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 (4,633 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 went weak in the knees, she put her back to the altar and slid down onto the ground ending up in a ball with her head on her knees. She rocked her head back and forth on top of them. After a few moments she slid onto her side, her shoulder and head still leaned up against the altar, but she was facing the room, and the prince. There was crimson stains on her lower lids where vitae was threatening was to fall into tears.

The Rose spoke through a throat thick with emotion, as much to herself as to the room. "I... its not possible... I never knew him..." Margo closed her eyes as she tried to contain her emotions, a failed attempt as she continued in earnest. "My father... he has been here, or he is here... somehow. I can't believe it"

Margo looked over at her prince, pleadingly "How can this be? Did you know this? Why would you keep something like this from me?!"

The Rose was quivering, in contrast to the woman who stood her ground in the courtyard against the wolf... now she seemed a fragile flower indeed, swaying as if caught in a sudden summer squall.
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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)
* * * * * *
The bruised ghoul had not heard a thing. Not a damn thing. He was taking pictures. Sacred or not, if he got out of this alive he wanted to show Uncle Praz. So, he took pictures, careful to avoid catching even a sliver of Sir Arnold. Or, anyone else.

However, when he turned around after getting a close up of one of those windows, Margo was framed in his camera view. On the ground. Rocking. Disturbed, he lowered his phone. She would not appreciate him catching her without her dignity on. He furrowed his brow in confusion at his boss after her outburst about her father.

Was she cursed? Struck mad by some ancient dark magic trap triggered by their presence? If they stayed longer, would they all go mad, one by one? He bit his lip and eyed the door, no longer keen to stay in this chapel.
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Ronnie
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Ancilla
* * * *
Nothing much happening, and the Prince became a bit impatient, it seemed.
And then Margo lost her composure all of a sudden. That was a surprise.
What was up? Her father has been here? How could she be so certain about that if she didn´t even know him. And how was the Prince supposed to have known about the father.

Oh well, Ronnie wouldn´t interfere with this, why should he, there was nothing sensible he could say about this, but he wondered how the Prince would react and looked into his direction.
Bad boy Ronnie, Pictures of Ronnie
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Alarik
"Papers, Please."
* * * * * * *
The Princes' hands reached out swiftly to grab the small Rose, pulling her to her feet in a single swift motion and supporting her with his left arm. His right hand grabbed her chin, so that he could stare into her eyes. Despite the pose, there was nothing romantic about the gesture. The lines on his face were hard, and his expression showed no sympathy for her sudden emotional state.

[Dominate/Mesmerize] "You will regain control over your emotions immediately and explain what just transpired. After that, you will proceed in accordance with Peer Arnold's orders."
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Margo Moreau
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Rebel Toreador
* * * * * *
Margo at first tenses and resists the sudden seizure. Her skin is supple from the blood she has infused in her body and tingling from her senses having been driven to such sensitivity for so long. Under the princes grip her eyes widen and her tiny mouth drops open in surprise. Instinctively in her current state she tilts her head back and exposes the soft of her throat in submission. Alaricks hand covers a considerable part of the small woman's face. She gasps once and then is still as the prince's domination locks her mind in a cold iron vice.

Margo's voice in response to the prince waivers at first, but then finds more shades of the woman's usual pluck as the command to come to her senses takes hold. "I saw and felt the presence of my father, it was so real and it shocked me. I never met him, never knew anything about him, Yet I knew it was him..." then the prince's last command. She nods and closes her eyes showing utter compliance.

She remained wrapped in the princes grasp, quivering, until he releases her. Then she bows obediently to Arnold and waits in silence.
Edited by Margo Moreau, Thursday, 30. January 2014, 00:15.
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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
* * * *
Oh damn, the Prince brainfucked Margo.
Ronnie was quite sure that´s what it was. So that´s why his Sire had always warned him about looking into a Ventrue´s eyes. So now Ronnie saw it himself, he hadn´t witnessed that before.
The Prince simply urged Margo to look into his eyes and then commanded her. Would it work?
Yes, it did work indeed. She became calmer and gave a clearer explanation.

