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Author Topic: Raven's Call  (Read 13863 times)

Offline [archive] Year_of_the_Scarab

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Re: Raven's Call
« Reply #15 on: March 26, 2005, 08:51:00 PM »
                As the car ride stretched and Lars figured only a few more corners till they reached their destination, he regarded the Kindred occupying the vehicle and spoke (after opening the nearest window first), drawing their attention:
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Very well. We will arrive at the Anarch place shortly. Seeing as you’re relatively new to townâ€? - the lack of denials at this point confirmed his guess as to the vampires being recent arrivals - „Should you not be familiar with the local populace - mr. O’Neil, who we’re to locate, is the effective leader of the local Anarch movement, and a quite capable Kindred, who most likely didn’t get lost in the parking garage looking for his car. Therefore the Anarchs are bound to be even more antagonstic than usual, and probably suspect the Camarilla had something to do with mr. O’Neil’s disappearance.â€?
 
 He glanced through the window, noting the change in landscape. The empty warehouses and dormant factories indicated clearly they’ve arrived at the Industrial part of Ravenmill.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å¾As I’ve gathered some of you do not claim Camarilla alegianceâ€? - he continued, eying the unwashed Kindred next to him - „However as far as the Anarchs will be concerned, you’re here on Camarilla bussiness, so mild hostility is the most you can expect from them. That is, of course, unless some of you have any aquaintances among them here?â€? – he asked.                        

 

                                                  

Offline [archive] Grendel8101

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Re: Raven's Call
« Reply #16 on: March 27, 2005, 02:46:00 AM »
                The Toreador's cologne was giving Dusty a headache.  He was glad when Lars opened the window and let the cool air suck out the nasty alcohol-based scent.  He'd thought about doing it himself but wasn't sure what switch let the window down.  He hadn't been in a car in a long time, and never one with power windows.  He supposed he could stop breathing, but for Dusty you might as well ask him to shut his eyes.
 
   Lars started gabbing on about something, but Dusty was miles away, thinking about the vision he'd had in the sweatlodge when he was about 9.  He'd always thought it was bullshit, but certain events were reminding him of it now.  Disappearances...
 
   Anarchs?  What?  Oh, Lars was asking if anyone knew the Anarchs.
 
   "Yeah, I've hung out there a few times."  Dusty said.  "I know Bugsy and Milford, I think they're second and third in command or something.  I met that O'Neil guy once too, seemed a little preachy, but he made some good points.  I've gone Sabbat hunting a few times with some of the others there."
   
   "But I'm not sure how they're gonna react seeing me with a bunch of...Uh, y'know what, we'll be lucky if they don't start shooting the moment they see the Ass Mite, and what with a known Cammie and Crazy Girl standing right next to him, how about we just let me be the first one out of the car.  I'll calm them down, let them know what's going on, then you all can get out and we'll have us a nice chat."
 
   "As long as we're on the subject, if they start shooting anyway, I suggest we all get the fuck out of Dodge, and I mean all the way out of town, 'cuz I'm not gonna be the one to tell Halton we accidentally started a war."                        

 

                                                  

Offline [archive] Miyo34949332

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Re: Raven's Call
« Reply #17 on: March 27, 2005, 03:29:00 AM »
                Miyo ran a hand through her hair as she felt the cold wind rush in from the open window.  She listened quietly as the pretty man and the animal man talked about their plan.  It sounded good.  The situation reminded her of the time she met a nice Vietnam veteran in her old home.  The mental hospital before she was embraced.
 
 "The front guy always gets wasted.  The middle guy gets fucking wasted too.  The last guy gets it too.  And the FNG (fucking new guy), haha, no question about it.  *hysterical laughter*"
 
 Miyo thought for a while, pushed the voices in her head to one side.  
 
 "Aww, you care..  soo much, about our safety Dusty.  I never knew you loved us so."  Miyo smiled.  "Becareful not to step in a bear trap!  Hehe!"
 
 "The queen on the board moved, but the King still hides behind the pawns.  The knights ride out but the bishops plot in the temples of blood."
 
 "There are chains.  There is a harness.  There is a whip.  Oooo, the excitment."                        

 

                                                  

Offline [archive] Year_of_the_Scarab

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Re: Raven's Call
« Reply #18 on: March 27, 2005, 07:59:00 AM »
                Having said her... warning (?)... and drawing puzzled looks the Malkavian girl seemed to withdraw her attention again Lars waited long enough to make sure there wasn’t more she wanted to share with them at the moment, and continued:
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Shooting on sight? That’s a pretty dismal view of the Anarch communityâ€? – he replied (even if such behaviour from them seemed all too likely at that time) – „However you do make a good point. The dealings I’ve had with them concluded at much less, shall we say, stressfull circumstances, so it’s for the best if someone more... afiliated with them makes first contact. Hopefull though you do realize they all too often practice a either you’re with us or against us policy.â€? – he added looking through the window.
 
 He pressed #3 on the speed-dial of his cellphone and typed a two word message, which would tell both of his ghouls to remain alert, as their assistance may be needed shortly.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Regardless, we shall find out soon enoughâ€? – he said after pocketing the phone – „As I believe we are there.â€?
                       

