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| [ARCHIVED] - MiniQuest™: Alarik's Arthurian Adventure; Alarik, Jhael, Margo, Ronnie | |
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| Topic Started: Thursday, 2. January 2014, 01:59 (4,634 Views) | |
| Alarik | Thursday, 2. January 2014, 01:59 Post #1 |
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"Papers, Please."
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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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| Ronnie | Tuesday, 21. January 2014, 11:11 Post #61 |
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Ancilla
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So now Ronnie was Werewolf-riding...surely that was about as tricky as bullriding, and a lot more dangerous. Ronnie heard the multiple gunshots and noticed that the beast got more furious. And Ronnie´s plan didn´t quite work out. That was a certainty as soon as he felt those claws in his body. The Brujah cried out in pain. Damn, that hurt as much as the claws of a gangrel, Ronnie has made acquaintance with those in the past, and it had taken quite a long time to heal, it couldn´t be healed by blood immeadiatly, like normal injuries. But now it was worse. The claws stuck deep in his side. He was like a potato on a fork, and his flesh and bones seemed to be as soft as a cooked potato when a fork stuck into it. But the beast didn´t bite into him. Instead it lifted him up and threw him...Ronnie saw himself flying towards Margo, but he landed on the stone surface instead. His ribs cracked, which made the wounds worse, and now he saw nothing but the grey stony surface. And then that howling...that meant the beast was calling his friends, to join, surely. Oh great. Ronnie hadn´t caused a single scratch to the damn beast, instead he was already knocked out? What a lousy protector he was. Needing protection now himself? But there was still some energy left in him, and he had held onto the knife tight, so it was still in his hands. If there was one last thing he still could do, he should do it now. One more blow from those claws and he was finished, Ronnie was aware of that. So he had to risk everything now. He must have another try, he must. He wouldn´t be defeated just yet. Damn, and now even the activated fastness wouldn´t help him much. He noticed that as soon as he got back onto his feat. Running? Hoho! Gone was his fastness, he might still be able to stumble a bit, if he was lucky. No! He would do this now, yes! He was a beast, too, he had one inside him, and he would let it help him now. His beast wanted to kill, to take revenge. Ronnie heard some hissing, not aware that it was Margo. He turned around and had a look at the werewolf, who fell on his knees, for whatever reason. The Brujah didn´t really realise that Margo was drinking from the werewolf. And the Brujah for sure didn´t think of drinking. His own pain and the smell of that beast´s blood just fueled his own beast´s instinct to kill. He approached the werewolf as fast as he could, with a grim face. Now there would be no games of trying to hack eyes out, now he would go straight for the heart. And so that´s what he went for, holding the knife still very tight, and with all the force the Brujah could still manage he rammed the silver knife into the werewolf, deep, deeper, letting out a cry, an improvised warcry of his own, no cry of pain this time. The knife was deep in the beast now, and now he could only pray that he had hit the right spot. There was no fleeing now...one of them would die, either the werewolf or him. But at least the Brujah had done his best now, hadn´t he? If only it was enough... |
Bad boy Ronnie, Pictures of Ronnie![]() English German | |
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| Jhael | Tuesday, 21. January 2014, 12:59 Post #62 |
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Prince Blucher's Dinner (still not quite house trained)
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A slam to the chest and Jhael was shot on a concrete mini cruise. It ended so soon, docking him on the cold stone on the left side of the courtyard before he could really get into all that invigorating friction and tossing. Blood tickled from a nice raw scrape over the side of his face and it was a wonder he didn't roll over his knife. He lay in dazed shock with his hand curling on the hilt beside him. Owned. The night sky stopped spinning and he realigned back to proper time, his focus demolished like everything else. It's all over, he thought as he heard the roaring and screaming continue, then he saw Mr. Blucher still on his feet. No, not yet. He crawled along the side of the wall as a battered little insignificant thing. If they couldn't kill it, not fighting meant flight, but not into the woods. It's a fucking fortress, there's gotta be a way. He lifted his scraped, bleeding head to scan the walls, squinting into every shadow. Not far from where he knelt, a loose plank tilted over an edged outline and pitch darkness. Trying not to piss himself, Jhael pushed himself to his feet to make a run for it. Hearing horrible things behind him, he disappeared under that plank, then reappeared to shout out with the strongest stage voice he could muster. "EVERYONE, OVER HERE!" It was a window he found, too small for that beast to squeeze through. But, holy shit. His eyes grew wide at the frenzied scene. What was that Margo and Ronnie were doing? Then, the pain kicked in. |
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| Alarik | Tuesday, 21. January 2014, 23:08 Post #63 |
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"Papers, Please."
