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™: Alarik's Arthurian Adventure; Alarik, Jhael, Margo, Ronnie
Topic Started: Thursday, 2. January 2014, 01:59 (4,635 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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Margo Moreau
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Rebel Toreador
* * * * * *
Margo thought about what was being discussed, then watched Jhael start to throw the sticks. Margo moved up closer behind the ghoul and then used her Auspex. "Throw another" The Toreador suggested. She intended to closely watch the wood as it was thrown, following its path to where it seems to disappear.
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English French Theme Songs: New Rose by The Damned, Mommy's Little Monster by Social Distortion
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Arnold
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Childe
*
Before the little ghoul can be made to throw another stick (playing fetch with it, as if it were a dog) I hear an awful sound piercing through the night. This time, I resist the dream of Stalin's Organ and remain wide-eyed and sharp-eared, identifying the howling as being less than three-hundred metres away. It is no wolf. Nor is it the sad keening of a creature that is afraid. Warrior to warrior, I recognise it as our eternal enemies' battle cry:

Ahhh-wooooooooooooooooooooo

"The time for experimentation just ran out" I bark at the Toreador, in the event that she might mistake this cry for that of a wolf, as my brother did before. My little brother shrinks away and looks, first at the boat, then at me. I know that there is no time to get away across the water. We may have to face this beast together on land, where we have room to manoeuvre. I may yet present my pelt to the Prince of Berlin, and be awarded the honour of being a hunter.

Such plans are doomed to falter before they are even fully formed, as two... no... three more Beasts cry out into the night. The sound they make as they acknowledge the call of their pack-mate, though terrifying, is more distant. We cannot hope for victory in a fight against four, and so I decide that we shall go forward instead of going back. The only thing that stands between us and destiny is a little daring.

I rush forward towards Jhael, setting the example of what is to be done. Grabbing the ghoul, I throw him forward where he, like the sticks before him, turns into nothingness. I say a whisp of a prayer before I, too, will step forward and disappear into thin air.
Edited by Arnold, Sunday, 12. January 2014, 20:20.
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Ronnie
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Ancilla
* * * *
12 Apostles, 12 steps, or 13...whatever. Why east?
Anyway, so Jhael walked 12 steps east, and then he threw sticks. A stick vanished?
And then that howling. Damn. If that was a wolf, then Ronnie was a wolf himself.
Three more howlings, so three more beasts about to come here. Bad. Very bad.
Sir Arnold threw Jhael into that "black hole" and vanished inside it himself, too.
Where might they come if jumping into there? Couldn´t be worse than being torn to pieces by werewolf claws. So indeed it was better to follow there.

"Go on Margo, jump, I´ll be the last one", he said to Margo.
Ronnie was the protector, so he wouldn´t jump before after all others were in safety. Logical, wasn´t it? Well, hopefully in safety, that wasn´t sure yet.
Bad boy Ronnie, Pictures of Ronnie
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Margo Moreau
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Rebel Toreador
* * * * * *
Margo felt utter terror well up from some primal place and crawl all through her at the howl in the night. The Toreador hunches down instinctively and glares out into the night. Arnold's shout and the bodies rushing past her help Margo shake it off.

Then Ronnie speaks. Margo hesitates, glancing between the vanishing point and Ronnie. The Rose cries out to him "You better be right behind me!" and she follows behind Jhael, and the others into...
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English French Theme Songs: New Rose by The Damned, Mommy's Little Monster by Social Distortion
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Alarik
"Papers, Please."
* * * * * * *
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Margo follows behind Jhael, and the others into a dead courtyard that is lined by walls of black stone and four towers in various states of ruin. When she looks over her shoulders, she appears to have just passed through a low and narrow wicket door of rotted wood that rests unhinged inside a door that stands high, and is broad enough to accommodate six men on horseback, side by side.

All is dark about this place of stone and rotted wood, but it is lit with a light that is paler than that of the moon, wavering and blowing like a noisome exhalation of decay, a greenish corpse-light that illuminates nothing. Everything beyond its fringes, moon and stars, seems as if it they have been snatched from a dream. Everything within these confines is dismally real, and utterly dead.

