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Author Topic: Raven's Call  (Read 13968 times)

Offline [archive] Signothorn

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Re: Raven's Call
« on: March 03, 2005, 11:19:00 AM »
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  •                 A lone figure stood in front of the large windows of a dimly lit hall, at the topmost floor of the Benedict Foundation. It watched the drizzling rain falling on the dirty streets of Ravenmill, watched the moving lights of cars, watched the smaller dots that could be dimly identified as people, watched the direction that, if lighting allowed, would have shown the Reservation's woodland.
     
     Faleramo Benedict, Prince of Ravenmill, sighed and turned away from the window. He would not admit it even to himself, but he was truly distraught. The events of the two previous nights were a sign for things to come, and Faleramo saw nothing good in the horizon. Sitting down in the leather-bound chair in front of his desk, Faleramo looked at the large hall which was basically his throne-room.In the olden days, a Prince sat on a throne. Now, a Prince sat on a black-leather swivel chair, in front of a desk covered in paperwork. Faleramo had covered the sides of the hall with ornate statues and paintings, so as to at least keep a feeling of grandeur around the place. Admittedly, some of the paintings were portraits of him. Like all Lasombra, Faleramo had no reflection, and while he would not admit it, he was sure that eventually he would forget how he looked like if not for those portraits.
     
     Faleramo moved his gaze across the room, finally focusing on a dark corner. He looked at it for a while, and a thin smile slowly crept to his face. "Report." he said towards the shadows.
     
     Halton, the Prince's Seneschal and Sheriff, removed the cloak of Obfuscate from himself. He was never sure how the Prince could see through the hiding veil of shadow that surrounded him at most times. "My greetings to you, Your Majesty." he said, bowing.
     
     Faleramo stared at his closest advisor. His taste in clothing appeared to only worsen with the passing decades. He was now wearing a slightly torn pair of jeans, a Hawaii shirt, a cowboy hat, and a pair of sunglasses. Since Halton lacked an ear, either from before his Embrace or because of his tainted Nosferatu blood, he had put a metal stud in the side of his head to hold his sunglasses. "Stop that stupid courteous charade, Halton. I get enough of that from the fledgelings seeking an audience with me." Faleramo's face was now completely expressionless. "Now Report. I will not repeat my request again."
     
     It was quite apparent that it wasn't a request. "Aw, c'mon, chief, can't I have a little fun anymore?" said Halton as he straightened up. "It's bad, chief." he finally began, taking a seat on a couch. "O'Neil's gone, too. No one's seen him since last night, and that's damn unusual. The Anarchs're blamin' us on this one. This could even mean a full scale war."
     
     "Damn those rabble-rousers!" said the Prince, "Don't they realize that this is the last thing we of the Camarilla would do? Keeping this dung-heap of a city stable is difficult enough! Now, what of our… other issues?"
     
     "The Tremere Regent's still missing, if that's what you mean." said Halton. "The Council of Three is still tryin' to keep it a secret, but they’re probably already fighting over who gets to take over."
     
     Faleramo didn't bother to ask how Halton managed to acquire this bit of information, which was something only a few of the city's Tremere were aware of. Halton had his ways, and he preferred not to reveal them.
     
     "It is hardly surprising." Faleramo finally said. "They are Malcolm's childer and apprentices. It is only to be expected that they would covet their sire's position. But would they… dispose of him?"
     
     "Not sure if they're capable of it, chief," said Halton. ",the Tremere are a tightly knit bunch. But I'm sure they won't shed a tear if he's gone."
     
     Faleramo nodded. "True. Now, continue."
     
     "The Nossie Network's lyin' low. Our lot can smell trouble a mile off, and the local Nossies aren't too interested in getting their noses chopped off if they shove it in wrong place at the wrong time. The Malkavian Primogen, Dr. Steiler, is still barricaded in his loony bin, s'far as I know. I'm thinkin' he knows somethin', and prefers to keep away 'till the shit stops hitting the fan."
     
     The Prince slowly got up, and went back to his position in front of the window. He looked down at the city again, carefully noting every building, every car, every speck of light that marked life. Halton knew that he should keep quiet at this time. The Prince had something on his mind, and he wouldn't appreciate him interfering.
     
     "Divide and conquer, Halton, divide and conquer. Someone is trying to take what is ours from us, but this is my city, and I plan to keep it. I am no pawn in this game." The Prince turned to Halton. "We must act quickly and decisively if we want to nip this at the bud. I'm placing this one in your hands, Halton. It is up to you to find likely candidates for a search party amongst the city's Kindred. You will send them to Anarch territory, where they must convince the Anarchs that we had nothing to do with O'Neil's disappearance, and that we are even trying to find him. Perhaps… perhaps even allowing a few of them to join the search would convince them. Now go."
     
     Halton said nothing, and merely covered himself with a coat of shadow once more. Faleramo could hear the opening doors of the elevator, and the hum as it descended down to the lowest floor.
     
     The Prince of Ravenmill still looked at his domain. "We will see who is the better player, whoever you are." He said quietly to himself.
                           

     

    -----signature-----
               Roman K
     
     "This isn't life in the fast lane, it's life in the oncoming traffic."
     (Terry Pratchett)    
                                                      

    Offline [archive] archy_bold

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    Re: Raven's Call
    « Reply #1 on: March 03, 2005, 04:18:00 PM »
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  •                 We stepped out onto the dusty platform, the howl of the wind made us shudder. I turned to the left to see a grey sign 'Rave mill' it read. The sign was broken and defaced, I felt right at home. "We're here." I spoke as if I had been joined by others, but I was alone.
     
     "We should see the prince." I had been told that if I travelled anywhere, that I should seek the leader, announce our presence or I would be killed. "Tomorrow." I always felt more comfortable talking to myself than others, I never could figure what the other person thought of me, but then again I didn't always know what I was thinking.
     
     I stepped into the street and immediately looked up, the skyscrapers on the horizon were bright, but sad, they told stories of a city that had seen better days, but was still clinging on. Looking down was a bit of a contrast. Whilst the tallest buildings showed that the city still had something to show for itself, the streets were grimy and filled with the homeless.
     
     We continued walking, keeping my head down. It was 4 and the sun would come up soon, I needed to find shelter.
     