Poor Margo. Even Ronnie might have turned into an emotional wreck, if it was him who had felt his dad´s presence here. It would shake him as much. Ronnie wished he could comfort Margo somehow.

And it obviously wasn´t a good thing to do behave in a way that the Prince disliked very much, otherwise he might brainfuck Ronnie, too, and the Brujah certainly wouldn´t fancy that.
Bad boy Ronnie, Pictures of Ronnie
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Arnold
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Childe
*
Moments like these justify my deep resentment of Alphonse. If he had deigned to accompany us tonight, we wouldn't have had to bring a woman and a child along for the ride. Even if he had given us more information about this old haunt, that'd have been grand. Instead, we're stuck here, trying to figure things out on our own.

"It has been abandoned too long for the neonate's father to be here", I grumble. My moment of solemn prayer has been disturbed by these theatrics, and I resent that, too. But what's even worse is that this woman, this utter stranger, felt a connection to this place that is withheld from me. God doesn't answer my prayers here, and my ancestors choose to remain quiet as well.

They can all get lost.

"I'll take point", I decide, letting Margo follow along with the rest of the group. In my judgement, she is in no state to be our eyes and ears until she recovers from her ill-timed epiphany.

I lead the group out of the chapel and into the vast common room on the ground floor. This vast chamber is where most of the castle's inhabitants would have lived, slept and feasted. Now, it seems strangely empty. The huge, black fireplace on the side is cold, and the broad wooden tables have been overrun by cobwebs. The wind streams in through the large window that looks out over the courtyard, a broken shutter banging against the stones while a light drizzle sweeps in.

Before exploring the rest of the castle I decide to have a look out the window, my long coat sweeping backwards as I turn against the wind. Moisture cools the burnt skin of my hideous face, but I resist the instinct to close my eyes. I gaze beyond the empty courtyard into the distance, beyond the lightless barrier that obscures this place.

I do not like what I see.

My little brother comes to stand beside me, his face all a-frown. When the others join me, I wordlessly point a finger in a westerly direction, towards the lakeside inlet where our boat had been 'parked'.

One of the creatures is inside its half-sunken white hulk, carrying most of my supplies in its huge, hairy arms. A hole appears to have been struck in the hull, leaving it a half-sunken wreck. Our means of escape, it seems, has been cut off.

"I'm counting three. One near the boat and two prowling outside the castle walls. They know we're here", my blood-brother whispers.

"If they do not leave, we may have to spend the day here", I reply in a similarly muted tone of voice. It is not the sun that I fear most, though. It is the creatures. Unburdened by fear of the sun's rays, they will no doubt continue to look for us, perhaps even managing to divine the meaning of the stone's inscription. That would be a quick death. The alternative, to remain trapped within these walls until the blood has ran out, seems worse.

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Margo Moreau
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Rebel Toreador
* * * * * *
Margo followed Arnold numbly. Her mind was slowly recovering from the shellshock visited on it by her reading, then Alarik's brain smackdown. The little Rose was not alert as she had been. She fell into brooding about her vision, snapping out of it when someone spoke or some obstacle presented itself.

Then...

The revelation of three prowling lupines, not to mention possibly being in mortal danger, certainly did the trick of pulling Margo out of her gloomy reverie. "Shit" she muttered in a voice more her own. "So much for quid pro quo" the Rose said bitterly "we should have killed her." Margo glanced between Jhael's wound, and then to Ronnie. Wincing again at his state.

Margo was really hoping that this sword Alarik was hunting after was fucking Excalibur. Especially with Ronnie so injured, if they had to fight those wolves... the odds didn't seem promising.

If there was only a way to get at least one away... Margo thought. She watched their pattern, did they stay in pairs? Were they split up? To bad they only had pistols, they might be able to shoot them from the... hey... "This might sound stupid, but where would the weapons be if there were any here, you know like in the movies, the big crossbows and catapults and stuff?"
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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 followed the others into the big common room. He was still longing to sit down. Laying down would be even better.

