Gordon offered a Symbel to the players to write a story about their struggle with their Beast. Details here.
The Sound of Inevitability
written by David W.
McCoy and Hamilton picked their way through the remnants of the battle as they lead Abcrombie into the factory’s basement to meet with their Regent.
“The last word we had from the Brujah aiding Regent Fiske, placed them in the Storage Area,” Hamilton informed the Ventrue Elder who, surrounded be a contingent of heavily armed retainers, picked his way carefully, doing his utmost to avoiding contact with the battles detritus. “They should be just up ahead,” Hamilton continued in a respectful tone. Fiske had given his Apprentices firm instructions that Abercrombie be treated with absolute deference.
The Ventrue sighed, “Fiske could simply have brought me the remains of the filthy creatures. There was no need for Ourselves to be dragged into this sty to verify his success”. Angrily, he continued, “We are the Seneschal of the Domain of Edmonton…We have many duties to attend to. Traipsing about, befouling Our raiment’s, is not included in them”.
Abercrombie gave wide berth to several piles of ash that surrounded the burned remains of a War Ghoul. From the ruined equipment mixed in with the ashes, McCoy was able to account for several of the missions Kindred. “I guess that would explain why we’ve received nothing more from the Brujah,” he said, indicating the expensive radio equipment left amidst the vampires remains.
“Well, it is known by all that the brute’s primary role is to expire valiantly in to further the agenda of their betters,” Abercrombie stated, haughtily, “in this case…mine”.
“I hear them, just ahead,” McCoy said, worry colouring his voice. “I’ll go ahead and see to the Master…with your leave, of course?” Abercrombie responded with a nod of his head, sending the Tremere neonate scurrying ahead, leaving Hamilton to lead the Ventrue.
The doorway revealed a large room, where a pitched battle had clearly taken place. Near the doorway lay the remains of a Vozhd, its charred and hacked corpse a testament to the difficulty in bringing one of the enormous creatures down. Also scattered throughout the room were the ashen remains of the vampires who were destroyed during the conflict. Standing before them was Regent Fiske, drinking from a flask that McCoy had provided him. His armour was damaged and a blade was still grasped in hand. He finished draining the container and returned it to his Apprentice before turning and regarding the Ventrue.
“I take it Our plan was a success,” Abercrombie asked. “You were able to bring down the Sabbat you sought? The one whom had infiltrated the Domain of Saskatoon by impersonating a member of your own Clan?”
“A…success…? Yes. At far too…great…a cost,” Fiske stated, gesturing at the remains scattered throughout the room. He walked towards the Ventrue, stating quietly, “It would seem to me that there…exists…a traitor in your…organisation. They were…prepared…for our…arrival”. As Fiske reached the Ventrue, he turned to McCoy who had followed, awaiting new orders. “Fetch me…another,” he demanded, gesturing at the container McCoy held. ‘I still thirst”. McCoy nodded then quickly wove his way through Abercrombie’s retinue and made his way towards the rooms exit.
“A traitor? Hardly, Fiske,” Abercrombie announced. “It is more likely that the Gangrel were less subtle in their approach than We had expected. Perhaps accidentally, perhaps not. Who can say? I hear that all of my allies handily survived the battle. A shame the same could not be said for the pathetic Brujah. I am particularly wounded to see that Sherriff Marceaux did not survive the encounter,” he said, gesturing to an iron helm that marked the remains of the well-known Brujah.
McCoy froze upon hearing the disrespect directed towards his Regent. “That’s Regent Fiske, to you, Ventrue,” he said, icily.
Fiske’s face twisted and Abercrombie recoiled as Fiske strode past him, striking McCoy savagely with his fist, sending the Apprentice crashing to the ground beside Hamilton. “I made my wishes…known…regarding how The Seneschal was to be…treated. Leave my sight. You will be dealt with”. The two Apprentices backed slowly away from their regent to the doorway. Fiske turned to Abercrombie, who collected himself, resuming his smug demeanor. “My apologies. He will be…chastised”.
“Of course. We would expect nothing less,” Abercrombie replied disdainfully. “Neonates must be corrected, regularly”. The Ventrue turned to the battleground, taking note of how many of his rivals that had been destroyed in the fight. “It would seem that the both of us have achieved our goals. You have erased an embarrassment to your Clan. We,” he said, indicating himself, “have rid ourselves of a Sabbat presence as well as, virtually every single political rival that remained in the Domain. How very convenient”.
“I take it your Gangrel’s…clumsiness…that alerted the foe to our approach and their subsequent retreat at the…onset…of battle were part of your…plan? I…see…you had always…intended…to leave us with just enough forces to be victorious while hoping most of your rivals would be destroyed,” Fiske stated.
“Do not take an injured tone with Us, Fiske,” Abercrombie said arrogantly. “Politic and duplicity is Our area of expertise. One should never fight on a battlefield of the enemies choosing. An attack dog, such as yourself, should know that”.
“You are…correct…Abercrombie, I would never contest you in…politics,” he said with resignation. “Unfortunately for…you…this is my…battlefield”.
Abercrombie’s eyes widened in shock as he realised that Fiske stood between him the only exit from the room. The Tremere closed his fist and a wave of force smashed into Abercrombie and his minions, slamming them backwards into the wall at the back of the room. Fiske made another arcane gesture with his hand and flames erupted from the floor, clawing at them. The Ventrue, his Beast driven mad by the menace of the flames, felt himself gripped by an unseen force which held him immobile.
As he entered Frenzy, desperate to escape, he heard the Tremere speak coldly; “Dog I may be but if…monster…I must become…it will be one of mine own…choice”.
As they made their way upstairs, McCoy and Hamilton heard the screams.
***
Daydream
written by Ryan D.
Ashton 's eyes shot open, crazed, like a rabbit caught in the jaws of a wolf. Confusion and panic swept over him like thick smoke, cold rain washed across his face and he felt like a heavy weight had been placed upon his chest.
From the jet blackness surrounding him screeched a bestial roar, like the sound of tearing sheets of metal. Whatever this place was, he wasn't alone here.
Quickly springing to his feet he glanced around , fiery-eyed through the black, at high unfamiliar stone walls and hallways, so many hallways. He had to move. Something was coming, stalking him.
The alien world crept to a crawl as he ran, blood burning in his veins. Here, between drops of rain was his domain, and neither man nor beast would take that from him .
Revolver in hand, fangs and senses matched sharp and deadly, he struck off into the labyrinth. Hunting. Like a spider in a web.
Even through the twists and turns of the maze it didn't take Wynter long to find his quarry. Down a long stretch of the labyrinth stood his prey. A huge wolf-like monster, six feet at the shoulder. Each guttural breath rolled flames from its toothy maw up and over it's muzzle, where the coarse jet fur writhed and twisted yet didn't burn. The rain turned to steam as It fell upon its broad back. It had found it's prey as well.
The predators locked murderous gazes, and the world froze for but a moment. Bony claws tore into stone and Wynter reared his weapon toward the creature. The firelight of its skull pommel flared to life as he skillfully placed six rounds into the oncoming beasts snarling face and menacing grin. Unfazed, the monster lunged. It was fast! Before he had a chance to reload, teeth sunk in and jagged claws had pinned him to the wall at his back. Desperately Wynter clawed and tore to free the left of his skull from its searing agony, but the steel trap with its flaming jaws had been snapped shut. The thundering crack of crushing bone and snapping vertebrae filled his ears, as his now limp decapitated body fell several paces away, writhing and twitching. The world spun and the pain of living slowly faded……..
The last ray's of daylight cowered away from the darkness of the city of Saskatoon. Wynter awoke to his all too familiar basement haven. Rising to meet the night, nails still clinging to bits of flesh, what used to be his eyeball rolling with a sickening plop across the dirty
concrete floor. Skin began twitching and crawling back over his raw exposed fang and jaw bone and the familiar hunger of unlife rose to greet his awakening.
Wynter quietly muttered to himself, “Fucking daydreams”.
***
Dr.Gabriel's Story
written by Patrick
I awake with a cold sweat nervous and fascinated at the same time. I feel the blood flow through me, underneath I feel a dark beast begging to be released...I am struggling to hold it back. Today is the first day I will be taken to hunt with these new found powers. I feel stronger and alive. The day is March 14 1968 I have been in my masters employ for several years he has been grooming me now today he said he wants to see what I have become so far.
The first time he would hunt another kindred with his sire he can still remember it was what looked like a child embraced at the age of 10 with eternal youth. This child of a Lasombre had been attacking various blackhand members killing with them never being caught. It was an early night after receiving a tip off of where this kindred would be who later in life would find her name was Madame Ezerella Constillo. I have come out of the shadows Ezerella has been surprised not having time to react I bare down on her I can feel the blood thirsty rage inside me...I feel something inside me snap.
In moments I can hear what sounds like bone cracking my teeth begin to bare sinking fangs into her neck the warm fresh viatae draining from Ezerella, my hands are trembling everything is a blur What I can see if her small body slowly becoming to with her one arm is withered and useless already. She tastes great... I feel powerful, the beast is winning I am losing control, a second arm is rendered useless the cold flesh in my mouth tastes like steak I use to know when I was alive.
Everything is going black is this the end is this the beast winning I feel it's power it feels good...I want to give into it...I pass out...
Five years later on another hunt we are tracking a pack of gangrel, we had cornered them into a back alley with no escape and the fight was on...the darkness began to rise...the power it brought I wanted more, it was the first time I ever lost myself to the beast and most of the fight was a blur My teeth sank deep feeling the blood rush in as I pierced the flesh it tasted a little like chicken but was probably closer to dog, I could feel the flea ridden mutts soul drain into mine. The darkness tempting me to end this dog... had to be eventually pulled off. I was told by Jorde "I will not have you tainted". The body began to flake to dust, it was the first time I had seen anyone diablerise...the corpse was ash... I had the look of wild and lashed out at the nearest target which happened to be my sire his vitea tasted as sweet at honey. Last thing I was pulled off and beaten into torpor.
During my time with my sire I was trained to refocus the darkness another way, I was taught the art if torture. April 14, 1988 we had captured Assamite who had been sent to kill me to get to Jorde. He was bound to a rack this time I had learned to focus my powers more. I had a way of extracting information. The darkness enticing me to give up my humanity. I looked into the Assamite eyes demanding to know who sent him, the silence was an indication to work I took the left hand and began to wither finger by finger each time just before it was useless snap it in half forcing him to swallow it. Each digit more violently would tear it off. My humanity was vanishing and didn't care the power I felt.... when he finally cracked I didn't stop at the end I packed up his head and a few withered body parts sending them back to his master...first tearing the fangs out making sure to put it in a plastic zip lock bag to preserve the bloodied fangs, flesh still hanging off, everything was sent in a plain wooden box some of own blood smeared on the severed head.
