He is a proud fool, this John. Through a film of red you can see that. You see his vanity. From within the clarity of the blood you see and know a terrible many things. You see John Lambton's hubris, and his sloth, and you see him brush past the maiden, going beyond the copse of trees, down to the banks of the River Wear.

THU-THUM.. THU-THUM.. THU-THUM.. THU-THUM..

You recall the sensation even now, after so many hundreds of years. You recall the percussion of the soft mammal stepping onto the pebble-strewn shore, near rocks and babbling trickles of water breaking around them. You recall the beat of John's heart as he calmly goes about fishing.
The activity stimulates the boy and soothes him at the same time. You can tell by the rhythm of his heartbeat, muffled though it is by the moving water that surrounds you.
You hear it.
The drum of ignorance.

THU-THUM.. THU-THUM.. THU-THUM.. THU-THUM..

A heartbeat. An echo of weakness that rattles around inside a claustrophobic cage, inside the fragile frame of prey.

And then John sees you.
He sees a corpse laying face-up on the bottom of the river under the shade of a tremendous sycamore.

THU-THUM. THU-THUM. THU-THUM. THU-THUM

John draws nearer, terrified yet captivated.
He looks down upon you. The creature.
He sees a sallow-fleshed cadaver, bruised purple and blue, with a mane of charcoal hair that falls to the shoulders, and flows like ocean kelp in the current. A bushy, sandy grey mustache, and a small goatee to match. Powerful, rippling muscle banded across a naked body. Burgundy veins showing rotten, clotted blood through translucent, discolored skin.

John Lambton sees the scarlet red eyes that are watching him without blinking from below the water's surface. He sees the cruel smile of yellow-brown fangs between pale lips.

THUTHUM-THUTHUM-THUTHUM-THUTHUM-THUTHUM-

>Cont'd

That motley drama - oh, be sure,
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in,
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.

Your heart is pounding against your chest as might a madman or drunkard strike the bars of a dungeon cell, perhaps even with double such feverish abandon. And yet you are transfixed entirely by this rough beast, this corpse of the most savage likeness you've never imagined to know. You are compelled every bit as much you are frightened in the furthest corners of your soul. You reach down into the river to grab the body by that powerful neck and lift it's head and shoulders above the water.

But what comes up in your hand is a pale eel, also the likes of which you've never known. It's a muscular, slimey serpent two feet in length, with a circular mouth and concentric circular rings of hooked fangs. It's a lamprey, white and naked as though extracted from the depths of a cave.
No... Wrong... Not you. Not yourself. The sensations are secondhand. This perception is borrowed from the mind you have invaded.
You writhe in John's hand just as you writhe inside his cortex. You lock your gaze with his own as he appraises you.
With one dull, glassy bead you spy your own reflection in his darkling pupil. With an exertion of your will, you see the rot in his soul.

But see, amid the mimic rout,
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out,
The scenic solitude!
It writhes! - it writhes! - with mortal pangs,
The mimes become its food,
And seraphs sob at vermin fangs,
In human gore imbued.

"I've catched the devil." Boasts John.
"Watch thee how I dispense with it." Declares John.
Into the depths of a well, still squirming in his grip to the end, John tosses you. Like God himself casting Lucifer down from the throne of heaven.
The ritual has begun.
The ritual has begun.

Out - out are the lights - out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm,
That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”
And its hero, the Conqueror Worm.

>Cont'd

File: Yatch at night aesthetic_.jpg (47 KB, 736x981)

47 KB JPG

Now there is a rupture in the crimson veil. Something else. Many something else's. Things that are not the red void. Things that have substance.
You still taste the warm, copper-tinged, overwhelming shock of fresh blood. But you taste other things, as well. Salt. The brine of the deep, silt from the seabed, saltwater. Wet cement. The wood of a yew tree. Hints of ozone, electricity. Wax, the variety applied to boats. Diesel fuel. You taste these things in the back of your tongue and on your nose. You smell blood. But you also smell denim. Ammonia - urine, actually. Silk. Oxidized metal. Rubber. Steel.

You hear everything keenly. You hear the fine buzz of an electric charge in some nearby device. You hear the waves lapping against the side of the vessel you're on. You feel the ebb. The pitching and rocking of the ship. Your sight begins to return to you at last as the fog of hunger, nightmares, and an ocean of blood begins to dissipate.

You're on the large, open deck of a yacht, to the rear of it. The vast of night stretches around you, violet-black and freckled with stars. Much of the horizon is open sea, but in one direction you notice the glimmering of skyscrapers and houses along the beach. You must be two miles from the shore, but if you focus you can see some bits of detail, even at this distance.

Next to you is a concrete rectangle with bold latin script etched into it: SUB JUDICE
You aren't sure how you know it's latin, or how you are able to read latin, but you do, and you can. It means, 'Awaiting Judgment'.
It's the size of a refrigerator and an enormous breach has been made with some DeWalt power tools which sit on a couple of towels nearby, on the floor of the deck. Large enough for you to have escaped, you think. Why you would think such a thing eludes you in this moment.