     We stepped down a small alley, I saw something moving. "Dinner time!" Apocalypse turned to the side and clenched his fists. I felt myself grasp into the darkness and pull something furry from the shadows. I tore into the rat. It screeched in agony as I removed its fluids, just so I could survive a little longer. The warm liquid soothed my throat as it slipped into my stomach and immediately begun spreading through my cold body.
     
     I stopped and realised what I had done. I didn't reach out for the rat, but it was me. I often noticed how I seemingly did things instinctively. I had killed without remorse many times, but never felt anger for my victims.
     
     The thought was quickly removed from my head and I hurriedly shuffled to the nearest door. I stepped into the building and found a spot to rest. "Tomorrow." I said, "I need to know why We're here."
     
     I slipped into sleep.                        

     

                                                      

    Offline [archive] Grendel8101

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    Re: Raven's Call
    « Reply #2 on: March 04, 2005, 12:48:00 AM »
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  •                 Dusty leaned against a building in the mouth of an alley, pretending to smoke a cigarette.  The smoke dulled his senses, masking the rancid scents he’d been dealing with since coming to Ravenmill.
       
       He blew out twin plumes from his nostrils.  He could smell garbage from the alley, spoiled meat, moldy bread.  He moved smoke through his nose again.  A woman walked by the alley just as the smoke cleared.  He could smell her perfume, dulled by the hours of the day.  Sweat and sex, too, Pungent, recent.  He could smell the man she’d been with.  He could smell blood in the mix too.  My, my, little girl what have you been up to?
       
       More smoke.  As it cleared he smelled raw sewage, rats and blood.  Strange.  He turned his head to the source.  Empty space.  Ah, he’d heard of this.  Ã¢â‚¬Å“Must we?â€? he asked the wall.
       
       The empty space was filled with a Nosferatu.  Dusty had heard they were ugly, and this one certainly was.  Ã¢â‚¬Å“You’ve been trying to contact us.â€?  it said.  Dusty wasn’t sure if it was male or female.
       
       Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’m looking for my sire." Dusty said.
       Ã¢â‚¬Å“Name?â€?
       Ã¢â‚¬Å“Don’t know.â€?
       The Nosferatu arched an eyebrow.  Ã¢â‚¬Å“What clan?â€?
       
       Dusty thought, hard.  Someone had told him what his clan was once, after he’d explained to them his ability to become a wolf.  G-something.  Gangrene, Gargoyle.  Gangrel?  No, that couldn’t be it.  Ã¢â‚¬Å“Gargamel?â€? he ventured.
       
       The Nosferatu snorted, obviously suppressing laughter.  Ã¢â‚¬Å“You mean Gangrel, I think.  Glowing eyes and animal speaking, right?â€?  Dusty nodded.
       
       The Nosferatu continued.  Ã¢â‚¬Å“Sorry kid, without a name we really can’t help you out.  Gangrel move around too much to keep a good bead on.â€?
       
       Dusty growled involuntarily, showing his curved fangs.  The Nossie shrugged, not in the least threatened.  Ã¢â‚¬Å“Don’t blame the messenger.  Not that I couldn’t have used the cash, but you’re on your own.â€?  The creature disappeared.
       
       Dusty puffed on the last of his cigarette and dropped it, letting it smolder, hoping it would start a fire.  He pulled out a folded envelope from the pocket of his tattered BDU’s.  He opened the envelope and took out the paper inside.  Ã¢â‚¬Å“Come to Ravenmill, NJâ€? was written on the paper, a simple message.  The signature was in the scent.  He’d smelled it only once before, when he’d awoke that cold night in winter, changed.
       
       Ã¢â‚¬Å“You have some explaining to do, my friend.â€?  he told the paper.                        

     

                                                      

    Offline [archive] Year_of_the_Scarab

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    Re: Raven's Call
    « Reply #3 on: March 04, 2005, 08:46:00 AM »
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  •                 [Residential Area, Kenjutsu Ryuha Martial Arts School, topmost private training room, latter that night]
     
     (Stroke. Parry. Thrust.)
     
     Yet again, Lars was sparring. Going through the patterns of the Kenbu calmed his mind far more than meditating these days. In fact only through sparring with his imaginary opponent could he find any peace and focus since a few weeks. Something disturbed the night air, stirring up mortal and vampire alike it seemed, the cause of this had however not yet revealed itself. For many nights he searched the aura of the city, leaving his body behind using his vampire abilities, like his sire Nakamura showed him nearly a century ago, to travel through the spirit realm, which many insisted on calling the â€?astral planeâ€?, whatever that meant.
     
     (Stroke. Spin. Stroke. Stroke.)
     
     Not that he learned anything from his travels. The word on the streets however was that apparently people – Kindred and Kine alike – have gone missing, and the streets have become dangerous after nightfall, even for vampires. So Markus had said anyway. No reason to doubt it though. Markus had been a trusted advisor and assistant, ever since Lars made him his ghoul, sometime in the sixties, over thirty years ago. Thirty years? Has it been so long already? - he thought.  
     
     (Parry. Thrust. Dodge.)
     
     For over thirty years now Ravenmill seemed an ideal place to stay far away from the eyes of the Jyhad, assassins and all that nonsense. Sure, there were Sabbat here too – every city had a few, that’s certain, probably he’d even met one or two on the rare occasion when he actually interacted with the local Kindred. When your city’s prince is a reformed Lasombra the lines become blurred, though even if there were some Sabbat living here, they made a point of not stepping on anyone’s toes.
     
     (Stroke. Spin. Thrust. Parry.)
     
     Until now that is, since the unspoken consensus was that they are to be blamed for the recent disappearances. Confirming that proved harder than he thought however, the Anarchs either don’t know or won’t tell, and the Tremere seem to be caught up in some internal agenda as far as he could tell. I’d be surprised if one hand knows what the other is doing between the warlocks - Lars thought to himself. Perhaps the Prince, or his people knew more, but without knowing the questions he wasn’t going to look for answers there. The Prince proved to be reasonably civil on previous occasions when dealing with the city’s Kindred, but if something was amiss, he most likely wouldn’t be happy to talk about it.
     
     (Stroke. Spin. Stroke. Spin. Stroke.)
     
     Peace wasn’t coming. Instead he grew even more distracted, neither focusing on the patterns nor listening to what Markus had been talking about. The ghoul came up to tell him something imporatant a few minutes ago, but Lars hasn’t listened to a single word he said, seeking to calm his mind and growing more and more angry at the inability to do so. It seemed darker clouds were drawing near. He finished the kata, shook the imaginary blood of the blade, and sheated the sword, finally turning his attention to his ghoul.
     