I can still remember the smell of death when the Lasombra withered before my eyes...has been many years since it happened but the beast calls to me like a cocaine addict I must get my next fix...I wish its embrace...
I envy the spirits I protect knowing the beast won't call them anymore but the power it promises is too delicious to pass up. The darkness is a cruel mistress but I can't wait to embrace the cold death once again....
***
Alekzander’s Trip to Spain
written by Chris B.
Standing at the end of the dock was a familiar silhouette, tall and slim, with long black hair. Alek stood there, captivated by her beauty for a moment before speaking.
“Good evening, Sofia.”
The woman smiled and turned to face him. “Buenos tardes, mi amor. Have you finally decided that Canada is too cold for you and returned to Spain’s warm embrace?”
“No, I am only here for a short time. I understand that you succeeded your Sire as Prince? You have my congratulations. It is a post you very much deserve.” Alek reaches into the pocket of his greatcoat, a garment entirely unnecessary in this weather, and pulled out a small box. Sofia’s eyes lit up as she opened it and beheld the beautiful sapphire necklace inside.
“Thank-you, mi amor. I have a gift for you as well. He’s waiting at your manor. There is no hurry. Join me for a stroll.”
He? Alekzander was puzzled. The two walked the darkened streets of Barcelona and Alek began to forget the dangers of Saskatoon; the clockwork man that had assaulted him and thrown his car like a tinker toy seemed so far away.
Eventually, they arrived at his Haven. The grounds were kept and the lights were lit, probably on Sofia’s orders.
“Your present is in the cellar. I hope you have an… enjoyable evening. I have some duties to take care of back in the city, but please, don’t hesitate to call me. You still have my number?”
“Of course.”
Sofia gave Alek a warm smile and turned to leave. Alekzander opened the door and stepped inside.
A wave of memories hit him of his dark nights alone, peering out the boarded up windows at the world. Sebastian saving him from the pack of hunters and becoming his Childe. At his urging, Alekzander had torn the boards from the windows and began to see guests, his Haven eventually becoming a meeting ground for Kindred from the city.
His reveries were broken by a sound. A quiet banging noise coming from the basement. Curious, Alek moved to the top of the stairs and listened harder. Now he could hear muffled screaming as well. He threw open the hatch and climbed down the ladder to his cellar to see what was making all that noise, remembering Sofia’s comment about his “present”.
A single shaft of light coming from a hanging lamp illuminated a man tied to a chair, shirtless and gagged. The man’s eyes widened in fear upon recognizing Alekzander. Alekzander knew him the moment he set eyes on him. He had seen his face in nightmares. The leader of the band of Vampire Hunters that had attacked his haven 150 years ago, and the only one to have escaped. He looked now exactly as he did then.
“Pierre Bernard? But how are you still…” A quick scan of his aura revealed the truth. “Ah, they made you into a ghoul.” He removed the gag and pulled a chair from the side of the room to sit facing Pierre.
Hate welled up in the ghoul’s eyes. “Filth! Monster! When I am free of these bonds, you will be destroyed! You cannot touch me, I am protected by God! It is his work I do!”
Alek started to laugh. They must have removed the memories of the past century and a half, reverting him back to when he was a Hunter. If not, he was deluded. Regardless, he may have some answers to give up.
Looking around the room, Alekzander noticed a small table covered with a white sheet. Folding the corner towards the middle revealed a collection of knives and other metal implements. Alekzander turned away in disgust. They expected him to, what, torture him? No, a conversation is more than enough. He was better than his beast.
“Tell me something, Bernard. How long had you known of my location? I hadn’t been in Barcelona long when you attacked.”
Bernard’s defiance seemed to quiet. Perhaps he thought that he could get something out of this conversation himself, or perhaps whoever had removed his memories had also implanted a command to answer Alek’s questions. “We were given instructions from a Noble whose village you attacked in the Carpathians. You left none alive. They call it Locul Szlachta now.”
What did he say? Alekzander was shocked. The home of his ancestors, his sire, the home that was taken from him on the day the curse was placed on him, was where the reports had come from? He stopped himself, something wasn’t right.
“You said you got your word from Locul Szlachta?” Bernard nodded. He seemed to be enjoying a joke that Alekzander was slowly beginning to realise. Locul Szlachta received its name only 75 years ago.
Now it was Bernard’s turn to laugh. “You understand now. My regnant wanted me to make sure you got the message. You remember him? Master Hundori said that your new home looks lovely. It’s nice that you made new friends in Saskatoon. More works of art for his gallery.”
Alekzander’s beast scraped and screamed at the back of his mind. White-hot rage filled his vision. Hundori, the one who had cursed him all those years ago, was toying with him again. Not this time.
His mind cleared as he gave in to his hate and anger. Now crystal clear, he knew what he needed to do. Alek drew the table of implements toward the bound ghoul. Suddenly there was fear in Pierre’s eyes.
“What are you doing? My master said you wouldn’t hurt me. You are too good hearted,” he stammered.
Alekzander turned to look him in the eyes. Pierre saw nothing but merciless cold. “That’s twice now he’s underestimated me. This time will be different.” He touched the ring he wore on a chain around his neck. “This time I will protect those I care about… and destroy those who threaten them.”
Alek gently lifted a small, thin scalpel and twirled it between his fingers, choosing his target carefully. Running it lightly across Bernard’s chest sheared his skin from his muscle, allowing the severed skin to fall away. Pierre tried to squirm away from the blade, but he was secured tightly to the chair. All he could do was scream.
“You’re lucky, Bernard. You can scream. You can release your pain. When your master tortured me, he took my mouth first. That is the only mercy I will give you.”
Alekzander looked around the cellar for a moment before finding what he was looking for. On a shelf in the back was his spices and cooking powders. Grabbing a small jar, he returned. He shook out some salt onto the open section of muscle, eliciting a scream of surprise and pain.
Alek ran his hand along Bernard’s side, finding the bottom pair of ribs. Timing it for when Bernard gasped next, he plunged the scalpel between them just at the lowest point where his lung would be. The ghoul began coughing, blood running from his mouth, but the more he coughed, the more his lung ran against the blade of the scalpel. Bernard’s eyes begin to glaze, but Alek slaps him awake.
“No, no. We aren’t done. Not for a while longer.”
Grabbing a pair of shears from the table Alek sat back down, pulling his chair closer to Bernard. He inserted Pierre’s index finger between the blades.
“This little ghoul went to market.” He cut through the joint and moved to the next finger. “This little ghoul should have stayed home.” Another snip, another finger fell to the floor. “This little ghoul had Tzimisce blood. This little ghoul had fun.”
“Please! In the name of mercy, stop!”
“This little ghoul screamed ‘Please, please, please’, and soon was sent home…”
Upon finishing the rhyme, Pierre’s eyes lit up with hope. Alekzander smiled at him, an unhinged sort of smile. With speed and precision, Alek plunged the scissors into Bernard’s eyes, one eye per blade. The ghoul’s body twitched in pain, his brain trying to comprehend the pain it was feeling. Soon, he stopped moving.
Calmly, Alekzander washed his hands and put on a new, clean shirt and pants. He found a large trunk in the attic, lined it with multiple layers of plastic garbage bags, and then put the body inside. Alek sealed the trunk and affixed a shipping label to the outside. His sleep that day was the deepest, soundest sleep he had had in decades.
Upon waking the next night he called Sofia’s cell phone.
“Mi amor, is there anything you need?”
Alekzander’s mind was made up. No more hiding in the shadows. No more lying awake, too afraid to sleep. This will end. “I have a package I’d like you to deliver for me. It can’t travel by post, so you’ll need to use your influences. No one can open it until it arrives.”
“What’s inside it, if I may ask?”
Alek smiled to himself. “A declaration of war.”
***
Death of Doyle: Second Childe of Saoirse of Clan Gangrel
written by Anita
Stalking, her instincts led her to one dark hovel, door lying in the road, a dead dog on the stoop. She entered, eyes gleaming red. The room was destroyed, as were the occupants. Blood seeped and congealed in the dirt and straw. The charnel smell cloyed. Blood traveled up the wall in prints, still dripping. Tracing them she saw him, clinging to the roof with claws deeply embedded in the crossbeams.
The Beast ravaged the village as it had ravaged Doyle. Twisting his face into a snarling muzzle coated in blood. His ears were longer, bat-like, as was the flap of skin attached to his arms. Ragged and ripped, they offered no flight. His legs were bent at a different angle now with toes clawed and clinging. In one clawed hand he held a child, weakly struggling. Slowly he lifted it, eyes locked onto Saoirse’s, and bit deeply in to the neck and shoulder and ripped free arteries, veins, and other meaty chunks.
Her Beasts wails become a hurricane force, a churning riptide of anger and horror covering her senses. Tumbling her thoughts so only Kill and Rend were heard. With a hoarse howl Saoirse leapt to Doyle, claws digging deep into the arm holding him to the beam. Ripping free they fell to floor, the body of the child cushioning their fall. Fangs snapped at each other’s faces, claws digging deep into the other vampire as they tumbled and fought around the room. His Beast roared its victory over Doyle, taking him from chasing the moon, and keeping his territory from other kindred. From her. Her Beast promised death, final and complete. Promised freedom from the pain of this loss and all the others to come. Rend. Kill. Then Rend again.
Wounds opened and closed, then the wounds stayed open. Baring his bones, his twisted flesh bloodless. He began to fight to flee, his Beast knowing this frail vampire couldn’t hold its Rage any longer. Crawling and scrambling Doyle’s Beast went on to the road, Saoirse riding his back, now tearing bone. Collapsing in Torpor Doyle splayed his limbs, finally still. Saoirse’s Beast howled! End it! Deliver your Accounting! End your Blood!
Claws ripped and tore at the defenseless vampire. With a final yank Saoirse freed Doyle’s head. Turning it so she could his face for one last time. She saw his features shrink and reform into the man she Embraced. Her feet settled onto the road and puddle of ash. His cheeks, hair, the flesh and bone flaked and crumbled in to the grey ash of his Last Death in her hands. Her Beast curled satisfied and gloating.
The village burned that night, for several nights, stoked by those in service to Kindred in power. Saoirse’s hands felt stained with Blood, as was her Account in the Harpy’s ledger for many years to come.
