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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[ARCHIVED] - MiniQuest™: Into The Ruins; Leola Cira Mancini, Pádraig ó Dubhuir, Sawyer Flint
Topic Started: Saturday, 10. August 2013, 00:05 (3,652 Views)
Alarik
"Papers, Please."
* * * * * * *
The rendezvous had been set to occur at the midpoint between utter ruin and mindless self-indulgence. To the north lay the officially designated disaster area, where ruined buildings, abandoned possessions, feral animals and hopeless people had been neatly cordoned off from the rest of London by miles and miles of blue-and-white tape, repeating POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS over and over again. The disaster area was thus neatly compartmentalised, like a festering sore that had been covered up to give the appearance of good health.

To the south lay the riverbank and its pleasures. Though hundreds had died, millions of London kine still wanted to indulge their sinful natures on this cool summer night. Lovers walked along the embankment and people ate and drank in the open air, often to the accompaniment of music. The cause of the freak earthquake was the talk of the day, and every man now fancied himself an expert while repeating the talking points that had been going around on the news and on social media. Fracking was to blame, or so many Londoners had come to think.

There were good reasons to keep these people away from the disaster area. Damaged gas conduits might explode, and damage to the electricity meant that the entire neighbourhood would soon be cloaked in utter darkness. Abandoned pets had begun to fend for themselves, often dying, sometimes going wild and staking out territories of their own. The people were arguably worse: the line between disaster tourists and looters was thin indeed. Some of the people who snuck into the zone just brought some memento along with their pictures and video footage. Others thought it appropriate to claim the properties of people who 'wouldn't need them any more'. They looked the same, anyway, as the people who had lived in the neighbourhood, and were now being forcibly resettled.

The section of Portugal Street that lay beside the British Library of Political and Economic Science was a tranquil mid-point. The black Ford Focus with its darkened windows had been parked in the stately neighbourhood that bordered the London School of Economics. Summer recess had left the place almost as derelict as the ruins to the north, though this kind of abandonment at least bore the veneer of civilisation. The three people who approached the small car were thus easily marked out from the occasional overworked PhD student that might rush past, using the holidays to catch up on some actual work.

The key to the vehicle had been delivered in person to Sawyer Flint, who had been given the names of the other two operatives who had volunteered for this mission. The same courtesy had been extended to Pádraig ó Dubhuir and Leola Cira Mancini, though sans key. It was 21:20, the sun had been down for less than an hour, and they were supposed to find their way past the bobbies guarding the police line in ten minutes.
Edited by Alarik, Saturday, 10. August 2013, 00:37.
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TapestryofShame
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Queen of Love (wut?)
* * * * * *
Well, that was an unexpected ... well, clusterfuck in the dim. She was expecting a little more fight than that, perhaps to have to wail that stake in a little harder and further than a one strike could provide. But he hit the ground, and she went down with him in the black. What... the blood hell? The stake slid through him like butter, which meant he probably just tripped his fucking ass INTO her at the same time she was driving into him. Well, that was... beautiful. Hah. Her hands pulled the weapons in Matts free, to carry them on as her new tools of her own chaotic path. She pushed off him, plunging forward before she lost the visual map in her head of what the terrain looked like before the darkness fell. She needed out the other side, and she needed to be start eliminating numbers as quickly as possible. She headed for the direction she thought was the way over, clinging to the image of the area before the darkness had slipped it's way about.

"Nyctophiliac" She whispered into the blanket of pitch, a wild grin on her face as she broke for where she suspected the darkness to fall away, one of Matt's weapons in hand. It was all a rush, and she fueled blood further to continue on her barrage of anger. She fueled blood through her still, preparing to have to go on an explosive rip through whatever was on the other end.

Edited by TapestryofShame, Sunday, 22. September 2013, 02:59.
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"I thought... I thought that Mexico had chased such grand musings from my heart. That I wouldn't attempt to live so bold and that I would slide away into shadows. Standing here... the silence is so loud with potential I am deafened." - Upon entering the concrete shell that would become, Muse.
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Sawyer
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* * * * * *
Sawyer could hear the shriek of the fallen Sabbat leader somewhere in the depths of the shadows, and he smiled grimly when he realized Leo must've succeeded in taking the bastard out. He could only pray that O'Dubhuir was having as much luck in his own brawl.

The cloud of darkness wasn't terribly disconcerting to senses honed from years of navigating through pitch-black subterranean lairs. All the same, Sawyer was momentarily thrown off of his target, deprived of his sight but still in possession of the element of surprise.

Focus, dumbass. Who needs eyes? Listen.