 

                                                  

Offline [archive] Grendel8101

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Re: Raven's Call
« Reply #19 on: March 27, 2005, 04:42:00 PM »
                "Just covering all bases."  Dusty responded.
 
   The car pulled to a stop on the side of the street.  The bar door opened and several Anarchs came out.  Dusty recognized Bugsy and a fat Brujah named Ramirez.
 
   Dusty got out of the car.  The Anarchs watched him.  
 
   "Hey, it's Coyote!  Sing us a song, man, awoooo."  Ramirez shouted.  Ramirez was drunk again, he was a lush.
 
   Dusty raised his head to the sky and let out a perfect howl, sending a few dogs in the neighborhood to join him.  Ramirez laughed in drunken hiccups and collapsed on the ground.
 
   Bugsy raised his voice.  "That's a Cammarilla car you're in, Bud."  He made the question a statement.
 
   "I was kinda strong armed into it, Bugsy."  said Dusty.  
 
   "You working for the Cam, now?  Thought you was one of us."
 
   Funny, I don't remember getting a membership card... Dusty thought.
 
   "They're telling me they can help me find my Sire." He said out loud.
 
   Bugsy nodded, a humorless grin on his face.  "They're lying."
 
   Dusty nodded.  "Probably."  Thing is, I can't help but feel this is the reason I was lead here in the first place.  he thought.
 
   Dusty thought about the Cammarilla and the Anarchs and his vision again.  Part of the vision had showed him two horses, one horse was small, stunted, scarred, young, missing a leg.  The other horse was big, strong, even handsome, but when Dusty got close to it, he saw that it was covered with parasites and ringworm.  Dusty knew that if the two horses mated, they would have a strong, healthy colt, not crippled or rotting.  But Dusty also knew that they would likely fight, and the winner would just die slowly.  The vision was probably meaningless, but it seemed to pertain to certain events right now.
 
   "Who's in the car?"  Bugsy asked, breaking Dusty's line of thought.
 
   "Just some Kindred the Sheriff sent down to alleviate your concerns about all this shit that's been going on."  Dusty said.
 
   Bugsy walked up, right into Dusty's face and looked him in the eye.  "Are the Cam involved?"
 
   Dusty hadn't really thought about it.  "Don't know.  But they seem to be as freaked out as you are."
 
   Bugsy nodded.  "Tell them to come in."  He turned and walked back into the bar, the Anarchs following him.
 
   Dusty made a beckoning gesture at the car.                        

 

                                                  

Offline [archive] Lauren35297354

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Re: Raven's Call
« Reply #20 on: March 28, 2005, 01:41:00 PM »
                Location: Downtown, morgue
     Lauren had arrived at only been at work an hour, time she spent talking to the two bodies that had already been processed, and where just waiting to be picked up by the funeral home. She was still waiting on a tox screen for the third body before she could make a decision on cause of death, but she suspected an overdose of sleeping pills.  Those where the only medication in the house, then of course the suicide note made it almost a sure thing.  
     From down the hallway, came the sounds of gurney being pushed towards her. Lauren grabbed a handful of gloves from the box sitting on the sink, shoving them into one of the many pockets of her lab coat.  She pulled the sheets over the two finished bodies up over their heads, and slid the possible suicide back into the cold lock, latching the door
 behind it.
     A moment later the gurney, followed by one of night shift orderlies pushed through the double doors and into the morgue. "Where ya want her," he asked, gesturing to the sheet covered body.
     "This way," normally she would have started chatting away, she loved to talk, but from the faint amount of blood on the covering right over where the neck was, told her it was going to be a long night.  She led him back through the door of the autopsy room, situated to the right of the main area of the morgue, and cold lock.  After the gurney was positioned in the middle of the room, she looked at him expectantly, "Well?"
    "Um, homeless guy found her over by the warehouses, just laying out in the open.  The chief was going to call you out to the scene, but Lex said you had just gotten a body.  If you want to know anymore, you better call the station."
 The orderly out the door, "Later," he called over his shoulder, disappearing down the hallway.
   Lauren pulled the sheet back, exposing the head neck and upper torso of the victim.  She pulled on her gloves, and took hold of the head, turning it to one side.  "Crap," on the neck, instead of two neat puncture marks, or small red marks, where two jagged holes, the skin torn around them.  Lauren covered the girl again, and yanked off her gloves.  She walked over to a corner stool to sit down before pulling her cell phone from a pocket in her coat.  Hitting a preset button, she kept it short. "Someone better come down here.  I have a body here that very obviously was one of the kindred's meal."
                       

 

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           The good thing about working mostly in a morgue.  You can talk as much as you want, about whatever you want, and the bodies won't ever complain.    
                                                  

Offline [archive] archy_bold

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Re: Raven's Call
« Reply #21 on: March 28, 2005, 03:06:00 PM »
                Location: The Mental Institute, Outskirts
 
 As the large oak doors swung open, a foul stench filled the air; it rushed out the doors and left into the night. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was exactly, but I was sure that I had smelt it somewhere before. The lobby was huge, and looked much bigger than the exterior of the building, though huge itself, would have led you to believe. The walls were covered with reams of portraits, of figures that were impossible to decipher. Some were of shadowy figures in front of bloodied battlefields, some of twisted faces that had features that were distorted and in odd places, one was a picture of a young girl being massacred by a shadowy assailant, Vitreous felt uncomfortable. There was barely an inch of wall that could be seen to be uncovered. It was strange that the walls would be adorned with such disturbing images; I had always thought that a mental institute was a place where the mentally ill could relax and feel comfortable.
 
