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

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

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


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



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



Index
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Central London
North London
East London
West London
South London
Miscellaneous
Out of Character


Population: 31

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


THE CAMARILLA

Prince

Nobody

Sheriff
Meredith Furlong
Hounds
Robyne Sheridan
Rosella Marie Allain


Keeper of Elysium
Davvad Bisset

Grand Harpy
Catherine Wilke

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



ANARCHS

Baron

Khoza

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

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[ARCHIVED] - MiniQuest™: Alarik's Arthurian Adventure; Alarik, Jhael, Margo, Ronnie
Topic Started: Thursday, 2. January 2014, 01:59 (4,636 Views)
Alarik
"Papers, Please."
* * * * * * *
Schloss Weinberg, Waren, Federal Republic of Germany

Standing on a pier that jutted outwards from the shore, Alarik Blücher looked southwards over the Binnenmüritz, watching the lakes' ripples turn from dark blue to black. His long, beige coat fluttered about his body in the gentle breeze. The cold tingled against his cheeks, but it was not uncomfortable. The winter had been mild and, even now, there were a few ships about the lake, their sails set for home, to ferry their sailors towards warm meals and warm beds. More distantly, the traffic of the Elbe flowed, a steady flow of large, flat-bottomed ships.

Beyond those black-rippled waters lay the forested shores of Müritz-Nationalpark, over three hundred square kilometres of forests, interspersed with swamps, meadows, lakes, runs, ditches and brooks. The place, he'd learned, was heaven to red deer, cranes, white-tailed eagles, hawks, rodents, countless species of fish and God-only knew what other beasts that wouldn't be in any tourist manual. It was close to a Kindred's idea of hell. A no-go zone that lay far beyond the cities' brightest lights.

They would go there tonight.

The sound of footsteps on the wooden planks could be heard. Jhael had summoned the party here, as he'd been ordered to do. The lad had been very busy during the last two nights, overseeing the private transport of three crates to Berlin, and then again by truck to the Ventrue headquarters of this small, East German town. A white-washed Grand Villa on a hill that pretended to be a Schloss. Even the day had been spent usefully, visiting the Müritzeum and then scouting out the park itself. Only a few hours of sleep had been permitted to the him before sunset, and the inevitable briefing.

He's been a useful lad. He shall be fed if he survives the night, the Ventrue resolved. He turned around, nodding first towards Jhael, and then towards the two 'volunteers' who had agreed to accompany him. The young Brujah and the young Toreador. His heavy and his third eye.

"Mr. Lockhart and Ms. Moreau. So grateful that you could join me here, tonight", he intoned gravely. "I apologise for having been... scant... in my explanations of this journey's purpose. Things will be made clear to you in a few moments, after which there shall be time for questions."

He turned his back to them, gesturing across the shore to the great, wild beyond with a wide arm.

"Over there in the forest is the 'place of crows', as the Slavs called it. My grandsire helped to conquer it from them during the time of the Wendish Crusade, and his seven childer constructed a small fortress there. A stronghold to keep these lands from the fiends. At least, so one of my ghouls told me, before he met his demise."

He turned again, sideways now, placing his cold, white hands in his pockets as he continued on a lighter tone: "Jhael here has been busy during the day. He's identified three areas whose features match both the description of the stories told by my sire, and the geomorphology of the terrain. Conveniently, they can all be reached by boat. So we should be able to avoid too much travel through the thick of the woods."

The distant humming of an engine could be beard as the Prince turned his head towards Ronnie and Margo: "Any questions so far?"
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Alarik
"Papers, Please."
* * * * * * *
Alarik's arms were folded in front of his chest in a highly defensive manner. He felt aimless, drifting about on this lake, far from London and the power that he held there. He wasn't a reckless man by any stretch of the imagination, but he didn't want to just 'give up' either, after all of this arranging that they'd done.