Things could be worse...and they got worse. The beasts had sunk the boat and were waiting for them now.
Damn. It looked as if they had to swim back.
Well, the others might manage to do that theoretically, maybe. The Brujah doubted that he could. But they would have to reach the water first, without being torn to pieces.
He was angry at himself now, for choosing the wrong fighting tactics. If he had aimed for the heart immediatly he might not be injured now.

Weapons? Any other than silver weapons were pretty useless against the werewolves anyway. But clutching at straws was better than nothing, hoho.
Bad boy Ronnie, Pictures of Ronnie
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Alarik
"Papers, Please."
* * * * * * *
The Beast that was carrying the supplies appeared to be alone, and disappeared out of sight soon after leaving the vessel. The other two were walking around together. One of them had shocking white fur, the other a mottled grey pelt. Though it was hard to tell from a distance, these two seemed far larger than the 'pup' that they'd fought in the castle courtyard.

"Any siege weapons would have rotted away centuries ago", Alarik said quietly. "However, there is an armoury that may not have been emptied. And the blades of the seven's lost knights are supposed to be in the main hall, upstairs. I suggest we go there next."
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Margo Moreau
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Rebel Toreador
* * * * * *
Margo nodded. She seemed more confident now and started to lead the way as she had before unless she was stopped. She kicked in her [Heightened Senses] and started up the way her prince indicated.

She was concentrating on her task but her mind occasionally decided to have thoughts... Perhaps we should attack now, while the third one is gone... I wonder if there will be any range weapons at all upstairs.... I really wish I had a rifle... if Ronnie doesn't have a gun, perhaps I should give him one of mine and take back the knife. He is hurt, we should keep him away from the claws... we should have killed that wolf that attacked us... I am so pissed they didn't just take her and go. Fucking dammit... I am not going to die out here. I refuse...
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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)
* * * * * *
I've seen this movie! It's that one where someone says "It could be worse" before a portal to Hades opens behind him and a demon pokes out to chomp off his head. Jhael resolved not to say or even think anything optimistic, which was an easy resolution to follow while watching werewolves tear up their escape route in a room full of vampires suggesting that they're going to sleep here, leaving him awake and alone in this (no doubt haunted) fortress.

Jhael brooded beside Alarik as they moved along through dark halls and low ceilings, the ghoul wearing a frown to match his domnitor's. Ms. Moreau's madness will prove contagious. Ron's wounds will push him into a nice frenzy. They will all wake up with the munchies and he's the only McMuffin for miles around. The "Blades of the Lost Knights" will be cursed to turn them all into wraiths to haunt these old walls FOREVER. Portals to Hades.

Jhael unhooked the canteen from his belt, splashed a tiny bit on his wound before having a gulp. There were so many ways he could die here. Why go out with something as boring as infection or thirst?
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Ronnie
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Ancilla
* * * *
The seven lost knights? That sounded encouraging. And they themselves, weren´t they already the five lost adventurers?
Ronnie shuffled slowly behind the others.

Oh well, except Dove nobody would miss Ronnie anyway, if he didn´t return.
Dove, London...all of that seemed so far away and unreal at the moment.
If only this adventure here was just a bad dream, and he woke up any minute. But no, it wasn´t, all this shit here was for real.
And their chance of surviving this was low, getting lower all the time.
Daredevils didn´t live long, usually. He should have known that.
Bad boy Ronnie, Pictures of Ronnie
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Alarik
"Papers, Please."
* * * * * * *
A short journey up the narrow stairs brought the group to its intended destination. The main hall was almost as large as the Common Room downstairs, though narrow side chambers connected by corridors would have provided ghouls and mortal servants with a means of skulking about unseen.

It was dominated by a solid, circular table of heavy stone, which had been painted at some point, centuries ago. The faded colours bore witness to some intricate pattern that had long since become unrecognisable.