     "Would you mind repeating that last part?" – he said - "I seem to have wandered off with my thoughts."
     
     "What „last partâ€?? You haven’t listened to anything I said" - Markus smirked
     
     "The important part. The part about situations neither you nor Martina can handle, which require my undivided attention" - Lars replied, and added with mocked confusion - "There was such a part, wasn’t it?"
     
     "Now, that you mention it... no, I suppose not." - the ghoul stood up from the crouch he’s been waiting in and made to leave the room - "I’ll be leaving you to your brooding then. Though you should talk to Martina when you find the time, she’s been holding your calls for two weeks now and is running out of excuses to tell the more well-informed interesants" - he said over his shoulder and left.
     
     Martina, Lars’ second ghoul, wielded other weapons – organizers, palmtops, telephones - in a war that never ceased. „You can’t just stick your head in the sand and let the rest of the world pass you byâ€? - she told him once - „When you’re not moving forward, you’re retreating, you knowâ€?. So had Nakamura also said all those years ago – „Inaction is defeatâ€?. Lars walked over to the window and stared at nothing in particular. "Seems the peaceful nights in this god-forsaken city are over then whether I like it or not" - he thought to himself.                        

     

                                                      

    Offline [archive] Miyo34949332

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    Re: Raven's Call
    « Reply #4 on: March 05, 2005, 06:42:00 AM »
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  •                 Miyo got out of the cab and breathed in the stink of pollution in downtown Ravenmill.  Miyo looked up towards the top of the skyscraper in front of her.  She was excited for unknown reasons.  She felt bouncy tonight.  Perhaps it was just all the skyscrapers and the people walking around on the street.  She smiled and giggled.  She decided it must be all the people.  Watching all these people go around the city living their lives almost made her feel as if her heart would start beating again.  She could almost imagine herself bouncing down the street.  To the surprise of the people around her, she started to laugh out loud.  Sister laughed too.. but mother frowned.  Immediately, she stopped laughing.
     
     The air felt hot on Miyo's skin.  She slid off her heavy jacket and held it in her hand as she walked down the street.  The night was still young and Miyo was hungry.  She could hear the music from the clubs down the street.  But dancing wasn't on her mind at the moment, blood was.  She looked around looking for prey.  Soon enough, she saw standing behind a bar a tall young man with his friends enjoying the joys of a cigarette.  The smoke reminded her of her distant past.  She remembers the feeling of nicotine filling her body and relaxing her muscles.  Studying the man, she noticed his extreme hairstyle.  It made her smile.  
     
     "The hair..  like an image carved in dead cells of.." Miyo thought to herself, "of your chaotic mind."  Sister finished her sentence for her.  
     
     Miyo decided this was the one.  The man starred at her as she approached him.  She smiled at him.
     
     "Hi." The word came out almost as a whisper.  It sounded more like the purr of a cat.  She smiled as she shifted her weight onto one foot.
     
     "Hey there cute stuff."  He smirked.  He turned to his friends who smirked back.  They acted like a couple of excited highschool boys waiting to lose their virginity.
     
     Miyo grabbed his hand and led him off.  His friends yelled and cheered behind him.  
     
     "So easy.."  Voices constantly filled Miyo's head through her excitement for blood.  "Like running chocolate fudge.."  "The lab rats submit.."
     
     She led him to a dark alley and pushed him against the wall.  The man was so excited he was going to piss his pants.  His hands were as if they were tied in knots as he fumbled with his zippers and tried to grab Miyo at the same time.  She grabbed his hands and put his fingers to his mouth.  
     
     "Not so fast bunny, I shall like to enjoy this."  She whispered into his ear.  "You're a good bunny aren't you?"  
     
     "Umm..  sure sure, whatever."  The man was most confused.  "Look lady, I don't even know your name."
     
     She looked at him blankly for a moment and suddenly burst out in a fit of laughter.  The man seemed to shrink in her shadow.  
     
     "Hahaha, your funny."
     
     With that, she threw her head back, and drove her neat fangs into his neck.  He yelped and grabbed her back.  The blood flowed smoothly into Miyo's mouth, slid down her throat filling her with the man's life.  Rats scurried behind them but Miyo didn't notice.  She took one last look at the man's shocked face and closed her eyes and her mind completely blanked.  
     
     All of a sudden, there was a blinding light.  Miyo was utterly confused but she was sure her eyes were still closed.  The blood had become just a noise in the background.  The blinding light flashed.  Claws.  Fangs.  Blood.  Screaming.  Screeching.  Laughter.  She looked away.  But they laughed.  It was twisted.  But she liked it.  It was a leech.  They sucked on it.  
     
     The images drove fear into Miyo's dead heart.  She grabbed onto the man harder and sucked the wound on his neck harder.  She pulled at him.  Twisted his body.  Pulled his arms out of their sockets and cracked his bones.  She grabbed his neck.  His neck snapped.  It echoed in her mind but never went away.  She opened her eyes and screamed in terror.  With all her strength, she threw his body against the wall and ran off into the darkness of the alley.  
     
     Huddled in a dark corner between buildings.  She cried with her head between her legs.  Echoing down the alley was also her hysterical laughter.  But Miyo never heard it.  
                           

     

                                                      

    Offline [archive] RomanK28488471

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    Re: Raven's Call
    « Reply #5 on: March 13, 2005, 11:12:00 AM »
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  •                 Halton sat in his own office in the Benedict Foundation, looking through a pile of papers strewn on his desk. Halton didn't like paperwork, but his memory couldn't hold every single Kindred in the city.
     
     So far, the possibilities looked pretty bleak.
     
     The Toreador, Lars Mahn, was a definite option. Quite frankly, he was the only one aligned with the Camarilla that Halton could spare for this assignment. Yes, he would do… The others he had around the city weren't capable enough.
     
     Another option was an Assamite he had been aware of for some time. He hadn't bothered with introducing himself to the Prince when he arrived in Ravenmill, and Halton didn't have the time to bother with him. Now, he didn't have a choice. It was time for the Assamite to pay for his insolence, and be useful for the Camarilla in the process.
     