***
The Death of Sergei Noremov
written by Debbie
His words echoed in her ears. The weight, the power. Dorothy Grace paused a moment outside the doorway of the stone building; her short red hair the only thing even remotely affected by the cold Soviet wind. She hadn’t fully decided to come by tonight, but still, something had drawn her to the small pub. She stepped through the door and saw him. He was writing. He always seemed to be writing. In that moment there was part of her telling her to turn and leave as fast as she could. The much stronger part kept her moving forward and she walked over to his table. She spoke and he looked up from his writing. Her Russian wasn’t native, but having lived in the area for more than six months, and having been her main focus since she first heard his words, was near mastery. What she said suddenly had no importance. She’d fed, not 2 nights ago, but beyond thirst she had a need for the young man across from her, stronger than she’d ever felt. He smiled and offered her the chair opposite him, and she knew she should take it. They should stay in the light. They should stay where the small barman could half hear them while he cleaned his glasses. “I have something for you, Snow sent me”. Her words were chosen precisely for him. It hadn’t been hard to get information from his usual informant, mortals were just so swayable. “Just a block down” He smiled back and followed her out. She knew her charm was effective, but it pleased her more than anything how much work she had had to put in to get to HIM. Even meeting with the prince months ago, she hadn’t fully understood why.In the dark alley, she paused. She unlocked the inconspicuous door she called haven. She asked a question that made him laugh, and the way he smiled just made it too much for her. They barely got through the door. Dorothy leaned in, as if to whisper in his ear and bit him. In that instant, she was gone. She was nothing but the animal inside. When he cried out, her hand went to his throat, as hard as ever to silence him. She started to drain his body. Everything she stood for fought back to the surface. She was covered in his blood. She was more than just feeding, part of her had known she wouldn’t be able to resist. She’d called in a major favour to come to him and to be able to make the choice, knowing this may happen but half hoping she could stop herself. She’d never dreamed of this being her. Of this happening so soon. But it was, and she knew she had to complete it to ever hear his words again. She pulled out a bottle and took a mouthful of her own blood into her mouth and kissed his half lifeless mouth transferring it to him. She used the bottle and her own body to bring him back to her. She kissed his head gently, knowing her life had just changed with the body of the former man in her arms. She’d chosen him. Her words were no more than a whisper but would echo in her mind for centuries. “My love. Now your words will never die”
***
Tyrese Washington's Story
written by Don
The rhythmic Thump Thump Thump Tyrese hit the engine block that was held up by chains over and over again. In his mind he could hear Thaddeus voice
"Are you Paying attention?" Tyrese looked up and took his head phone off "What?" "Come on Tyrese, Theo and I are trying to teach you some thing" Tyrese looked around, Thaddeus and Theo Bell were talking with a bunch of Brujah.
Thump, Thump, Thump another memory flooded his mind
The Caitiff had surrounded Thaddeus, he raced to his sire's side.
Gaining the attention of the rest by knocking one out. They turned on
the bigger target, 6 against 1, he liked those odds.
He stopped hitting the engine, his hands bloody "Remember Tyrese, be subtle, take your time" his eyes burned. All those wasted moments and now he was gone. Walking over to a sink he washed his hands.
Taking out his phone "Trips, the place in an hour, Bring the new guy with you" hanging up.
"There is strength in numbers" Thaddeus had once told him
"Porter, Belladonna, Jesse" he barked "We have some cleaning to do"
AARRRGGHHH he reared back and punched the engine, snapping the chain that held it up, it tumbled across the room.
*****
Anita offered a Symbel to the players to write a story of their Feeding.
Flay
written by Kim
For a moment, the Scourge of Saskatoon paused and strained his ears. He activated his dead lungs to sniff the air. He waved fingers slowly through the air, feeling its currents and temperature. Nothing threatening seemed to be in the area, well nothing abnormal anyway.
Satisfied all was as secure as any other night, Flay picked his way through the Nosferatu Warren. He nodded once to the near-immortal keeper of the warren and continued on his way to a surface access. Any small detail changes to the warren he mentally noted as a matter of course, so they would not alarm him if noticed during a moment of investigation or suspicion. The warren was a living thing to a certain degree and it would be important to maintain a mental finger on its pulse.
The Nosferatu favored a portal to the warren that required amazing superhuman strength to gain access. Using such a way greatly limited the possibility of unwanted encounters. And those who are capable of using such a portal would have the necessary gravitas to normally require his attention anyway. Tonight, however, the access was clear of travelers and visitors. He carefully reset the considerable mass and security of the warren portal to ensure its continued safety.
As Flay made the final leg of his journey to the city surface, for a moment he fancied the evening to be one of freedom after months of the local Kindred hiding. He mentally sneered at himself with a follow-up thought. For one such as he was both always and never free. Regardless, the mortal hunters that once plagued Saskatoon for a time seemed to have moved on, satisfied they accomplished their temporary mission in the area. In that sense, the local Kindred were “free” once more.
Pausing for a moment beneath a street side manhole cover, the flayed Nosferatu listened for mortals nearby. He sensed only a single individual within observable distance of the manhole. Mentally shrugging to himself, he quickly slid aside the heavy metal cover and sprinted towards the surprised mortal. He grappled the human with bone-crushing strength and the victim barely made a wet-sounding gasp before the air was forced from them. Flay bit deeply into the neck of the university aged woman and drank his fill, casually throwing her twitching corpse towards the manhole. Her body splayed over the dark hole for a moment before gravity and her dying spasms caused it to fold in on itself and downwards. Her last dying sight was the moon and stars recoiling away through a black tunnel. As the killer licked his deformed lips with satisfaction, his victim struck the hard surface below with a crunchy and wet thump. He casually toed the cover back over the manhole and made a mental note to properly dispose of the body before dawn.
It was good for the Scourge of Saskatoon to be back on the surface, prowling the night for blood and criminals.
__________
Saoirse
written by Anita
The darkness was complete, the water a roar in her ears. Rushing by, it
swept her hair from her face, pulling a feather free. It turned to ash
almost instantly, swept downstream perhaps to find it’s way to the ocean
and her homeland. Turning about, keeping her feet lodged in bank, she
clawed the ice between her and the night. Chunks broke off, some banging
away, others floating clogging the hole. Finally open enough, she
gripped the edges and pulled herself out.
The night was silent compared to the river, traffic hummed and winked bright lights. The amber park lights glowed on the snow. Finn waited for her. Patient as always. Saoirse moved to the bushes, clothes and hair already frozen stiff, and buried her nose in Finn’s ruff. Asking him how his day had been, what news could he give her? Satisfied, she shook herself fiercely, slipping into her wolf form. With a quiet bark, she led the way through the park, a white wolf and her dark shadow.
The porch light was on, the gate opened and shut with hardly a sound. The walk hadn’t been cleared of snow, leaving her bare footprints leading to the back yard, followed by dog prints. Saoirse knocked quietly and waited. Soon enough the door opened spilling warmth over her. “Come in Shelley! It’s cold out there!” Finn stayed outside, alert. “You never dress for the weather! Come warm up, tea?” The woman bustled to the kitchen, Saoirse slowly followed. The children were in the front room, watching the light box as usual. The house was warm, full of life. The woman bustled with a machine that made whirring and spitting noises. Seeing the puddle forming under Saoirse’s feet she tsked and left the room for a moment. Returning with a towel. “Here, clean up the water won’t you?”
Saoirse dropped the towel to her feet, stepping on it to dry her feet. Listening always to the movements of the woman and her children. A hot mug was pushed into her hand, “You haven’t been by lately,” a petulant tone creeping in, “seeing someone else?”
Saoirse eye’s focused on the woman’s face, her eyes were guarded yet full of hurt. “Aye, someone else. Now, you.” Her free hand cupped the woman’s face pulling her closer. Her Kiss was hard, then a quick nip drawing a bead of blood. The taste was pleasant. The woman didn’t complain, happy for the attention. Saoirse slipped her face down her neck to nip there as well. Licking, she bit once more, deeper and harder than before. Saoirse kept her eyes on the doorway to the front room, aware if the children came to see what their mother was doing. The woman, in bliss, held Saoirse for those moments of feeding. Finished, Saoirse licked the wound. Drawing back she watched the smile and pleasure play across the woman’s face. Gently she pushed her into a chair, placing the mug in front of her. “Stay well. I will … visit again. Soon.”
Quietly she left out the back door, shutting it tightly. Finn looked her expectantly, “Jack”, she said. Swiftly in the shadowy back yard she transformed again, this time a white owl left the yard, with Finn left to find his four-footed way to her ogha.
The night was silent compared to the river, traffic hummed and winked bright lights. The amber park lights glowed on the snow. Finn waited for her. Patient as always. Saoirse moved to the bushes, clothes and hair already frozen stiff, and buried her nose in Finn’s ruff. Asking him how his day had been, what news could he give her? Satisfied, she shook herself fiercely, slipping into her wolf form. With a quiet bark, she led the way through the park, a white wolf and her dark shadow.
The porch light was on, the gate opened and shut with hardly a sound. The walk hadn’t been cleared of snow, leaving her bare footprints leading to the back yard, followed by dog prints. Saoirse knocked quietly and waited. Soon enough the door opened spilling warmth over her. “Come in Shelley! It’s cold out there!” Finn stayed outside, alert. “You never dress for the weather! Come warm up, tea?” The woman bustled to the kitchen, Saoirse slowly followed. The children were in the front room, watching the light box as usual. The house was warm, full of life. The woman bustled with a machine that made whirring and spitting noises. Seeing the puddle forming under Saoirse’s feet she tsked and left the room for a moment. Returning with a towel. “Here, clean up the water won’t you?”
Saoirse dropped the towel to her feet, stepping on it to dry her feet. Listening always to the movements of the woman and her children. A hot mug was pushed into her hand, “You haven’t been by lately,” a petulant tone creeping in, “seeing someone else?”
Saoirse eye’s focused on the woman’s face, her eyes were guarded yet full of hurt. “Aye, someone else. Now, you.” Her free hand cupped the woman’s face pulling her closer. Her Kiss was hard, then a quick nip drawing a bead of blood. The taste was pleasant. The woman didn’t complain, happy for the attention. Saoirse slipped her face down her neck to nip there as well. Licking, she bit once more, deeper and harder than before. Saoirse kept her eyes on the doorway to the front room, aware if the children came to see what their mother was doing. The woman, in bliss, held Saoirse for those moments of feeding. Finished, Saoirse licked the wound. Drawing back she watched the smile and pleasure play across the woman’s face. Gently she pushed her into a chair, placing the mug in front of her. “Stay well. I will … visit again. Soon.”
