to keep in mind that he didn't speak her language fluently. It felt better being on the same level now. Much of the fear and disdain she earlier felt for this man had all but melted away. This man radiated with the heat of his anger that was now at a simmer. Despite his dead nature, and ice cold skin, it was as if she could feel the embers glowering inside of him. Waiting to be stoked and fueled again.

"Are you comfortable here, or are we going to be moving again?" She asked carefully. She wondered if anyone had noticed she was gone. Surely Sully would know something was amiss. She was never out of his sight for more then a couple hours. How long had they been here? Surely not long...but then again, she'd lost track of time the moment this man scooped her up into his arms in a sheer trance.

She only hoped if he did find her, that it didn't wake the Beast she was trying to soothe to sleep...
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Stomalkov
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His whole body shifted, the monumental movement of muscle as he lifted himself to his feet was like the shifting of tectonic plates. Like tectonic shifts their was a core of incredible heat underneath threatening to bubble to the surface; his movements causes a rumbled as the shifting of weight over the floorboards caused the entire room to creak; he almost touched the ceiling in this tiny, cramped room and there was barely space for the two of them to manoeuvre around the sparse, old fashioned furniture. As he stood there, looming, his sheer size causing shadows to be cast behind him it was quite apparent just how much this space contrasted with the figure it contained. There was Nora, comparatively slight and waif like and then here was Vasili a walking colossus; the two of them crammed into this near derelict dive couldn't have made a clearer statement of contrast. Through all the rage and bubbling heat of anger he was still dead, a cold towering figure terrifying in his majesty, surrounded by damp, rot and squalor. One thing should become abundantly clear at this point, there was no way this building could safely contain Vasili forever. The slightest provocation and he was be gone, leaving a trail of ruin behind him much akin to the one he'd left this very night.

The giant looked down at the tiny figure before him realising for a moment the terror he must have caused in her; how was she coping so well when she had no way of knowing just when he might turn. His own rage was cooling off quite rapidly but that didn't mean that some slight change wouldn't induce its return. It was like a disease that he could never wholly be free of, a cancer that could not be excised, no matter what was attempted; yet like all diseases there were times when it waned and the body waxed strong, defying it. For the disease of wrath this offered moments, albeit few and far between, of clarity. This was not Zoya, this was the Baron; he sniffed the air, a great snuffling like that of a Bear and he smelt a combination of sweat, earth and squalor. No doubt she had a life as complex as his, but unlike him her answer to it was not simple and was determined more by the weight of mental calculation than physical response.

"We stay here. I can't be here navsegda... forever? This place not suitable; not contain me..."
Dol
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Nora Penvellyn
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* * * *
She stared up at him passively for a few moments, her eyes flitting around the room and back to him multiple times before sighing and swiftly getting to her feet. Vasili had a valid point. These paper-thin sheets of drywall and plaster would be no match to his bare fists and brute force should he have the sudden urge to burst through walls like he did not an hour ago. If one of Vinnie's warehouses couldn't withstand his rage, what could?

She wracked her brain for possibilities, but not many were coming to mind. Right now he was calm, but it was only a matter of time before something set him off, and the last thing she needed was a blood thirsty Russian stomping through the streets leaving broken buildings and bodies in his wake. She sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed; her haven could be an option. How much damage could he do besides breaking the furniture...and everything else that wasn't dirt? No, Sully wouldn't have it... would he?

It was in those moments that she realized just how much she missed her lover. She wasn't supposed to be locked in this godforsaken flat with a wild Russian, she was supposed to be sitting with her mate at the Tripper right now, enjoying a cold brew and good company...

"You're right, Vasili. You can't stay here forever. But I have the perfect place for you when you're ready to settle into a haven of your own." She stated matter-of-factly. The basement of the Tripper would be perfect. It was built soundly, and had enough space to accommodate him comfortably, not to mention the ancient tunnel system it was connected to allowing ease of entering and exiting without potentially killing all the people that'd get in his way using the front door upstairs... keeping him on a short leash for now was her only option until she figured out how to tame this man. Maybe vodka was an option...