The walls are high but narrow, built during an era when gunpowder had not yet spread to Europe, each stone put in place through the back-breaking labour of Wendish Pagan slaves. The centrepiece of the fortress is a tall, fortified tower, to which additional buildings have been added later. Above the two stories rest battlements that glow in that same light, though no defenders look down upon them from between the parapets. Though the wind gushes in from an open window on the first floor, the gate to this main structure on the ground floor has been barred.

Jhael lies at the centre of the courtyard, face down amidst a bed of broken sticks, scraped and bruised but otherwise unharmed. Arnold approaches him, extending a burnt, decaying hand that is intended to help him back to his feet. Alarik, meanwhile, turns his gaze around slowly to appraise the defensibility of this place, and to look for any sign that it really did belong to his ancestors. Ronnie, being the last to leave, sees a glimpse of furry muscle moving swiftly amidst the bushes before he, too, steps back and 'disappears' into this strange locale.
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Jhael
Prince Blucher's Dinner (still not quite house trained)
* * * * * *
~CrUNcH~ Ow. Jhael rolled off a cracked branch to get the gnarled Hand of Death in his face while the howling of wraiths swarmed from above. His universe stopped and he squeaked a shaky little sound. When he brought his arm up to block the sight of impending doom, it was seized and he was pulled to his feet.

"Thank you, sir," he muttered sheepishly. He crinkled his nose when he sniffed the air. Not as fresh as it was before and that wasn't referring to Sir Arnold beside him.

His breath hitched as he looked around. Immense relief at the appearance of all the others, followed by bewilderment at his surroundings. The "wraiths" were just wind funneling through this inexplicable fortress. The young mortal's next step was very tentative, suspecting the ground itself of harboring illusions. Snapping the tiny buckle over his sheathe, he drew his lightweight, slim sabre to prod at the ground like a blind man would use a walking stick. A cautious tap to the old stone with the tip.

Tap tap. Jhael looked over his shoulder to the others. Was this as bizarre to them as it was to him? He kept his mouth shut. If he opened it, all that would come out is a rambled torrent of WTF.
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Ronnie
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Ancilla
* * * *
Ronnie watched Margo and the Prince disappear. It was high time the Brujah followed, the first werewolf was already approaching. Hopefully that beast hadn´t seen him, otherwise it might follow them, that would be bad.
So Ronnie rushed forward.

And where was he now? He looked around.
How was that possible? Doors that lead to a different world, something like that only existed in fairy tales and Fantasy stories. You would have thought that after becoming a vampire you wouldn´t be easily surprised any more about anything so unreal, but now he was. It took a little time to adjust.

Was this the invisible fortress, and now it was suddenly visible? What else could it be. But what now? Well, that wasn´t up to him to decide, so he waited what was to be done next.
Ronnie still didn´t have a clue what the hell the Prince was looking for, what the treasure was he was after.

The return to the boat might not be easy...but that problem didn´t have to be solved right now luckily, that could wait. If they ever returned, that was. There might be lots of dangers waiting for them here...other creatures, traps, whatever...
Bad boy Ronnie, Pictures of Ronnie
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Margo Moreau
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Rebel Toreador
* * * * * *
Margo had leapt through the opening and landed face down. Little body stretched out on the ground. With a groan she rolled over, now on her back she looked up at the dream-like sky. "Huh" she muttered.

The woman who had recently learned she could see ghosts felt surprisingly calm about this. The Rose surprised herself, even. The cute commando stood up and brushed off the bits of stuff that had cluttered onto her black and white camouflage.

Without having to be told, Margo immediately started to look around with her Auspex, slowly and carefully, up and down and round and round. If she had the time to do so, she took a reading of the ground at her feet, then depending if she saw anything with The Spirit's Touch there, she would go to see if the wall was solid and try again.
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English French Theme Songs: New Rose by The Damned, Mommy's Little Monster by Social Distortion
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Arnold
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Childe
*
The tender-looking young woman's hand touches the cold, dead ground and feels nothing. I am not surprised. After all, centuries must have gone by since anyone was last here. It was abandoned long before I was born. The wall, when I join her in touching it, feels solid. Unlike the frail tenements of the 21st century, the Blüchers designed this place to last.

I hear a startled sound from one of our group and turn my gaze instinctively to the rotted, unhinged wicket gate that guards the entry to this Domain. My dead eyes grow larger as I see what I see.