You're on your knees, naked, and in one clawed hand you are holding the severed arm of an adult man. In the other clawed hand you are holding his throat, and much the rest of him, excepting his left leg, which you notice is laying on the rich, orange-brown hardwood just in front of you. There are some red streaks around it, but not a pool or puddle. It seems you may have licked up much of the blood that spilled there. It would explain the faint hints of polish, wax, and cleaning chemicals at the edge of your palate.
The mutilated corpse is totally exsanguinated, of that you're sure. Glancing slightly to the left, you see another body, a woman's, decapitated. Exsanguinated also. Your nostrils flare twice, and glancing back the other way, you see what must be her head. Her face is stricken with terror, and staring at you just as she had when you tore open her throat.

Then there's the matter of the three others present with you. The three that observe.

>Cont'd

You don't hear hearts beating. You don't taste breath coming in and out of their lungs. But there are three others here. They are dead. You can smell the death; their dead skin, and hair, and eyes. You can feel them all watching you from just nearby. Silhouettes, illuminated by the glow of blue light from the cabin behind them, it's sliding doors are closed but a tastefully appointed library is visible to you from where you kneel.

The Beast inside your blood howls and thunders and gnashes its teeth, and the sinews of your body grow taut like the strings of a thousand recurve bows, to a thousand hunters after fresh quarry.
But you are sated.
You have been fed. By these strangers, it would seem.
None of them submit to any likewise feral urges. All manage to maintain their composure, and with more apparent ease than yourself.
Still, your jaw tightens and you instinctively emit a growl so lupine in sound, a listener would be forgiven for thinking a timber wolf had come aboard the ship.
It occurs to you that you do not know where this boat is, or who owns it.
It occurs also that you do not recall your own name.

"I think he's starting to settle. He's a lot stronger than you said he'd be." Says the woman standing on the right. She has a lithe figure, and is in early middle age, with red hair fixed back in a bun. She's wearing a rich navy pantsuit with thin yellow pinstripes, and has her hands planted on her hips as she glowers down at you, seeming dissatisfied and tense in equal measure.

The man on the left is leaning against one of the walls just near the sliding doors to the cabin, a bit farther back. He's got a wooden stake balanced from its sharp point on the tip of his index finger, wavering his hand slightly to keep it steadily upright, and his other hand is in his pants pocket. The stake is yew, and has some spiraling pattern carved around its length. He's got on black pleated slacks, a black leather belt with a black gold buckle, and a black turtleneck sweater on, the sleeves pulled up to his elbows to show strong, slender forearms. He has blonde hair shaved down to the scalp, and a sword pointing down tattooed on the side of his face, just in front of his ear and ending at the edge of his angular jaw. "That's a good thing. Would've been a pretty big waste of time if he'd been a shriveled up pussy." He says.

>Cont'd

The third figure rises from his seat, raising a hand to quiet the other two. He can't be older than twenty five, with a pallid olive complexion and short, curly black hair, and a handsome face that tapers down towards his chin. His frame and figure is athletic, accentuated by his bespoke attire, which causes him to cut an imposing figure despite standing a little under five and a half feet at most. He's wearing a solid black seersucker suit, with a black and gold paisley cravat tucked into the collar of his white cotton dress shirt. He steps nearer and clasps his hands behind his back, assessing you like a scientist. "Good evening, sir. We have taken it upon ourselves to abridge your sentence, and would care to have words. Could you be amenable to an enlightening discourse before we sail back to Charleston harbor?" The monster shaped like a young man asks.

For a long moment, you regard him silently... scarlet eyes watching without blinking and blood dripping from your chin.

Select One:

>Thank them for the blood, arise to your full stature and agree to exchange words. You know the long sleep has weakened you, and the throttle of nightmares has occluded much of your memory. It is best you comply, and why not? It seems they rescued you from a grim fate, and offered appropriate tribute.
>Tell them you will speak only when you are provided more blood. You have drank what would be many vampire's fill, and certainly you no longer crave at the expense of your reason. But you have been denied drink for longer than you can guess, and feel within yourself that you could still consume triple what you've already had if you so desired.
>Do not answer, instead attempt to use your power of Auspex to simply read one of their minds so you might ascertain who they are, and what their purpose in awakening you may yet be. (specify right, left, or middle figure).
>Even weakened, your power is not to be trifled with; use the power of Protean to shift into the form of a mighty bear and dispatch these interlopers.
>Use the power of Protean to become a swarm of biting flies, and escape this way to the coastline. You need not parlay with these three, and will simply uncover for yourself how you came to be here, why you were in that box, and who you are.

>>6454018
>Tell them you will speak only when you are provided more blood. You have drank what would be many vampire's fill, and certainly you no longer crave at the expense of your reason. But you have been denied drink for longer than you can guess, and feel within yourself that you could still consume triple what you've already had if you so desired.
They didn't bring a great enough tribute.

>>6454019
>Tell them you will speak only when you are provided more blood.

What, you want us to talk with a parched throat? Don't be foolish.

>>6454019
>Do not answer, instead attempt to use your power of Auspex to simply read one of their minds so you might ascertain who they are, and what their purpose in awakening you may yet be. (The woman on the right).