Silent and still, his long ears twitched, hoping to hone in on the shuffle of feet on rubble somewhere nearby. Frozen, with the tendrils of shadow worming their way into his unbreathing lungs, he picked out his target's position best he could, and doubly hidden by obtenebration's shadows and obfuscate's mindtrick, he lunged with potent, aggressive strength at the left-hand figure.

His aim was true. He slammed into the body with staggering force, attempting to knock his opponent off balance. If it were in fact a Lasombra he was fighting, perhaps the blow would break the kindred's concentration and dispel some of the shadows. If it weren't, well, perhaps he'd be able to exploit their moment of weakness to figure out what they actually were. Still blind, he raked his vicious claws down towards where he anticipated the cainite's throat might be, hoping to rip into vulnerable flesh.

This was the same sort of move he'd used on Aguirre back in Strickland's fight club, but tonight, it was meant to be deadly, and every gesture was laced with cold, brutal efficiency.
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Frederick
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* * * *
So. Night falls suddenly. Conjurer of Shadows, he cursed the Lasombra of the cocky voice mentally. Those fiends and their Shadow-Tricks were something he had heard before only in the vaguest terms. And to behold the real thing... even when not being affected fully by it... was fucking terrifying on a visceral level. The shadows moving in, blotting out almost all light... it was a thing that bespoke the most ancient fears of humankind. The alien, the other, the symbols of the deep psyche.

Had he been anything less... subjected to a little less horror by his own sire, he probably would have frozen. But he was what he was. Keiran Ághas was no one who did things halfway. Especially not the important ones.

The shadows, in a way, made things much easier for the small Irishman. After the Masquerade had been breached this way -- and a very comfortable way it was for him, necessitating not any restraint in the use of his own disciplines -- he was free to bring what powers he possessed to bear upon the inimical followers of the Sabbat. They also served to hide somewhat his diminutive frame from the rock-throwers. He crouched down to make an even harder target of himself for them and then. Scrambled forwards in a burst.

Flame erupted in his hand. A flame fueled by blood. Flame. The other great horror of mankind. Only this one was horror to vampires too. And at the moment wholly obscured by the shadows enveloping him. Flame. The great demon. The harbor, the flood. Under his control, created by his blood. Flame, the nurturer of his clan, the protector as well as the dreadful foe. The Whisperer in your ear. Flame it was he lobbed at the running enemy, the one going for the building. A palm of flames. So little, yet so much. Just a few bits of fire, merrily burning in the air. Two more followed in rapid succession. Flames.

Burn bitch, he thought with satisfaction. Burn.
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Renard
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Leo sped towards the person her gut told her was responsible for this whole mess, running through the darkness to reach the target with increased effort. However, a dry cold 'snap' stopped her dead, as a cool hard grip closed around her ancle and almost made her fall. Just almost, luckily, but enough to hinder her from moving further in this instant. Looking at the reason for this, Leo saw that she had stepped into some sort of trap, not unlike a bear trap, just simpler, more crude and improvised. Another stone passed her by quickly, its shape barely recognizable. Then, suddenly, a small fireball passed by her, then another one and another one, the first not even three meters away so she could feel the warmth, the tingling sensation on her skin and her inner beast tearing at its bindings, urging her to get away from this place as soon as possible lest the fire be allowed to destroy them !

Padraig saw the Toreador stopped dead in her tracks and looking down, just as another salvo of stones was hurled at them from the barricade. The first one went widely astray, the second one however, was aimed much better and hit the Tremere's shoulder with a force that forced him to take a step back to absorb the impact. Padraig felt his collarbone give way to the blunt force of the attack, the joint itself being at least dislocated, or so he thought. The pain surged through him, just to die down after a short while, flaring up when he intended to move the arm, however. But the success had come at a price as he saw his target doubling over after being hit by the flames, frantically rolling over the floor before attempting to get back up and hobbling to the intended destination with renewed effort.

Still engulfed in darkness, Sawyer was surrounded by the unnerving chill of the... substance ? around him. But even though he was used to be in a lightless environment, this coud also muffled sound down so he could barely hear anything. Hoping that his opponent had not yet changed position, he lunged at the spot and tackled a body to the ground, his claws hitting deep into said body, fueled by the strength that was innate to his people. Yet, his opponent tried to wriggle away and get out of his reach. Sawyer managed to hold on to his new friend, but it netted him a hard kick into the face, with several teeth gaining more flexibility than they should have and his head ringing with the power of the impact.
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Verba docent, exempla trahunt !
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TapestryofShame
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* * * * * *
The rush of air over her face felt different in the thickness, oily and like she was moving through something semi solid. It wasn't the first time she'd been in the darkness, she'd had a Lasombra try and claim her in Chicago when she was a ghoul. He was mute, and his interest sparked in the fact that she could speak with her hands the way he could. One more friendship that ended badly. God, she couldn't count on her hands the number of friendships that went down like bombs back in the old days. The Bishop was probably the worst, as she had been a genuinely decent fucking person. Betraying Jonquil to Dakon had left her messed up morally, at odds with the Camarilla vs. Sabbat fued. Time had set her straight on that though, and she was fully Cammie now.