A creature, standing as tall as two men, is hunched over in front of the gate, at almost the exact place that my little brother's ghoul had occupied while playing fetch. Twelve steps from the stone. The opening from this side shows only its great hind legs of brown blackish fur, its broad hips and its rippled stomach. Giant claws that could tear apart a Kindred with a single slash hang low, as the creature is hunched. Though I cannot see it, I hear its bestial sniffing as it slowly turns around.

It knows that we are close.

I freeze in place and press a finger against my charred lips. Silence must be observed if this illusion is to be maintained. We are one accidental step away from Final Death at the hands of a monster far more powerful than we will ever be.
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Ronnie
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Ancilla
* * * *
In the back of Ronnie´s mind there was still the thought, what if the werewolf had seen him, and what if he could sniff them anyway and found his way here...and now, there he was.
Damn!
And that beast was BIG.
What now...??
If they simply did nothing now, wouldn´t the werewolf discover them sooner or later?
But to slay such a big beast with a little knife, that was no David against Goliath fight, that the little Ronnie-David had a chance of winning, was it?
And yet, that silver knife might be his only chance if the beast attacked.
Ronnie moved his hand slowly, very slowly towards the knife.

Well, if you couldn´t win by strength, then you might win by cleverness and fastness?
To kill that beast seemed to be impossible, but what if Ronnie made it blind?
He could try to jump on its neck, and then, maybe he could manage to hack its eyes out? Then the beast would stumble around blindly. And furious, in pain, and if it could sniff them, maybe it would get them anyway.
But first the Brujah still waited what happened, and if the beast spotted them.
And he prepared himself innerly for a kamikaze attack.
Bad boy Ronnie, Pictures of Ronnie
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Margo Moreau
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Rebel Toreador
* * * * * *
Margo, indeed freezes at the wall, her hand still in contact with the cold stone. Her eyes flare open and shift into her aura sight as she regards the beast. Who knows? It could be some nightmare visage, not truly there. Or, perhaps she could track the thing through its Aura, gain some hint of its intent, perhaps an early warning should they be detected.

The beast is fearsome. The Rose trembles.

She notices Ronnie reaching for the knife she lent him. Margo was glad now he had it, should the beast attack, if it was what it seemed, that silver might be their one desperate chance.

The Toreador also scans around the courtyard... was there a place to run should the beast come?
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English French Theme Songs: New Rose by The Damned, Mommy's Little Monster by Social Distortion
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Jhael
Prince Blucher's Dinner (still not quite house trained)
* * * * * *
Following the gaze of the others in their little party gave him an instant regret for those little pokes at the stone that now felt as he made a racket. It made him regret his own mortality that forced his heart to beat and made him need to fill his lungs with air. Sweat permeated the fabric of his clothing and gathered in his glove that squeezed the hilt of his blade. His stupid flesh would not become a perfect statue, the racing pulse of his arteries too much movement in his view right now.

Mr. Blucher's ghoul still tried, hating the tiny wisps that formed in front of his face at every restrained breath.
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Alarik
"Papers, Please."
* * * * * * *
While remaining perfectly still, Margo reached for her gun and aimed it at the creature that sniffed around the gate. It was at that moment that ill luck struck. The sound of the gun going off in this stilled environment ripped through everyone's ears, the echo of the ear-splitting "BANG" carrying on as the beast howled and reverberating throughout the forest.

After the bullet had struck, only to disappear into a mass of bloody fur, the creature moved, too fast to be seen. There was a loud "CRASH" as it slammed through the rotted wooden gate, sending both of the vast doors tumbling down, much of the rotted wood breaking and crumbling.

In the blink of an eye it was on Margo, roaring as it lashed out with its mean-looking claws. By some miracle, the petite Toreador managed to evade this ferocious attack. But the creature was not done yet. Blind with rage, it slammed its mass of fur and muscle and rage against her, throwing her to the stony courtyard floor. Saliva dripped from its massive teeth as it gazed down on her, his yellow eyes filled with hatred.

The courtyard had just turned into a battle zone.

OOC Combat Notes
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Margo Moreau
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Rebel Toreador
* * * * * *
Combat Note


Margo was taken completely by surprise when the gun went off. Her finger wasn't even on the trigger. What a complete stroke of the worst luck. She was drawing it so carefully, so slowly.