"What is it that you propose we do, Mr. Lockhart?" the younger Ventrue asked. "We always knew -theoretically - that there were werebeasts in the woods. Would you have us abandon the whole enterprise now?"
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Ronnie
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Ancilla
* * * *
Giving up completly? No, that wasn´t what he had meant.
"We can try it at another spot."
That´s what he thought they would do anyway now.
"The wood is big. The beasts can´t be everywhere."
But they should best be fast and find the treasure quickly, when they were on land.
"Aren´t we supposed to find some hidden fortress? Margo hasn´t spottet it yet? We don´t even know approximately where it is? A bit bad if we have to spend a very long time looking for it on land. Would be best to spot it already from the boat. But we better don´t wait too long...the maybe-werewolf who has seen us might be informing the other beasts now, that we are here.
So it looked a bit bad in any case, it seemed.
Edited by Ronnie, Tuesday, 7. January 2014, 00:22.
Bad boy Ronnie, Pictures of Ronnie
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Margo Moreau
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Rebel Toreador
* * * * * *
Margo looked between Ronnie and Sir Arnold, then spoke to the prince "I didn't come this far just to get chased off. They are dark spooky woods, yup. But thats where we're going." She made a motion with her hands, as if urging on the boat. "Lets go, less talking more questing!"
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Arnold
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Childe
*
My little brother looks just a bit relieved. "We are approaching a group consensus on the desired course of action", he states coolly. I snort, but I don't contest the will of the volunteers. I'm not going to be out-done in bravery by a city slick little Alphonse Junior. Besides. I, too, am too curious to abandon the undertaking now.

Everyone takes up their assigned positions as the boat makes way. I do not send the ghoul to bed again, but rather leave him to do as he wishes. Fifteen minutes into our journey, we reach our intended destination. With luck, we'll find the fortress of our forefathers in these long-abandoned wildernesses.

When I cut the engines once again, we are still a stone's throw from the rocky coastline. I spot the trees that line the second inlet on our map. Thin lines stick up out of the mist. They seem even more foreboding than did before the howling, or so I think. There is an evil scent in the air, though I cannot identify its origins. Something I can't place drives me to want to leave.

"Can you see anything?", I ask the Toreador. For some reason, I get the notion that she might be.
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Margo Moreau
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Rebel Toreador
* * * * * *
The Toreador seems absorbed towards the shore. She moves her head in the air as if tracing an unseen form. Her eyes take on a queer aspect. She speaks in answer to Sir Arnold, though her eyes stay looking away "I do... see. A castle wall, with a tower behind it. It is translucent, I can see the... foreboding structure, but also hints of the land beyond."

She points "That, small break on the shore, I see part of the wall there."

Margo remains transfixed on the bizarre sight of the ghostly keep as she falls quiet. It occurs to her, rather she wonders if she might encounter ghosts here, and if they might be helpful. That brings up the question of how to convey whatever they might say without betraying her secret. Or seem to be insane. Somehow she didn't think Yeah, this ghost of a scullery-maid says to turn left at the armor display would go over well.
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Alarik
"Papers, Please."
* * * * * * *
Staring westwards into the darkness with his eyes narrowed to slits, Alarik Blücher still didn't see any the 'foreboding structure' that was being described. In fact, he didn't even see a clearing, or anything that might hint that there had been a castle there at any point. It was somehow different from the way that he had suspected it might be. But, nonetheless, a success. After half a millennium or so, the ancestral home of his bloodline had finally been located.

"Thank you, Miss Moreau", he said. It was the understatement of the century, and his gratitude was sure to be expressed more lavishly if they all survived the night. Arnold was even stingier with his praise: the Toreador got a grunt and a nod before the unsightly Ventrue steered their boat in for the final approach towards the land.

The younger Ventrue's black boots were first to hit the earthen shore. Moments after a carefully calculated jump, he was ready to catch his former master's rope, which was thrown deftly, so that their boat might be tied to the thickest branch of a pine tree. It would be quite dangerous, not to mention silly, if their only means of escape from this wilderness would just drift away, after all.

"Jhael. You're next" he said, reaching out with his own gloved hand so that he might clasp that of the white-haired ghoul. When the younger man reached the shore, Alarik actually afforded him a genuine smile. Despite the danger and the challenges that would lie ahead, the Princes' excitement was now bubbling in his stomach. They were close. Very close. He could just feel it.

Next, he helped Miss Moreau out of the boat, assuming that the elder Ventrue and the Brujah could make their own way. This close to the clearing, the translucent walls that she had spoken of were masked even from the Roses' third eye. Learning about this annoyed Alarik, but he wouldn't let it show, merely looking around to see if there was anything about these pine trees that was in any way out of the ordinary.

There wasn't.

The closest thing he could find to an anomaly was an uncommonly large, upright standing stone that tapered off towards the top. And a random rock wasn't exactly the sort of clue he was hoping for.
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Ronnie
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Ancilla
* * * *
Wow, the little Toreador became adventurous.
So - hopefully no yellow eyes, when they tried to leave the boat the next time.