     The other possible candidates weren't the best, but they were expendable as far as Halton was concerned. Both were fairly recent arrivals in the city. One, as a Nosferatu who owed him a favor had said, was a Gangrel searching for his Sire.  Apparently, he wasn't the sharp type, and if the Nosferatu's information was accurate he was one step from being Caitiff, anyway. Easily led by the nose with a promise of information. Halton might just come through with that promise if he survived. Another, an apparent Malkavian female of Oriental appearance, had broken the Masquerade only a couple of hours ago. Didn't they realize that you don't leave broken, bloodless bodies for the police to find? It has been a while since such a thing occurred, as most Kindred in the city knew to lay low. Now, most likely, he'd have to deal with a resurgence of hunter activities. He would have to deal with her. Either use or kill. For now, using was the best option.
     
     Halton picked up the phone, and dialed and inside number. "Vic? Halton here. I need you to make a little collecting round. I'm faxing ya' the list as we speak. Take some muscle with you, and make sure they get here fast. Get 'em to the meeting room across my office. Shouldn't be much of a problem. "
                           

     

    -----signature-----
               Roman K
     
     "This isn't life in the fast lane, it's life in the oncoming traffic."
     (Terry Pratchett)    
                                                      

    Offline [archive] Grendel8101

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    Re: Raven's Call
    « Reply #6 on: March 15, 2005, 11:22:00 AM »
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  •                 She was a pretty young thing, college-girl type, out for a wild evening.  Her mistake wasn’t so much going out alone, but parking several blocks from the club.
     
       Dusty shadowed her, waiting for the right moment.  Just as she passed the right alley (everything was done in alleys these nights, Dusty had noticed) he closed the distance.  He was silent, and she never had the chance to make a sound.  Dusty clamped a hand over her mouth and carried her into the alley, all within a second.  His fangs were already in her neck, and he tried not to think of the jugular that was so close to them.
     
       He stopped himself.  He had taken his fill.  She was dazed, the effect of the bite clouding her mind.  Dusty rapped on her head, just hard enough to knock her out.  He licked the wound and watched it close.  All professional, all neat and tidy.  Boring.  He flipped through her purse and took out a large wad of bills.
        
       Humans were too easy.  True, their blood was filling, but they had the survival instinct of a rock.  The deer and antelope he’d fed on for twenty years never let him get close, unless he Spoke to them.  He generally didn’t, except for those times he’d been seriously injured.  Damn werewolves...
        
       He hadn’t even had to hunt some humans.  He’d walked into a bar and started chatting up the locals, keeping his yellow eyes and fangs hidden, of course.  A few had seen his Indian features, and after that it was easy pickings.  He’d give some bullshit story about being Crazy Horses’ great grandson and then they followed him out the door like flies on meat.  
       
       He preferred to hunt them, if you could call this hunting.  Problem was not draining them.  Twice he’d had to dispose of bodies.  Not good.  Even the Anarchs at the Hole in the Wall warned him what would happen if that kept up.  Coyotes used to take care of the bloodless animals he left out in the wilds.  So many damn details you had to worry about in a city.
        
       Dusty started walking, aimlessly.  He wondered what he would do if he ever looked his Sire in the face.  Punch, kiss, spit, hug, or shoot?  Decisions, decisions.
        
       He wondered if he should just leave the city and go back.  Bad tidings in the air anyway, best to avoid if possible.  He wondered why he’d even come in the first place.
        
       He wondered how long those vampires were going to follow him before making their move.
        
       Three of them.  They were underestimating him.  So many believed he was a Thin Blood.  Some Sabbat had found out the hard way when he’d turned into a wolf and ripped out a few throats.  These weren’t Sabbat, though.  Didn’t smell bad enough.  Organized, too, so not Anarchs.  Cammarilla?  What did they want?
        
       Dusty rounded a corner and leapt up a fire escape.  A deep, dark window sill made a good hiding place.  He pulled out the gun from the jerry-rigged holster in his pants.  
        
       The vampires turned the corner and started looking.  They weren’t bad.  They knew he knew they were following him.  One of them looked up at his hiding spot.  Shit.  He supposed it was an obvious choice.  Ah, well...
        
       Dusty leapt from the sill, growing claws as he fell.  He slashed the first one, but the claws didn’t go deep enough to do any real damage.  The vamp fell back a little.  Dusty brought up the gun and started shooting.  He fanned the hammer, sending  bullets out like a full auto.  Of course he only had six.  Two knocked down the injured one.  Two more hit the second.  He managed to fire one into the third before the vamp hit him.
        
       Dusty had heard of Potence.  He was slammed back into a building, hard.  He heard ribs crack.  He snarled, on the verge of Frenzy.  Time to go Wolf…
        
       The vampires tackled him, pinning him to the wall.  One slapped him, hard.  The shock surprised Dusty.
        
       Ã¢â‚¬Å“We just need to talk to you.â€?  one of them said.  Ã¢â‚¬Å“Halton wants to see you, we‘re just gonna take you to his office, so calm the fuck down.â€?
        
       Ã¢â‚¬Å“…Oh.  Okay.â€?  Dusty said.                        

     

                                                      

    Offline [archive] Year_of_the_Scarab

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    Re: Raven's Call
    « Reply #7 on: March 15, 2005, 05:23:00 PM »
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  •                 „Really, these people have no sense of style whatsoeverâ€? - Lars thought looking at the three visitors from the top of the stairs.
     
     He was obscured by shadow where he leaned against the balustrade, which gave him an opportunity to see how Martina would handle the situation with the three Kindred. There was no doubt they were Kindred – some of Caine’s childer had a hard time hiding their true nature – but those three didn’t even try to do so. In fact, they looked as if they barged in here right after a barfight. One even had the nerve to wear a blood stained shot-up jacket. Lars sighed – „it seems the Camarilla will accept just anybody these daysâ€?. Given, he hadn’t met any of the individuals before, but the fact that they came in through the front door casually, and talked to his ghoul, most likely meant they weren’t Sabbat, and he thought he knew all the Anarchs of the city, so it’s either Camarilla or, gods forbid, Caitiff. He liked to think himself above such trivial matters as appearances and alingment, but then again, no Toreador truly was.
     
     Meanwhile Martina looked up, giving him a chance to catch her gaze and read her mind. „Well, wellâ€? – he thought raising his eyebrow - „Sheriff’s people, hm?â€? Well, this deserved attention after all.
     
     Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Good evening gentlemenâ€? – he said making his way down the stairs - „First off, be aware that displaying any hostility towards me, my staff or any students while in this building will be treated as an act of agression, and dealt with accordingly.â€? – he sent Martina away with a nod - „That being said, I welcome you to my house. What is it you come to speak to me about?â€?
     
     Ã¢â‚¬Å¾We bring word from Halt... the Sheriff.â€? – the man in the bloodied jacket spoke – „He demands your presence. We’re to escort you to his offices.â€?
     
     Ã¢â‚¬Å¾I see. Well, that will not be necessaryâ€? – Lars replied – „I know the way. I’ll be there shortly. If that was all...â€? - he made as if to leave
     
     Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Wait... un-uhâ€? – the man shook his head – „It’s urgent. We’re to bring you to him. Like - now.â€? The vampire’s tone struck a nerve, and Lars considered cowing them into retreat for a short moment, but decided against it in the end. Obtrusive or not, they were here on the Sheriff’s behalf, and he meant to get in touch with someone from the Prince’s staff anyway. All in all this was a convenient coincidence – if you believed in coincidences that is.
     
     Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Indeed? Very well.â€? – he grabbed his cell phone and car keys – „Lead the way.â€?                        

     

                                                      

    Offline [archive] archy_bold

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    Re: Raven's Call
    « Reply #8 on: March 15, 2005, 08:26:00 PM »
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  •                 I stared back at my reflection in the mirror; I splashed a little water on my face and attempted to at least look a little clean. I had not remembered awaking, but I had obviously been here for a while. I stepped over to a broken chair and carefully sat on it. What should we do next? I was so confused. “Why are we here?!â€? I screamed back at the mirror. ‘He called us’. I jumped backwards and hit the wall, I slid to the floor. “Is anyone there?â€? I shouted at empty shadows. There could not have been anyone else.
     
     Vitreous panicked, something was going on in the city, and she could sense it. Something was going on in her head, but she could not sense it. Confused at what she thought she was thinking. ‘Who was he?’ She begun to weep, but Jake did not feel the tears.
     
     I asked the same question, who had called us? Surely he was the one who drew me here. Who dragged me here by my feet?
     
     I looked around at what would certainly be my haven for the next few weeks or months. The room was very minimalist, a sink, a chair and some rags for a bed. It was almost completely pitch black, dimly lit by a small candle by the sink in the corner; the walls were cracked and damp. But something under the chair shone a brilliant white, the only thing clean in the room.
     
     I reached out to it; it was a note, simply saying ‘Asylum’.
     
     I didn’t understand, how was this here, did someone find me whilst we slept? Is someone playing with my head? Are they still here? The cogs of my mind turned, but as mine turned, so did another minds’.
     
     I delayed going to see the prince. I had avoided ever seeing a prince and at this point I didn’t think it would make much of a difference delaying it another night. Someone knew that this was a warning, that something was wrong, that I needed to leave. We stepped for the door and hurriedly ran out. I looked to see if anyone was around and ran to the street. I extended an arm to call the passing taxi, I pushed everyone in. “Outskirts, and hurry.â€? I screamed at the driver, “We haven’t got all day.â€? The driver looked confused, but sped away without saying a word. I didn’t know where I was going. Asylum. I’d heard thoughts about that, but had never paid attention to them. I grew excited, trying to anticipate what might be waiting for me. I had no idea.
                           

     

                                                      

    Offline [archive] archy_bold

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    Re: Raven's Call
    « Reply #9 on: March 22, 2005, 02:25:00 PM »
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  •                 The taxi pulled up next to a few run-down buildings, they had been dwellings for the kine – why had I insisted on using that word, I hated it, after all we’re not much different to how I used to be, if only I could remember exactly how I was in days before my ‘death’ – the buildings had long been abandoned and the windows were covered with wooden boards.
     
     Ã¢â‚¬Å“That’ll be fourteen dollars, pal.â€? The driver turned to us and extended his arm. I completely ignored him and got out of the vehicle. “Yo, buddy!â€? The man’s voice was getting angry. “Can you hear me?â€? I slammed the door and walked down the street. “Hey, asshole.â€? The driver was out of the car now, hey was striding towards us.
     
     Vitreous could sense his anger and began to shake. ‘Don’t let him hurt us,’ she cried ‘I’m scared.’ Someone was comforting to her, holding her close, she continued to shake.
     
     The man approached us and leapt ahead of me. “Yo, buddy, that’ll be fourteen dollars.â€? He persisted to demand his money. I brushed past him as I continued to walk. “What the fuck is your game?â€? He was screaming in my ear. “You deaf, pal?â€? He grabbed my shoulder and pushed me so my face was in his. My face was expressionless, but his was screwed up with rage. “Give me my money, or I’m gonna fucking knock seven shades of shit outta you.â€? He was spitting over our face, but I shook my shoulder free of his grasp. “Ok, don’t say I didn’t warn ya, pal.â€?
     
     The man pulled his arm back, his fingers wrapped into a fist, it flew at our head. We did not react, until his fist crashed into my head. I was knocked forward; I extended my arm to regain balance. I blacked out.
     
     <red>Vitreous was crying now, she felt the pain throbbing at her head, Black Jack was now in full control, he pushed Vitreous to the side, he would have to be alone if he were to dispel this… annoyance.
     
     Black Jack was the protector, he would stand up for all those who could not stand up for themselves, and in this case Vitreous required his protection. Black Jack would never fight unprovoked, unlike Apocalypse.
     
     He grabbed the taxi driver at the neck and drove him to the wall, the man no longer looked angry, he was afraid, his face was now wide with terror. His eyes were fully open; they revealed a man who had not known what hit him. “Look, pal, I don’t know who you think you are, but you can’t go around just hitting people like that.â€? Jack’s forearm was covering the man’s throat. He gasped for breath. “Now I think you should be a little nicer next time, y’know, have some manners, try to understand my predicament. At the moment I have no money, y’see, I’m new in town and I’m just going to visit someone who wants to see me. Now I’m sure you can understand my situation and I’m sure you have the heart to let me off just this once, ok?â€? Jack was angry, but he tried not to let that cloud his judgment. Apocalypse was fighting to get to the front, but Jack was strong from the adrenaline. The man struggled, but managed to nod, he agreed only because he was scared for his life.
     