Quietly she left out the back door, shutting it tightly. Finn looked her expectantly, “Jack”, she said. Swiftly in the shadowy back yard she transformed again, this time a white owl left the yard, with Finn left to find his four-footed way to her ogha.
__________
Dr.Goldman
written by Don McB.
The driver a heavy set bearded fellow, barks an order to his passenger in their mother tongue. The smaller man cigarette in mouth mutters to himself as he bangs on the side of the van with his flashlight.
Goldman steps quickly out of the shadows. He has heard the distressed women in the van. He is not impressed.
"Ivan" he sneers. "We've been through this" anger growing in his voice.
"You're know I dislike them blemished, you cost me money and time"
The large man turns from giving orders to staring at Goldman. A genuine look of fear in his eyes.
Ivan stammers quickly in Russian *"Mr. K. They were resisting "*
Goldman slaps Ivan. Sending the much larger man flying into a snowbank. Teeth and blood arcing behind him.
"You know better than to lie to me Ivan. There is more blood in that van than has left you so suddenly" Goldman pauses a moment. His beast begging for discipline. "No I can't not here" Goldman whispers to himself before returning his gaze to Ivan. "Have your men bring them inside. Collect your teeth. And be on your way."
The smoking man, clearly shaken opens up the side door. Another man steps out and they quickly shuffle a half dozen young women into the clinics back entrance.
Goldman manages to compose himself. "Ivan you will not be healed this time. Let this wound remind you. I pay you for beautiful women. They will be that way when they arrive."
Once the women have been shuffled inside. Greeted by Nurse Sinclair. The 3 Russian men leave quickly. Smoking man drives them off, as Ivan is busy trying desperately to hold his jaw intact.
A young woman sits at the kitchen table in her modest apartment. A
laptop sits amid a pile of notes and books. Her head nods slightly in
time to the music pulsing through her earbuds as she reads through a
textbook, the end of her pencil tapping in time to the beat. She leans
back, fingers interlocked as she throws her arms up, arching her back in
a stretch. She looks over her shoulder at the small Christmas tree in
the corner, tinsel winking in the light of the fire on the television screen.
The large man turns from giving orders to staring at Goldman. A genuine look of fear in his eyes.
Ivan stammers quickly in Russian *"Mr. K. They were resisting "*
Goldman slaps Ivan. Sending the much larger man flying into a snowbank. Teeth and blood arcing behind him.
"You know better than to lie to me Ivan. There is more blood in that van than has left you so suddenly" Goldman pauses a moment. His beast begging for discipline. "No I can't not here" Goldman whispers to himself before returning his gaze to Ivan. "Have your men bring them inside. Collect your teeth. And be on your way."
The smoking man, clearly shaken opens up the side door. Another man steps out and they quickly shuffle a half dozen young women into the clinics back entrance.
Goldman manages to compose himself. "Ivan you will not be healed this time. Let this wound remind you. I pay you for beautiful women. They will be that way when they arrive."
Once the women have been shuffled inside. Greeted by Nurse Sinclair. The 3 Russian men leave quickly. Smoking man drives them off, as Ivan is busy trying desperately to hold his jaw intact.
___________
Lexa
written by Tina
A dark sedan pulls up to the front door of The haven. The front door
opens and Lexa emerges with her katana strapped to her back. She opens
the rear passenger door and climbs into the back seat. "Good evening
Lincoln. I trust you've been well?" She asks. "Yes. All is well." He
begins driving, eventually pulling up to a house. "I won't be long."
Lexa says as she opens the door. She walks to the front door and knocks
twice. A toned muscular man opens the door and smiles seductively.
"Lexa, I've been wondering when you'd come to see me again. It's been
so long. Is everything alright?" She enters the home. The home smells
of leather and cologne. "It is now." She says with a sly smile. He
reaches his hand out and pulls her close to him. He kisses her deeply
and she wraps her eyes around him. She returns his kiss and slowly moves
her face down to his neck. She bites into his neck deeply and drinks
for a few moments. She pulls back. "I'm sorry. I can't stay long. There
is much business that needs to be taken care of. Please call Lincoln if
you need anything." A look of disappointment crosses his face. "So soon?
But it's been months since I've seen you!" She places her hand on his
face. "I know. I promise you won't have to wait that long any time soon.
I had business that took me out of town for a few months. Things are
returning to normal now. I'll see you next week okay?" She kisses him
briefly and turns for the door. "Good night my beautiful Lexa. Will you
stay later next time?" He reaches to open door for her. "I hope so" she
says as she walks out into the frigid night.
__________
Isaac
written by Mark
She yawns widely, rising to her feet and walking over to the couch. She
plunks down into a slouch, dragging over a blanket. She tugs out her
earbuds, setting down her phone and picking up the remote. Changing the
channel, her apartment fills with the sound of the New Year's
celebrations. Soon the countdown will begin and, alone, she shivers and
pulls the blanket around herself.
The noise of the New Years party in the apartment next door rises to an excited crescendo as the countdown draws near. She half rises, picking up the invitation to the party her neighbour had given her earlier that day, rereading it for what must be the fifteenth time as if working up the nerve to join the fun. Finally, she slumps back down, shaking her head and shuddering. Clearly the effort of plunging into that maelstrom of gaiety and merriment is too much of a burden. A sad look on her face, she pulls the blanket around herself again and curls up on the couch, watching the party on the television, listening to the shouts of "Happy New Year!" ringing through the walls.
Through the window, Isaac stands on the balcony of her apartment, watching, his bandaged hands clutching his cloak around his body, a pang of yearning arcing through him like a bolt of electricity. One hand reaches out, palm pressing flat against the cold glass, a swirl of snow whipping past his deformed face, ice crusting in his beard.
As she turns toward the patio door, some sense alerting her to his presence, he fades back into the shadows, concealing himself from her view. Isaac speaks, his voice a raspy whisper carried away by the wind.
"Not yet my love, my Maria...but soon. Soon we will be together again."
A swirl of snow passes over him, and as it dies, Isaac is gone.
((This is set in early January 2017, when it was really cold.))
George trudges through the snow slicked streets, watching for the sign indicating his turn. As he walks, he contemplates the recent changes in his unlife. He had known that it would be cold here, but he had no idea of how cold, or how little he would care. He found the very ground here unnerving, with its gentle rise and fall. Nothing like the stark flatness of home. His beloved Sire, and precious library were gone forever, and his City was finally saved from those Sabbat savages. The blanket of snow causes scents and sounds to stand out to his heightened senses, and he is glad to note that he has left the pervasive stench of mold behind. When he was first assigned to Saskatoon he was apprehensive, but now that George was here, he felt that this would be a good town for him. He suddenly notices that his slowly spreading grin has unnerved some pedestrians and quickly remasters his expression while feeling a pang of hunger. He knows that the Camarilla is much more serious about maintaining the Masquerade than his sire had been, and that he would need to learn some discipline. George finds his turn, and after a few more blocks he comes to his destination. He walks up the path and raps sharply on the door of the Chantry.
The noise of the New Years party in the apartment next door rises to an excited crescendo as the countdown draws near. She half rises, picking up the invitation to the party her neighbour had given her earlier that day, rereading it for what must be the fifteenth time as if working up the nerve to join the fun. Finally, she slumps back down, shaking her head and shuddering. Clearly the effort of plunging into that maelstrom of gaiety and merriment is too much of a burden. A sad look on her face, she pulls the blanket around herself again and curls up on the couch, watching the party on the television, listening to the shouts of "Happy New Year!" ringing through the walls.
Through the window, Isaac stands on the balcony of her apartment, watching, his bandaged hands clutching his cloak around his body, a pang of yearning arcing through him like a bolt of electricity. One hand reaches out, palm pressing flat against the cold glass, a swirl of snow whipping past his deformed face, ice crusting in his beard.
As she turns toward the patio door, some sense alerting her to his presence, he fades back into the shadows, concealing himself from her view. Isaac speaks, his voice a raspy whisper carried away by the wind.
"Not yet my love, my Maria...but soon. Soon we will be together again."
A swirl of snow passes over him, and as it dies, Isaac is gone.
__________
Jack
written by Anita
The bright lights of the city glowed, creating a dome of false security
and safety. Here on the edges of the city, beyond the lights, the
darkness smouldered. Danger in the wide empty expanses to those used to
shelters of walls and life. There was a different melody out here in
the field and brush. Branches scratching and wind blowing over hills.
Smaller animals rustling under snow and leaves. Birds jumping branch to
branch. Larger animals carefully making
their way through drifts and brush. The sudden quiet, when they become
aware of his or another’s presence. A violation of nature, a blight, or
a greater evolution? In the quiet here his thoughts quieted, soothed by
the earth beneath his feet or paws or the air beneath his wings. Garou
made themselves known, tacitly as equal predators do. Then slip back
into the shadows and night. They are watching too. Knowing too. The
city is his kind’s refuge, but this wild place, this is his and theirs.
They know, acknowledge, but never accept. Not truly. In this, their
purpose is the same. Keep the wilds wild. Give him space to hear the
quiet in his head.
__________
Dr.Stein
written by Trevor
The
sun had just finished setting as Doctor Stein began his usual rounds of
the hospital. Over the past few months the patients had slowly began to
calm down, the normal screams could still be heard, however they were
less desperate in their tone as of late. The doctor assumed it was due
to the lack of supernatural beings around the city the past few months.
The hunters that had descended upon the city had sent everyone into
hiding, and for the first time in a long time, Stein was enjoying the
peace and quiet he was used to. It was as if it was back when it was
just Carole and himself.
He missed the way her hair smelled, the way her blood tasted as it passed over his lips, most of all he missed the way she would stare at him. Her cold blue eyes, penetrating his soul, her body said she wanted him. Her eyes told the truth, she wanted to tear him to pieces and scatter them into the midday sun. She was a true predator, not unlike someone else who was in his thoughts as of late. He had moved beyond being just a simple predator, he was something more, perhaps that is why she looked at him so. She feared him, and he liked that.
He continued to daydream as he made his rounds, in time he had made his way to the room where Carole and he had first meet. A young schizophrenic named Paul lived there now. As Doctor Stein approached the door, Paul's head appeared in the window. “Dr. Stein! Come look! Pleeeease, there is another one passing by... please come and look... I am not crazy.”
Stein smiled, “Alright Paul, I will come in. Please stand against the wall. I don't want to have call Bob again do I?”