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A chilly silence came over the courtyard as the beast fell, first onto its knees, then backwards. Instead of a ferocious howling, it now merely emitted a silent, whimpering groan, which was not unlike that of a dog that has been abandoned by its master. The defeated creature changed shape, growing ever smaller. Fur and skin retreated from Margo's fangs and Ronnie's hands until only 5 feet and three inches of rosy flesh remained. A skinny girl of barely sixteen lay there, naked, and gasping for air amidst a pool of her own blood. Her wild ginger hair and light dusting of freckles contrasted sharply against her face as it grew more pale. Her tiny, well-worn hands tried to clutch around the silvery knife that stuck in her chest, which seemed to burn ever-so painfully. Her hazel eyes were fading fast, but looked at the two closest Kindred, Margo and Ronnie, with trembling fear. "Bitte Gnade", she begged as tears began to roll down from her dimpled cheeks. Notification of end of combat
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| Margo Moreau | Tuesday, 21. January 2014, 23:40 Post #64 |
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Rebel Toreador
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Margo was still raging on the creatures blood, but sympathy did work into her head. Margo reacted quickly while her kindred body was still charged with supernatural strength and speed. Unless she was stopped by one of her allies, she would draw the knife out of the girl, letting it drop against the cold stone. Margo growled "Lets give her friends something else to worry about!" She hoisted up the wounded girl and brought her across the courtyard. The Rose then brought her out of the obscured courtyard into the forest. Hopefully, they would want to save her more then hunt vampires. Margo then turned and made her way back towards Jhael's rally point. The rush of combat faded. The strength in her arms slacked, her body became less sturdy and more supple. Her steps slowed to normal as she lost her blood fueled alacrity. Deep in Margo's wounded soul, something fundamental shifted. In her mind, she had finally faced down her fear. And this time, she won. Edited by Margo Moreau, Wednesday, 22. January 2014, 23:22.
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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 | Wednesday, 22. January 2014, 01:03 Post #65 |
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Ancilla
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The struggle was over...and then the beast suddenly shrunk...and turned into a teenage girl. Oh shit...even though Ronnie had been injured badly by the beast, the fear and the tears of the girl touched him. And he understood the German words she uttered. His hand had let go of the knife when the beast fell on the ground. He didn´t have a heart of stone, so he felt pity for the girl. Shit, he had almost killed a girl... But that had been a raging monstrum only minutes ago, he reminded himself. And yet he couldn´t help feeling really bad and guilty about this. So he didn´t object when Margo drew the knife out and carried the girl away. Ronnie picked up the knife and tucked it away. There could be no triumph in a victory like this. But he had just defended the people he was supposed to protect. "The other beasts might come here, too. We better hurry. I won´t be able to do much more fighting, I´m afraid..." Ronnie felt now the pain of his wounds again a lot more. His coat was shredded where the beast had dug its claws into him, and his wounds were still bleading, it seemed as if there were even some ribs visible. The Brujah was visibly not in a good state physically. |
Bad boy Ronnie, Pictures of Ronnie![]() English German | |
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| Jhael | Wednesday, 22. January 2014, 16:43 Post #66 |
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Prince Blucher's Dinner (still not quite house trained)
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The young ghoul crouched under the plank with a throbbing head, but through the blood, bruises and scrapes he stared out at the courtyard in astonishment at the thing Ron just did. The beast melted away to leave... some girl there with a knife in her chest. He furrowed his brow and squinted through the trickle of blood in his eye. He couldn't see her in the dark with everyone around, not from here. What were they doing? he wanted to scream in fearful impatience. He heard all that pack howl. More could rush in any second! Reluctant to leave his little hiding place, he turned his Maglite on towards that window. His light shone on a small room with a low stone ceiling. A stone tomb and some remains of rotted furniture and a broken iron grate. Another dark hole that could lead further in. He exhaled, having been expecting some scary thing to shoot up and scream in his face like in the movies. The "cat" moment. It might not be entirely safe, but surely it was safer than out here. "Guys...!" he called out again, then blinked over his shoulder. What was Margo doing with that girl? Surely, she's dead. Just hide the body and go! Oh, god. Get over here! Jhael didn't want to see more wolves. |
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| Alarik | Wednesday, 22. January 2014, 21:57 Post #67 |
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"Papers, Please."