 The magnificent staircase almost engulfed the whole room; it was the focal point of the lobby and dwarfed anything else in the room. The banister was old and splintered; I caught many a splinter in my skin as I dragged our hand along the left banister. We approached the top step and the landing came into view. It was similarly decorated as the lobby, with paintings adorning the walls.
 
 I opened the large double doors in front of me, a large padded room was ahead, it was tremendously bright, so much so that I winced slightly to see exactly what was inside, I put one foot ahead of the other, to step inside, but my foot returned back onto the landing. I stepped in again, but this time, bringing the other in quickly after. The doors slammed behind me. I was thrown forward as they struck my back.
 
 I looked up, what I thought to have been padding on the walls was in fact the remains of humans, wrapped in straight jackets. There was not a single drop of blood to be found anywhere, the victims were covered in many cuts from knives, were ripped at, and some had even been beheaded, but there was no sign of blood, the rotting flesh left a stench in the air choked me, I tried to vomit, but knowing that there was nothing in my stomach to bring up, I could not. I scrambled to find a point in the room where we were far from every body, but each and every wall was carefully adorned with bodies. I covered our eyes in an attempt to hide the horrors from my mind.
 
 Black Jack knew that he was one of the few who could protect the others from certain mental death (others had died from mental strain in the past and their cold minds were left splintered in Jake’s deep subconscious). Vitreous was most at danger, but even the façade, Jake’s mind, was in danger, If he were to die, the lives of all would surely be destroyed.
 
 Jack scrambled to his feet, he could not remove Jake from the front, Jake was frozen in terror.
 
 I felt myself running back to the door, but I did not know how or why I was doing it, it just happened, as if someone was forcing me to move. I slammed into the door and struggled to locate the handle with my trembling hands, I looked behind, one of the bodies had freed itself from the wall and hurriedly advanced to where we were standing.
 
 Jack knew he would not be able to open the door in time; he stepped back and threw his weight towards the door.
 
 I felt myself being thrown through the door, the wood smashed as I hit it; I had never known that I could find so much strength within me. The body peered through the gaping hole in the door, it glared at us lying on the floor and stepped through the hole. Again I got up from the ground and ran, I was running towards the exit, but I was forced into the door on the right. I got through and slammed the door behind me. I was safe.
 
 This room was smaller, but left a strange feeling in us. My head flew to the side at the sound of sobbing, a young woman lay crouched in the corner, her head was in her hands and tears ran down her forearms. The girl peered up at us and grinned, I looked closer at her, there were no tears on her arms, it was blood. The woman stood and revealed a knife; her forearm had been covered with cuts. She begun to giggle and lunged for me. I struggled to push her away as the knife approached my face.
 
 Both Black Jack and Apocalypse were trying to gain control, but with his insatiable thirst for blood, Apocalypse was stronger, he was now in full control.
 I felt myself blacking out again.
 
 <red>Apocalypse grabbed the knife by the blade and threw it from the woman’s hands, he felt his own blood trickle down his hand, he licked it up. The woman stepped back in amazement at the new strength that was shown. Apocalypse grabbed at the woman’s shoulders and drove her to the wall.  He pressed her against the wall with all his weight; she struggled to get herself free, but did not succeed at all. Apocalypse withdrew his fangs and threw them into the bare neck of the woman; she grew tense with pain, but then reveled in the ecstasy of the Bite and relaxed.
 
 Apocalypse continued to drink until she was, but an empty husk, he threw her down to the ground and withdrew, his appetite sated… for now.</red>
 
 I looked around and saw the body of the woman who had been attacking me only seconds earlier, I grabbed our head and our hair and tried to force myself to remember what had happened, I couldn’t.
 
 I licked my lips of blood that I felt, warm, on my skin, then I knew what we had done. The blood was sweet; I had not tasted the blood of the kine in a while. I grieved for the woman, but soon turned around and climbed the stairs behind me, still not knowing what I was doing or why I was here. I opened the smaller and less elegant door at the top and stepped inside.
 
 A balding man in a stained lab coat stood ahead. ‘We’re here’. I knew immediately he was who we were here to see.                        

 

                                                  

Offline [archive] dalver

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Re: Raven's Call
« Reply #22 on: March 28, 2005, 03:49:00 PM »
                Dreg was hungry. He had used a lot of blood, the previous night, as he had done a lot of travelling with public transportation. The down part was that, although he had been around town, he hadn’t got anything done. Just a waste of time. The Tremere at the Chantry were on edge, practically sharpening daggers right behind his back. So he left, now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure he would have been granted entrance, such was the heavy atmosphere, laden with... with... what was it? Dread? Anger? Both? The usual sense in the Chantry was one of utter ambition, now that ambition could hardly be perceived. Oh, whatever, it wasn’t his business anyway, he figured, but the atmosphere was totally off.
 