     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Now I want you to apologise to us.â€? Jack brought Vitreous to the front; she wiped the tears from her face, but did not dare look at the man. “Well?â€? “Look, I... I’m sorry.â€? The man struggled to breathe. “I can’t hear you.â€? Jack clasped his free hand around his ear. “Look I’m sorry.â€? Vitreous moved back to the depths. Jack freed the man from his grasp. He stepped away.</red>
     
     Disorientated, I shook my head. I turned around, the driver was scrambling to open the door to his car, and he got inside and almost immediately sped away. The tyres screeched behind the retreating car. I didn’t have any idea what had happened, how was I standing here? Why was the man in such a hurry to get away? Why had the pain gone? As soon as I begun to think about what had happened, I began to forget about it. I so often suffered from such blackouts, but had never questioned them for more than a moment.
     
     I continued to walk down the road; a majestic gate came into view. I knew this was it, where I had been summoned to. Behind the gate was a hill; atop the hill was a large and perfectly formed building, the asylum. I pushed the gate open and stepped into the grounds. The gardens were perfect and obviously were well-kept by someone. Flowers, bushes and perfectly trimmed hedgerows intertwined. I only could see a small amount of the beauty; the colours and shapes were something that could only be appreciated fully when the sun shone down its radiance. A chance I would never have.
     
     Vitreous skipped and clutched the petals in her hand. But I kept moving; the huge oak door came into view and grew as I approached. I pushed the door open.                        

     

                                                      

    Offline [archive] RomanK28488471

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    Re: Raven's Call
    « Reply #10 on: March 23, 2005, 02:31:00 PM »
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  •                 Halton watched as the Cainites filed into the meeting room from the large chair at the head of the table. First was the Gangrel, Dusty, who looked a bit shaken. Halton smiled to himself. The brute probably tried to resist, and realized the error of his course before it was too late. The Camarilla employed stupid muscle, but at least it was effective. The next was the Toreador, Lars Mahn, who gave him a nod before he sat down. He was apparently willing to wait for him to speak, and Halton preferred it that way. The Assamite, Khalid, was the next to enter the room, and Halton could just catch a glimpse of the armed guard that had escorted him here. The Assamites always made Halton nervous, and that was understandable. No one wanted to end up as a meal.
     
     The last to be brought in was the Malkavian girl, carried in by two brutes and fighting all the way. She stopped struggling when she saw the look in Halton's eyes, though. Malkavians were known to have some insight into what is to pass, and Miyo's future was going to be a very abrupt one if she did not calm down immediately. She too then joined the other vampires around the large table.
     
     Halton decided it was time to get this over with. "You're probably asking yourselves why you're here." he said. "You're probably a bit upset about bein' dragged here, too. We'll," he said with a grin, ", that's a cryin' shame, is all I have to say to you. The Camarilla doesn't have the time to treat you with kid gloves, and quite frankly I don't care all that much about your well-being. Now, " he turned to the gathered Kindred, ", you have a choice. You," he told Miyo, ", have broken the Masquerade. Rather stupidly, at that. Perhaps in other towns this would have gone unnoticed, but we've got us some nice hunter enclaves 'round here, so this sort of thing gets noticed. You either do as I say, or you get to see the sunrise. Your choice, really. You," he told the Gangrel,", are apparently searching for your Sire in our fair city. We might be able to help, but for a price. You, Khalid," he told the Assamite, ", are an abomination I would gladly dispose of. I don't like Assamites, but I'm willing to let ya operate in Ravenmill. For a price, of cource. And last, Mr. Mahn," he turned to the Toreador. "To put it bluntly, the Camarilla needs your services, and will compensate you accordingly. In fact you will all be compensated, from the monetary perspective."
     
     "What is it that the Camarilla requires of us?" asked Lars.
     
     "Simple, and yet not very." said Halton." The leader of the Anarch Movement in Ravenmill, O'Neil, has gone missing. You are to go to the Anarchs, and reassure them that we had nothing to do with this. In fact, your main objective is to locate O'Neil, if possible, and find out what happened to him if not. You leave now."
     
     Khalid wanted to ask something, but Halton quickly silenced him. "No questions, bud. Get going. Now." There was no mistaking the tone of Halton's voice. The gathered Cainites knew there weren't going to be any answers for them here. Mahn was the first to rise. Nodding at Halton, he left meeting room. The others soon followed, Khalid casting a hateful glance at Halton as he passed him. Halton just smiled. The Assamite wasn't foolish enough to try something, not here. He stopped smiling a few moments later when he was alone in the room. He was sending so few to stop what might very well become a full-scale war between the Camarilla and the Anarchs. Halton knew they were not enough for the task, but he didn't have anyone else he could spare.
     *                 *                 *
     
     Inside an office on the third floor of the Asylum at the outskirts of Ravenmill, Dr. Hugo Steiler, Primogen of Clan Malkavian in this city, sat on a torn swivel chair and stared at the ceiling. Anyone looking at him would have not believed that in front of him was one of the most powerful Kindred in Ravenmill. He was a mostly bald man, with a few wisps of hair still clinging at his scalp. He wore a pair of large, thick-rimmed glasses, and a white lab coat with the occasional red or brown stain. He appeared for all the world as nothing more than a careless professor who could not keep his clothes clean enough. Those who thought that way, though, probably didn't think too much about what those stains on his clothes actually were.
     
     "I know." he whispered quietly to himself. " I know that he knows. He knows that I know that he knows. But does he know that I know that he knows that I know, I wonder?"
     
     He continued staring at the ceiling, listening to voices only he could hear. "The Many that are One come." he said to the empty room. "They will serve. Serve me well. They must."
     
     "They will serve me well, but only if They survive. They that are He must prove himself to me. Let Him that are They pass my house of maddened prey."
     
     He continued to sit there, whispering quietly to himself. And waited.
                           

     

    -----signature-----
               Roman K
     
     "This isn't life in the fast lane, it's life in the oncoming traffic."
     (Terry Pratchett)    
                                                      

    Offline [archive] Hellwolve

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    Re: Raven's Call
    « Reply #11 on: March 17, 2005, 08:04:00 PM »
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  •                 Another city, another job. The Assamite had been hired in the previous city along his trail, designation already forgotten, to travel to this one, and terminate a certain man named “Robert Woodâ€?. Revenge, no doubt; the employer wanted a fairly gruesome proof of the done deed: Robert’s scalp.
     