Her foot caught in something, the sudden catch causing her to crash forward with moment and catch herself on her her knuckles in the ruins, yanking at her foot which slid in the trap with a scraping of flesh. It had fangs, a ridged toothy grasp that bit into her leg and tore right through the beautiful Armani slacks she was wearing. She took in a deep breath, the thick foggy ink of the shroud causing her to want to choke, even though she knew she didn't -need- to breath at all, and she couldn't choke. It was instinct to free herself, which was only inspired further when FIRE BALLS began to light up and pierce the shroud around her. The hand with Matt's hammer raising to smash down with the force of someone desperately wanting to get the fuck out of there, a grunting snarl unleashed as she fought to control the beast that was wildly spazzing under her skin. With the extra fuel of a healthy dose of OMG OMG OMG, the hammer smashed down with a resounding sound of screaching metal against metal. It also caused it to bite into her flesh further, but what was a little bit of pain when there were FIRE BALLS littering the rubble?!


"JESUS FUCKING ROOSEVELT CHRIST!"

So much for instinct in the dark, she KNEW those traps had been there. She saw them before the darkness spread, and had even considered them when redirecting her path. Ugh, absolutely brilliant. Now she was close to being charbroiled by friendly fire, if ANY fire could ever be considered friendly. She was burning blood still, thanking the fucking lord that she didn't even believe in that she'd managed to scrape the blood line she had. She didn't feel like burning up a second time for it though, fuck that.
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"I thought... I thought that Mexico had chased such grand musings from my heart. That I wouldn't attempt to live so bold and that I would slide away into shadows. Standing here... the silence is so loud with potential I am deafened." - Upon entering the concrete shell that would become, Muse.
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Sawyer
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* * * * * *
The kick to the face left him dazed and reeling, his head aching and empty of thought as his body reacted in the only way it could: sheer fury.

He dug his claws in further with a snarl, ripping and tearing at whatever flesh was exposed until warm blood covered his hands. Blinded and deafened by the lingering darkness, he spared no thought for self-preservation, and threw his entire energy into ripping the guy apart. The two wrestled around as Sawyer's prey struggled to escape, but the Nosferatu held on best he could.

"JESUS FUCKING ROOSEVELT CHRIST."

The muffled yell pierced the darkness like an arrow, and Sawyer realized something must be wrong on the other side of the cloud. Had somebody managed to take Leo by surprise? There was real pain mingled in with the frustration of that yell, and he suspected the Toreador was a hard one to shake.

Well, nothing he could do for them except knock this bastard out of commission. He aimed another slash of his claws directly for the throat.
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Frederick
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Whispered Poison
* * * *
So the baby burned... and fell to the ground in an attempt to extinguish the flames. A quick reaction that was quite controlled and a lot less panicked than he would have liked. Normally fire got vampires out of such an intelligent mindset and right into 'Make it go away AWAY!' Territory. Sad to see someone so in control of his facul...


crunch. Now this was supremely... brilliant. The stars across his vision were bright and pretty for just a few seconds, before he found himself in the real world again, scrambling to get his legs under himself again. A real world, where a Toreador in her Armani Costume was just evading the last of the fireballs he had sent on their journey and cursing at him in colorful language. with the name of a president of all things considered. That would need a talking-to later. Right now he had more pressing problems.

Like a useless arm. And a Toreador he almost grilled.

"Miss Machachacha, get out of my fucking line of fire." He shouted back, all the while using his still useful hand to lob more and more fire after the grounded Sabbati. He did not want to find out what had been stashed in that building that had the man running for it. He also was moving his own legs now, more rapidly in the direction of the enemy and at the same time trying to avoid getting more fire into the vicinity of Leo as well as, for a final fine point, at the same time trying to interpose her between hims small frame and those stone-throwers. He needed his arms. And better they hit the Toreador than they hit him another time.