I don't like that she finds us a bit strong to control. Presumably the man on the left is gonna be the one to put us back to sleep if we get out of hand. But going along with them simply won't do, they can only control us if they keep us weak, which means that is exactly what they intend to do. I could be wrong, but I'd like some real answers.

What an intro!

>>6454043
+1

We may need all the strength we can get depending on where this boat is heading. Not to mention we are already being ghost threatened by the guy aura farming with that stake.

Which versions of the Banes and Compulsions are we rocking with, Sloucho?

>>6454043
+1

>>6454159
>Which versions of the Banes and Compulsions are we rocking with, Sloucho?
This game is based mostly on V:tR 1E, which is the version I just happen to be most familiar with due to when I got into the hobby, and I am using the Banes system introduced in the Danse Macabre sourcebook - for those unfamiliar, this means that aside from the usual set of vampiric weaknesses/curses, an individual vampire can accrue new ones as they lose their humanity, and they manifest uniquely. You have several of these, but don't yet remember what they are.

>>6454019
>Do not answer, instead attempt to use your power of Auspex to simply read one of their minds so you might ascertain who they are, and what their purpose in awakening you may yet be. (The woman on the right).

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Breathlessly, you release the two pieces of your most recent kill, and rise to stand. The stillness of your facial features, and the stillness of so much of your body even as you move it, is uncanny to behold on the barely swaying deck. Your sunken eyes and sharp cheeks are the visage of death itself.

You draw in air with your lungs, the exact volume amount needed to reply to this other vampire. You speak deliberately and in a low, predatory tone. You do not blink. You do not waste any effort at all imitating the expressions that mortals use to convey meaning. When you speak, you are listened to, and nothing else is pretended. Your face is a rigid mask as you utter a series of syllables in a guttural, alien tongue, as harsh as it is foreign to the ears of these vampires. Your ancient accent is thicker than Irish peat.

You explain that you will not dignify supplicants with your attention until properly slaked of your savage thirst. Then, when you are finished, you notice the curious looks on these stranger's faces, and how the one with the stake exchanges a glance with the woman. The one in the middle almost smiles. "Fascinating." He murmurs.

The woman speaks up then, still keeping her eyes on you. "How old exactly is he supposed to be? The fuck was that?" She asks, frowning more emphatically now.

You seem to have forgotten that no one speaks Pictish anymore.

"I'm actually not sure, some manner of proto-gaelic dialect I suspect." Says the middle figure, speaking clearly now to be heard. He tightens his lips but maintains a polite demeanor. You notice that, even while he does ape facial expressions, he displays each one a little too perfectly. Your eyes are guillotine sharp, able to see deeply, and closely, and to study quickly. You notice his eyebrows, and the lines of his mouth. The flaring of nostrils and showing of teeth, then, and in combination all of these things seem to your gaze carefully, exactingly measured. Chemical elements organized in the proportions necessary to generate the desired reaction. Imperceptible to duller beasts. He is an old one, like yourself. The well-dressed predator offers you a slight bow, and tries again. "It is to my recollection that you are a fluent English speaker, is that not so? If you would be so obliging, I'd appreciate it very much if we should continue this dialogue in a more legible tongue." He tilts his head slightly at the end.

"You recall rightly." You reply in an even tone. Your voice is a gruff baritone, impartial and somehow assertive.

>Cont'd

The one in the cravat manufactures another smile, though it is at least a well rehearsed one. "Exceptional! My name is Agostino Sartori, and if it is at all unclear to you, we intend no harm to your person and bear no grudges f-"

You interrupt him with a terse growl, low and rooted deep in you. "Enough. We may convene whenst thou hast rendered unto me four more heads of cattle." You state, still sounding imperious despite no effort being made to exercise any vocal inflection.

The one with the stake of yew leans off of the wall, and draws nearer to his companions, and to you. He brings swings his arm up and stops abruptly to put the stake in the air, and when it flips, he catches it with his other hand in a blur of supernatural speed. Your eyes are capable enough to track the movement as it happens, but were it not so, mortal vision would be insufficient to see. He crosses his arms and looks to you intently. "I mean no disrespect, but with your... ability, we felt hopping you up on a bunch of blood immediately could get things out of hand for us. For now, it maybe would be best if we got on... The..." He begins to say, but a withering glare from the young-looking man in the middle has him trailing off and then clamming up shortly thereafter.

Once he's silenced his comrade, though, Agostino turns back to face you fully. "I bid you forgive Elias his paranoia. It is his prerogative as the Castellan of our Chapterhouse. I am afraid, however, that the only other mortals on the ship are entirely necessary for its navigation and operation. Should you drink of them, I fear it may greatly delay our vessel's return voyage." He begins. A beat passes. You consider that you do not care about the 'return voyage'. You will likely swim or fly away from here, as either would be a more suitable a means of conveyance than this gaudy human toy. "Should you wish it, of course, I would allow you to partake of my Vitae, or that of my two inferiors here, to help restore your strength." He goes further. Then shrugs a manufactured shrug. "Otherwise, we can forestall any additional conversation until having returned to the harbor, whereupon more prey can be brought to you easily on the waterfront, but that will be some wait from now. Supposing you do not wish to drink further until then, might I propose that in the meantime I first offer to ask any questions that you have, before we truly begin exchanging ideas and communicating in earnest? I'd consider it a small courtesy."