 Now due to hunger, he was pedalling his best on the bicycle that he owned, but it was slow progress. He could already feel the animal, the beast inside whispering growls to be let loose and feast as well as mocking him for his choice of vehicle. He nocked his glasses up on his nose, in frustration, which cracked a sore who began to bleed. It had been a novice mistake to go to bed hungry, stupid, stupid. He had counted on his stash of bloodpacks in his fr-fr-fridge. But he had omitted the information to his brain, that those bloodpacks had been procured within the week he had moved into his haven, 10 years ago and that he had pulled the plug of the fr-fr-fridge 8 years ago so he could use an extra lamp in his “libraryâ€? (more like holes in the walls, but it served its purpose and he would be damned if he would consider the holes in the walls anything else than book-cases, end of discussion). So when he woke and opened the fr-fr-fridge ready to tear into the bloodpacks... he closed it just as quickly, terrified of the “thingâ€? in there, it could very well come to life and crawl out, strangling him or... worse... he shuddered an undead shudder, as he remembered and pedalled faster.
 
 He wasn’t Obfuscated so he tried to stick to unlit roads, there were quite a few, here in the industrial area and let his natural obfuscation, cloak of shadows, work its magic.
 
 Eventually he made his way into some run-down neighborhood, made up of square, brown apartment buildings. A gang of hoods, were standing around laughing, smoking and drinking and being loud and rude to eachother. Dreg ignored them and entered the building. The darkness was total. Not even in broad daylight would light penetrate this staircase. He moved swiftly up the stairs to the 8-th floor and out through the window. Then clawed his way to the apartment window, which he knew would be open. Anja always slept with open window, even in the winter. Sweet Anja, emigrated from Russia, all those years ago and falling in the attention of a vampire, who bestowed upon her monthly visits.
 
 Anjas life-mate a german sheep-dog, was sleeping at her feet and would have jumped straight at Dregs throat, if Dreg hadn’t done this too many times and Feral Whsipered into his ear as soon as the dogs eyes opened. The dog recognised the mind of Dreg as they had been in touch too many times to mention and instantly went back to sleep. Dreg moved his attention to sweet Anja. She had been young supple and strong in her late 30-s when he had first seen her. Now the years and hard work were showing their toll. She was a big, strong and square woman with darkbrown heavy hair, cut short with deep grooves around the eyes and mouth. She was no less beautiful, to him, now than she had been in her teens.
 
 She stirred as he leaned down over her and for a moment he thought she would open her eyes and see him. Forcing him to throw himself out the window, or some other crazy panicstricken idea, that would flash through his weak mind. But she just changed into another more comfortable sleeping position, which incidentally left her throat bare. Dreg opened his mouth and bit down hard. As the Kiss worked its magic on the human, Dreg relaxed, took her head in his hand and lift her. Her mind entered passionate dreaming. Dreg sucked as soft and slowly as he could, enjoying and baiting the beast, daring it to try to force him into something evil. She moaned and stirred, he felt her bare arms prickle with pleasure. He caressed her hair, her arms, her bosom, feeding his pleasure to her until he had had enough and retracted his fangs from her throat and licked the wound closed. He kissed her forehead one last time and lowered her to her pillow. She was still moaning and panting from her succubus dream, as he climbed out the window and feeling revitalised, clawed his way down the building. Of course he only made it a floor or two as in his eagerness he lost hold of a windowsill and fell... on his way down, he instinctively used vitae for the potence discipline to strengthen his legs. He landed on his clawed feet and hunched, ready for action, but the night was quiet. Then he strolled over to his bike. Had it been stolen, he swore to himself that he would have tracked down the thief and sk-sk-skinned him. Dreg hated violence in all its forms, but he drew the line at his bike... no one messes with the bike!
 
 His potence powered legs pushed the bike forward and in less than a minute he arrived back home, at the waterworks. He used his skeleton-key to unlock the fence and lock it behind him, hid the bike in the basement and made his way even further down, to the sub-sub basement, practically as deep as you could get and his mould smelling sweet sweet home. Then he remembered the fr-fr-fridge creature and decided to k-k-kill it by throwing the fr-fr-fridge away. So he skulked up again with the old fridge on his back and out to the backside of the waterworks which also was some sort of metal graveyard, where people threw away everything metal-made. A perfect place to dump the fr-fr-fridge. He made his way deep into the graveyard, where he put it to rest, so he didn’t have to see that horrifying thing EVER again. That, done, he made his back home for some serious reading... when he distinctly heard a CLANK. He shuddered and ran down to the basement, without looking back and locking down all doors and manholes that he passed.
 
 Finally back home he crashed down in his three-legged sofa and picked up one of the books that covered the floor. Just then, the old bell-phone started ringing and gave Dreg a heartattack, but his heart didn’t beat per se, so it was just a minor inconvenience. He let it ring. But the phone reminded him of the reality. The reality that something had happened to the Tremere, something that had changed their dispositions from ambition to dread. This could easily become a great inconvenience as he needed access to their records for his research. His eyes were drawn to the deepest, darkest, furthest corner, where the obfuscated ancient rusted footlocker containing his research was. Not much to look at, but OH so important. Just a month ago he had had a break, when Aabou-Zeid the Follower of Set and a friend from the old times, had given him the information that he needed. The last clue that set him on the right track. It was too early to contact Prague, but he knew, felt he was finally on the right track. But that track would die if he was denied entrance to the Chantry. And he had experienced first-hand the bloodmagic traps that the warlocks had in place in their Chantry.
 