Ronnie kept being watchful.
The boat stopped again. Margo saw a castle wall? Ronnie didn´t see anything like that.
In any case, it was good that they had found the castle and that they didn´t have to search the whole wood for it.
What did she mean with translucent? Something like transparent? But how could she see something that was transparent. Oh well, as if he would ever understand such things...and it didn´t really matter now.

It wasn´t a problem at all for Ronnie to leave the boat. After a big jump he landed on the shore.
He glanced around, to see if there were any yellow eyes in sight or something else that might indicate danger.
Bad boy Ronnie, Pictures of Ronnie
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Jhael
Prince Blucher's Dinner (still not quite house trained)
* * * * * *
That's inconvenient. His reaction to the existence of werewolves anywhere was a sign of how much he abandoned previous notions of reality. After vampires, zombie children and fireballs, why not werewolves? Why not jackalopes and the chupacabra? Why not Bigfoot?

It was more disturbing that the Kindred seemed nervous about the werewolves, which meant they must be a massive pain in the ass. Why not unicorns instead of werewolves?

Jhael could use a lot more sleep, but fifteen minutes would only be enough to shake off the grogginess of that nap. He spent ten of those fifteen minutes rummaging through the cabin for his Red Bull before concluding that Alarik took it all away to make things harder on him because why not? He had a moment of near panic checking a small inner pocket of his vest for a tiny, black plastic vial. That was still there. He breathed a sigh of relief. That was the important thing. He spent the remainder of the time stretching.

Mr. Blucher helped him out of the boat, surprisingly. His CEA squeezed his hand and returned the smile, sharing his master's excitement in spite of not really knowing what was going on... and werewolves. No use getting pissed about the missing Red Bull. Lord Alarik giveth and Lord Alarik taketh away.
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Margo Moreau
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Rebel Toreador
* * * * * *
"Okay" Margo said in strange tone for her. She was tapping into her skill in oratory in an attempt to take temporary control of the situation. "When we moved closer to the vision the castle vanished. We have already walked past where the wall would be" Margo paused. "I want to try a few things, if you don't mind."

First, Margo had everyone walk back to where she was. Should the vision not reappear, she would keep walking away until in appeared again. Should they get back so far that she would not be able to see it in any case, she would suggest returning to the boat so they were no longer on the land.

If the vision reappeared she would first ask Jhael, alone to approach the vision. If it stayed, she would then ask Ronnie to join him. If the castle still remained at that point she would then ask for either Sir Arnold or the Prince to approach. For all of these, she would take care to have them stop before they reached the point where she imagined the wall to be.

Lastly, Margo went up to the rock and tried using her [Auspex]: Spirit Touch on it.

Depending on the outcome of these attempts, Margo would then report what she observed.
Edited by Margo Moreau, Friday, 10. January 2014, 02:18.
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Alarik
"Papers, Please."
* * * * * * *
Margo had to move deeper and deeper into the forest if she really wanted to see what had been un-seen. It was difficult to navigate this dense, overgrown terrain, and even more difficult to do it without drawing attention to oneself. Though she managed to avoid falling over into one of the many swampy ponds, she did step onto a large branch once, producing a loud sound that reverberated throughout the forest. Further down the 'road', she accidentally waded into a puddle that had been covered over with leaves.

As the trees closed in around her, the night seemed to grow even darker, and her companions had been reduced to distant outlines when she finally looked over her shoulder again and saw hints of a towering fortress wall. It shimmered between the trees in a highly ethereal manner, as if it was something from a dream rather than something from real life. Her companions stood beside it, quite oblivious to its apparent presence.

Unless she had intended to shout instructions back and forth, the next part of the petite Toreador's plan took the better part of an hour to execute. Both Ventrue looked increasingly antsy, not to mention surly, as they plodded to and fro in response to the young woman's instructions. From Margo's point of view, the shimmering castle remained as it was, unmoving and untouched by the passing of time. But her companions always deviated from the straight line that she had intended for them as they approached, ending up near the coastline without having ever touched a wall.

After an hour had passed, Alarik's nerves in particular were at breaking point. "We are wasting time", he hissed, his eyes constantly roaming the forest for any sign of anything that might be watching them.