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Alarik was standing beside Margo before she could rest the young woman's body on the leafy forest floor. He briefly touched her cheek, his eyes drilling into hers as he spoke quietly in the German language. For the duration of his carefully crafted sentences, the woman's eyes seemed somehow blank. Then she closed them, her breath steadying into a calm rhythm. "Just give her a quick death", Arnold commented from the sidelines. There seemed to be something of a disappointment in the elder Ventrue's voice, though it was impossible to tell why. The younger Ventrue helped to carry her out regardless, briefly crouching out into the forest so that he could lay her further from the gate. He returned within half a minute, apparently unseen, and exchanged a long look with his senior. More information was thus exchanged than words ever could. After half a minute of this, Arnold gestured silently towards Jhael, and the pair of Ventrue proceeded to move on the ghoul's indicated position. Ronnie and Margo, it seemed, were expected to follow. Arnold was first to go down the rabbit hole, his massive frame just barely squeezing through the narrow window, whose grated iron bars had fallen into dusty disrepair on the floor inside. Alarik would cover the rear, wordlessly offering his assistance to Margo and Ronnie. Ronnie because he was injured, and Margo because she was still a Lady. The Ventrue was still standing on the outside when several growling voices could be heard outside the courtyard. The wolves, it seemed, had arrived on the scene and found their compatriot. Edited by Alarik, Wednesday, 22. January 2014, 21:58.
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| Ronnie | Wednesday, 22. January 2014, 23:14 Post #68 |
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Ancilla
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Ronnie wondered what happened to the girl, and why the Prince went with Margo. The Brujah heard Jhael call them. When the Ventrue went into that direction Ronnie followed them, to walk was still managable luckily. It seemed Jhael had discovered a way to get inside the fortress. A window. Good. The beasts could only get into there if they changed shape. Ronnie wondered if they could very easily change back and forth. If they could, then that little window would be no obstacle for them. But maybe the ceiling inside it was too low for such a huge beast to walk around in there comfortably, that would be good. Normally Ronnie wouldn´t have liked anybody to assist him with climbing in somewhere, but now he was grateful for it and accepted it. And for once it was good not to be very tall and broad, so that Ronnie fitted through that window without problems. It was just about in time that they got in here, the other beasts were already very near. Hopefully they wouldn´t follow them in here. But if they waited for their return, then it might get difficult to get back to the boat. But it was better to think only one step ahead now. |
Bad boy Ronnie, Pictures of Ronnie![]() English German | |
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| Margo Moreau | Wednesday, 22. January 2014, 23:30 Post #69 |
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Rebel Toreador
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Margo was simply amazed at what she thought was tenderness from her prince towards the injured girl. She was touched, and for several seconds looked over his face. The Rose wondered how many had seen this side of Alarik. She closed her little mouth when she realized it had dropped open in surprise. She gratefully accepted the hand up through the window, though her tiny frame fit through with no effort. Once on the other side she pulled out her pistol and scowled at it. She deftly cleared the chamber, then put the safety on and returned it to her holster. |
![]() English French Theme Songs: New Rose by The Damned, Mommy's Little Monster by Social Distortion | |
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| Arnold | Thursday, 23. January 2014, 00:02 Post #70 |
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Childe
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My little brother slips in through the window and takes up a position near it, watching out over the square. The beasts are close. I smell the blood of their fallen pup, and try to set aside the kill that I've been denied, and the pelt that I will not be able to present to the Berliner Prince. There are more immediate concerns. I speak quietly to the little rose, the Brujah and the ghoul: "Keep your voices down and do not speak unless something needs to be said. We'll sweep this place from bottom to top. Once we reach the topside, we should be able to properly judge the situation on the outside. If the illusion holds, they won't be able to find their way in... again." I kneel before the Brujah, running my thick fingers over his wounds. Had this fellow been mortal, he would've been dead. Being undead protects him now, too. Infections won't make these holes of mangled flesh and coagulated blood rot and fester, as happened to so many of my still-living comrades on the front. Lockhart will live, but the ability of the squad to project brute force has been greatly diminished. I appraise the Rose girl with a frown. She was responsible for this whole mess, her accidental discharge nearly costing us all our lives. But then, she had conducted herself well in battle. I can appreciate that. Instead of lecturing her about gun safety, I merely nod. "Moreau. Take point. Alarik and I will be right behind you." |