>Cont'd

Something about that stake disturbs you. The material. You feel by instinct that you want it brought no closer, and that if this other vampire means to touch you with it, you will resist fiercely. His minor demonstration of Celerity may normally help to corral his foes in negotiation, but even in your reduced state you expect that you are faster than he, and much stronger... And what ability was he referring to, you wonder in much the way a spider contemplates a fly. He didn't say 'abilities', of which you have a great many, the memory of some still returning to you in patches by the minute. You don't know precisely, but you can feel that there is something else within you, a leviathan in your blood that stirs to wakefulness alongside you...

Still, you look to the leader of them, the other Elder.

Select One:

>Agree to drink the blood of one of the other vampires. Vitae is doubly as pleasurable when consumed from such a source, and so even drinking from one will satisfy the Beast within you. This is a loaded decision, however, as drinking the blood of a vampire engenders positive and eventually even submissive feelings towards the source. It would take at least three, separate, significant drinks to establish a full blood bond (vinculum), and the first drink is exceptionally mild in its impression, not enough to alter your opinions or disposition. Still, you must always be mindful when drinking of your own kind. (Specify left, right, or middle)
>Insist that you will in fact drink the other mortals aboard and that they will be brought before you immediately. If these three cannot pilot a ship between them, that is their concern, not yours.
>Say nothing, and instead use Auspex to attempt to read the mind of one of the three vampires to illuminate the situation. (Specify left, right, or middle).
>Decline drinking of these vampires, tell the Elder you will drink at the harbor as he suggests. Remain, though, and ask some questions of them while you have the chance. (If you select this option, you may list up to three questions of your choosing, e.g. 'what year is it?', 'how long have I slept?', 'what is your purpose in freeing me?')
>Excuses. How tiresome. Use Protean to take on the form of a shark or raven in order to return at once to shore.

>>6454190
>Excuses. How tiresome. Use Protean to take on the form of a shark or raven in order to return at once to shore.

We shall reconvene at our leisure, after we have slaked our thirst, mayhaps.

>>6454190
>"Then, we'll reach the harbor, and once I sated my hunger, we'll speak"
>Use Auspex to attempt to read the mind of one of the three vampires to illuminate the situation. (The Woman).

>>6454190
>Insist you will drink of other mortals.

"There are three of you here. A conversation requires only one. Therefore you can supply me two of the crew of this boat to drink fully and two of you will take their duties. Your compatriot who remains behind can catch you up when we make landfall."

The actor is probably the leader of whatever this is, we get him alone, get some blood, and rid ourselves of a threat and the skittish one. Win/win/win? If they bitch about having to work a boat then we can just tell them to pick people with easy jobs.

>>6454190
>>6454204
+1

>>6454204
>>6454225
Gonna call it at a simple majority and keep it rolling.

You are a statue. Perfectly frozen but for the bristles of your mustache twitching in the wind that plays with long strands of your hair. You allow a moment's pause to linger again before answering the proposition. "Nay, keep thy blood about thee. Ye may yet have much need of it if I am further denied. Prithee, make haste, for I grasp in one palm an excess of hunger, and in the other a scarcity of patience for the gaming of peons. Not at all do I carry a predilection for... dialogue." You say.

Agostino receives your preferences and even your threat rather easily, nonetheless, and responds with a small bow of his head.

There is a slight, wet sound as your eyes ever so slowly rotate to land on the woman, yet to be identified by name. You haven't looked directly at her yet, and now you stare.

She seems to immediately feel your attention. You can see her muscles and veins tighten ever so barely, as if bracing for something.

Roll 1d100, BO3

Rolled 96 (1d100)

>>6454287

Rolled 17 (1d100)

>>6454287

Rolled 34 (1d100)

>>6454287
>>6454288
DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMN

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Yes... Your gaze to her is like the heat of a microscope lens turned upon an amoeba. Her own bestial instincts wisely tell her to retreat. To flee. But to be careful, still. Another comparison might be a monkey that has descended to the clearing of a forest, only to turn it's fragile head sideways and see the iridescent yellow of a tiger's eye peeking through the green undergrowth. The instinct to rush back to the canopy is intercepted by the anticipation that, now having spotted the hunter, to move at all could invite the lightning strike of deadly ambush.

You turn the dial on the microscope. You adjust the heat, and the magnification. She does not squirm. She cannot resist. Auspex is among your more developed powers of the blood, called in these nights a 'Discipline', and perhaps rightly so, because it is the discipline of much practice that has made Telepathy's use a matter of muscle memory, for you, though it is a thing of memory more than muscle.

Your mind enters hers easily.
A sword returning to its scabbard.
A burglar walking through the front door with a keyring jingling in his one hand, and a burlap sack dangling in the other.
An owl silently descending upon a mouse in the snow, clutching the tender morsel all around in razor talons and lifting off in one noiseless instant.
You barge in, dragging one curved talon along the pitiful inklings at the surface of her mind like so many tomes on a library shelf.