 Then there were the Anarch rabble-packs that were roaming the streets deeper and deeper into town, on the brink of frenzy, just waiting for someone to look at them the wrong way, giving them an excuse for violence.
 
 Times like these, he wished his ties with his sewer-brethren were tighter, luckily these times were rarer than flying pigs... although the recent Malkavian surge into town had those pink fatbags flying on occassion... so if Dreg wanted to solve the mystery that had been placed upon his shoulders by the elders of his clan, then he would have to get back into the sewers. Gather as much information as he could to beat this bitch of a task. He was eager and this eagerness, might even overshadow the dislike bordering on hate he bore towards Kindred. The flip-side of this eagerness was that his cracked skin contorted and broke, making him bleed all over, like now.
 
 He continiously used vitae to heal and  ripped up the phone that hadn’t stopped ringing for 5 minutes and screamed “Yeesssssssâ€? into the receptor.                        

 

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Offline [archive] Hellwolve

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Re: Raven's Call
« Reply #23 on: March 28, 2005, 06:45:00 PM »
                Halton's little 'speech' about the work that needed to be done didn't come as a surprise to Khalid. Recruiting, for whatever cause, goal or purpose, more often then not followed a simple pattern: declaring the goal and stating the reason why someone would participate. That the goal and reason in these cases were somewhat unusual was the only noteworthy.
 
 It wasn't exactly every day an Assamite was hired to solely find someone, and not kill him or her by default. Nor were most prospective employers as...forthcoming in their way of recruiting the men they’d need. The Assamite recognized a veiled dagger in his back when he saw, or rather felt it.
 
 During the rest of the meeting, Khalid kept his mouth shut, mostly out of politeness. Halton was the Sheriff, afterall, and thus an important man to the Prince, hence, not someone to anger. He kept that up until the Sheriff directly addressed him, that was.
 
 "An abomination...Hrmpph...This kafir claims to posses knowledge, yet knows so little about us...perhaps I will be able to educate him one day..."
 
 Keeping such thoughts, thoughts that could bring his Final Death to him so much faster then he had planned, in front of him, the Assamite nevertheless wanted to ask some things about the coming mission. But, Halton unfortunately quickly silenced him. For once, he would have to operate without all the details he needed for optimal efficiency.
 
 During the ride in the luxurious car, Khalid was silent, as always. Assassins like him often practiced in patience and efficiency: useless and pointless chatter wasn't appreciated amongst his brethren. Not only did it increase the chance of being detected, it was also a form of protection. Noisy predators would find that the herd to be thinned would be long gone, alerted to their assailant's presence before the predators had a chance to strike.
 
 Lastly, it allowed one to observe their surroundings better. In this case, the rest of the coterie.
 
 First, Dusty, the male Gangrel. Like all Gangrel, he seemed to be a capable warrior. Perhaps lacking in proper communication skills, but probably a useful ally...or diversion.
 
 The second one: Miyo, a good-looking female. Unfortunately, she was also Malkavian and thus, completely and utterly unreliable. A walking, talking wild card: the chance that she'd be helpful was roughly just as big as the chance that she wouldn't be.
 
 Lastly, the Toreador, Lars. Like all of his Clan, it appeared to Khalid that the man was a flamboyant poser: all bark and no real bite to speak of. But, he didn't fell into the trap of going purely by the Kindred's looks. The Assamite Clan had Embraced many good looking women, who seduced their prey with their sexy and sultry look, before completely annihilating the target one way or the other. So, this Assamite knew that appearance wasn't always a good way to classify someone and his or her skills.
 
 But for now, it seemed like Lars acted out the stereotype quite nicely. His little introduction, or pep-talk perhaps, was pretty much the same as Halton's speech. And the parts that were in fact new, were facts already known to Khalid. But, he endured. This mission was already tricky enough without having to watch his back for angered coterie members.
 
 Lost in such thoughts and observations, it wasn't before long that they arrived at the first place they'd visit, some run-down café. Apparently Dusty knew some of the locals, and would exit the vehicle first, to see if he could find his friends and stabelize the situation.
 
 Which was fine with the Assamite, but that he first had to call his Clan 'Ass Mites' before leaving certainly wasn't. Muttering "Hamor...Atah tzarich lehiyot b'gan chayot..." and some other Arabic curses under his breath, Khalid awaited the outcome of the mangy Gangrel's conversation, silently hoping it would go sour.
 
 "Definitely lacking people skills...Insulting the Children of Haqim in such a way...I will not let this pass."
 
 While Khalid did want to take action immediately, he certainly was no fool. During his stay in the city, and all cities before it, he had got to known the Anarchs. Whatever else the words of Dusty were, the part about them shooting on sight unless the situation was safe, was certainly true. Violence was a common way of communicating with outsiders, and "First shoot, then talk" seemed to be their motto.
 
 The Anarchs contained many great warriors, but many of their warriors struck without real unison. They abhorred rigid command structures, yet those are what made a group of Kindred an army, instead of a group of jackals stealing what the real predators left behind.
 
 Once the Gangrel signalled the area was more or less safe, Khalid immediately got out and approached Dusty. Slightly lowering his voice to indicate he was serious, he addressed the Kindred, looking him straight in the eyes, showing that he had no fear for the Gangrel.
 