Those cobbles hurt like a motherfucker. And really: That dress of hers, that was in need of a good clobbering.
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Renard
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The Sabbat who had just recently quite literally had all the hots for getting away vanished behind a pile of rubble and left what at least somewhat resemble Leo's and Padraigs line of sight. The others kept hurling their rocks at them, but it more and more became apparent, that their command structure had collapsed along with Matt. Still, they held on to their positions and tried to fight the intruders off. In their slightly panicking state, however, their aim was off and so only one of the thrown implements hit the Toreador. It had lost much of its force, but it still made a considerable impact when hitting her thigh.

Sawyer felt his claws hit something after pulling his opponent closer again. It felt like a jaw or cheekbone, one of the two, although he could not discern what it was, he could feel it break under the force of his attack. The Sabbat tried to shake him off and delivered another punch to his face, or that was presumably the intention, the attack hitting Sawyers forehead.
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Verba docent, exempla trahunt !
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TapestryofShame
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Queen of Love (wut?)
* * * * * *
Holy Bejeebus, she wanted -away- from the figure that suddenly lit up in the darkness, and then rolled away. Yeah, flaming vampires running around were a -dangerous- thing, they could run right into you. The brick hitting her thigh made her grunt with a devilish giggle, as the force it hit with left a considerable ammount to be desired. She's straighten them out when she took them over... Er, no. Wait. She's straighten them out with a hammer to the brain. She would yank on the trap to free herself, between smashing it with the hammer and her natural strength it would simply fall apart as she growled into burst of speed.

When the darkness lifted, she was right on target. A literal laugh offered as she brought Matts hammer round to swing at the figure she had just emerged into. While Toreador were known for their speed, they were not known for their strength. So when she brought both hammer and hatchet round to swing at his head, one wouldn't consider it all to life threatening an action. She however, wanted to knock this fucker down for the count and move on to the asshole that had thrown the brick at her. Retribution was being sought.

"Your new bishop Ms. Machachacha, does not approve!"
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"I thought... I thought that Mexico had chased such grand musings from my heart. That I wouldn't attempt to live so bold and that I would slide away into shadows. Standing here... the silence is so loud with potential I am deafened." - Upon entering the concrete shell that would become, Muse.
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Sawyer
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* * * * * *
The bastard delivered a stinging punch to Sawyer's forehead, and for a moment the Nosferatu saw stars. A long enough moment for the guy to slip free of his grip and try to crawl, dazed and bleeding, away. But that just wouldn't do. His claws grabbed a fistful of the man's clothes, and he dragged the squirming body towards him.

Snarling, Sawyer felt around blindly for a better hold on his enemy, his hand instead grazing the side of a cement block. Ah. Well. He could find a use for that. With his left hand, he pinned what he thought might be the guy's shoulder, while his right hefted the block up. If this was his shoulder, than hopefully he'd hit the fucker's face with the thing.

Sawyer raised the block in his hand before smashing it downwards with potence-fueled fury. Something, maybe another cheekbone, cracked audibly when the block collided with it, and wet blood splattered the Nosferatu in the face. He raised the block again for a second, vicious smash as his enemy's struggling became weaker and weaker and the darkness began to lift.
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Frederick
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Whispered Poison
* * * *
The darkness lifted finally, his eyes contracting suddenly in the light of stars and streetlamps. So bright all of a sudden, he was disoriented for a small while. That while Ms. Machacha apparently used to leave her confinement behind and start charging again.

Pádraig had to hold back a pained-amused chaugh that would have been altogether undignified... which was not that much of a problem right now and extremely agonizing with his shoulder damaged the way it was. This was more of a problem indeed, so he refrained from laughing, while the Rose decorated her suit with dura mater. The problem he had with that action was one of different calibre though.

She had covered him from the throwing people. And now... the small Irishman was uncovered. A state he immediately slught to rectify by heading into the direction into which his would-be victim had disappeared.

If he could kill *one* of them, the small academ would be a happy man indeed, he decided by himself. Ms. Machacha was obviously capable of handling the two she had picked out herself.
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Renard
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The figure in front of Leo appeared in full clarity as she broke through the barrier that formed the outer layer of the black cloud. She felt the substantial darkness stick to her, as if trying to pull her back into its cold and sticky embrace until... well, until what ? A good question, but the answer would have to wait for another time as the Toreadors velocity overcame the ability of the darkness to pull her back in. So she flew towards her next perceived opponent, by the looks of it not older than 15 or 16, still wearing her school uniform, the collar bearing blood marks. Her eyes filled with fear, looking at the oncoming Toreador with an expression as if she only partially realized what was happening as she turned tail and tried to flee.