'This was a fucking mistake...'
'Agostino should have brought more Guardians, fuck discretion...'
'He looks like one of those Nosferatu freaks...'

Paltry little things.
Flick!
You tip the bookcase over. Your intellectual appetite requires more substantial 'reading material'.
You step over the surface thoughts and begin rifling around in a farther reach of her mind. These are not so much musings as they are understandings and conclusions. You become a Worm sliding along its belly towards the core of this mealy apple.

My name is Martha Waldron
I am the Librarian for the Ordo Dracul of Charleston, South Carolina, where I also curate the chapter's herd of human prey
Normally I would not be joining the Kogaion, Agostino, and Castellan, Elias, to unearth a dangerous Elder, but our numbers have thinned, our other warriors are occupied, and Agostino knew my rapport with the mortals would simplify their sacrifice, and that he may need to rely on my knowledge of the Long Sleep, which exceeds even his own

I do not know how he learned the location of his body, or knowledge of his unique vulnerability to weapons carved from yew wood, but Agostino insisted we rouse from Torpor none other than Malcolm Ashwood, The Lambton Worm in what seems to me a foolishly desperate bid to save the us all

>Cont'd

You release the mouse.
She staggers back a step and brings a palm to her forehead, pointing at you accusingly with the other.
"SHIT! HE GOT IN MY HEAD!" She shouts, her face contorting with disgust and a bit of fear. If she could vomit, this might be a moment where she would. "I didn't fucking sign up for this, you said it would be safe, that you would have it under control, but this isn't one of your dusty artifacts, Sartori, th-" She begins to complain, almost hysterically.

But, like the Castellan, she is silenced with a look from Agostino. More than that, it would seem, she is compelled aggressively by his gaze not only to cease her speaking, but to fall to her knees and cast her gaze downwards. You suspect this to be an exercise of Auspex to impart the command mentally, and also Dominate, another Discipline, to force her obedience with his stare. It would seem there is yet some might behind his effusive politeness, or at least the potency that comes from a very long unlife.

"Malcolm... Ashwood..." You say the words aloud, as if trying on a pair of boots. It is familiar on your tongue. But you know also, somewhere deep, that it is not your true name. It is an identity you inhabited in the past, but your heritage predates the conventions and even the language of this name. It is one of the more steady masks in your history, though, you feel that as you say it. A mask which for a great long while dwelled beneath all the other masks you wear night to night.

"Yes, Mr. Ashwood, your name. Does it occur to you naturally, or did you retrieve that from my companion?" Agostino asks, still polite but with an edge in his voice. "You've my assurance I would have told you as much had you but inquired. We are not your enemies. It was not our Covenant that interred you at the bottom of the ocean. In fact, had I known your whereabouts sooner I'd already have freed you! Only very recently was I made aware that you had not indeed been destroyed utterly by the zealots of the Lancea et Sanctum."

If he has hostile intentions towards you, Martha was not made aware of them, at least. What he says does not dispute what she seemed to know of this errand to resuscitate you. You've heard tell of this Ordo Dracul, you believe, in fact you are beginning to remember having met several of their number in the distant past... Yes, knights in platemail embossed with wyverns and crossed axes, blocking a forest trail. A robed philosopher parlaying with you beneath cobblestone streets to discuss the secrets of blood sorcery. Like the other Covenants, these so-called Dragons have been enemies and friends at different times. Tonight, what are they?

>Cont'd

You don't respond to his words immediately. Instead you shift your ruminations to your other name.
The Lambton Worm.
What a delectable sobriquet it is... Yes, now it all begins to come back, though still very gradually: The planning, the omens, ancient Cruac Sorcery... The Red Rite of The Immortal Hydra... Your immense and frightening power...

You cast your gaze then to Elias Carter.
He tightens his grip on that stake.
Yes, now revealed to you by your probing, you clearly recall that weapons fashioned from the wood of a yew tree scald and burn your flesh like fire itself. Even in clumsier hands than his, such a tool could be a danger to you. It... Is irksome, how this realization punctures your sense of self. Even through the fog of a very long Torpor, you can remember a handful of times when you felt vulnerable, and you remember well enough that those were very, very rare circumstances after having arisen as the Worm.

Nevertheless, you look back to Agostino, again.
The Kogaion. You don't recognize the word, and yet something about it is familiar. You have a sense that it is a station of great importance among his order.
Something about him is starting to feel familiar, ever so faintly.

Select One:

>They did not retaliate to your mental intrusion with violence. The woman's thoughts were that you've been saved to deliver them, and the other local vampires, from some great harm. Armed with your Bane or not, it seems they can be trusted for now. Ask them some questions. (If you select this option, you may list up to three questions of your choosing, e.g. 'what year is it?', 'how long have I slept?', 'what is your purpose in freeing me?')
>You do not feel they mean to harm you, but neither do you have any enthusiasm for indulging these three. You will wait silently until Martha provides you four more members of their herd.
>Whatever their intentions, you tire of this audience. You'll take your leave, now, in the form of a great black vulture and fly to the nearby city. Then you will begin the hunt for your past alone.