Paul, quickly moved to the wall and placed his back and palms of his hands against it, “No Doctor, but here they come again. They found me! There goes another of the black SUV's with the plates from Rome. It's the Illuminati.” Stein walked over to the window and watched as the SUV meet up with another. "Idiots." Stein whispered to himself. The driver's talked with each other a few moment's and headed in different directions.
“Paul, I can assure you they are not the Illuminati. They are just diplomats checking out the sites of the city. They will be gone soon. And as I have told you in the past, you are safe here from the dangers outside, have I ever lied to you in all of the years you have been here?”
Paul shook his head, and nervously glanced back out the window. “Good boy Paul, now get some rest before dinner, it's Taco night and I will join you and the others for dinner.” Paul smiled and walked to his bed and sat down. “Was Tera released Doc?”
Doctor Stein's smile, faded for a slight moment. “Tera...Tera.. oh yes, she was released last week. Her family came and got her. She is doing much better. I told you that last week.”
Paul shrugged, “I guess you did.”
The door slowly closed behind Doctor Stein, Paul listened as his footsteps fade away down the hallway, and he slowly let out a long breath. “She didn't have any family anymore, they died last year Doctor...shit he must be one of them.”
To be continued.
He emerged from the ground satisfied the hunter threat had finally
moved on. Dusting himself off he thought to himself i can finally get to
work, but first time to feed. Wilf walked to the nearest homeless
shelter to where he had been resting. He wondered to himself, how many
of the forgotten mortals had perished due to the recent cold snap.
He found johnny in his usual drugged out state, his normal stupor. Johnny's glassy eyes followed wilf as he sat down beside him, Wilf put a few dollars in Johnny's pocket saying quietly " you need to eat, you need to take care of yourself". Johnny asked have you brought me what i have been waiting for? I need my fix. Yes replied Wilf as Johnny exposed the veins in his wrist. Wilf buried his fangs into the homeless mans wrist and drank, Wilf enjoyed the euphoria of the blood and the extra bonus of the cocaine. Johnny leaned back, closing his eyes and taking it all in. Until next time, Wilf said to Johnny, standing with a renewed vigor.
(Draven Giovanni is sitting in a corner cafe in a non-descript middle
eastern street pretending to drink his beverage looking deep in
thought)
How do I get out of this Islamic hellhole?
Turkey has changed these recent nights.
{looks over shoulder}
Did "they" follow me?
They know I exist!!!
How did they take out my Assimite mercenaries that quickly?
At least I got my team out quickly.
Where is my fucking Cousin???
I may have been embraced a
De Medici, but I was still raised in
Giovanni Estates, where is my cousin???
I need out of here!!!!
He said meet him here,
Is that.....No, Thank God!!!
I have so much to tell in Venice
Before I get to Florence.
I don't know what I saw,
But it was power as I've
Never seen before......
They know I exist!!!
He missed the way her hair smelled, the way her blood tasted as it passed over his lips, most of all he missed the way she would stare at him. Her cold blue eyes, penetrating his soul, her body said she wanted him. Her eyes told the truth, she wanted to tear him to pieces and scatter them into the midday sun. She was a true predator, not unlike someone else who was in his thoughts as of late. He had moved beyond being just a simple predator, he was something more, perhaps that is why she looked at him so. She feared him, and he liked that.
He continued to daydream as he made his rounds, in time he had made his way to the room where Carole and he had first meet. A young schizophrenic named Paul lived there now. As Doctor Stein approached the door, Paul's head appeared in the window. “Dr. Stein! Come look! Pleeeease, there is another one passing by... please come and look... I am not crazy.”
Stein smiled, “Alright Paul, I will come in. Please stand against the wall. I don't want to have call Bob again do I?”
Paul, quickly moved to the wall and placed his back and palms of his hands against it, “No Doctor, but here they come again. They found me! There goes another of the black SUV's with the plates from Rome. It's the Illuminati.” Stein walked over to the window and watched as the SUV meet up with another. "Idiots." Stein whispered to himself. The driver's talked with each other a few moment's and headed in different directions.
“Paul, I can assure you they are not the Illuminati. They are just diplomats checking out the sites of the city. They will be gone soon. And as I have told you in the past, you are safe here from the dangers outside, have I ever lied to you in all of the years you have been here?”
Paul shook his head, and nervously glanced back out the window. “Good boy Paul, now get some rest before dinner, it's Taco night and I will join you and the others for dinner.” Paul smiled and walked to his bed and sat down. “Was Tera released Doc?”
Doctor Stein's smile, faded for a slight moment. “Tera...Tera.. oh yes, she was released last week. Her family came and got her. She is doing much better. I told you that last week.”
Paul shrugged, “I guess you did.”
The door slowly closed behind Doctor Stein, Paul listened as his footsteps fade away down the hallway, and he slowly let out a long breath. “She didn't have any family anymore, they died last year Doctor...shit he must be one of them.”
To be continued.
___________
Wolf
written by Jason
He found johnny in his usual drugged out state, his normal stupor. Johnny's glassy eyes followed wilf as he sat down beside him, Wilf put a few dollars in Johnny's pocket saying quietly " you need to eat, you need to take care of yourself". Johnny asked have you brought me what i have been waiting for? I need my fix. Yes replied Wilf as Johnny exposed the veins in his wrist. Wilf buried his fangs into the homeless mans wrist and drank, Wilf enjoyed the euphoria of the blood and the extra bonus of the cocaine. Johnny leaned back, closing his eyes and taking it all in. Until next time, Wilf said to Johnny, standing with a renewed vigor.
The wolf walked
along the sidewalk, taking in the snow and dim city lights. He thought
to himself, I don't want to survive off the blood of animals again for
months, I don't know why anyone would choose to do that "disgusting ".
Wilf then thought of his sire and progeny and brood mate, wondering how
did they fair in my absence.
You go away for a short time and everything changes, Wilf was curious as to the change in leadership of Saskatoon, had it been a bloody coup? Why had his sire picked this city to plant her roots? Maybe I should get myself to an Elysium for acknowledgment, then again what do i care, i doubt anyone knows i am here. He sniffed the air, the city still stank to him, the threat had not passed it only went into the shadows as we did. He leaned down and grabbed a handful of snow, running it through his fingers enjoying the cool sensation.
The wolf made his way to Riversdale and his home, he was always watchful, looking for signs of the taint he had encountered in Saskatoon before. Opening the front door, he walked in and admired the many trophies he had collected over the years from the hunt. Entering his library and sitting in his chair again felt natural, he leafed through an occult text committing new knowledge to his memory. The warmth of the fire place touched his old bones as he thought of the nights ahead. Hunting his new prey would prove to be a worthy challenge, his latest endeavor might bring back the thrill of the hunt he craved so desperately.
He walked outside and tilted his head back howling, he waited for his friends to arrive. As the pack of dogs started to arrive he changed shape into a massive brown wolf. They all regarded each other in their typical fashion before stalking their way into the night.
The sun sets on the mansion of Alekzander Vrsac, framing it in an
eerie, blood red glow. Alekzander rises from his fitful dreams silently
shaking the visions of his sire’s and wife's deaths. It was particularly
vivid yesterday and his hands shake with vestiges of anger and fear. He
calms himself and begins to dress.
Alekzander walks slowly to the stairs and descends them to the dining room. Roderick has already laid out his feeding tools; a syringe and small sharpened knife. Alekzander sits next to a member of Sebastian’s sword fighting group, the young man having already rolled his sleeve up. In motions that demonstrate his 180 year experience feeding in this way, he picks up the knife and checks its edge before bringing it across his lower face, forming a makeshift mouth. He quickly draws a vial of blood and inserts the needlepoint into his mouth, the edges already beginning to heal, and drinks. He repeats the steps until he is sated.
You go away for a short time and everything changes, Wilf was curious as to the change in leadership of Saskatoon, had it been a bloody coup? Why had his sire picked this city to plant her roots? Maybe I should get myself to an Elysium for acknowledgment, then again what do i care, i doubt anyone knows i am here. He sniffed the air, the city still stank to him, the threat had not passed it only went into the shadows as we did. He leaned down and grabbed a handful of snow, running it through his fingers enjoying the cool sensation.
The wolf made his way to Riversdale and his home, he was always watchful, looking for signs of the taint he had encountered in Saskatoon before. Opening the front door, he walked in and admired the many trophies he had collected over the years from the hunt. Entering his library and sitting in his chair again felt natural, he leafed through an occult text committing new knowledge to his memory. The warmth of the fire place touched his old bones as he thought of the nights ahead. Hunting his new prey would prove to be a worthy challenge, his latest endeavor might bring back the thrill of the hunt he craved so desperately.
He walked outside and tilted his head back howling, he waited for his friends to arrive. As the pack of dogs started to arrive he changed shape into a massive brown wolf. They all regarded each other in their typical fashion before stalking their way into the night.
__________
Alekzander
written by Chris B.
Alekzander walks slowly to the stairs and descends them to the dining room. Roderick has already laid out his feeding tools; a syringe and small sharpened knife. Alekzander sits next to a member of Sebastian’s sword fighting group, the young man having already rolled his sleeve up. In motions that demonstrate his 180 year experience feeding in this way, he picks up the knife and checks its edge before bringing it across his lower face, forming a makeshift mouth. He quickly draws a vial of blood and inserts the needlepoint into his mouth, the edges already beginning to heal, and drinks. He repeats the steps until he is sated.
Once he is fed, Alekzander dismisses the young man and makes his way to
his sitting room. His chessboard is already set for him and Roderick is
standing in the corner, dusting. Hours pass while Alekzander plays and
soon Alekzander feels drowsy from so little rest during the day.
Suddenly, he notices his sire, Gustave, sitting opposite him. He must be dreaming. These are HIS memories… Anton stands and moves toward the window and looks out over the village he had called home so many years ago. He feels a hand take his and he turns. Maria is just as beautiful as he remembers. Time seems to speed up and, like in reality, moments slip through Anton’s fingers. He is grabbed roughly from behind and dragged across the stones and out into the courtyard, once painted with multitudes of coloured flowers, now stained dark red with the blood of its defenders. Blood spilled to make a point.
Anton is thrown down to kneel at the feet of the invader. Hundori smiles a dark, malicious smile.
“I have won. Now see what YOU caused.”
Maria calls for him. A futile scream choked out as one of the abominations slices her head off in one swipe. Her ashes, caught in the breeze, blow away. Gustave, though he fights harder, meets the same fate.
“I shouldn't have sealed your mouth before. I should have silenced you permanently. A mistake I WILL correct.”
Hundori moves to be face to face with Anton and smiles his sick smile. Suddenly, Anton feels a sharp pain in his chest and all goes dark.