"Until then... Tell me about yourself." She fished a flask out of her back pocket and sat down on the edge of the bed, taking a sip and letting the sweet red speed rush and settle in her dead veins. Her senses heightened, looking down to the flannel sheets she was sitting on and feeling the fibers scratch and itch the palms of her hands. The air smelled of sweat, brick, and distilled vodka... He smelled good. She looked up to him, her eyes holding somewhat predatory menace to them. This little flask wouldn't hold her over forever either. She'd be hungry soon. But she tried to focus on the man before her and not the dull itch that was beginning to annoy her. God help him if he stood in her way of scratching that itch though.
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Stomalkov
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"What is to tell? I was born in Russia, Soviet was my life; you heard of KGB yes?" He rolled up the tight sleeve of the t-shirt he was wearing to fully reveal the grime stained Russian Special Forces tattoo on his upper arm, the symbols and lettering on it was in Russian not something anyone outside the forces could positively identify; he wore the horizontal blue and white striped shirt of the Russian military elite too which only served to add to this image of militarism. Yet for all the fact that he was dressed in combats and boots, with the clips and hooks for equipment this was the only thing that made him look like anything more than a hulking monstrosity; "I spent life in work of destruction, then I get obnyala...I know not how you say; I become vampir. Then I destroy for Anarch cause, is all I know. But Russia, Russia homeland gone, so I move, I travel here. Maybe Anarch need me here?"
Dol
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Nora Penvellyn
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* * * *
"Yes, I'm well aware of who they are, or were, I should say." She listened intently, watching him roll up his shirt sleeve and reveal the tattoo he had on his skin. No wonder he was a bloodthirsty killing machine...

Nora stood again, making sure to move slow as she approached him and took a hold of his bicep, looking at the tattoo and tracing her fingertips over the outline of Soviet insignia on his skin. It sparked a new found interest in her, actually having something in common with this man. It was obvious that she was practically covered in tattoos, and was interested in learning about the meaning behind others. Was he branded or was this a show of loyalty? It was all he ever knew...so what if he knew something else as well? Would he still be this loyal to them. While it was rather alarming to know that she was locked in a tiny apartment with an ex-hell hound of the KGB, she didn't let it show. Despite looking so incredibly delicate, she exerted some, to him, unknown strength, pushing him down on the bed and moving with feline grace as she climbed in his lap and straddled him.

She let her hands rest on his shoulders, nuzzling his sturdy neck and breathing in his scent. It sent a tremor rushing down her spine, her hunger beginning to become evident as she sucked in a tight breath and stiffened against his hulking frame, making a death grip on his shoulder blades. She looked to him, her eyes, glowing a deep, bright red, "Apologies... Hunger gets the best of me sometimes." She shifted some, closing her eyes and trying to gain her composure. When she finally opened them again, they had returned to their bright blue hue. She peered at him thoughtfully for some time before speaking again, "You've made quite a mess, already... But you've also shown me you could be valuable. There's a war coming, and it's threatening to spill into our territory. I'll be damned if the Prince turns us into cannon fodder, and so help me, I'll be fucking damned if those filthy Sabbat fucks wipe us out again..."

She sighed, the anger that had twisted her pretty face as she spoke slowly beginning to melt away into a soft smile, "So yes, we need you. I need you." She hoped he was relaxing. She hoped that he understood. She also hoped she didn't trigger another fit of rage. Being this close, she'd never make it out alive.
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*
He was taken by surprise as this woman, this Baron moved over him, gently tracing the angular, functional Soviet lines of his mark of loyalty. He had still been relatively young when the first had been inked and it was a sign of honour and prestige, as well as a display of masculinity; after all the rank and file of the Soviet war machine, even those in the special forces were a testosterone fuelled lot who put a great deal of faith in strength. It might seem a wasted effort, but even a man as obviously powerful and masculine as Vasili had to prove himself at some point and he had time and again; it was with good reason that he was called Medved, the Bear. Tattooing was a tradition witnessed across many militaries the world over, the ink was a means to show pride in the body to which one belonged and he had been proud.