>>6454388
>You do not feel they mean to harm you, but neither do you have any enthusiasm for indulging these three. You will wait silently until Martha provides you four more members of their herd.

>>6454388
>>You do not feel they mean to harm you, but neither do you have any enthusiasm for indulging these three. You will wait silently until Martha provides you four more members of their herd.

>>6454388
>You do not feel they mean to harm you, but neither do you have any enthusiasm for indulging these three. You will wait silently until Martha provides you four more members of their herd.
We will learn a lot of this on our own, our own way. Until then I don't want to need to dodge a yew steak flying through the air at us like a dart.

>>6454388
>They did not retaliate to your mental intrusion with violence. The woman's thoughts were that you've been saved to deliver them, and the other local vampires, from some great harm. Armed with your Bane or not, it seems they can be trusted for now. Ask them some questions. (If you select this option, you may list up to three questions of your choosing, e.g. 'what year is it?', 'how long have I slept?', 'what is your purpose in freeing me?')
>>What is a Kogian?
>>How did you learn of my location?
>>Who bound me thus?

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>>6455903 >>6457454

You speak again.

"Four more heads of cattle."

Then, you lower yourself back to the deck, into a squatting position, clawed hands atop your knees. You stare ahead now, not at any of the three of them in particular, but simply allowing your vision to be fixed on what is directly ahead of you, just to the left of Agostino's leg. A bookshelf. You can read the titles from here with your hawk-like vision. Latin. Greek. Russian. Chinese. Obscure and esoteric titles. Nothing of interest to you.

The Dragons exchange glances, but none attempt to communicate any further for now. You detect Agostino making a gesture to Martha, and she walks towards the front of the ship along the exterior of the cabin. The other two remain. The Elder returns to his chair, legs crossed, while Elias stands beside him and eyes you warily.

A few minutes later, the vessel turns, and begins its journey to the city.

You stare blankly ahead, motionless. Now spared the chore of conversing with your lessers, you are able to focus inward, and see what you can remember of your own volition.
The tide of sanguine dreams... The red void of Torpor where you have dwelt for decades, at least... It has eroded both along the edges and leaked in towards the middle, washing out some central pillars of who you are.
In the calm of waiting, you carefully sift through the debris of your past, not unlike the victim of a flood returning to find their living room filled with two feet of topsoil, and their belongings strewn about a kitchen layered with mud.

You are a vampire, of which there are many kinds. You are of the most superior order of them, called the Kindred, which are comprised of five major Clans, each with unique characteristics. Your Clan is called Gangrel, and your kin are known for their ferocity, animalistic dispositions, and most of all their predisposition towards the Discipline known as Protean; the power of changing from one form into another.

You are a master of several Kindred powers, but of Protean you are a master above all others. You may grow fearsome, shredding claws, or grow leathery wings and take flight as a fallen angel. You can hear the beast shapes chirping, howling, screeching, and writhing in every drop of blood that coagulates within your decayed stomach lining: Wolf. Bear. Cat. Vulture. Shark. Lynx. Raven. Mantis. Rat. Eagle. Mastiff. Scorpion. Cobra. Octopus. A teeming mass of centipedes. A swarm of biting flies. And of course, a lamprey. You may become a fine mist. You can meld with stone, soil, water, or wood, even the wood of this ship's deck. You can move directly through these materials and emerge elsewhere. You can change your very flesh to livid stone such that blades glance off, and musket balls ricochet harmlessly.

>Cont'd

You can even take on the shape of humans, or other vampires, so long as you know their appearance. Becoming a perfect doppelganger, but possessing your own mind and abilities. It occurs to you that this and some of the other specific uses of Protean you possess are exceedingly rare, or even totally unheard of manifestations for the power, which few other Kindred can imitate - maybe none.

You focus more carefully. There is something else. Other Disciplines. Celerity for incredible speed, Vigor for your immense strength, Resilience to shrug off and disregard grievous injuries, these are the most basic 'physical' Disciplines which all Kindred, and even most other, inferior vampires are able to develop, though rarely to your level. You possess others still... Auspex, of course, but also Animalism so you might communicate and command the wild things of the world... Obfuscate, for occluding yourself from the mind of others... And yes, blood sorcery. Veneficia and Cruac, most of all, and a few other hidden practices make up your repertoire.

Yes, this is the other art you have nearly perfected. You are a peerless blood sorcerer.
You center your mind on this.
The particulars of many rituals filter across the front of your mind. You can feel that you knew others, and perhaps some part of you still does. At your level of proficiency, you may even create your own.
You have the epiphany that performing Cruac divination rituals may be particularly informative as you adjust to this new world. You needn't rely on other Kindred to answer your queries when The Crone will hear your prayers.

This brings you to another thought, circling back to the last of your dark dreaming, and your exchanges with Elias and Martha.
Your ability. Your legend. You are The Lambton Worm.
What does that actually mean? It is a haze of scarlet red in the back of your mind... You press on, focusing...