Alekzander wakes, startled by the sound of a book falling. He must have knocked it off in his dream. He picks it up and looks at it. A fitting title, he thinks to himself...
It reads, Harlan Ellison’s I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream. A fitting title, indeed.
Suddenly, he notices his sire, Gustave, sitting opposite him. He must be dreaming. These are HIS memories… Anton stands and moves toward the window and looks out over the village he had called home so many years ago. He feels a hand take his and he turns. Maria is just as beautiful as he remembers. Time seems to speed up and, like in reality, moments slip through Anton’s fingers. He is grabbed roughly from behind and dragged across the stones and out into the courtyard, once painted with multitudes of coloured flowers, now stained dark red with the blood of its defenders. Blood spilled to make a point.
Anton is thrown down to kneel at the feet of the invader. Hundori smiles a dark, malicious smile.
“I have won. Now see what YOU caused.”
Maria calls for him. A futile scream choked out as one of the abominations slices her head off in one swipe. Her ashes, caught in the breeze, blow away. Gustave, though he fights harder, meets the same fate.
“I shouldn't have sealed your mouth before. I should have silenced you permanently. A mistake I WILL correct.”
Hundori moves to be face to face with Anton and smiles his sick smile. Suddenly, Anton feels a sharp pain in his chest and all goes dark.
Alekzander wakes, startled by the sound of a book falling. He must have knocked it off in his dream. He picks it up and looks at it. A fitting title, he thinks to himself...
It reads, Harlan Ellison’s I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream. A fitting title, indeed.
__________
Wynter
written by Ryan D.
As the last dying light fades on the cold city of Saskatoon, a gentle
snowfall quietly blankets the streets, wiping clear the remnants of
another busy day. A clean slate. Wynter arises to yet another in a
seemingly endless fog of nights.
The city is quiet now, peaceful, and he basks for a moment in the reflection of that peace upon him. The beast is silent.
Sitting up from his cot he glances around his dim, spartan surroundings. A faint click is heard as a harsh florescent light buzzes to life across the room and his pupils narrow. Beneath it, an assortment of greenery. Lush foliage and colorful flowers, casting a sharp contrast against the drab concrete walls of the basement dwelling. A recently acquired hobby he plans to continue.
Lying upon a table , his cell phone, it's light gently beating it’s faint pulse, and a crimson bag. This evenings “juice box” he thinks to himself with a slight grin. He glances over the days news while finishing up his beverage.
January already?, and a call to Elysium. He glances toward some neatly folded clothing on a shelf in the corner of the room. His attire for the ball, now slightly dusty. The thought sends anxiousness up his spine. He had worked diligently acquiring the needed articles for his costume, yet even the thought of wearing it and exposing his “unnatural visage” to onlookers made him feel exposed. One night without his usual coverings, he could do that at the Prince’s request, couldn't he?
The familiar muffled sounds of gunfire and rock music from above shook him from his sombre thoughts. The staff, practicing on the range. Perhaps he’d join them this evening. Who doesn't enjoy some target practice?, and perhaps he could teach them a thing or two.
Strapping on his holster, he picks up his preferred instrument. A menacing, meticulously crafted, deadly extension of his will. The cold steel of his revolver nestles familiarly against his once warm chest, next to his now calloused heart. The two more alike than he'd like to admit.
Footsteps echo down the dark hallway leading both to yet another fog of seemingly endless nights.
The city is quiet now, peaceful, and he basks for a moment in the reflection of that peace upon him. The beast is silent.
Sitting up from his cot he glances around his dim, spartan surroundings. A faint click is heard as a harsh florescent light buzzes to life across the room and his pupils narrow. Beneath it, an assortment of greenery. Lush foliage and colorful flowers, casting a sharp contrast against the drab concrete walls of the basement dwelling. A recently acquired hobby he plans to continue.
Lying upon a table , his cell phone, it's light gently beating it’s faint pulse, and a crimson bag. This evenings “juice box” he thinks to himself with a slight grin. He glances over the days news while finishing up his beverage.
January already?, and a call to Elysium. He glances toward some neatly folded clothing on a shelf in the corner of the room. His attire for the ball, now slightly dusty. The thought sends anxiousness up his spine. He had worked diligently acquiring the needed articles for his costume, yet even the thought of wearing it and exposing his “unnatural visage” to onlookers made him feel exposed. One night without his usual coverings, he could do that at the Prince’s request, couldn't he?
The familiar muffled sounds of gunfire and rock music from above shook him from his sombre thoughts. The staff, practicing on the range. Perhaps he’d join them this evening. Who doesn't enjoy some target practice?, and perhaps he could teach them a thing or two.
Strapping on his holster, he picks up his preferred instrument. A menacing, meticulously crafted, deadly extension of his will. The cold steel of his revolver nestles familiarly against his once warm chest, next to his now calloused heart. The two more alike than he'd like to admit.
Footsteps echo down the dark hallway leading both to yet another fog of seemingly endless nights.
__________
Draven Giovanni
written by Edward
How do I get out of this Islamic hellhole?
Turkey has changed these recent nights.
{looks over shoulder}
Did "they" follow me?
They know I exist!!!
How did they take out my Assimite mercenaries that quickly?
At least I got my team out quickly.
Where is my fucking Cousin???
I may have been embraced a
De Medici, but I was still raised in
Giovanni Estates, where is my cousin???
I need out of here!!!!
He said meet him here,
Is that.....No, Thank God!!!
I have so much to tell in Venice
Before I get to Florence.
I don't know what I saw,
But it was power as I've
Never seen before......
They know I exist!!!
Thank God!!! My cousin
Paulus Giovanni!!! He
Showed!!!!
"Sit down cousin; please get me
Out of here, get me to Venice,
We MUST leave Turkey now!!!
Paulus Giovanni!!! He
Showed!!!!
"Sit down cousin; please get me
Out of here, get me to Venice,
We MUST leave Turkey now!!!
_____
George
written by Patrick Cu.
George trudges through the snow slicked streets, watching for the sign indicating his turn. As he walks, he contemplates the recent changes in his unlife. He had known that it would be cold here, but he had no idea of how cold, or how little he would care. He found the very ground here unnerving, with its gentle rise and fall. Nothing like the stark flatness of home. His beloved Sire, and precious library were gone forever, and his City was finally saved from those Sabbat savages. The blanket of snow causes scents and sounds to stand out to his heightened senses, and he is glad to note that he has left the pervasive stench of mold behind. When he was first assigned to Saskatoon he was apprehensive, but now that George was here, he felt that this would be a good town for him. He suddenly notices that his slowly spreading grin has unnerved some pedestrians and quickly remasters his expression while feeling a pang of hunger. He knows that the Camarilla is much more serious about maintaining the Masquerade than his sire had been, and that he would need to learn some discipline. George finds his turn, and after a few more blocks he comes to his destination. He walks up the path and raps sharply on the door of the Chantry.
_____
Prunella
written by Lindsay
The night of the full moon is here and Prunella is lucky with the
weather. Preparations were made and she is more than ready. She glances
at her ankle and sighs, the manacle is a much needed precaution but she
wishes otherwise. A male goat is tethered near by as another precaution.
She clears her mind and needs to focus on the matter at hand, she can
afford no distractions. The night while definitely milder then the past
couple of weeks is still not warm but she doesn't notice
the cold as she strips of her clothes, they will just get in the way.
For those watching they can see that the veins on her face were just the
tip of the iceberg. Obscene black veins cover her body. The courtyard
wall blocks most of the wind and there is a stillness in the air. For
this to work she needs to time the ritual for when the moon will be over
head.
Finally it is time and she starts chanting in Latin and blood starts to weep out of her pores. Her beast stirs inside her. She continues chanting and the blood flows steadier yet. Her beast growls it doesn't like giving up blood. Ignoring her beast she chants more and grabs soil out of a brass bowl and then a silver bowl and starts to rub it on her skin. Steadily she applies more and more soil making a bloody paste that gets smoothed on. Her beast snarls and viciously objects to the purging of the blood. Prunella resists the temptation to stop and continues to bleed the last of her blood and covering her body entirely in bloody clay mask. Her beast howling with hunger tries harder to to break free.
The moon shines down and casts it's silvery light on her. The mud on her starts to turn an oily black colour. It hardens and smooths giving her an onyx cast. She raises her staff and strikes the ground sending cracks spiderwebbing up and down her body. She breaks free from the black shell she was encased in and sends shards clattering down to the cobble stone below where they shatter into dust and dissipate. Still chanting she rapidly rids herself of all of the pieces left. Finally she is bare and the moonlight reveals porcelain skin. She drops her staff and shuddering gives into her beast and falls upon the goat.
Finally it is time and she starts chanting in Latin and blood starts to weep out of her pores. Her beast stirs inside her. She continues chanting and the blood flows steadier yet. Her beast growls it doesn't like giving up blood. Ignoring her beast she chants more and grabs soil out of a brass bowl and then a silver bowl and starts to rub it on her skin. Steadily she applies more and more soil making a bloody paste that gets smoothed on. Her beast snarls and viciously objects to the purging of the blood. Prunella resists the temptation to stop and continues to bleed the last of her blood and covering her body entirely in bloody clay mask. Her beast howling with hunger tries harder to to break free.
The moon shines down and casts it's silvery light on her. The mud on her starts to turn an oily black colour. It hardens and smooths giving her an onyx cast. She raises her staff and strikes the ground sending cracks spiderwebbing up and down her body. She breaks free from the black shell she was encased in and sends shards clattering down to the cobble stone below where they shatter into dust and dissipate. Still chanting she rapidly rids herself of all of the pieces left. Finally she is bare and the moonlight reveals porcelain skin. She drops her staff and shuddering gives into her beast and falls upon the goat.
_____
Albert Porter
written by Matt
Porter stood gazing out of his window out into the city once more, a
familiar stance and a familiar feeling. What had happened to make
Thaddeus so reckless? Were the rumors true? The quiet, continuous,
electronic whir coming from the other side of the room provided a
reflective counterpoint that allowed Porter to deepen his introspection.
Neonates needed their elders, both for protection as well as guidance,
as a mutual buffer between the elders and the changes in society.
In Saskatoon, things were always changing so rapidly, in fact, Porter
had seen more changes in six months than in the previous 10 years. This
could not all be caused by this new frontier town, there were simply
too many inconsistencies, too many coincidences, for this to be simply a
new territory. Who was the real threat to the city? Where were the
elders in all of this? Why did the Carpathians send one of their
elders, let alone three of their clansmen, to this new territory? Why
had the Brujah and the Toreador sent none? The electric hiss and whir
continued to drone on, almost beckoning him further into his thoughts.