He had served in the elite Soviet airborne regiments, then as a KGB wolfhound, hunting out the enemies of Communism; these bodies were bodies of war and destruction, this was the matter from which he drew his pride in them. But somewhere things had changed, his death and rebirth as Rodstvennyy had put things into perspective; he no longer needed a cause or a country for which to fight, nor did he need the auspices of an organisation justifying his actions through their orders. He had devoured his sire before he could mould his new vampiric temperament so he had developed a savage, primitive view of the world of the unliving. Now he associated himself with the Anarch cause, because it was all he had known, and because their attitudes towards existence were flexible enough that they accepted to some degree at least, his general mentality.

Vasili sat there on the bed, his ragged looking Soviet military jacket lay discarded to his left and to his right all he could see was this woman, this Zoya...her likeness, the unnatural ravages of the vampiric condition aside, was so much like Zoya's it was impossible that she could not be her. As he looked upon her slight figure, tiny against his immensity, he caught her scent - Zoya! This answered his dilemma, this was Zoya, but she had been born again, mortal and by a twist of fate had been embraced. He hadn't studied belief systems that surrounded reincarnation but all of the evidence pointed him to the irrevocable and inevitable conclusion; whether she realised it or not this creature was the reincarnated embodiment of his long lost sister and his only love.

Then the spell was broken, his mind and senses focused again and he considered Zoya's words; "Hunger? This is zhazhda...thirst? We hunt yes, we find prey..." But then she changed the subject, he could feel her hunger and had to admit he felt his own Beast clawing at the pit of hunger within himself; still what she said next encouraged him, Zoya was his Baron, truly this was the hand of fate at work. Zoya was back and she needed a warrior, 'Well' Vasili thought to himself 'I will be a warrior the like of which none have ever seen.' "You need me as soldier; I will be soldier for Baron..." He cradled Zoya in his arms, it felt so good to have her in his arms again; she felt and moved just as he recalled. How could it be possible that this Baron was not his sister?
Dol
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Sullivan
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* * * *
A raspy, Irish-lilted voice rumbled from beyond the room - the other side of the door, to be specific, "Well, ye led me a merry dance lad - I'll give ye that. But I'll be willin' ta bet that lass means a bit more ta me than she does you." Sullivan's fists were clenched - he had traipsed after Nora's increasingly cold trail for two nights since the word filtered down to him that she'd gone missing. Camden had been the easy part of the search - after the Camarilla assault had begun, searching the streets during the chaos and even in the aftermath had been made very simple.

He felt a fool for thinking that they'd have travelled far - by all accounts, the monster of a man - a kindred monster at that - had only just arrived, and the Irish Lion was already feeling the familiar itch in his fingertips - this beast was a predator, so it wasn't the urge to hunt that flowed through his veins like roiling lava. No, this was a case of dominance - Nora's abductor had stepped onto his patch, and he wasn't happy. The problem, of course, was that clashes between predators were messy and painful.

No natural predator - nor unnatural, if Kindred were anythign to go by - were fantastic fighters, not really. They were killers, but few had the brute strength to endure too many rounds of inhuman strength or speed. Fortunately, the use of all his disciplines in concert made him perfect for scoring the first and last strike - and ultimately, he was hoping that was all he'd need. "If ye suddenly feel betrayed fer findin' out she's been with another lad, don't worry - it ain't the first time. So why don't we side-step the posturin' and the snarlin' at each other, and talk this through before either of us takes one too many strikes to our respective chiseled jaws?"