You performed a horrific, secret blood ritual.
You can feel the power coursing under your flesh, under your bones, even.
You know that you are no longer like the other Kindred. You are as superior to them, as they to the other, lesser vampires.
They are dead men.
You are but the likeness of a man only when seen in this primal form. It is the cadaver of the mortal you once were. But underneath you are an immortal Worm.

When you concentrate upon this, you see steel armor wreathed in the tips of spears taken from dead men.
You see a sword clumsily swung by a vain fool, no wiser now than when you first met on a Sunday he'd have been better served to spend in church, as your servant bid him.
You see pieces of your body washed away down the River Wear as they are cut from you.
You see the reflection of your fanged smile in his panicked eyes as your head is lopped from your shoulders, splashing in the water and tumbling away...

>Cont'd

Your reminiscing is interrupted when Agostino rises from his chair. It's been roughly twenty minutes. You realize that the ship has slowed. You hear other ships lilting on the water, waves licking at their sides. You smell. More chemicals. More composites. You hear a bustling city. You hear many unfamiliar sounds. "We have arrived, Mr. Ashwood." The Kogaion says. You can almost hear in his voice that he no longer believes this is your name, if he ever did. Maybe before he heard you speak in your native tongue. You consider that by his stature and features, he rather reminds you of the Romans that warred against the Picts you once called your people.

You say nothing of this, however, rising to your feet once more. You notice Martha sliding open the entrance to the library from within, holding some clothing under her other arm. She walks in your direction, but draws no closer to you than Agostino. Once even with him, she hesitated, then sets the delivery down, and steps back, and to the side about eight or nine paces.

He glances down at them, then to you, and gestures with his hand. "If you wouldn't mind, terribly, you ought to be dressed now. This is a private dock, and the warehouse we'll be entering is owned by our Order, secure and discreet. Nevertheless, even at some distance, it may draw undue attention for you to be seen nude within the city." He says, now as friendly as when he first approached you.

Brown denim pants with large pockets, boots of a darker brown leather, and some other material in the bottom that's black, and a grey shirt with short sleeves, it reminds you almost of a tunic but shaped awkwardly and much softer. Lastly, there is a brown leather jacket rather like a dinner jacket or blazer, with black buttons. Alien though this uniform is to you, it seems a small trouble to don. The garb is inoffensive and may serve some utility. As the ship glides towards the pier and ropes are affixed to it by one man aboard and another two at the dock itself, you dress yourself. When you are finished, and the boat is still, Agostino nods to Martha, and gestures for you to follow him as he follows her onto the dock, with Elias following behind you in turn.

The man tying off a rope on the dock is on one knee, and does not so much as glance in your direction. He is middle aged with a large beard and dirty clothes. His heart beats, but you smell the stink of vampiric blood on him. He is a Ghoul, the empowered thrall of a vampire, gifted a measure of power and agelessness in exchange for total devotion and submission in all ways to their masters.

You pay him little mind as well, and proceed with the others to a large metal building just adjacent to the dock, which has one massive door of a different colored metal, though you are t sure how it might open, and to either side of it, smaller, person-sized doors. Martha opens one of them and stands by it as you and the other two Dragons enter.

>Cont'd

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She closes the door behind Elias.

You hear more heartbeats, some quite rapid. You hear rats. You hear the skittering of cockroaches. You smell seagull droppings. You smell metal. You smell wood. You smell rope fibers. You notice more light coming from metal fixtures dangling far overhead, and hear an electric hum within them. You didn't understand this well on the ship, but thought little of it. Now you consider that the Ordo Dracul has contrived some magic to produce light without fire and capture it in lengths of glass. How curious, and yet terribly practical, as the mere presence of fire can sometimes chafe you, and it would take many torches indeed to illuminate this place, as would be necessary for those that do not possess your ability to see in darkness.

There are crates everywhere, and barrels of some odd, solid blue material which have no bands about them. Everything is stacked in great cubic or rectangular arrangements, some as high as fifteen feet and twice as wide. It gives the impression of a labyrinth as your small group ventures further in.

Eventually, you round a stack of crates filled with what you believe are bags of rice based on the scent, and into a clearing in the heart of the warehouse.

There is a large receptacle here, circular in shape and perhaps twenty feet in diameter. It is blue, though lighter in color than those barrels, with edges that come four feet up from the floor, like an enormous bowl. It says 'INTEX', on the side, which seems to you a Latin word like the engraving on the concrete cell you were entombed in, but you do not know the meaning of the word. It is lined entirely with some manner of translucent, glossy parchment that has a sterile smell. Stepping over to it, you see there are four humans in the middle, all of them bound by the wrists and ankles, blindfolded, and gagged, sat back to back and facing four separate directions. They are awake, and extremely afraid, based on the sounds of their hearts and the faint taste of their sweat in the air.

On the other side of the bowl from you, spread out, are three more figures. Two are ghouls, though younger than the one on the dock, with stronger frames and holding hatchets. There are red cylinders attached to their belts, thin and about a foot in length. Even from over twenty feet away you can smell flammable chemical agents and mineral compounds. Some manner of explosive perhaps?