 "My Clan is called 'Assamite', most certainly not 'Ass Mite'. If your crude, beastly tongue cannot pronounce this, you may refer to me and my brethren simply as 'Assassins'. Whatever you choose, I hope you decide wisely. I would hate to erase this insult forcefully."
 
 Having said that what he had wanted to say, the Assamite brought a formal Egyptian greeting, and took a step back, awaiting what would happen next. Perhaps an answer by Dusty, but probably not. Perhaps Khalid gave Dusty too much credit, but he figured the Gangrel would take heed to the warning, and wouldn't mention it again.
 
 Although the step back was somewhat of a passive gesture, he wasn't going to be passive all the way. He simply wasn't a leader, but instead, a loner. If the time for action would come, he wouldn't strike hard nor would he strike many times. Instead, he would strike true, like an assassin should, proving his worth and bringing the Rafiq honour.                        

 

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

Offline [archive] Year_of_the_Scarab

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Re: Raven's Call
« Reply #24 on: March 28, 2005, 08:43:00 PM »
                The Assamite got out of the car instantly after they’ve been signaled. Lars hoped he overheard the „Ass Miteâ€? remark, but judging from his prompt exit from the vehicle, he didn’t. He was confronting the Gangrel before Lars got out too so he only heard the last few words. What he heard was enough though - they were a warning, that most likely wouldn’t be heeded. Gangrel may have an understanding of honour, but certainly not as deep as that of the assassins.
 
 As Lars reached them the Assamite took a step back, apparently awaiting a reaction „Hopefull not an apologyâ€? Lars thought „that isn’t going to happenâ€?.
 
 Not giving Dusty a chance to blow Khalid off with some remark that was going to get one of them killed, Lars caught the Assamite’s eye and projected his thoughts to him directly.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å¾Kefaya Khalid. Maalish. He did not mean to insult, he most likely doesn’t know any better.â€? He hoped his rusty Arabic would relax the Kindred at least a little. „We have an assingment. Quarrel amongst allies will only complicate this. Yala. It can wait.â€? And with that he severed the mental connection, not wanting to make the vampire suspect he'd been reading his thoughts.
 
 He wasn’t happy about possibly unsettling the assasin by his display, but then again if they really came to blows the Anarchs were very likely to dust the survivor and his companions.
                       

 

                                                  

Offline [archive] Grendel8101

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Re: Raven's Call
« Reply #25 on: March 28, 2005, 09:31:00 PM »
                The Ass Mite (Assamite, Dusty) stepped back.  Dusty could tell by looking at him that the vampire was ready to fight.  He was waiting for Dusty's move.
 
   Dusty considered fighting him.  His beast wanted it, it was still pissed about being forced down earlier. That "crude, beastly tongue" bit wasn't doing much to calm it down. But no.  Khalid had insulted him, but Dusty was here for a bigger reason, and he wasn't going to risk getting run out of town or even dying over a stupid miscommunication.  Khalid had been insulted first, even if it was inadvertant.  Settle down, Fluffy, he told the beast.
 
   Lars was watching off to the side.  Khalid's head tilted slightly, as if listening to something.  Dusty's eyes flicked briefly to Lars and back.  What's that all about?  
 
   Putting on his best stupid grin, Dusty stuck out his hand.  "Sorry about that, man, I'm not up on the Kindred lingo.  Didn't mean to offend.  Name's Dustin Walking Hawk."  Dusty allowed his lucky armband to come into the light while he did it.  Khalid had shown Dusty he wasn't scared of him, Dusty showed Khalid what Dusty hadn't been scared of.  He kept his face friendly and a little stupid-looking.
 
   Khalid hesitantly took his hand and they shared a brief grip.  They released and made their way into the bar, issue settled for the moment.  Assamite is still a goofy name.  Better than Gargamel though.  Dusty thought.  He made a mental note to start learning the names and pronunciations of the odd Kindred terms.                        

 

                                                  

Offline [archive] Lauren35297354

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Re: Raven's Call
« Reply #26 on: March 29, 2005, 12:24:00 PM »
                Hitting the end button, Lauren kept her phone out at she heading out of autopsy.  She made sure the door shut securely, and locked it behind her.  Until she heard from whoever Halton sent, she wasn't going to touch the body.  
     Lauren crossed the main room, to the other side where her office was, she groaned looking at the small stack of files sitting on the corner.  Most just needed to be signed and filed, but one...
     Except for a desk, two chairs, a bookshelf full of texts and a few anatomy posters, her office was pretty bare.
    She took a seat in her rolling chair, pulling it up to the antique wooden desk.  Reaching over she pulled out a file about halfway down the stack, the thickest one.    
    Lauren punched in another number on her phone, and let it ring for what seemed like forever, finally hearing the expected voice on the other end.
    "Do you ever answer your phone?  Ever hear of an answering machine?  Never mind, I finished what you wanted, but you'll have to come here to pick up the report.  I can't leave."  She spoke on the phone for a few more minutes, before hanging up.  Setting the phone on the upper corner of the desk, Lauren pulled the remaining files in front of her, and obtaining a pen from a drawer, began going through them, making corrections and signing them.
                       