The voice of his sire echos out of the darkness of his mind, 'be useful,
add value to the clan, add value to yourself, always think for
yourself', always push yourself, never settle for the status quo, strive
for better. Now that the threat to the city has left, Porter can begin
his work in earnest and continue with his plan for the safety of the
city. Everything must be prepared, nothing can be left to chance, there
is so much that has to be done. He turns once again to the whirring
machine, sits at the computer and settles in for a long night.
__________
Saoirse & Jack
written by Anita
The fields had very little snow, what was there was crusty
and dry. The wind picked up loose flakes, sweeping them across open
spaces. The edges of the bluffs had
drifts, swept into smooth peaks. The bare branches of the bushes and trees
rattled.
There was very little moonlight, the crescent thin, and the
stars bright were to far away to cast shadow
Two sets of red eyes gleamed in the darkness of the
bushes. Blinking, they scanned the open
spaces and brush. Across the field came
a small herd of deer, delicately placing their hooves, out from a coulee. Three does, one larger in the middle, her
ears large and up as she warily listened for any predators nearby. Her
companions, likely this past springs fawns, had their noses down looking for
grain left in the field. The harvests hadn’t been good this year, leaving
plenty of food for them and other creatures.
Having already frightening off other predators, merely by
being in the area, Saoirse and Jack were the only Beasts the deer had to worry
about. Leaving the shelter of the brush
Saoirse, blending with the white snow, and Jack, blending with the bare patches
of grain stubble, stalked the wary deer.
Upwind, silent, and patient – the gangrel were hunting for
pleasure.
For Jack, this made his blood sing, wiping away troublesome
political thoughts and bringing out the pure predator. Sinking his teeth into his problems was
simple, clean and easy. His Beast agreed and enjoyed the freer rein of the
Hunts. Stopping low to the ground, the
deer were within killing distance.
Unaware, as most of his prey were, of his presence. He knew he could slink right up to them, nip
their flanks, make them go where he wanted.
He held back, respect for his Elder, his seanmhair, the needle in his
compass. He looked to her, waiting.
Seeing her muscles tense before she leapt towards the
largest, he also leapt choosing the yearling in front. The ground tore up under his claws as he
charged then leapt at the deer’s throat. Wide brown eyes reflecting his open
jaws before he attacked. Her long legs
spasmed under his charge, splaying then scrabbling to run, his weight hanging
on her neck. She was young, healthy, and
strong, managing to make several steps. Jack let go, licking his jaws. The red
blood steamed in the cold air. Dripping
and spurting, wasted. The doe was
shocked, attempting to escape, bunching her haunches to leap away. Jack, with a growl, leapt again. Landing on
her hard he pushed her into the ground, teeth gripping her throat piercing
vital arteries. Her legs kicked while
her life’s blood spurted into Jacks muzzle and the cold ground. Finally the
thrashing stopped, the doe rapidly cooling. Large brown eyes reflecting the
blood soaked wolf standing over her, Beast satisfied.
Thursday, January 12th, 2017 0200hrs
-36 degrees (-45 with wind chill)
Fiske watched as the Apprentices tentatively made their way into the Chantry’s meeting room, nervous as they prepared to answer the Regent’s summons.
__________
Regent Fiske
written by David W.
-36 degrees (-45 with wind chill)
Fiske watched as the Apprentices tentatively made their way into the Chantry’s meeting room, nervous as they prepared to answer the Regent’s summons.
The Regent waited, patiently, for them to be seated, keeping his rage carefully hidden from his charges.
“Thank you for…joining me, this evening,” he stated in a tight, brittle, voice. “There is a matter that needs be…discussed. A matter that has caused me no end of…annoyance”. For a moment, Fiske’s stony control slipped, allowing his Apprentices a brief glimpse of the anger underneath.
Fiske reined in his temper in, before continuing, “First, there are…clerical matters to…attend too. It is my…pleasure…to announce that both Alexander and Maria have been….elevated to their next ranking in Circle. You have my…congratulations”.
The Apprentices murmured quiet words of congratulation to their brethren.
“Prunella, given your recent…success…in developing a ritual to…alleviate your affliction, I shall see to it that, you, too receive a…promotion,” Fiske continued. “Now that the…pleasantries are…concluded…we shall turn to the…issue…at hand”.
Fiske swept his clansmates with a malicious glare, pausing to let his rage become fully apparent.
“…Which of you cretins are responsible for this snow-blasted, hell-scape”? Fiske’s voice rose into a thunderous roar.
“…..Who has been trifling with the Art of Weather Control?!”
“Thank you for…joining me, this evening,” he stated in a tight, brittle, voice. “There is a matter that needs be…discussed. A matter that has caused me no end of…annoyance”. For a moment, Fiske’s stony control slipped, allowing his Apprentices a brief glimpse of the anger underneath.
Fiske reined in his temper in, before continuing, “First, there are…clerical matters to…attend too. It is my…pleasure…to announce that both Alexander and Maria have been….elevated to their next ranking in Circle. You have my…congratulations”.
The Apprentices murmured quiet words of congratulation to their brethren.
“Prunella, given your recent…success…in developing a ritual to…alleviate your affliction, I shall see to it that, you, too receive a…promotion,” Fiske continued. “Now that the…pleasantries are…concluded…we shall turn to the…issue…at hand”.
Fiske swept his clansmates with a malicious glare, pausing to let his rage become fully apparent.
“…Which of you cretins are responsible for this snow-blasted, hell-scape”? Fiske’s voice rose into a thunderous roar.
“…..Who has been trifling with the Art of Weather Control?!”
__________
Yohan
written by Scott
The two men and the girl turned the corner and began to walk down the
street, the snow crunched under foot. It wasn't a bad neighborhood but
it also wasn't a good one. Here people knew to keep their curtains
closed and not to take interest in what or who their neighbors were
involved in. The three felt secure in their leather jackets emblazoned
with the Fallen Saints patches.
“ Karl, are you sure this is where we are suppose to be meeting?” The younger of the two men asked looking around.
“ Yes” the older man replied, “ This is your first gathering of the family isn't it David, you're in for a good time, we don't meet often. Ask Sasha, she's been to one before”
David turned to look at the young girl, he could see her smile and a faint blush touched her cheeks.
“ We're here” said the older man gesturing to an older home they approached, the building looked like it had seen better days, and all the windows were dark, the night sky, obscured by cloud, cast barely enough light to see the home. The three approached the front door, and Karl rapped out a distinct pattern on it, waited a short time then knocked the same way again. After a few moments the door opened and a voice beckoned them in.
“ Karl, you're the last to arrive. Good to see you.” The man in the doorway said, offering this hand to Karl.
“ You too Nick, sorry to be late, had to pick up these youngsters and make sure they got here OK.”
“No problem, just come in. The portal is at the end of the hallway, just go through.”
The small group moved down the hallway, they could hear the house creak in the silence. At the end a doorway shimmered with a curtain of light.
David paused “ What is that?” he asked. Sasha moved past him and went through the light, her passing not disturbing anything, as if the light devoured her whole. David started to move away, but a sudden shove by Karl sent him flailing into and through the light.On the other side it was as if they had entered another world. Before them stood a sheltered glen surrounded by an impenetrable forest, the trees so thick a person couldn't move between them. Over head the moon and stars shone brightly illuminating the whole glade filled with people laughing and dancing. Off to the side, a group filled the space with folk music. Across the glade sat a large gypsy wagon, a roaring campfire blazed in front with a cauldron of what smelled like a rich stew sat to one side bubbling away. By the Wagon, 5 large casks sat stacked the top with a spigot in it dispensing a dark ale for any who wished. Large woven carpets littered the woodland floor and stretched out on the largest, near the wagon, Yohan lay propped up on cushions.
As the three new arrivals were greeted and pulled into the crowd Yohan stood and called for everyone's attention “ Welcome friends and family, eat drink and enjoy the revelry. Tonight we the people of the Roma tribe Ursa celebrate, for our enemies lie destroyed or fled, and the prize we have worked towards recently, lies ready to be grabbed by us. I will contact you all in the coming nights with orders but for now let us party.” With that he drained the tankard he held and sat back down as his family cheered. As the night goes on, no one seems to become drunk, though all drink their fill
The celebration goes on till well past mid of night, but finally first one or two, then most of the crowd made their goodbyes, some came to Yohan to bow and kiss his hands, others merely offer a handshake as they leave. Soon Yohan is left alone, the rest having all gone through the curtain of light, he relaxed and stared up into the sky. Slowly he lets the dreaming go. As the glade shimmered and vanished, Yohan was left in the gutted remains of the house, christmas lights and a single halogen bulb lit the house dimly. The large soup pot lay almost empty of portage on the propane stove burner, and the water barrels gleamed blue in the unaltered light, the corpses of the former squatters lay festering by the gas range in what remained of the kitchen, the same space where the wagon seemed to sit all night. All over the walls written in some unknown language were words and sentences coloured dark by the blood they are written in. One wall in particular had an inhuman and demonic face painted on it also in blood. Yohan walked over to the old gas range. “ So Gehenna has claimed our enemies and once again we walk free, but for how long I wonder. Well time to clean up, can't have this discovered by anyone.” He cupped his hands and concentrated for a moment. A small clear box shimmered into existence with what looks to be a flame dancing inside. He set it in the oven and turned on the gas, a small hiss let him know the oven still worked. Then he left the home. It felt good to be able to wander the streets again, Yohan stretched from the months long retreat into hiding. As he walked away humming to himself, Yohan could still see the feint outline of the box, half dream, half real. He walked down the street and around the corner, looking back, with his otherworldly sight, he could see the feint aura of dream and magic. Yohan concentrated for a moment and inside the house the glass box opened releasing the flame to sit burning in the oven as gas fills the building. “ No we cannot leave any trace behind.” he thought. Yohan nodded toward the flame blocks away, and for a brief moment the flame flickered from dream to reality. He quickly moved off into the dim remaining night. Outside the house a dull flicker could be seen in the window, a moment before the neighborhood was awakened by the explosion which engulfed the house and devoured everything inside.
“ Karl, are you sure this is where we are suppose to be meeting?” The younger of the two men asked looking around.
“ Yes” the older man replied, “ This is your first gathering of the family isn't it David, you're in for a good time, we don't meet often. Ask Sasha, she's been to one before”
David turned to look at the young girl, he could see her smile and a faint blush touched her cheeks.