But she barely had any time to think about how shitty her luck was before she was under a drooling mass of fur, teeth and claws. Pinned from the waste down. The little Rose was terrified, but kept her wits. Instinctively, she drew on the power of her vitae to grant her the speed of the Toreador and toughen up her body. Then, from a place deep inside she drew forth the beast; urged on with what will she could muster to feed it. The Rose hissed into the lupine's face, the beast unleashed through red glaring eyes and fully unsheathed fangs. For the briefest of moments, little Margo was as fearsome as the terror atop her.

ST: The creature's pupils seemed to grow much smaller when it beheld her face. Its roar grew to a higher pitch as it released its grip and staggered back on its feet, unaware of the other Kindred that surrounded it.
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English French Theme Songs: New Rose by The Damned, Mommy's Little Monster by Social Distortion
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Ronnie
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Ancilla
* * * *
Ronnie had the silver knife now in his hands, waiting what would happen.
And then suddenly...BANG CRASH ROAR.
WTF?? Was it Margo, who shot?? And now the beast was over her, shit!

She used the presence trick of fear, good. So now the beast was standing again.

Ronnie activated his fastness but couldn´t use it yet. So the only other thing he could do right now was to try and jump on the beast´s neck.
Stabbing the eyes, that was the goal, like planned, so the first step was to get close to the beast´s eyes. Ronnie concentrated hard and jumped, hoping he had judged the distance right.
And yes, yeess, he managed it and landed on the beast´s back, on the upper part near the neck.
Bad boy Ronnie, Pictures of Ronnie
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Alarik
"Papers, Please."
* * * * * * *
OOC note


The sound of gunfire reverberated throughout the courtyard, its echo startling creatures in the surrounding forest. The younger Ventrue moved to stand closer to Margo, so that he might aim for the creature's stomach - its centre point - without immediately hitting the ally that has made its way onto the beast's back.

Never the best shot, Alarik set the pistol to its automatic firing mode, unloading bullet after bullet into the raging mass of fur and claw. Some of the bullets manage to miss the creature entirely, even at this short range. Others thump into its hardened flesh, serving only to enrage it further. A few managed to hit sensitive areas however, biting hard into its appendages, from whence its virile blood spills onto the stony courtyard.

The scent, to vampires, is intoxicating.

Combat notes
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Arnold
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Childe
*
The smell of such powerful blood delights me. My fangs descend as I relish the opportunity to taste it. The risk is great, but surely the benefits of drinking from such a monster will be consummately great. When it has been drained, I will skin it and present the pelt to the Prince of Berlin. The power and the glory will be mine during this battle, fought on the hallowed ground of my own Kindred ancestors.

Drunk on such thoughts, I rush this hulking beast, my arms locking against his. It is powerful, but so am I. While struggling, I keep its arms apart, its claws unable to rake against my withered, corpse-like skin.

We will dance now. I match the steps of its hind paws to retain my balance, always looking upwards, my black eyes staring into those yellow, beastly pools. Combat is about more than just physical strength. It is about dominance. This creature will know that I am its boss. That it will die here tonight, and that I will feast on its blood. It will waver. Eventually.

But for now, we dance, as I seek for an opportunity to sink my teeth into those deeply buried veins.

Fang against claw.

Claw against fang.

This is as it should be.
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Jhael
Prince Blucher's Dinner (still not quite house trained)
* * * * * *
The ground seemed to reverberate as the beast loped through the courtyard in a whirl of matted fur and howling that rose over the shrieking wind. Proximity stunned the young mortal at the massive bulk of the thing, a mountain of fur and fang that reared up over Margo, who now seemed a tiny mouse. Jhael's mouth hung open, blood drained from his face. Frozen legs wanted to flee and hide.

He remembered the last time he tried to flee and hide.

Hello, son.

The Brujah was flinging himself at it. Fleeing wasn't the plan and he couldn't leave Alarik to go piss in the woods. Passing the sabre to his left hand, Jhael jerked his survival knife from the sheathe at the back of his belt. A mean thing, heavy and serrated, meant to be strong enough to skin tough hides. Months ago, he shoved it through the Cheshire Man and it made him scream. He closed his eyes and felt the vitae pulse within, tingling over his skin while gunfire exploded around him, until the space between every deafening blast came further and further apart.