 

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           The good thing about working mostly in a morgue.  You can talk as much as you want, about whatever you want, and the bodies won't ever complain.    
                                                  

Offline [archive] dalver

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Re: Raven's Call
« Reply #27 on: March 29, 2005, 01:52:00 PM »
                "Do you ever answer your phone? Ever hear of an answering machine? Never mind, I finished what you wanted, but you'll have to come here to pick up the report. I can't leave."
 Dreg felt a hammer hit him in the solar plexus. He gasped for air although he didn’t need it.
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Ah... aw... ya... umm... come there? Ah... ah... there? I c-c-can’t! People!â€?
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Don’t be silly! Do as you like. I will be here all nightâ€?
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“K-K-Kay! ...an hour or so...â€? he heard a click.
 
 The beautiful corpse-cutter from the morgue... she had the results! His skin cracked and started bleeding again, soaking his clothes. He disrobed and healed, picked out a pair of baggy sailcloth pants and a sweater with a hood. His eyes were drawn to where the fr-fr-fridge used to be and it gave him the creeps. He jumped when the phone began to ring again.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Am I in demand tonight?â€? He put his hand on the phone and looked around him at the books on the floor, caught one: Of Mice and.... “Steinbecks Pizza!â€? he said into the phone.
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“You actually spoke, that’s a new one!â€? the phone was older than dirt and the line was hijacked, so the receptor crackled something horrible and it didn’t help that the voice on the other end was the grumpiest cigar-voice this century.
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Oh hello, Ms Di-Di-Diakna, what can this humble youngster do for you to-tonight?â€?
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Can the bull, shitbrain, your charming studdering act don’t work on old hags like me. And this sure as hell isn’t a social call, as I am sure you know and I assure you it pains me more than it pains you and the less you interrupt me the quicker we get this doneâ€? the pause that followed, Dreg knew was from the fact that Ms Diakna was pulling hard on her cigar. He was quiet and waited for her to continue... the minutes passed and nothing happened just the crackling from the olde line. “Jesus wept boy! How fucking patient can a Nosferatu get?! You may look like one of us but you sure as hell are NOT one of us. Just get your bloody ass over here, as quickly as you can, his ugly lordship asked for you – Ah, I mean your Primogen has need of you... you ugly bastard. And please, please wear a mask when you come into my office or cover yourself up with a bucket or sum’n’ I’d rather want to be able to sleep this century. Got that, shitbrain?â€?
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Of course Ms Diakna, as you say Madam. I will be there as fast as my blooded feet can take me. Just... just...â€?
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“You got to be fucking kidding me! What the hell do you want?!â€?
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Could you be so kind and please tell the guards, I will be in tonight, I washed all my clothes this week and...â€?
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Fuck you!â€? CLICK!
 
 Dreg let out a loud and long sigh of pain. He had to go into the Warrens. Damn! Meet all those patronising eyes... “Aw, shucks! I’ll b-b-be having tremble attacks all weekâ€?.
 
 He started pacing back and forth, trying to conjure up some courage, being dead, meant it was rather usesless taking deep breaths, so he paced instead.
 
 The beauty of Dregs pad was that it sloped a couple of degrees and it was soothing to his twisted sense of serenity. “There’s nothing to do about it. I will go to the morgue. Then into the Warrens, okay? ... okay! Need to keep it cool, uhuh. Cool. Let’s go! I left!â€?
 
 Dreg made his way to the basement, locking all doors and manholes behind him, jumped the bike and pedalled away.
 
 As he made his way into more or less well-lit areas, he slipped into his second skin, his mental projection of a small thin non-descript human.
 
 45 minutes later he reached the morgue after having taken more than a few wrong turns. He locked his bike and dropped it in some bush.
 
 He considered keeping his mask on and walk in posing as a delivery boy. But he was to giddy and nevertheless he wanted absolutely no trace left behind. So he dropped his mask and entered the cloak of invisibility of the Unseen Presence as he knew the discipline he used was called. Walking slowly around the building until he found an open window, which he climbed through. Just another office. He sneaked on, easing open the door, fortunately unlocked and out into the corridor. Powerful neons luminated the hallways.He couldn’t remember where her office was so he took the stairs up. Two men in coats talking about food were walking slowly down. Dreg pressed himself into a corner and waited for them to pass, then a genious idea struck him... who in their right mind would build the freezer on the top floor? “Stupid stupid Dreg! To the basement moron!â€? he whispered.
 
 He spent another 30 minutes sneaking around avoiding people, following conversations that might lead him to the freezers. Until he had the brilliant idea to look up a fire-escape map. Then it was a piece of cake as he only got lost twice... good thing he didn’t have to spend vitae to mainain the unseen presence, as long as he smoved slowly and quiet.
 
 Finally. There were more offices but only one was lit. He walked slowly over to the light. She was deep in reading, taking notes. She didn’t appear to be aware of his presence. Her eyes never left the files in front of her, her hand moved automatically on a noteblock beside. For each step closer he took, he became more filled with fear. A fist clenched his stomach tight as he remembered... small limbs, an innocent face and big blue eyes that glazed over as Dreg stared in shock, uncomprehending... he shook his head.. pushing the images away, he wanted to leave, he couldn’t face her! He had to leave!
 
 She looked up then. What had he done? Had he stumbled on something? Had he made a noise? Was his invisibility broken? She didn’t appear to look at him, but she got up from her chair and walked out. Looking around. Dreg couldn’t move he wanted to run out he couldn’t look at her.
 