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| Margo Moreau | Thursday, 23. January 2014, 02:51 Post #71 |
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Rebel Toreador
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Margo was well aware that her carelessness in having a round chambered and the safety off had led to Ronnie nearly getting ripped in half. She was inwardly furious at herself. But that would have to wait. If they survived, she owed him big time. For now she gave him an apologetic look. She held still as Sir Arnold had a look at her. Waiting to be smacked off the side of the head and reprimanded. Instead, he gave her instruction. Take point... got it she muttered so softly it might as well have been just thought. Good thing too that she had seen enough movies and TV to know what Arnold meant. Resisting the urge to draw out the pistol she just sent to sit in the corner she stepped forward. The Rose pulled up her [heightened senses] and partially crouched. She moved forward slowly, testing the ground carefully with foot pressure if it looked at all precarious. The last thing she wanted was to walk over some loose stone only to have it give out under her weight, or the weight of her bigger companions. Margo was quite intent on seeing or hearing anything that lay ahead of them. Not trained for what she was doing, she failed to look back or carefully pace how far from her friends she was getting. Though, if she stopped hearing the rustle of clothes and quiet steps she would stop and turn. Margo resisted a sour smirk as she nursed an ironic thought. It'd be nice to have Toran here right now... |
![]() English French Theme Songs: New Rose by The Damned, Mommy's Little Monster by Social Distortion | |
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| Jhael | Thursday, 23. January 2014, 04:26 Post #72 |
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Prince Blucher's Dinner (still not quite house trained)
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The damage on Ron disturbed Jhael. That little girl really fucked him up. Sure, he fucked her up back, but it wasn't reassuring to know that there were things out there more dangerous than the bloodsuckers he was with. The young ghoul, with his bangs sticking to the blood clotted scrape over his head and a shirt torn at the elbow, sidled up to his boss. He took comfort in his solemn presence. Fully aware of his status as some kind of nutri-shake, he gave a sideways glance to the mangled Brujah as he swept his Maglite about. His own blood stuck dry to his face was itching. He wondered if he was smelling pretty good here, but Sir Arnold said to keep his mouth shut, so he did. |
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| Ronnie | Thursday, 23. January 2014, 12:36 Post #73 |
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Ancilla
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The pain of the wounds would now accompany Ronnie the rest of the night, and after that still for several nights, if he survived. It hurt even more for a moment when Sir Arnold touched Ronnie´s wounds, but the Brujah didn´t show that. It was part of being Brujah, that you endured physical pain of injuries stoically, and that´s what Ronnie did. Of course any Brujah with pride wouldn´t whine in a situation like this. Why did Margo look at him apologetically? Because it was her gunshot that drew the beast´s attention to them? Oh well, shit happens...she surely hadn´t meant to endanger them, Ronnie wasn´t angry at her. Take point? Ronnie didn´t know what that meant, but luckily it wasn´t him who was supposed to do that. Maybe it meant checking out the surroundings, or something like that? For sure Margo was the right one for that with her heightened senses, and obviously she now checked out the place before they followed. A walking stick would be great now. Ronnie followed behind the others, glad that it wasn´t necessary to walk fast. |
Bad boy Ronnie, Pictures of Ronnie![]() English German | |
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| Alarik | Friday, 24. January 2014, 20:12 Post #74 |
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"Papers, Please."