     Not that it bothered Khalid one bit. Being a Vampire had its fringe benefits, in the form of seeing enough Hollywood-style gore made real to fill a Kine’s lifetime, several books and films, and have spare encounters untold. The only thing that bothered the assassin with this ‘scalp clause’, was that he would have to find a way to have the postal services transport it without causing suspicion.
     
     Which in itself was somewhat of negative factor, as well. Khalid preferred face-to-face contact, or at least direct, real-time contact. Alas, the employer was paranoid to such a level, that all communications went through a mailbox his employer had hired at the local post office.
     
     What was a strong argument for the continuing hunt, however, was the payment. Even when he had found out his target was a police officer, and Hunter in his spare time, the payment was enough to compensate him for the effort. Plus, above all, it was a challenge: it strongly appealed to his predatory instincts; prey that was aware of the unique state of it’s hunter was far more exciting.
     
     As always, Khalid had started with a long observation of the target. That way, he learned everything about the target’s behaviourally patterns and most, if not all, weaknesses in those patterns. For instance, the Assamite had noted that the target’s believe in the supernatural, although based in reality, had alienated him from his colleagues and social live in general. The target was practically a lost soul, a hermit, alone in a city filled with people.
     
     Khalid wasn’t that daft that he had gotten close enough to see the target’s actual work, but from the incredible regularity of his coming and going and the police station, he surmised that the target had been demoted to an desk job long ago. He got in at exactly nine o’ clock in the morning, and left at exactly five o’ clock in the evening. It was seldom the case that when Khalid returned to his post, coming directly from his Haven, that the target had already left.
     
     This night, he followed the same routine: wake up from his Haven in what passed for the city’s industrial area, get up, do some movements and equipping himself. His Haven was perfectly suitable for an Assamite: one of the smallest warehouses in the area, hermetically sealed from the outside world above ground, and only one entrance into the sewers. Said entrance was blocked by a steel door, of which he had the only key. A Nosferatu could’ve been proud.
     
     Nosferatu didn’t own it, however. It was one of few Assamite ‘safe houses’ in the area, owned by a small group of Assamite he had bonds with. It wasn’t exactly official Clan practice, and somewhat of a secret, but such places had proven their worth time and time again.
     
     Khalid, as he left the safe house, didn’t think much about it, however. To him, it was normal, and all the time to the moment the Assamite managed to sneak onto the roof of the building across the police precinct, he thought of the night ahead. Tonight, tonight was special. He would make his move, perform the kill, wrap up loose ends, and started the trip to the next city worthy of notice.
     
     He laid down there, making sure he couldn't be seen from the streets, but could see the front door of the police office. Time started to pass down. Tonight was special for more then one reason, the reason tonight was the night, and not some other night. The police men celebrated: one of their number had been in the force for 20 years-something, and even Khalid’s target stayed somewhat longer. Dulling his senses with liquor. Perfect.
     
     It was when the assassin would’ve been frozen in the nightly cold, had he been Kine, that his target left. Grinning, baring his fangs, Khalid watched, observed his target entering a street, the same street he had entered after work the last couple of weeks.
     
     Fast as lightning, almost literally, the Assamite got down to the streets, and started to follow his target, just able to see him go around another corner. The next few hours, the cat followed the mouse. It wasn’t that hard; there were few times that he was in danger of being spotted by his target. At last, they arrived at the house, a few blocks away.
     
     When Khalid was sure the man had entered his home, he walked around the house, through some surrounding alleys, until he had found the nearest sewer entrance. After checking if it was still accessible, he returned again, ready for more waiting.
     
     And waiting, he did. It was another hour before Khalid was sure his target slept. After that, it was simple. He picked the lock of the backdoor, and searched the ground level until he had the original key. Then, he sneaked upstairs, simply slitting the target's throat with Arrakis, his kopesh, which he always carried with him. He was lucky Wood was single; a wife and perhaps a child would have complicated matters.
     
     Now, to make sure the rest of the police wouldn’t catch on for a long, long time, the assassin grabbed the body, and carried it down, through the alley, and dumped it in the sewers for the time being. Then, he took the key, and made sure all the doors were locked.
     
     Then, he returned to the sewers, and started a long journey through the stinking underbelly of the city. After a long journey, he was greeted with a growling, gravel voice, loaded with phlegm.
     
     Ã¢â‚¬Å“That the one?â€?
     
     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Yes, Samuel, that’s the one. Same recipe as always, payment as always.â€?
     
     This was critical to Khalid’s success. The problem of getting rid of bodies had long been solved by him: for a special price or service, different in each city, he delivered his target’s remains to the local Nosferatu, who’d take care of it. How exactly, he did not know, and didn’t want to know. Business was business, and beyond that, his interest didn’t stretch.
     
     Before he left, he scalped the man, and left for his Haven. The job was almost done, just a few more loose ends, as he had promised himself. Once at his haven, though, plans changed.
     
     The banging was the first sing of trouble, and once the steel door was in sight, he knew for sure. A large Brujah was ‘knocking’ on the door, the same way hitting someone with a sledgehammer could be called a soft tap. When he heard the Assamite’s approach, he turned around, leaving the buckled door for what it was.
     
     Ã¢â‚¬Å“You Calit All-Muffried? The boss told me to get ya. Figured you’d be home, so I knocked a bit...turns out you aren’t home, eh? Anyways, let’s go. Time for you to finally meet the Sheriff...â€?
     
     The Brujah cracked his knuckles, and grinned a toothy grin; it was a street fighter through and through, hoping that Khalid would resist.
     
     Ã¢â‚¬Å“It’s not like I have a choice, do I? Very well, I’ll come with you willingly...â€?                        

     

    -----signature-----
               -----------------------
     "I heard his eerie howling, the lone wolf calling his kindred across the plains"    
                                                      

    Offline [archive] Grendel8101

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    Re: Raven's Call
    « Reply #12 on: March 23, 2005, 04:31:00 PM »
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  •                 Dusty filed out with the rest of the Kindred, thinking.  He passed the vamp who had received a slash from Dusty’s claws and repressed a smirk.  That was going to hurt for awhile.  Dusty's ribs had long since healed; hell, he hadn’t been hurt that bad.  Dusty had always been amazed by his resilience.  Still, that fight could have gone south real fast.  He’d almost let his Beast go, put pulled back when the leader announced their intentions.
       
       Dusty promised the Beast some mindless violence next time he got the chance.
     