 Ã¢â‚¬Å“Are you here?â€? she said and he jumped. He didn’t know what to do, then finally decided to drop his cloak and he appeared before her in his true form. It didn’t matter... she knew the monster he was... and it wasn’t the bald head, cracked blooded skin and huge pointed ears... it was the monster inside... she knew...
 
 He bowed a flurrying deep bow before her and as he saw she was only staring, he said “You wouldn’t have any kind of bloodpacks lying around here, would you?â€?.
                       

 

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           in vitae veritas    
                                                  

Offline [archive] Lauren35297354

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Re: Raven's Call
« Reply #28 on: March 29, 2005, 02:26:00 PM »
                "Can the bowing, and the blood packs are in the fridge in the other room.  Look behind the case of Dr. Pepper, I always keep some around for guests."  Lauren nodded her head in the direction of the main room, signing the last file and placed it on top of the others to be sent up in the morning.  Poor Dreg she thought, still feels guilty after all these years.  Lauren felt sorry for the him, still carrying the burden of guilt, even though she had told him many times that it could have happened to anyone, loosing control of the hunger.  
    She picked up the report she had ready for him, scanning through to make sure she hadn't missed anything, and of course she had not.  Setting the thick file in front of her, she reached up to pull the rubber band out of her hair, recombing it with her finger, and pulling it back into the ponytail, refastening it.  She could feel him standing behind her at the door way, with a sigh she spoke to him "Sit down."  
    She waited until he took a seat in the chair on the other side of the desk.  Pushing the folder across the desk to him.  "The test results and all the research, I hope it's what you wanted.  Read it through, and then ask if you have any questions about it."                        

 

-----signature-----
           The good thing about working mostly in a morgue.  You can talk as much as you want, about whatever you want, and the bodies won't ever complain.    
                                                  

Offline [archive] RomanK28488471

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Re: Raven's Call
« Reply #29 on: March 29, 2005, 03:33:00 PM »
                The call from the city morgue came to one of the many clerks working in the Benedict Foundation. These were the small-time members of the Camarilla, doing little for the organization in the physical aspect. Some would call their existance uneccesary, if only because of the demeaning effect a desk job had on one who had recieved unlife, but the Camarilla needed it's clerks as well as it's... operators. One of these now entered the Prince's office, and whispered something in his ear. He was still a living man, fed daily with Ventrue blood. He was effective, and, thought Faleramo, didn't voice unasked opinions. He would talk to the ghoul's Sire soon, perhaps, to make his servitude more permanent. Human beings were such... fragile things, and if you had one that was useful, it was best to make sure he stayed around.
 
 Mrs. McRay was becoming an extremely useful. Useful indeed. Picking up his phone, he dialled a number. "Mrs. McRay?", he said to the reciever. "This is Mr. Benedict speaking. Yes, Mrs McRay, that Mr. Benedict. Your information has been extremely useful to us, and to the well-being of all Kindred in our city. You will be recieving another body soon, according to our sources in the police. A young man who had the misfortune to meet someone who didn't care too much about his well-being. In fact, I would say the she cared only for the contents of his veins. Unfortunately, this incident has already been noted by certain other... persons. Ones who would like nothing more than see us eradicated. Destroying the evidence will be a step in the right direction. Once the second body arrives, I feel that the city morgue will have a case of spontaneous combustion, an unfortunate occurance that is common to the older buildings of our fair city. We trust you to be creative, and hopefully creative enough so as to have a place of employment in the near future. Report to me once you are finished, and, as always, we thank you for your assistance. The Camarilla does not forget it's allies." Faleramo hung up the phone, not giving Lauren a chance to reply. It was best not to let the lesser members of the Camarilla a chance to voice their opinions on the matters at hand. They might get used to it, and where would they all be then?
 
 * * *
 
 Dr. Steiler looked at the young Malkavian standing in front of him. His shattred mind was like an open book for him. A torn, oddly shaped book, with the binding slowly rotting away, but still a book, nontheless. "I have been waiting for you, third father of Israel. I have been expecting you tonight, or was it today? Perhaps tomorrow, or even yesterday? Time is a fickle thing, young one.", he said, walking back to his office jesturing Jacob to follow.
 
 "Once,", he said, sitting down, ", I thought time was a linear thing, with a biginning and an end. Later, when I decided that it was more like a river, with the currents of past and future quite apparent in the present. Fairly recently, I thought it might be more like a sphere of water, transparent to the eye of the beholder. Now," said Steiler, looking intently into Jacob's eyes, ", I believe it is more like a donut. I used to like donuts. Would you like a donut?" he jestured to a mouldy box lying on the floor. "No? It's a shame, isn't it, what we give up to hold for ever that fickle flame? Twinkle twinkle, little star, soon to fall and crush us all." He giggled at the last comment.
 
 "So, have you come to answer my call, or are you here to plunge that final fall? Each has it's benefits, you know, but one must rise high to fall so low. So tell me, young one, tell me first, slake my curiosity, my thirst." he aksed Jacob. The young Malkavian was still not fully aware of what he was, what they were. Perhaps it would do well to teach him first, to show him the power that his shattred mind granted him. A sharpened knife was better than a blunt one.                        

 

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