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As they proceeded through the darkness, the men of the group found that they needed to bend forward if they wanted to avoid hitting their head against the low ceiling. They passed through empty holes that might have passed for doorways, exploring room after windowless room without encountering a single soul. Each of these spaces was filthy and bare, the floor sown rich with the remnants of rotted materials and dust blown in from the courtyard window that they'd entered through. A chilly breeze made the wind howl through these corridors on occasion, a stark reminder of the wolves that held their guard at the castle gates. A narrow stairway circled upwards, but on Arnold's instructions they passed it by until they'd methodically searched the entire basement floor. Naught but darkness revealed itself down below, though a few especially sturdy pieces of furniture had survived the ages' decay: a heavy wooden chair, a metal cooking pan and a rack filled with crudely shaped bottles (many of them broken on the ground) provided some evidence as to the earlier purpose of these respective rooms. After hitting a dead end, the group doubled back towards the circling stairs, whose steps were so worn and narrow that it was difficult not to slip on them. Though the stairway continued to circle upwards, Arnold stopped the group from going any further, gesturing towards something that glimmered in the adjoining chamber. They had found the Court Chapel of House Blücher. A pale greenish corpse-light streamed in from three vast stained glass windows that had been integrated into its lofty verticals. Centre stage was a depiction of the Expulsion from Paradise in the early medieval style: flat, two-dimensional figures clothed in rags, weeping as an angel sent them away from the gates of Paradise: And the LORD God said, Behold, the man is become as one of us, to know good and evil: and now, lest he put forth his hand, and take also of the tree of life, and eat, and live for ever. Therefore the LORD God sent him forth from the garden of Eden, to till the ground from whence he was taken. So he drove out the man; and he placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life. The scene depicted in glass and lead on the left hand side of the chapel depicted a theme very common in art. It showed a a strong, muscled, bearded man holding a club aloft over a younger man, whose eyes were filled with terror. The first murder of Abel by Cain, the original sin that created the Kindred and their kind. Even there, an angel watched from above, hands clasped over her mouth. An ancient Bible sat open on the lectern facing the Altar, seeming seemed so fragile that it might crumble to dust when touched. In painstakingly drawn blackletter, in Church Latin, it spelled out the meaning of the final window, which had been made almost entirely from shards of blue-stained glass: And the waters prevailed exceedingly on the earth, and all the high hills under the whole heaven were covered. The waters prevailed fifteen cubits upward, and the mountains were covered. And all flesh died that moved on the earth: birds and cattle and beasts and every creeping thing that creeps on the earth, and every man. All in whose nostrils was the breath of the spirit of life, all that was on the dry land, died. So He destroyed all living things which were on the face of the ground: both man and cattle, creeping thing and bird of the air. They were destroyed from the earth. Only Noah and those who were with him in the ark remained alive. And the waters prevailed on the earth one hundred and fifty days. While this window did indeed depict a Biblical theme, it did not do so from the usual perspective. There was no Ark of Noah in this window, the traditional symbol of God's Mercy. Instead there was only a crushing depth of water that filled the entire panel, with fanged figurines floating underneath, their arms stretched heavenwards to exemplify their torment. Two of the figures were engaged in some kind of combat, biting at each other. Red glass shards floated all around them there, lit up hellishly by the greenish light. This scene did not celebrate a merciful God, but instead showed the forced cannibalism of the Kindred, whom the great floods had not killed outright. IC - Margo only |
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| Jhael | Saturday, 25. January 2014, 19:14 Post #75 |
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Prince Blucher's Dinner (still not quite house trained)
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If Mr. Blucher noticed his pointless little trick in the courtyard, he wasn't saying anything about it. His boss was being so quiet. Not that he was ever a chatterbox, but more than usual as they made their way through a place begging to be haunted. The entire fortress could be a ghost. A very solid one, he was reminded when a bump on the low stone ceiling joined the scrape he earned outside. Jhael's brain was rattled to a throbbing whine, but he clenched his jaw to bear it. Not like he had it the worst here, he thought with a glance to Ron. They came to the chapel and he stilled in reverent silence as their very presence caused dust to swirl and dance in the eerie light. Some places had a way of feeling sacred even to one who has no faith at all and this was one. He took in the story the windows told. One by one, coming to the last that made the fine hairs on the back of his neck rise and gooseflesh to form over his skin. In spite of that subdued terror, excitement made him reach for his phone. If only Uncle Praz were here, he thought in silence as he raised the phone to take a picture. And Moshe... |
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| Margo Moreau | Sunday, 26. January 2014, 20:30 Post #76 |
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Rebel Toreador
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And so on Margo led the group as Arnold directed. The whole fortress seemed filled with a pregnant silence. A wail waiting just behind the walls. The Chapel. Margo's eyes widened as she took in the amazing room. Full of ancient grace and despair. The windows, so alive in color. Margo was not a religious woman, she never had been. But nonetheless one could not help but feel a sense of sleepy awe about this room. The Toreador took a few steps in, then froze looking around to try and find where the chorus and bells were coming from "Do you hear that?" Margo asked in a whisper. Tonight, Margo was really wishing she had taken Latin when she had the chance. |
![]() English French Theme Songs: New Rose by The Damned, Mommy's Little Monster by Social Distortion | |
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| Alarik | Sunday, 26. January 2014, 22:17 Post #77 |
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"Papers, Please."
