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] - Big Bad Voodoo Theater; Mot Khartoum, Moshe Klein, Dr. Katharina Bettina Wilke, Sawyer Flint, Aguirre Efrain Maddox
Topic Started: Tuesday, 13. August 2013, 19:05 (1,894 Views)
Mot Khartoum
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Crazy Old Man
* *
He heard drums. Low and constant. Each thump, thump, thump clearer to him. Not louder, but sharper, fixing into focus the distant sound. He reached out for the sound, and it reached back. It had a touch without fingers. It was a key to a lock inside his chest, that took him to the soft cushions and soft voices, to the time where his life was whole. The feeling was intoxicating. He kept reaching, until he fell, his feet stuck in black mire. As he struggled to free himself, his restraints became visible. Four pairs of hands, that began to travel to each his limbs. Their strength was overpowering, but he continued to fight it, desperate to reach that sound. One last struggle, and he rose from himself. An after image, or the original, rose from the slavery and stumbled towards the noise, which colored into wild hues of purple and blue so vivid it nearly blinded Mot.

Then his pager rung. Mot had a pager, a piece of technology suitably antiquated as the antiquated gentlemen himself. Something given to him by shifty fingers behind plated glass. The vibration disintegrated every visage of the dream, just as the kaleidoscope formed a face, now bleeding out behind the face of vagrancy and quiet. Even his eyeballs were tired, pupils slowly dragging across his disgusting vista of faulty fluorescence and unkempt men. Just one, actually. He looked right back. He was the only one who rode this night train route. A duty he upheld, a promise he swore to someone now dead.

“Mister I don’t expect you know where you are, and where you’re headed. Just stay on while it turns ‘round and you’ll find yourself. Fuck ups come in all ages, I guess. Just wasn’t expecting your kind on this ride. Dumb kids, dumber loners, the ones I can’t keep on the train. ‘Cause there’s only one reason you take the old deep south line to its end. And you ain’t going. No one is, least I can help it.”

Mot imagined his body old, aching, slow. He rubbed his hands and cracked his neck. He brushed off dust from his pants, little clouds filtering down to the seats below. His eyes flickered at the man here and there, quick glances in darts of his pupils. Living. Older than he was, dirtier than he is, it all said something but like the real words couldn’t be spoken. They had to be seen. Soft breaks, and their eyes matched. The noise filled the space between them, and contacted a current from one to the other, invisible but so heavy.

“Guess you aren’t lost. Guess I’m the one looking around for the light, but you broke all the bulbs long ago. Look, mister. Just be careful. Whatever is there now, at that Blue Noire, you won’t find it. You’ll find something that’ll hunt after you. Memories that’ll hunt you and swallow you up. Like all the others I couldn’t keep out, I’ll tell you this. Memories are not an escape. Now go.”

Rust struggled to keep the subway doors closed, but the compact air ripped off flakes of red metal and freed the portal open. Mot rose to his feet, and shuffled out from the subway, silent to the gatekeeper, a silence that was heavy in speech as in mind. Leaving the subcar, Mot ascended from the subterana, a little kingdom of graffiti and garbage. Chain link doors yielded to his grip, but as he left Mot could feel another plea for the abortion of his plan. Not from any man, or men, or any form, but in the ambiance of the station. Could he pin it down to one thing? Could he hear the footsteps of all the others before him? Could he hear their laughing voices, sneakers against concrete up and out and into nothing? Mot rose from the underhell and into the bleak space above.

Here the mark of humanity was frayed, rusted, and neglected. If London was a body, this was necrotic flesh. Only dimly lit convenience stores catering to those few bodies operating on the fumes of their once full humanity and vigor. They lived, but only as roaches, merely existing until expiration. Mot followed the empty veins of black streets to the source.

Chains kept the epicenter of abandon contained, as if the building may one day grow decrepit roots that tunnel towards the living things on London, draining them of their living essence. Mot did not notice the history of chains that covered the gate, old decaying red rubbing against newer stainless steel rungs. A history of warnings, of danger, of desperation failed and lives lost to the past. Mot waited at the gate, marking the time on his pager. The others would arrive soon, he feared trying to near this place alone. For as he waited, silence saturated heavy on his suit, sticking thick to his face, and burrowing deep into his ears. Past the void, so past it his whole strained to reach it, was the sound of drums. A touch that begged to be felt, calling him up to the Blue Noire.
Edited by Mot Khartoum, Tuesday, 13. August 2013, 19:06.
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Fleet Foxes - "Your Protector"
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Graham Mason
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Steak Tartare (YODO)

This mini quest has been officially

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Oh no! My souffle!
"Words", stress level, "MetaMason", "THEVOICEOFREASON"
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