That was the moment the tools of the grisly trade she was trying to evade closed in and hit home. In a gush of blood, the hatchet cut through her hair, took most of an ear off with a hardly audible tearing sound and snapping the collarbone and a few ribs like twigs before lodging itself into the sternum, tearing the clothing in the process. However, there was no opportunity for the Sabbat to cry out as the beginnings of the whimper that formed in her throat were apruptly cut short by the mallet hitting the back of her head with all the velocity the Toreador had mustered and caved it in with a sound not unlike the one of a walnut opened with bare hands, just more... wet and with the force of the blow better absorbed by the innards, which were promptly expelled by the attack and Leo was sprinkled with a pink-ish fluid with grey matter in it while the Sabbat fell onto the floor without a sound, looking as if she tried to get a hold of something to prevent her from falling. A doomed attempt, obviously.

Inside the cloud, it was still dark and silent, at least for the Nosferatu concerned. He didn't hear the effects his attacks had on his opponent, he didn't see the effect it had on his opponent, hell, he didn't even see the opponent, he just hamered away at whatever he thought would likely be the area he had targeted. However, as he smashed his newly found weapon into the direction of what might well be the head of his perceived enemy, he felt something giving way under the blows and the guy in his grip going limp while being spattered with some sort of fluid and... other things. Something small, hard, bounced off his clenched teeth while something else, similarly small was prpelled into his collar. The concrete block felt... moist and sticky to the touch.

The irishman followed the fleeing Sabbat simply needing to follow the traces of smoke that already had a small, neglegible impact on the beast, but still, it was there. He also lsuddenly found himself exposed to the chill night air. Running after the Sabbat, he reached the corner and saw his enemy frantically rifling through some crates stored in a ruin nearby, back turned towards him, not aware of his presence or deliberately ignoring it. The morale of the troop broken, the other Sabbat began to flee as well, the resistance faltering and giving way to the desire to make it through this night alive.
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Verba docent, exempla trahunt !
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TapestryofShame
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Queen of Love (wut?)
* * * * * *
Celerity was a beautiful thing, the way your blood burned and fueled through you, twirling and whirling under the skin and causing your entire body to resonate with a sort of electric thrill. She brought the weapons down on her target, and felt the soft explosive pop of the girl beneath. It was sort of like exploding a zit, as her insides became her outsides. One arm would wrap around the body of the crumpling mushy creature, and her fangs would extend to dig into the shoulder area that hadn't been ripped apart. Might as well suck out what she could, while she could. She never expected things to be over, she always tried to keep in top shape for the next point of assault. She'd fuel from the dripping corpse, and then try and remove what was left of the girls head with a rough yank of the crushed creatures mushy melon. Covered in her victim, she'd turn to look at Paddy's figure in the distant edge of the darkness, breaking free.

"Watch the fuck out for whatever they do next." She yelled at Dubhuir, offering a rather fetching smile for someone covered in a healthy dripping of gore, before stepping back into the clinging darkness to find... whomever.

She'd move into it, and attempt to locate whatever creature was casting within. She was working on instinct again, a choice that may be a mistake considering her earlier instincts lead her directly into a fucking bear trap. Oh well, she'd take that chance. She wanted to end this shit and GTFO, badly. If she couldn't locate a source she thought was alive and casting, she'd just find Matt's corpse and carry it out instead. Both? Both was way fucking better... Especially as she had all intentions of drop kicking the head she was holding, directly into the Lasombra's face. Marcus would be so proud of her if she did it, and the idea of his grinning across the distance between them only made her want to do it that much more. She fucking missed Chicago. She missed having Elders all around her on the battle field, and missed the comraderie of getting pissed to the gills after a successful Sabbat hunt. Would this group go out and get tanked together? She didn't know...
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"I thought... I thought that Mexico had chased such grand musings from my heart. That I wouldn't attempt to live so bold and that I would slide away into shadows. Standing here... the silence is so loud with potential I am deafened." - Upon entering the concrete shell that would become, Muse.
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Vanth
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Neonate
* * *
When the Sabbat broke ranks and fled, they were suddenly being pelted by bricks and smaller rocks from atop the roof of a nearby building. Even though the assault came only when the course of the battle had been decided, it was accompanied by cheerful cries such as "Yeah!" and "Cut and run, losers!" that originated from the shadowy outline of a thin, male figure, who seemed to crow victorious at the Sabbat's retreat. Rather than fleeing, he greeted the Camarilla party with an elaborate wave of his arms, yelling "I'm coming down, dudes and dudette" before ducking and momentarily disappearing out of sight.
Edited by Vanth, Sunday, 13. October 2013, 21:46.
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Frederick
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Whispered Poison
* * * *
Calls from somewhere distant reached him. Calls not far from cries. Noises of crunching and splattring reached him. All not too far away. Yet he was distant, removed from it all. He was far, far away from it all. He had a target, a target for the wrath of a mage. He had his target.