The heavy whiskey bottle had been a lot heavier when he'd set out - Sullivan wasn't entirely sure if he'd be this jovial about the whole situation otherwise. But it was more than what Nora was doing that made him drink - and with what was happening lately, boy was he needing the hit.
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Stomalkov
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*
Vasili's ears pricked at the sound of speech dropping through the door; he could barely understand it through the muffling effect of the wood and the quirk of whatever accent it was. Frankly Vasili didn't care much what the voice was saying, it sounded confrontational to him, like someone who was expecting a fight. Well their expectations were right, coming here meant only one thing; someone had followed him to his haven with intentions counter to his own and that meant that they must die. The bubbling well of rage was suddenly a steaming pot, buckling under the pressure, straining to contain itself; this time though all pretence of control was gone. This time there was nothing to control himself for; he had Zoya, she was safe and that was all that mattered.

The pop of joints and grind of bone on bone sounded loud, a grim fanfare evidence to is immensity. Every muscle and sinew in his entire body seemed to tense, making the looming form he had been only seconds before seem tiny. Drawn up to his full height he nearly touched the ceiling; his attentions gone now from Zoya and focused wholly on the door. Cast aside like a ragdoll onto the bed he paid no mind to what Zoya might say or do next.

A sound, not unlike a furnace bellows could be heard clearly now; Vasili thundered up to full power, his blood flowing freely now and his humanity cast aside just has Nora had been. The thundering crack of his knuckles as his fingers balled into fists rising above the constant drawing of the bellows; then came the bass, clunk after clunk as heavy booted feet transferred incredible weight from one section of the floor to the next. Who was this man, on the other side of the door? He did not care, it did not matter; all that mattered was that he existed as an affront to Vasili's own.

The thrum of blood filled him and with strength and speed inhuman he lurched at the door; shattering the old yet sturdy wooden oblong into a thousand myriad splinters. Slamming through the door with the force of a freight train and roar like that of the devil himself, Vasili entered the corridor beyond, his right arm crashing through the doorframe and plastered wall, shattering it with flecks of dust and wood cast about. The vague shape of the door was gone, leaving the great dusty hole in its place.
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Sullivan
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* * * *
Sullivan smelled the aggression, the reek of pure angre, from behind the door long before the other Kindred even moved. His senses gave him warning that he might otherwise have been denied, and for that he knew he'd be thankful - as he'd discovered more than once, fights between Kindred never ended well.

Sullivan moved away from the door as the other man - larger and heavier by a fair bit if his footfalls were anything to go by - moved from foot to foot behind the door. This one wasn't going to be a fight he could win if he approached it directly. Tonight, he was the cat - it was just bad luck that the mouse was fucking huge. But, despite the uneven scales, Sullivan hadn't got this far or killed so many by accepting defeat. He wrapped his cloak of obfuscate about himself, and waited.

He didn't have to wait long. The juggernaut plowed through the door and some of the wall like so much tissue paper - not a man the Irish lion could take directly, and he was his equal for speed. Stealth, then, was his best ally - and that required planning. Nora was in the room - and there was enough space to slip by the undead titan for now, but if he even turned around that might not remain the case. If anything, Sullivan needed familiar ground - or a rooftop. A fall from that high up could do a lot of damage, even to a big fella like this one.

Employ his other two disciplines simultaneously - blood-draining as it was - Sullivan lunged, multiple swipes of his terrible claws striking the back of his foe, through one shoulder and dragging through the spinal column with difficulty - but at the speed he worked, he was less a Kindred with claws and more a meat grinder.

Finally whipping one set of claws through the back of his opponent's knees, Sullivan vanished again, keen to keep his foe's gaze off of him for as long as possible. Calmly, quietly, and most importantly quickly, he stepped back out of range, but not to the same place he'd attacked from - one wrong move and he lost this one, badly.

He noted the data from his first strike carefully, his grip on the beast's chain tight to maintain his control - possibly the best advantage he had. The big fella's flesh was tough to cut through - he could still manage it, just, but only with multiple swipes. Even so, what would normally have outright paralyzed a man didn't seem to have done the whole job - hence cutting at the backs of the knees too. Fortitude, then. And with strength and speed like that... Brujah, yes, but not the ordinary kind for certain. Temper was certainly present, though.