When Margo touched the east-facing side of the large stone, the spirits told her nothing. It had a cold, gravelly surface that released no secrets. No memories. It seemed as if the stone had never been touched by anyone at all. Just as she was about to remove her delicate hand, though, she noticed something odd. A line was drawn around the area her palm touched, assuming an almost circular shape. It was too perfect to be a random occurrence. Though it was too dark to see without the aid of unnatural light, her hand could brush over the rest of the stone's relatively flat vertical surface. There were more lines. Were they Wendish runes? A territorial marker? Or just some graffiti, left behind by some prehistoric passer-by? Without more light, it was impossible to tell.
Edited by Alarik, Friday, 10. January 2014, 17:32.
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Jhael
Prince Blucher's Dinner (still not quite house trained)
* * * * * *
The little hike through the woods did more to wake Jhael up than the missing Red Bull would have. Navigating every petty obstacle in the dark forced his senses to stay on high alert. Ears open for every sound that could be approaching danger, eyes straining to see every blotch of dark that could be a hole to stumble in or a branch to trip over. Though his knife was drawn, he was prey amongst vampires and prey in these woods, so grew tense with the vigilance that those low on the food chain live with by instinct.

He drew the knife tempted to chop those branches in the way, but a mere look of stern warning from the Ventrue was enough to stop him. In his previous reality, predators in the wilderness were still just animals who would rarely attack groups and were more deterred than attracted to noise. Apparently, that's not the case anymore and he remembered that while squinting behind Margo at the vague impressions shadowed on the wall.

Before flicking on the Maglite clipped to his belt, he pulled open his parka and hunched close to her, forming a half tent with the fabric. Aiming the Maglite down and under his coat, he switched it on to cast a subdued light over what she found.
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Alarik
"Papers, Please."
* * * * * * *
Huddled together like that, Jhael and Margo noticed some immaculate carvings on its east-facing side of the large, free-standing rock. Though the rock had been battered by wind and weather, the painstakingly carved lines could still be made out to depict the betrayal scene of the Last Supper of Jesus and the Twelve Apostles.

Christ stood at the head of a semi-circular table, with the Apostles seated on both sides. Among these, Judas was identifable as the only who is stretching out his hand for the food, and also the only figure to lack the circular carving of a halo around his head.

Underneath the drawing, a short phrase had been carved. The lettering was thick to prevent the words from fading too easily:

XIII GRADUM AD LUCEM ITE
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Margo Moreau
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Rebel Toreador
* * * * * *
Margo, also, felt frustrated. Even foolish. She should have simply examined the stone first. She looked over at Jhael to see his reaction, then turned to face Ronnie and the two German kindred. "Can any of you read Latin?"

Margo tilted her head and added "You all can see this stone right?"
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Jhael
Prince Blucher's Dinner (still not quite house trained)
* * * * * *
"Yeah, I see it." He kept his voice low and leaned closer, answering the other question with a grunt. "Dropped that class for German after only a year so not much. Number's easy. That's thirteen and we got our little Judas here. Hello, Judas." He turned the light to a little circle around the halo-less one's head, briefly giving him his own halo before going back to the phrase.

"Lucem is light. You know like Luc.. ifer? Light bringer. So, ad lucem is like, to light. Or for the light. Trying to remember gradum. Fu-" Scowling at it, he began to blurt language prohibited by protocol. "Frustrating! Sorry. Um. Unless it comes to me or any of you know, we got 'thirteen to the light.' Thirteen candles or thirteen paces towards the light or... I don't know. Unless there's a Narnia street lamp in the woods, only light out here would be the sun and we don't want to go there unless it's just supposed to be symbolic. I'm not ruling out the Narnia street lamp." He blinked out of his muttered ramble with a glance to the Ventrue. "Does this have anything to do with what we're looking for?"
Edited by Jhael, Saturday, 11. January 2014, 15:58.
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Ronnie
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Ancilla
* * * *
Ronnie also wasn´t exactly the most patient person.
What was that going back and forth supposed to be good for? Made him feel like an idiot.
The two Ventrue looked decidedly grumpy, too, as did the Brujah.
No, it wasn´t much fun at all, stumbling around in that wood, getting wet feet, twigs brushing Ronnie´s face.
He had to pull himself together not to start swearing.

Had Margo found something finally? She was looking at a rock with Jhael.
Latin? No, Ronnie didn´t have Latin in school.
Narnia street lamp? What was Jhael talking about?
"Yeah, I can see the stone."
Bad boy Ronnie, Pictures of Ronnie
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Alarik
"Papers, Please."
* * * * * * *
"While I do see the oversized stone that you are both touching, I can't help you, Miss Moreau. Neither the Polytechnic nor the EOS taught dead tongues."

The East German schools that Alarik had attended had focussed heavily on the German and Russian languages. English and French had been available as elective courses but Paul Kuhn, as he was then named, had never cared much for those. His chosen education track had instead focussed heavily on mathematics and the natural sciences.