Watch out, the gre-dipped Toreador called to him. Watch out she called and he was... far away. In his hand crackled blood-fuelled flame. Went higher and higher as he called on the magic. As he called on his blood it came to him. The bane of all their bloods. Fire.

Coming to call on you, thrown by the Warlock at the lone Sabbats back who was still rifling. Thrown to find him yet again. Thrown to make him pay. Just let it be one, he thought. One I can kill.

He wanted to make them die, the Heretics. Wanted them all to die. And yet he was helpless in the slaughters midst, for his was not a power of slaughter. His was only the fire, the mirror, the chalk. Pitiful things against the powerful in body... or so they seemed. The feather... falls on you flaming... the feather is a sword... he thought as he threw a ball of flame.

Die.
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Renard
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The ball of fire materialized in the Tremeres hand. Only a small flame at first, it grew on the power of the blood invested into it, not unlike a dry sponge drenched with water. Padraig looked at the flame, that would bend to his will, be his servant, his messenger, his harbinger of destruction... For now. He heard the small crackle, saw the flame flicker with what he saw as malicious intent, the heat and light asking him to be let loose on something to consume, something to destroy, no matter what task he had for it in mind, but it needed to be relinquished to be able to carry out this one task.

And so he did, in silent agreement with his little minion, sending him on the way to kill the mongrel who dared defy what the Camarilla stood for and who dared to defy their mission as well ! The flame flew towards the Sabbat minion, its crackling louder and and more frequent in... anticipation ? Or was that just what the Tremere interpreted into it ? The mass of flame had almot reached the Sabbat as he turned around, a big crate in his arms. A wooden crate. A wooden crate with the necks of more than a dozen bottled emerging from it. The necks of a dozen bottles that had a rag in them. As he turned and saw what was coming for him, his eyes widened, his mouth opened and he made a step back. A step back that made him almot stumble over the cans of petrol.

Padraig heard the first sounds of wailing, building up to a high-pitched shriek, never getting there as it was cut short by the impact of the flame on the Sabbat, that straight up hit his chest. Or to be more precise, the crate he held in front of his chest. To the Tremere it looked as if the flame simply vanished inside the crate.

Leo had told the Tremere to watch the fuck out, she saw nothing more to do right here, so she could as well... Step back into the dark cloud and look for whoever kept that thing from dissolving. Perhaps even give them a nice little tap over the head with the head she had in her hand ? She felt the cold grasp of the dark mass surrounding her again, clinging to her form, her clothes, her skin, sticking to it, almost a bit like tar. She felt her senses dull, her hearing as if through a barrier of cotton wool, her sight... reduced, but still, she saw a movement on her far half left, someone lurking behind a corner of a building.

Sawyer felt like he might have finished off his opponent. Whoever it was didn't react to the hits with the brick at all, no defensive maneuvers, no attempts to fight back or to tear loose... Nothing. This meant he was either torpid, or the block had already done the trick ! Still it was too dark to be able to be completely sure, but then, it posed an interesting question to him... If he was cloaked in this darkness and someone was able to pierce this darkness... Would they also be able to pierce the cloak he had ?

After what could only have ben split-seconds, the flame erupted from the crate again, engulfing the Sabbat in its tender yet deathly embrace before spreading out, looking for more nourishment among the things the Sabbat had stored in this place. A barely audible fizzing sound was all that could be heard as Padraig witnessed the paint on the petrol cans throw up bubbles. Would the cans heat up enough to ignite what was in them ? Were there enough fumes to set off a dangerous chaion reaction ?

Of course there were !

Only Padraig was able to hear the sound that marked the ignition of the liquid and other things in that room clearly, but he was perfectly aware that he had other problems. Bigger problems. Like the giant ball of fir that attempted to return to who had sent it out in the first place. Perhaps it just wanted to express its thankfulness ? Perhaps it thought he needed to dispel it again ? Or had it cut completely loose and saw its former master as more sustainence to exist longer in this realm of existance ?

It didn't matter. Padraig felt the beast tear at its chains and knew that while it was normally something to be caged and chained at all cost, this time, the impulse felt terribly right. He felt himself turning around and fleeing, the beast trying to take over to take him, take THEM, to a safer place.