His best tactic still remained taking the bruiser's spine out. If he didn't keep the beast in check, soon enough he'd be obeying the urge to rip it out through the man-mountain's mouth. Focus, Sully. Big fuckers go down to cunning and patience - you know that. Hold yer nerve.
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Nora Penvellyn
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* * * *
Hearing Sullivan's voice booming from the other side of the door stirred feelings of relief and panic in the pit of stomach. Her absence had been noticed, when she was beginning to wonder if she'd ever leave this place, but knowing what kind of man Sullivan was, and seeing what kind of man Vasili was, instilled a sudden fear for her mate that she'd never felt before... aside from his sudden disappearance not so long before. She felt every muscle in Vasili's body tense at the sound.

It all happened so fast; before she could make sense of how to handle the situation, she found herself colliding with the wall against the bed. Looking up, her eyes found Vasili's large frame looming in the hole in the wall where the door to this dingy apartment once was. The sharp smell of blood passed her nose. The stains of his vitae were seeping into the back of his torn shirt. The damage Sullivan's claws did looked like mere scratches on the giant's body compared to what she'd seen them do in the past. Her eyes widened. If she didn't do something, Sullivan would surely die tonight. She couldn't process that thought, knowing that he died trying to save her from her abductor.

Sullivan was nowhere to be seen, but she knew he was here. His scent was strong, as if he were sitting right next to her. Good. As long as he kept himself unseen, he was safe... at least she hoped he would be. The Russian was unpredictable, but she knew that if she could tame the Beast that was ruling Vasili in this moment, Sullivan would soon follow. She gave it to the Irishman. He at least tried to be civil.

Nora slipped off the bed and neared Vasili slowly. She laid a soft hand on the small of his back, careful not to touch the bleeding cuts. It didn't seem like he was paying them much mind, so she wouldn't draw any further attention to them. "Vasili..." She said quietly, calmly. She took his hand, turning him to face her and holding her hands up in a cautious, yielding manner, "Vasili, calm down. Listen to my voice, brother. It's me, Zoya. You remember when I told you I was the Baron here?" She asked gently, smiling up to him sweetly, "We've been gone quite some time, my love. Sullivan is just a friend. He's an Anarch, just like us. I'm sure he only came because he was worried about me. Calm down. He didn't come here to take you from me..." She sighed, closing the space between them and wrapping her slim arms around his waist. Hugging him tightly, she felt as if she were pressing herself against a fleshy brick wall, "No one will ever take me away from you." She whispered.

This whole 'pretend to be Zoya' act was surely confusing for the concealed Sullivan to witness, but she only hoped he'd play along with it. That could be explained later, but now, she had to focus entirely on Vasili, or else she'd be getting thrown into the next apartment while her lover met his end. She couldn't bear letting such a thing happen. He couldn't die yet. Not when she could stop it.
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Stomalkov
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*
Stomalkov stopped there for a moment, the world had slowed down around him and he watched a thousand tiny slithers of wood as the radiated outwards from where he'd demolished the door and wall. He looked on as they softly clacked off his skin like so much rain water. Taking this moment he sniffed the air, looking this way and that trying to find his would be attacker; this man was fast and agile, another of his kind then; but not nearly fast or agile enough. The shaded blur raked past Vasili, opening cuts in his flesh which did little but fuel the incredible rage which even know was consuming him mind and body; his skin was incandescent with the shades of his own blood and the dirt of the utter destruction he'd wrought in bursting from his room. Perhaps this creature attacking him was a younger vampire than himself, or perhaps he was older, but Vasili had one key advantage, he had diablerised his own sire and ever since he'd found himself faster and stronger than most others of his kind that he'd encountered. This one was quick and cunning yes, able to blend with a shadows with relative ease, but he couldn't teleport himself around the place; all Vasili had to do was wait and then just as he melded back with the shadows Vasili struck.

An earth shattering flat palmed blow aimed directly at the Gangrel's chest; on a mortal such a blow would have not only caved in their ribcage but forced some of the frontal bones out the back. It was a strike of monumental proportions, and this was saying something; Vasili had shattered lorries and rent freight cars asunder with his fists. On a kindred the blow would be much less deadly but then it wasn't meant to kill, just to break his opponent's flow; unarmed combat, even with claws, was a close and so many said, elegant, dance; even Vasili whose style was fuelled by rage, followed a pattern. The secret to defeating an enemy in close combat was to break their pattern, force them to take a step out of their flow and then press home the advantage.