       He considered the Sheriff’s orders.  Every instinct told Dusty to change to a buzzard and fly away as soon as he could.  He’d be out of the city in a couple hours.  But if the Cammie sewer rat could help him out, it might be worth it.  Maybe this was why he’d been led to Ravenmill in the first place.  
     
       Dusty’s face twitched with that thought.  His sire and the Cammarilla playing him like a card really was annoying.  
     
       He studied the other vamps as they made their way out.  
     
       He met the eyes of the tall dark one, Khalid-whatever.  Dusty kept eye-contact just short enough to not be threatening and long enough to let Khalid know he wasn’t intimidated.  Well...not very intimidated.  Kinda had a scary look.  Khalid was really annoyed, too.  Dusty could relate.  He decided to keep his distance, though.  He’d heard about Ass Mites (why did they call themselves that?); they were cannibals.  He’d keep his guard up and his nose breathing.  
     
       The Oriental-looking girl made the hair stand up on the back of his neck.  
     
       He deliberately sat next to Lars in the car, partly because he made Dusty less nervous than the other two, partly because he knew his appearance and mode of dress annoyed the Toreador.  Dusty was wearing a pair of tattered BDU pants and an old black “I’m with Stupidâ€? T-shirt, the arrow pointing at Lars.  Dusty’s feet were bare, as he’d forgotten to wear shoes again.  His backpack lay on the floor beside them.
     
       He had to suppress another grin.  The few Toreador he’d met hadn’t impressed him.  Kindred answer to Metrosexuals as far as he was concerned.
     
       Don’t underestimate him, his inner voice cautioned.  Dusty’s grin faded.  Alright.  Don’t underestimate any of them.  He kind of hoped that they would underestimate him, though.
     
       Dusty took out the backpack and went through his things.  He took out the box of .45’s and reloaded his gun.  He slipped a stag-handled knife into his ankle sheath.  His lucky armband went over his forearm.  Two human Hunter’s teeth and three small braids of werewolf hair were sewn tightly onto the leather.
     
       He considered putting on the black greasepaint but dismissed it.  He knew people at the Hole in the Wall and didn’t want them to think he was there for a fight.  He was going to catch enough shit just for hanging out with Cammies.
     
       Fully prepared, Dusty lay back in his seat and contemplated his situation.  He promised himself that, no matter the consequences, he was going to punch his Sire in the face if he ever saw the bastard.                        

     

                                                      

    Offline [archive] Miyo34949332

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    Re: Raven's Call
    « Reply #13 on: March 24, 2005, 04:07:00 AM »
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  •                 Miyo sat quietly in the car and smiled at everyone.  She just couldn't resist it.  It was as if everyone in the car had a happy aura around them.  Where ever they were going, Miyo was excited.  This could be no less than fun.  
     
     Looking around the car, she observed the other kindred.  There was the scary looking kindred called Khalid.  Miyo desperately wanted to give him a nice bug bear hug to squeeze the scariness out of him.  She wasn't sure if he'd like that though.  He looked very intense.  
     
     Next was the Toreador Lars.  He was a handsome fellow and very Toreador.  
     
     Lastly was the horribly dressed Gangrel Dusty.  Miyo could just see him chewing on a leg or something of the sort.  It made her laugh.  The others turned and looked at her, probably wondering how could someone laugh in a time like this.
     
     "Becareful, some things are only skin deep."  Mother whispered to Miyo.  "Look inside and understand."
     
     "It's a ride Miyo."  Sister whispered back.  "The key is in the dark.  God's face is cloud.  But the sky is clear.  The devil is crying.  But he is laughing.  You will be knee deep in filth."
     
     "You both talk.  But which one really talks?"
     
     Miyo started humming to herself the theme to Godfather as the car raced around corners and under tunnels.  It was dark inside, and outside.                        

     

                                                      

    Offline [archive] Year_of_the_Scarab

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    Re: Raven's Call
    « Reply #14 on: March 24, 2005, 10:23:00 AM »
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  •                 "You leave now." The Sheriff said "No questions, bud. Get going. Now."  
     
     The last words were directed at the hooded one – an Assamite apparently (what is an assasin doing in this hole of a city anyway?) – but it was just as good a cue to leave for all of them as any. Nodding Lars stood up and left, only to be pointed to the car by two of the Kindred who brought them here. He’s been allowed to drive here himself, following the „escorts“ car, but now his BMW would have to remain parked here. Whatever.
     
     To his disgust the dirty one seen fit to sit beside him. Lars considered a formal introduction, since the Sheriff didn’t bother with one, but that would require drawing brath, and judging by the looks of it, the Kindred didn’t smell much better than he presented himself, so that would have to wait until he had at least a few feet of fresh air between himself and the newcomer.
     
     Newcomers – all of them actually. Lars wasn’t the most socially inclined of all Toreador, but he knew the Kindred of the city well enough to know that at least the dirty one and the girl were new to town – you never know for sure with an Assamite, for he actually may have been sitting crawled up in some hole or another for some time now, and no one would know.
     
     Ã¢â‚¬Å¾At least someone is having fun“ he thought noticing the girl’s broad smile. „Seeing as this is no field trip to the City Fair, I presume this makes you Malkavian...“ he thought, catching her gaze for a second to get a glimpse into her mind to confirm that. He retreated fast. „Seems it’s pretty crowded in there already.“
     
     Meanwhile the Kindred sitting beside him started rummaging through his backpack. As he drawed and ostentatiously reloaded a gun Lars half-feared he would paint his face in some sort of war colors next. Thankfull though this apparently was too barbarian even for him. It wasn’t like only he was armed in the car anyway. Lars wore the short bladed tanto concealed under his jacket, and he was fairly certain the assasin had all sorts of weaponry, poisons and god-knows-what-else strapped on his person.  
     
     Meanwhile the car was closing to the Anarch territory and Lars disregarded the other Kindred, each lost in their own thoughts, for the time being.
     
     Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Coincidence. Right.“ he remembered his thoughts before arriving at the Benedict building. Not only does the Sheriff call them in just when Lars was considering contacting him himself, but he asks – or rather „orders“ – to look into matters that seem to be connected to what occupied Lars‘ mind in the first place. And Malkavians pour into town. He wasn’t sure what caused the perturbance in the city’s aura he noticed last night, but the arrival of a Malkavian or two would be a likely explanation. Either way, they never seemed to be the harbingers of good news...