Leo and Sawyer felt a slight vibration of the ground during whatever they were doing and with a flash, the darkness was gone. Perhaps they would have wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but the light that attracted their attention made them instantly long for the return of the dark as a viable and preferrable alternative for what they faced now.

it was the small Tremere, running towards them as fast as his short legs could carry him, perhaps even faster than that. It was an impressive sight as such, but he wasn't alone and it was not the fact that he was running, but the fact what he was running from, that took precedence. Everyone still left in the area saw themselves confronted with the brightness that chased after the Tremere, they felt the first touch of warmth that invited them to stay for the terrible embrace that they were about to receive. Their inner beasts lunged at their captors as forceful as they hadn't in a long time, howling for them to let them take charge, to assume control to get them out of this place. No matter where, really, as long as it wasn't HERE !

Padraig was still running frantically. And hell followed.
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Verba docent, exempla trahunt !
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Frederick
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Whoopsie. That was the thought in his mind, as the fireball vanished inside the crate of somethings the Heretic handled. That it contained some form of weapon was indubitable in Pádraigs mind. That it contained the most horrifyingly unnerving weapon in vampire arsenal... that was another thing again. Fire needed to be put away by some kind of Geneva convention he would think later. Much later, when the effects of the flames, the immediate ones, would have worn off. But fire was fire was A Bad Thing.

So... as he realized what kind of egregious mistake he had made, his legs started carrying him away from the scene of his little crime with big consequences. Very big consequences if one looked at the size of the fireball now traveling quickly in his direction. Into any direction really, but the screaming of an animal in the backside of his head... made it very clear what was meant.

ITS OUT TO GET USSSSS! It screamed wordlessly, snarling with hate at the Flames. Pádraig was unsure whether his physical form joined the action. It was probable he himself let out the snarl as well. Fire. FIRE. Out of my control.

He turned around and started running as quickly as he could, willing another bit of his dwindling supply of blood to enhance his ability at running. Quicker. Just away from the flames. Far, far away he needed to go. Beast and Person were of one mind in this. Fire, fire get away.

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TapestryofShame
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* * * * * *
Stepping back into the inky black was an unnerving experience, but not once she was entirely unfamilair with. She just hoped Paddy on the outside was standing point like he was supposed to, and she also hoped leaving him to deal with the one kid that had run into the shelter wasn't a mistake. There had a been a few of those mistakes so far, perhaps this particular party should have gotten to know one another before they tried to go fucking die together. She moved within the blackness, her potence laden figure cutting through the cloudy night. Dark eyes were narrowed as she felt out with blood fueled instincts, the girls blood within her a dangerous intoxicant. She wanted more, she wanted to rip and rend and dissect futher. Her new target was the caster in this fucking hell hole of darkness, and this time her instincts didn't lead her directly into a mother fucking bear trap. With the girls head in her arms, she threw them wide to plumet the half crushed head to the ground. She was aiming for the skull part, instead of the open squishy side she had ripped apart, foot connecting with a soft thud as she used the flat inner side of her boot to send the head sailing towards whom she hoped was the appropriate target. Could be Sawyer too.... She hoped she didn't hit a companion with a flying school girl head, if it happened... She'd just deny it was her.

Her arm raised with the hatchet in hand, ready to let loose and follow up the scare tactic of the skull with a much more damaging Hatchet to the head, or neck, or chest... Whatever really. She just wanted to wait a millisecond on Celerity, which feels like forever when the world around you is moving so slow, to make sure the shroud disbursed when the head hit the fucking asshole Caster (Please be the Caster) and she wasn't about to Hatchet off Saywers head. Instead, when the blackness flickered and dropped there was a shaking of the ground that distracted her. It was powerful enough to bring her attention away from throwing the hatchet, and cause her eyes to move to the ... Giant fucking fireball coming her way.

MOTHER FUCKER! The beast within her FREAKED, she felt the violent edge of frenzy sweep up her arms and infect her stilled heart. Mind and body fought for what seemed like an eternity, but would be less than the bat of an eye. The over powering instinct to run took her, and she'd let it.. But she'd control and direct her fear. She forced her mind to work properly, to see through the red fear as she was presented with a choice of getting Matt's body, or getting Sawyer out of the fireballs trajectory. Had Matt not been behind her, she may have managed both... But as it was, the choice was not easy. She needed that Sabbat, and Sawyer was closer to the edge, he needed to be responsible to get his own ass from the flames. Jesus, good bye Nossie buddies. So much for making friends with Henderson. As she ran for Matt, she heard his voice in her head.

“Ms. Mancini, You chose to save the Sabbat?”