The chairs still remained, carved of the same cold stone, the same cold stone. The largest of these had seen the image of a large crest with crossed keys in the centre chiselled into it, a pattern familiar to the white-haired ghoul in the group. It faced towards the courtyard window, and had inscribed in it on both sides:

INGFRIDUS
MALLEUS
TZIMISCORUM


The other seats were all of the same size, and had simple names inscribed upon them. Clockwise, these names were: ANTONIUS - VICTORUS - OSWALDUS - ALPHONSUS - DANISCUS - DORINA. This last seat, which was placed immediately to the left of Ingfried's, was round-edged, having altogether more female sensibility to it.

Three blades were laid out on the table, their tips facing towards the centre. Judging by their position, they had belonged to the three eldest of the knights, respectively. Ingfried's Bastard Sword faced the window, its nearly unblemished steel showing a silvery sheen, as if it were reflecting moonlight. Next to it lay Antonio's German Falchion, which showed several discolourations but was still in a remarkably good condition. The largest weapon, though, had once belonged to Victor Blücher. His two-handed Norman Sword was almost the size of a man, and crossed over the table's centre position with ease. Small wonder that Arnold gave it covetous looks from the moment that they had entered.

Weapon racks were arrayed on each side of the room, but they had all been emptied. Alphonse, it seemed, had sold everything of value that wasn't implicitly associated with this place when he had finally chosen to abandon it.

Margo only
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Margo Moreau
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Rebel Toreador
* * * * * *
Margo was fairly awestruck upon entering this room. It was crafted to evoke the Arthurian Round Table, and it did so convincingly. The little Rose took a few awkward steps in the room and looked about. Without thinking, she uttered "Wow..."

Then she stopped, and her head darted about as if chasing a dragonfly... she held up a hand, begging for silence... Margo said "I hear a voice... different this time. Not just a feeling like before, a voice... it wants something... it wants something from ME!" Margo shuddered...

Margo spoke into thin air "who are you, I can't understand..." The little Rose listened as carefully as she could, trying to mimic out loud whatever words she could hear on the chance that one of the others could understand them...
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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)
* * * * * *
Jhael closed his eyes to listen, straining to the beckoning of spooks. Nothing. The only whispers were that of shifting coats and footsteps on ancient stone. The madness hadn't reached him yet. Maybe it only afflicted them.

The blades drew his attention. Particularly the falchion. I could use that. As long as it wasn't cursed.

He couldn't use a curse.

He remained quiet, his eyes searching as he slowly circled the table. The crest elicited an immediate jolt of recognition. That symbol that was on his hip... and elsewhere. How ancient could it be? He noted there were seven chairs and three swords. Were there seven swords before? It wouldn't make sense for them to be stolen. Who would go through the trouble and leave these three here?

Seven and three. Hm. It could be something that seven is a significant occult number, but all numbers are significant. Jhael's curiosity for creepy things didn't extend far into numerology. Now, that inscription...

MALLEUS TZIMISCORUM. Malleus. ... orum. That was familiar. Malleus Maleficarum. Ye olde witchburning book and a common prop in horror story lore. If only he could remember the exact translation. Not that he knew what "Tzimis" is. Probably not related to Tzatziki the Greek sauce.

Hm.

The beam of his flashlight flickered and began to wander to chase away the shadows and scan the rest of the room while waiting for orders, while waiting through Ms. Moreau's episode. The walls, the ceiling, the floor. Could the stone be hiding more?
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Ronnie
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Ancilla
* * * *
A short journey, oh yeah? Not for Ronnie, for him the climb up the stairs seemed to be endlessly long, every step of those stairs was a strain to manage.
What a relief when that torture finally ended.

The swords looked good. Ronnie would have liked to take the bastard sword into his hands, but Sir Arnold might not like that, so the Brujah better didn´t touch the swords.