“ We're here” said the older man gesturing to an older home they approached, the building looked like it had seen better days, and all the windows were dark, the night sky, obscured by cloud, cast barely enough light to see the home. The three approached the front door, and Karl rapped out a distinct pattern on it, waited a short time then knocked the same way again. After a few moments the door opened and a voice beckoned them in.
“ Karl, you're the last to arrive. Good to see you.” The man in the doorway said, offering this hand to Karl.
“ You too Nick, sorry to be late, had to pick up these youngsters and make sure they got here OK.”
“No problem, just come in. The portal is at the end of the hallway, just go through.”
The small group moved down the hallway, they could hear the house creak in the silence. At the end a doorway shimmered with a curtain of light.
David paused “ What is that?” he asked. Sasha moved past him and went through the light, her passing not disturbing anything, as if the light devoured her whole. David started to move away, but a sudden shove by Karl sent him flailing into and through the light.On the other side it was as if they had entered another world. Before them stood a sheltered glen surrounded by an impenetrable forest, the trees so thick a person couldn't move between them. Over head the moon and stars shone brightly illuminating the whole glade filled with people laughing and dancing. Off to the side, a group filled the space with folk music. Across the glade sat a large gypsy wagon, a roaring campfire blazed in front with a cauldron of what smelled like a rich stew sat to one side bubbling away. By the Wagon, 5 large casks sat stacked the top with a spigot in it dispensing a dark ale for any who wished. Large woven carpets littered the woodland floor and stretched out on the largest, near the wagon, Yohan lay propped up on cushions.
As the three new arrivals were greeted and pulled into the crowd Yohan stood and called for everyone's attention “ Welcome friends and family, eat drink and enjoy the revelry. Tonight we the people of the Roma tribe Ursa celebrate, for our enemies lie destroyed or fled, and the prize we have worked towards recently, lies ready to be grabbed by us. I will contact you all in the coming nights with orders but for now let us party.” With that he drained the tankard he held and sat back down as his family cheered. As the night goes on, no one seems to become drunk, though all drink their fill
The celebration goes on till well past mid of night, but finally first one or two, then most of the crowd made their goodbyes, some came to Yohan to bow and kiss his hands, others merely offer a handshake as they leave. Soon Yohan is left alone, the rest having all gone through the curtain of light, he relaxed and stared up into the sky. Slowly he lets the dreaming go. As the glade shimmered and vanished, Yohan was left in the gutted remains of the house, christmas lights and a single halogen bulb lit the house dimly. The large soup pot lay almost empty of portage on the propane stove burner, and the water barrels gleamed blue in the unaltered light, the corpses of the former squatters lay festering by the gas range in what remained of the kitchen, the same space where the wagon seemed to sit all night. All over the walls written in some unknown language were words and sentences coloured dark by the blood they are written in. One wall in particular had an inhuman and demonic face painted on it also in blood. Yohan walked over to the old gas range. “ So Gehenna has claimed our enemies and once again we walk free, but for how long I wonder. Well time to clean up, can't have this discovered by anyone.” He cupped his hands and concentrated for a moment. A small clear box shimmered into existence with what looks to be a flame dancing inside. He set it in the oven and turned on the gas, a small hiss let him know the oven still worked. Then he left the home. It felt good to be able to wander the streets again, Yohan stretched from the months long retreat into hiding. As he walked away humming to himself, Yohan could still see the feint outline of the box, half dream, half real. He walked down the street and around the corner, looking back, with his otherworldly sight, he could see the feint aura of dream and magic. Yohan concentrated for a moment and inside the house the glass box opened releasing the flame to sit burning in the oven as gas fills the building. “ No we cannot leave any trace behind.” he thought. Yohan nodded toward the flame blocks away, and for a brief moment the flame flickered from dream to reality. He quickly moved off into the dim remaining night. Outside the house a dull flicker could be seen in the window, a moment before the neighborhood was awakened by the explosion which engulfed the house and devoured everything inside.
__________
Tyrese
written by Don B.
December 2015, 1:15 am
Tyreset made his way though his night
club "V" in Detroit Michigan, his Entourage no where to be seen. Making
his way to an elevator in the back of the club, he waved off his
bodyguard "Naw, keep peepin' da front", the young Asian woman nodded and
stood in front of the doors of the elevator.
The doors opened a
few floors later, walking down the hallway, taking the first door on
the right. The room was no more then 10 by 15 by 10 feet, bookshelves
covered the walls, a single soft old
English leather chair in the back of the room. Next to the chair sat an
Antique rustic vintage telephone, and antique gramophone next to that.
Giving the gramophone several cranks, "Gioachino Rossini : The Barber Of
Seville - Overture" begun to play.
Taking a few books from the shelf "Chaucer" he said as he caressed a
book, "T.S. Elliot" he whispered as he caressed another "Jane Austin,
Toni Morrioson, Mark Twain, how i have missed you all"
He smiled, lighting a pipe he sat and started to read "The Sacred Wood" by T.S Elliot, picking up where he had last left off.
An hour passed, the phone wrung, only one person had that number "Oh Bother, must I?, Fine..if I must, i shall", setting the book down he picked up the receiver...
"Whud up homie" He said in a high pitched voice
"Say Whud?" He asked
"Saskatoon? Now?..fuh'real?" He questioned
"Naw don'cha worry, I be there ah'ite" he hung up the phone,
"Don't worry Thomas I shall return in a few years and pick you up again" he gave the cover a gentle kiss, returning the book to it`s rightful place.
"I shall return in time my old friends" he told his library as he closed the door.
He smiled, lighting a pipe he sat and started to read "The Sacred Wood" by T.S Elliot, picking up where he had last left off.
An hour passed, the phone wrung, only one person had that number "Oh Bother, must I?, Fine..if I must, i shall", setting the book down he picked up the receiver...
"Whud up homie" He said in a high pitched voice
"Say Whud?" He asked
"Saskatoon? Now?..fuh'real?" He questioned
"Naw don'cha worry, I be there ah'ite" he hung up the phone,
"Don't worry Thomas I shall return in a few years and pick you up again" he gave the cover a gentle kiss, returning the book to it`s rightful place.
"I shall return in time my old friends" he told his library as he closed the door.
______
L'Poutoux
written by Hernando
In the months that have passed, he had begun to feel his carefully composed mask slipping away bit by bit. It has been a struggle to regain those pieces, and the added strain of having hunters in the area has taken its toll on the normally charismatic Malkavian. Nonetheless, it has been a relief to not have to maintain the facade in these past several weeks. The daily grooming regime had grown tedious, and the respite, no matter how brief, had been much welcomed.
The ever-present smile remains unchanged, yet to look at him now, most would think he was but a shadow of his former self. Gone was the meticulously groomed vampire that the Kindred had grown so accustomed to seeing. Even his fine clothing had been retired to the back of the closet in favor of more comfortable attire. The change was dramatic enough to prompt him to veil all of the mirrors in his household. Granted, it did nothing to solve the problem, but at least he no longer had to be faced with his own haggard reflection.
Pulling on a pair of jogging pants and a hoodie, he leaves his room of rest to begin his daily routine. As always, he begins with a thorough walkthrough of his house. He visits every room, and only once he is certain that all is as it should be, does he then turn his attention to his steward. Her job is to inform him of anything significant that has occurred while he has slept. However, aside from the announcement of hunters and the subsequent need for caution, there hasn’t been much news recently. Given the monotony of their exchanges of late, he almost misses that crucial bit of news the first time, and so he has her repeat it again: the Kindred have called for a gathering...
The words have a profound effect on the Malkavian, and upon hearing them a second time the corners of his mouth creep upward ever so slightly. The woman continues her report, though the remainder of it seems to fall on deaf ears. It isn’t long until she returns to her other duties. Without being told to, she understands that she will need to begin the preparations at once if her master is to be presentable for when the Kindred gather.
Once she is gone and he is again left to his own devices, he realizes he is famished and decides it is time to look in on his herd. He makes his way across the foyer and down a narrow hallway with a brightly painted door at the end. The door opens into an adjoining room that connects his home to the small herbal shop he owns and operates. It is here that his herd tends to congregate, many of whom rarely leave; And really, why would they? They are well cared for and want for nothing.
Upon entering, most look toward the door with glazed eyes, and smile when they see him. He can't help but smile back at them before moving further into the room and joining them on one of the many couches that are scattered about the area. As he moves among them they stir. Many seem to gravitate toward him, not unlike a flower seeking the sun; their hands reaching out to him pleadingly, silently begging for a touch. He allows them their stolen caresses and waits for them to settle themselves again before he would begin to speak. It is a story this time, one that is told in his native tongue. It is a language that has long been dead, though he has retained his fluency over the years he had been alive and into undeath.
After a time, he does select one among them feed on. Several of the others seem disappointed, but he assures them that in time all shall have a turn. There are all kinds within his herd: men and women, young and old, ugly and beautiful; All seem to admire him greatly.
His story concluded, he decides to sit with them for a time. Time and time again, he finds his gaze irrevocably drawn to one young woman in particular. Between her dark complexion and those long, thick, sable locks, something about her stirs a longing in him that reminds him of home. Memories of a life long before this one wash over him and he is immediately transported back in time....
Stormy seas. Thunder crashes and lightning dances across the night sky. The wind whips cold water against the upturned faces of many as they look towards him. Most are on their knees, swaying back and forth, chanting as they hear him. Knowing that this must be done, so that the evil spirit of the sea does not cause chaos and destruction to his people. He shouts the incantation as loud as possible, his voice goes raw. Now he raises the sacrificial blade way above his head. Upon reciting the last words, the blade plunges down into the awaiting sacrifice. He can feel that instant impact, eventually through the toughness of the rib cage and to the heart of the young woman.
As he finally looks towards her young face, remorse and anger flow through him. Yet, the corners of his lips curl up to show a smile, acknowledging that she did well and that her people will live longer. Moments pass and she no longer lives. Now he performs the last words of the chant and soon after the blade is removed from her chest. Crimson blood flow on to the stone where she lays and to the wet ground below. Raising the blade into the air once again, to finally bring it close to his lips. He licks the blade to taste her crimson essence. As two fingers run along the blade, he brings the bloody fingers to his cheeks. Twice he traces two vertical lines down and once along his forehead. Finally looking towards the upturned faces, he nods to them, ending the ritual.
He just smiles towards the young woman, thanking her for that memory. Now he stands up and bids everyone farewell. Looking back towards her once again, giving a silent promise that her time will soon come. With that he turns and walks out, preparing himself mentally for the next gathering.
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