Yes Signore.

“Why, if I may ask, would you chose a Sabbat over one of your own Sect?”

Because we could torture information out of him Signore, and maybe save more Camarilla lives in the future....

“And that's worth more than the current life of one of your own?”

... Ummm... It seemed like a heartless but good idea at the time?

“Really, Bishop Machachacha?”

I can explain that... Kinda of...

Yep, this was going to go really well wasn't it? Jesus, please get the fuck out of the way Sawyer. She'd snag Matt, and change directions off side of the fire balls trajectory. No way she was going to try and turn around and out run it, she saw Prometheus. She would not die such a stupid fucking death.
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"I thought... I thought that Mexico had chased such grand musings from my heart. That I wouldn't attempt to live so bold and that I would slide away into shadows. Standing here... the silence is so loud with potential I am deafened." - Upon entering the concrete shell that would become, Muse.
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Sawyer
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* * * * * *
Splattered with brains and gore, Sawyer drew back from the suddenly immobile body in front of him. He stood up, still shrouded in darkness, and looked around, wondering where the hell his companions had ended up.

It was so quiet in the cloud, he realized. The sounds of the city were drowned out for the first time in what felt like ages, giving way to a peacefulness that seemed completely incongruous when he considered the blood drenching his hands. Sawyer paused, enjoying the moment vaguely, taking time to breathe in the eye of the hurrica-

SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT

His only warning was the sudden shudder of the ground beneath his feet, and he looked up, jaw dropping. The horizon had burst into flame, and Sawyer's beast roared.

Hell, it seemed, had come to Camden.

He turned to run into the ruins of the collapsed house nearby and out of the path of the flames, hoping for some sort of shelter behind its crumbling brick walls, speed fueled by blood and fear. At least it wasn't likely to burn down any time soon, though there was always the possibility of something worse lurking inside.

No sign of his companions. No time to think about whether they'd made it out or not. There'd be time to regroup later, provided the three of them weren't reduced to brave little piles of ash.
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Renard
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The Tremere ran through the street as fast as his legs would carry him, to the fullest of his capacity and yet, beyond it. He felt the sensation of the blood fueling his getaway, the beast inside him frantically working with him to keep him moving, away from the flame that illuminated the street in front of him and made the shadows dance and flicker. The distance was getting bigger, the warmth on his back was decreasing, but the light and the smell kept him on his feet and running as they were a reminder that a swift yt painful death was still a distinct possibility in his situation.

Leo had spotted the figure and enacted her plan for this particular individual. Give him a little heads-up, so to speak. The grip on the hair in her hand tightened as she quickly took aim at the figure. Did it know this was meant for it ? Who knew ! She turned the severed bodypart to get a good position and her fingers finally let go of it. The head slowly started to sink down as gravity got a hold of it, but that was the time it was hit by the Toreador's foot and propelled towards the figure at the corner. There was a hardly describable sound as the figure disappeared behind the corner, the hatchet that came shortly afterwards missing the target by fractions of an inch. But that quickly became secondary as the flaming wall of death came rushing towards her. Forcing herself to remain calm enough to act on her own accord, at least to some degree, she burned the blood in her body to accelerate herelf towards the flames and pick up the body of the staked Sabbat. She threw it over her shoulder and was swiftly underway, cutting a corner to get out of the flames path, leaving the others to fend for themselves.

Sawyers eyes widened as he saw the fireball come closer. Faster than he had thought possible, he jumped towards the ruins of a nearby building and crawled behind what was left of a facade wall. He cowered behind it and made himself as small as possible. The ground below him didn't look too inviting to try and get a hole into it but he was sorely tempted to attempt it either way, get into the protective embrace of mother earth or at least a basement that provided more shelter than his current position. At least he wasn't too exposed, at leaast as long as the backdraft was limited. But would it be ?

Vanth's position on the roof was pretty secure, or that was what he had figured. He was already on his way down as he caught sight of the inferno washing down the street. He knew that he would be able to get some burns, but not enough to kill him. Too high was his position, too great the distance to the street. But what good was knowledge against reflexes, especially supernatural reflexes that many thought of as having a sort of will of their own ? Exactly. Therefore, the Malkavian felt the urge to flee rise inside his body and mind, the red fear building and finally knocking at the door of his consciousness.

All of them heard the shattering of glass and smelt the burnt rubber and plastic infuse the nightly air, together with something that almost smelled like roast, although the smell was somewhat... off. Sawyer felt some smaller flames peering over the wall that served as his cover, the warmth spreading on his cool skin, but the flames not touching him.
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