The word that Jhael didn´t know was the only one that meant anything to Ronnie.
"Tzimisce - that´s a Sabbat clan."
That couldn´t be a coincidence surely? What the hell had the bloody Tzimisce to do with this?

All that stuff here seemed to be pretty old. Ronnie wondered if the Camarilla had even existend when this table was made.

Then Margo was hearing something again. What language, he wondered. German maybe?
He himself didn´t hear any such voices.
Bad boy Ronnie, Pictures of Ronnie
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Alarik
"Papers, Please."
* * * * * * *

When Arnold reached out to pick up huge, two-handed Norman Sword, he felt like more was being picked up than just a weapon. A legacy was being passed on as his former Master brandished the personal arms of Victor Blücher, the slain warrior-knight of the seven. It was one of these rare moments where Alarik felt inclined to provide some exposition:

"Mr. Lockhart is correct. Centuries ago, our progenitors gathered in this very place to swear an oath to exterminate that line." Knowing that Jhael wouldn't know of them, he continued: "The Tzimisce are cruel, inhuman, degenerated mutants. They revel in torture and the manipulation of human flesh, oozing out of Eastern Europe like a filth. They are so far removed from the humanistic system of our Camarilla that they cannot even recognise its precepts."

He slowly approached the table as he spoke: "The Voivodate and its successor League must be uprooted and destroyed, and the fiends of that blood hunted down and killed." Then, picking up the sword of Ingfried, House Blücher's Champion, he decided: "And when the time comes, I will take part in that culling."

When he turned to Margo he looked almost... disappointed, that such a sacred moment should be spoilt by talk of 'voices'. He knew better than to disregard her words, but still....

"You make no sense to me", the Prince said as he listened to the strange, guttural vowels that Margo exclaimed while trying to mimic the words she heard in her mind. He tensed up, though, when he saw what happened next.

Margo only
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Margo Moreau
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Rebel Toreador
* * * * * *
Strangely enough, what Margo felt happening to her was not... entirely unexpected. For a short time she had been, essentially, a ghost, a disembodied spirit. She had slowly come to understand that she could see such... beings. The possession happening to the Rose was not frightening to her, though perhaps it should be. But part of her mind was still in those moments after her death... Margo's soul since the embrace had always felt a little loose in her flesh. Her brush with oblivion had not been entirely unpleasant, there was a... peace to it that contrasted strongly with what could seem the endless pain of existence. It was not that Margo wished for death, but she didn't fear it.

Odd perhaps for someone who could sometimes jump at shadows. But that was a different fear. Those were unknown dangers. Death was not. There were times, in fact, when Margo would leap into the shadows, recklessly. Perhaps secretly wishing to find death there.

Whatever the truth of it, in this moment Margo gave herself over to whatever was happening.
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English French Theme Songs: New Rose by The Damned, Mommy's Little Monster by Social Distortion
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Margo Moreau
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Rebel Toreador
* * * * * *
Margo suddenly moved to stretch her arms, curling her fingers into a fist and then uncurling them while glancing at this process intensely. Then, she rolled a shoulder slowly, looking about herself as if she was fitting a new suit. He spoke in an extremely archaic German, which Alarik, Ronnie and Arnold might just barely understand:

(...who is this, I can't understand you... so strong...)

"Brothers' Childer, thou hast brought another Kindred woman to this place. I would not have thought that another might be Embraced into this line."

(...I'm not who... please, don't hurt them...)


She smiled an eerily confident smile as she placed a hand against her hip, speaking to Alarik: "I believe that thou holdest mine blade, childe." [Dominate/ Mezmerize] "Return it to me. Now."

(...NO! don't... My Prince... I'm sorry... Who is this? Tell me!)


Margo tried to hide her next thoughts (We may need her strength, to get past the wolves. But can she leave this place? Concentrate! Hold your core... don't lose yourself! Ryan... Tavin...)
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English French Theme Songs: New Rose by The Damned, Mommy's Little Monster by Social Distortion
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