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Alarik didn't answer immediately, seeing how his formal master had stored towards the altar and fallen on his knees before it. With the hulking monster apparently lost in devout prayer, he approached Margo and inquired with a whisper of his own: "Hear what?" He glanced in turn to Jhael, somewhat irritated by the fact that the youth had pulled out his phone, though he could hardly blame the lad for being a more effective record-keeper than he could ever be, just dictating what he'd remember from tonight to a ghoul behind a typewriter. "I only hear the wind." |
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| Margo Moreau | Sunday, 26. January 2014, 22:47 Post #78 |
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Rebel Toreador
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Margo turned around once... twice... trying to hear, trying to see. Auspex in full gear. She replied to the prince quietly "Chanting, and bells. Chanting in Latin." Margo did her best to echo the words so Alarik could hear them. she whispered brokenly, sounding it out "Ego sum resurrectio et vita: qui credit in me etiam si mortuus fuerit, vivet: et omnis qui vivit et credit in me non morietur in aeternum." Should nothing occur, or should she not be directed otherwise; Margo would slowly approach the altar, intending to use Spirits Touch once she reached it. Edited by Margo Moreau, Sunday, 26. January 2014, 22:51.
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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 | Monday, 27. January 2014, 00:05 Post #79 |
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Ancilla
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Walking, walking and walking. Damn. This was tedious. And those stairs that led upstairs, Ronnie wasn´t sure he could manage those, so he hoped they wouldn´t have to go up there. A chapel, oh yeah great, the Brujah thought without any enthusiasm whatsoever, he didn´t care a damn about the windows and other stuff in there and didn´t look at it very closely. He still didn´t know what the hell they were looking for anyway. So let them look. Ronnie was a bit surprised that Sir Arnold went onto his knees. Looked as if he started praying. The Prince and Margo were whispering. And Ronnie took the opportunity to lean against a wall. Sitting down would be even better. But getting up would likely be hard and hurtful then. |
Bad boy Ronnie, Pictures of Ronnie![]() English German | |
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| Alarik | Monday, 27. January 2014, 21:48 Post #80 |
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"Papers, Please."
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Until now, the cold stones had yielded none of their secrets. The centuries that had passed between the fortress' abandonment and the arrival of the expedition had chiselled away at all the emotional ties that age-old Kindred had once felt in connection to this place. Until now. When Margo touched the altar, she suddenly became aware of a presence that was both new to her and at the same time an intimately familiar aspect of the human experience. She thought she felt a strong but gentle arm around her shoulder, one that should have been there years ago. A deep male voice could be heard in her ears, sounding apologetic about not having been there all these years, even if she couldn't make out any specific words. Even in the absence of any rational evidence, she knew that such a feeling of intimate familiarity could only come from being around close kin. This altar belonged to a man of the same blood, of the same flesh. She was made in his image. This had been her father's altar. Her long-lost father was here. In this fortress. Close-by and watching her with benevolent, if mournful eyes. But would anyone believe her? "Well?" Even as Alarik's cold, inquisitive speech shook her from her reverie, the memory of her father remained with her, like a warm blanket. Arnold and Alarik were both watching her, suggesting that she'd stood there idly for quite some time. |
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1:57 AM Jul 11