Even as the strike hit home Vasili was wrenching free the solid wooden bannister at the stairway just outside his flat's room; preparing to swing it about as a weapon, not that he needed it but it gave him a bit of extra reach. The follow-up strike never came, milliseconds before Stomalkov could bring the makeshift club to bear on his enemy Zoya stepped up and held him. At first he did not understand, why was she out here? Did she not realise the danger? She had always let him protect her before and never gotten in the way like this. But then the buzzing in his ears, the thrum of rage and boiling blood subsided and he started to hear her.

"...Zoya. You remember when I told you I was the Baron here? We've been gone quite some time, my love. Sullivan is just a friend. He's an Anarch, just like us. I'm sure he only came because he was worried about me. Calm down. He didn't come here to take you from me..." It took him a moment to realise that she was speaking in English, and another to process what she was actually saying to him; why was she speaking to him in this alien language? Why so many questions? Momentarily all he wanted to do was swing the bannister at his enemy and scream in rage; but then reason started to reassert itself; or at least the bestial sort of reason to which Vasili subscribed. In this life Zoya was not Russian, she was English and she probably didn't know who she really was. Venting his rage by gripping the wooden bannister so hard it shattered in his hands he stopped; his hulking figure taking up the whole corridor as he watched the plaster dust saturated cloud before him and waited for this friend of Zoya's to emerge, "No one will ever take me away from you."
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Sullivan
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* * * *
Sullivan let the rage fall away with every drip of vitae from the ends of his claws, and every vague pulse of pain as it subsided - though not as quickly as he would like. The Beast and the healing of his flesh both took longer than he had hoped, and so he heard Nora's speech and had to focus on her face to know the truth. Nora was a better liar than he was, and that was fine - but he'd gotten used to her common expressions, and lying was one she didn't use often.

So yes, he knew she was lying. Yes, the drip-drip-drip of blood bled away his rage. No, he was not happy. Some juggernaut of a kindred had swept in and stolen his mate - and she was leading him along. Given how hard he'd just hit the Irishman - which was another reason he'd yet to open his mouth again - that couldn't end well. With a cough and a flex of just-about-whole ribs - though the few cracks that sounded remained instinctively worrying, even if they were healing as he spoke - Sullivan entered the conversation, holding back his anger in favour of relief. Whatever she'd done, Nora was his mate, and she was important to him - figuring out the details could wait. "Fer the moment, I don't think it's me ye oughta be worried about takin' anybody." He stated, striding through the dust and chunks of plaster.

He was wary of the hulking kindred, but not fearful of him. Part of him was certain he should be as plaster-dust settled in his mane, but there was a difference between respecting a man's ability to cause damage and giving him the satisfaction of having cowed him like some useless dog. "After all o' this ruckus," He said, gesturing to the destruction around them, "The police will've been called. Baron - ye have somewhere else in mind where we can hide the Magilla Gorilla? Only we ain't got a lot o' time - and a few o' the others need ta speak ta you."
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Nora Penvellyn
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* * * *
Nora regarded Sullivan carefully. This situation was delicate at best, despite all the broken woodwork and crumbling drywall, "We'll take him to the Tripper. I think the basement could be well equipped for him." The thought had already crossed her mind once this evening, why the fuck not? She looked up to Vasili softly, taking his hand, "Come, we're going to take you somewhere safer for you to settle into. There's more of our kind there, as well!" She smiled sweetly and began tugging on his hand as she made to coax him out of the building.

She assumed Sullivan would follow, or find his own way and meet them at the Tripper. She walked alongside the behemoth of a man, hand in hand. A few moments of silence passed between them before she finally spoke again, "Say... what's your poison, comrade? I'm sure we'll have plenty of it where we're going..."
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