When he opened his eyes, the gunfire stopped and he advanced on what he focused his mind to think of as the mere target rather than MOTHERFUCKING WEREWOLF that he should be running away from. He could not reach the heart or the throat. Sir Arnold was at it's back. Jhael moved low, time slowed around him to afford a good aim to the back of it's leg. The stench was powerful as he darted close, right under a flap of tail, then lunge.

He sunk the knife in with all the force he could muster and ripped to the side, scraping flesh and tough sinews with the jagged edge of the blade. He thought he felt bone under the parting fur and torn muscle. Pulling the blade free, he was about to retreat when he saw the flesh mend and the wound disappear right before his eyes.

Fuck.
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Alarik
"Papers, Please."
* * * * * * *
The nine foot tall beast felt the pressure of attackers closing in on all sides. The blood that seeped from its numerous bullet-wounds only fuelled its frenzy. It would not participate in Arnold's delicate warrior dance, and simply shoved the Ancilla Ventrue back with the full force of his body. For now it would stay away from that other creatures' eager fangs, a drooling snarl warning against renewed encroachment.

It perceived Ronnie as the next-biggest threat. The daring protector of the Kindred expedition was riding his neck like a cowboy trying to tame a wild horse. Unfortunately for him, this werewolf would not be tamed so soon. It reached backwards with cruel force and precision, sinking its ferocious right claw deep into the Brujah's undead flesh. No doubt Ronnie would want to scream, for the werewolf's claws were as deadly to vampires as fire and the light of the sun.

The werewolf's broad arm was hoisted above his body, so that all around could see the impaled, spasming body of their compatriot, standing out sharply against the light of the greenish, dream-like waxing moon. The beast roared powerfully, and seemingly without any effort, sent the injured body hurling through the air towards Margo, whom he feared most of all.

Ronnie's body came down face-first on the flat stony surface with a nasty thud, which was accompanied by the sound of what seemed to be bones cracking, precious vitae flowing from the gaping equidistant wounds in his side. He came down right where the petite Toreador had stood just a moment ago, though Margo had managed to dodge her guardian on pure instinct, remaining in the fight for now.

The creature's response to Jhael was almost an afterthought. The hind leg that the white-haired ghoul had tried to injure kicked him back powerfully, sending the ghoul to skitter and slide along the stony courtyard, leaving blood, dust and bits of skin in its wake. Though only bruised, the ghoul had landed on his head. The world seemed to spin around him, his vision a blurry picture that went in slow motion.

Freed of its assailants, the wounded creature turned its snout towards the moon and let out a powerful howl. It was answered, almost immediately, by three further howls, all of which sounding a lot more close-by than they had a few moments ago.

Combat Notes
Edited by Alarik, Tuesday, 21. January 2014, 00:06.
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Margo Moreau
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Rebel Toreador
* * * * * *
Combat Note


Margo never felt more alive. In her mind she was not only attacking this nightmare beast, but deep down she was carving her way through the fucking bastards that shot her to hell eight years ago. The werewolf at this moment became the host of all her inner fears. And for once, THEY was afraid of HER.

Again she reached into her will, and down for the beast. Taking a step towards the creature she unleashed her fury. Eyes flaring and hissing through her teeth. Margo was crouching, seeming more a beast herself now. The smell of her prey's blood was in the air. It drove her.

Margo leaped at the creature, grabbing it loosely around the leg. With a snarl far deeper and louder then one might expect from the little rose, she dug in her thorns deep deep into its hide. Its wild ichor flowed into her mouth.

Oh... my... Margo simply shuddered with the wild ecstasy brought by the wolf's blood. She could taste its primal rage, and it crashed through her like a red tide, electrifying her entire body. It was the most intense experience and she had to fight to keep her senses. She wrapped her body around its leg and drank deep, groaning in deep satisfaction.

Fighting for one's life was no excuse to not stop and enjoy oneself. It was the Toreador way.

ST: The creature lets out an agonising moan, its black pupils rolling into its skull. Its legs tremble and it falls to its knees.
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English French Theme Songs: New Rose by The Damned, Mommy's Little Monster by Social Distortion
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