Glancing towards Jhael, he added dryly: "I hope this business about taking steps and light-bringing has something to do with what we're looking for, but you are asking too soon if you want a pat on the head. We'll only get anywhere if we find out what the message means and how we can use it to force our way in."
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Arnold
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Childe
*
I join the little Toreador and the ghoul at the Monolith, standing on the opposite side and touching it with my grey, decaying hand. I feel somehow connected to our past when I do so. Like my Sire and my Sire's Sire, it is ancient. A message from the past like that should be treated with respect.

My broken, gravelly voice weighs in with the suddenness of the Thunder: "Christ had twelve apostles. At the last supper, Judas sat in thirteenth place. Loki was the thirteenth to arrive at the Table of the Gods. It is the number of traitors and mischief-makers. Only an arrogant Kindred could believe that such a number would lead to the light."

I glance at Alarik. GLARE at him, even, as I detect a disturbing lack of respect for my views in his eyes. Again, he backs down, lowering his eyes and adding his snake-like agreement. "Indeed." It seems he has changed much since he first left Berlin. Too much, for my tastes.

I turn to this 'Jhael', who seems to be a creature possessing of some modest intellect: "Markgraf Odolff was nothing if not an overly arrogant Crusader. I believe this would have been his doing. What I would like for you to tell me, little ghoul, is what we should do."
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Jhael
Prince Blucher's Dinner (still not quite house trained)
* * * * * *
Zombie Face is staring at me and asks me what we should do. In the middle of the woods in Germany with four vampires and Zombie Face asks the little ghoul what we should do. My guide is a latin carving on a rock.

No pressure, man. Won't need to go far to bury me if I get this wrong. No pressure.


The young man stares dumbfounded at the decayed wrinkles of Sir Arnold's cheeks, the shrivel in his lip. Come forth, words!

"Ok." Long pause. "Sir." His eyes twitch to the carving. An arrogant, possibly Satanic vampire. To the light. Thirteen. Judas. To the light could be the sun or the morning star aka Lucifer if we go with the Satanic vampire theme, that's east either way. Thirteen what? Paces? Meters? Did this guy use the Imperial or the Metric system? Or maybe some Babylonian unit of measurement just to fuck me up in the future?

Was he even on the right track? Maybe it meant light thirteen candles and his ghost will appear and tell us to come back in thirteen days and then say haha it was a joke, go home?

Subtracting what would be too bothersome to deal with, he turned back to Sir Arnold with a decisive frown. "We go East, but I don't know how far. Could be thirteen paces or something else. Can't rule out a trap either, considering we're dealing with a guy who admires a traitor. I'd be careful at around thirteen... something. Sir." Something, that's so helpful. Here's where Mr. Blucher apologizes and explains I'm a little Special.

"So, who's holding the compass?"
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Alarik
"Papers, Please."
* * * * * * *
"You are. Or so I would suggest", Alarik said. He glanced sideways towards Arnold, who nodded in concurrence. The younger Kindred's pale hand swept towards the forest, supposing that this would be an easterly direction.

"Go."
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Jhael
Prince Blucher's Dinner (still not quite house trained)
* * * * * *
Jhael shot a nervous glance in Alarik's direction. When no scolding or insult came, he took a deep breath and gave a nod. "Yes, sir." He had to return the knife to it's sheathe clipped to his back, exchanging it with his phone, which he had off to conserve battery. While waiting for it to start up, he enjoyed the feeling of each of those Kindred around him squeezing in with no pressure! until his head popped.

"Alright," he said, sweating on his phone while he checked it's compass. "This way." He turned to walk directly east, away from the rock carving. Presumably, they would either follow or watch him walk into a sinkhole. At around twelve paces, he would stop to check the ground in front of him with his Maglite.

Nothing happened after the twelfth step. The Maglite shone onto a flat, rocky bit of ground. Around him the animals of the forest sang their quiet, discordant song. Even so, he was being watched closely by the vampires right behind him.

Jhael crouched to pick a solid stick off the ground and flung it east in the area of the thirteenth pace. Then another, then another. Mr. Blucher is a cautious man. He would like his minions to be cautious too.

One after another, the sticks just... disappeared. One moment they were soaring mid-air, the next they were gone, as if they had been swallowed by the Devil himself.

"What the fuck," he muttered under his breath. Cleared his throat.

"Strange phenomena, Sir."
Edited by Jhael, Sunday, 12. January 2014, 03:48.
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