>Cont'd

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The third is a vampire, and a plainly monstrous one at that. Two scars streak across his too-flat face on a jar-shaped head, with porcelain white skin that seems a touch rubbery, almost. His nose is wide with broad nostrils, and his pale, piercing eyes set in sunken sockets that are just slightly too far apart. He possesses a glassy, corpse-like stare not unlike your own. But you can sense that his blood is thin just by the scent of him, past the stench of stagnant water and human refuse, anyways. He does not flinch at the sight of you, however, restrained as his compatriots. You are able to identify his Clan immediately as Nosferatu; they all are warped by their blood into hideous new shapes.

He has a full-sized axe in his hands, with a red handle and head, and a sharp point on the back end. His attire is a black suit, but it is stained and dirty in many places, torn and frayed in a few others.

Agostino speaks from behind you. "Here are four more mortals, as requested. Our associate over there is Mr. Itch. He and his assistants are part of our organization, tasked with protecting our assets and dispatching our enemies, or sometimes providing honored guests with a secure meal."

At the sound of a voice, the captives begin to glance around fitfully. At the mention of a 'secure meal', they truly begin to panic, twisting around anxiously, but it seems they are all bound together by their wrists and tightly so.

You're greatly outnumbered now, but the axe blades of these others rouse next to no concern in you, not like the yew. You think it likely that the three of them do not know about your frailty, else they would be differently equipped. In fact, despite the intensity of Itch's gaze, the mild reaction from him and the others leads you to believe that they do not know who you are, or at least much less about you than Martha or Elias.

Your eyes end up lingering on one of the hatchets, and for some reason you cannot quite put a finger on, you actually... Find yourself wanting for it to be used against you. Why could that possibly be? The idea of having a hand or leg severed is strangely... appealing...

You step over the edge of the blue container and stride confidently over to the huddled prey without dwelling further on the idea of your own dismemberment.

You focus instead on the dismembering of your tribute.

>Cont'd

What comes next is a truly gruesome seven minutes of gorging, and then it is abruptly over. Your new clothes are stained everywhere. The cattle are broken and drained of all blood. You have feasted, and been allowed to have your total fill.

Standing among the ruined carcasses, you look over to Agostino Sartori where he has stood calmly for the entire time, hands clasped behind his back again. He has a slight smile.

You wonder if that is a facade. You wonder if perhaps he is thinking it might have been a miscalculation to indulge your hunger so thoroughly.

The Kogaion tilts his head and speaks clearly. "Now, Mr. Ashwood, you have availed yourself of a considerable portion of our herd, which will need to be replaced under less than ideal circumstances, that combined with our restraint, forthcomingness, and most of all the significant efforts undergone to exhume you. I trust that this is sufficient for us to converse in a civilized manner, yes? There are matters to which we must attend."

Select One:

>Agree to hear him out. He has been patient and gracious. You have dined well. You will know his purpose in treating you so, whatever it may be.
>You will converse on your own terms. You have questions that you will hear answered before you entertain his designs. (If you select this option, you may list up to three questions of your choosing, e.g. 'what year is it?', 'how long have I slept?', 'what is your purpose in freeing me?')
>First, ask him for one of his men's hatchets.

>>6454497
>You will hear them out.

The year doesn't matter all that much and we have a rough idea of where we are

>>6454503
Those are just examples given; you're encouraged to write your own if you'd like.
>>6454427
This anon pitched some alternatives.

>>6454497
>Agree to hear him out.

>>6454497
>You will converse on your own terms. You have questions that you will hear answered before you entertain his designs.
What do you want of me?
What is a Kogian?
Who bound me?

>>6454497
>Agree to hear him out.

>>6454497
>First, ask him for one of his men's hatchets.

I'm genuinely curious as to why we have this compulsion. Is our memory lapse truly just a result of long torpor, or have we been dominated? Did something go wrong with our ritual? Or is it serving its purpose? Maybe we intend to delimb ourselves, so as to better take the form of a worm? Surely we do not need to hack our limbs of for that...our skill with Protean should suffice.

But yes, while playing the dominant elder bloodsucker that we are has been fun, the dragons have indeed been gracious and patient. I don't mind hearing them out. Besides, unless we're playing fast and loose with the rules - which we might be, given that we're not using the shitass native system - we aren't THAT much stronger than Agostino, given that we still get Vitae from mortals. Though we are clearly very old, depending on what is meant by being older than the language of our name, we're probably significantly older than most of the Covenants (factions). So maybe our state is unique, on account of our ritual, perhaps?

Also, I cracked open my copy of V:TR for the first time in a bajillion years, since I'm more familiar with V:TM. The dragons are interesting, real occult scientist types. I hope we can develop some new ritual and coils. In case anons aren't just asking so we know in character, Kogaions are basically the Ordo Dracul's leaders. I think we can get that in context, without needing to fuss over specific titles or their hierarchy, it hardly matters to us. I'm also sure they'll tell us what they want of us, we probably already know, they want us to help kill some folks because they are being pressured right now. They probably also want us to help with their experiments, since the order finds Gangrels and Protean fascinating and useful to their spooky science. I think if when we ask our questions, it should focus more on getting caught up on recent times, and what they know about our imprisonment on the ocean floor.

Someone will tell us the year eventually, and we can date at least one time we were recently awake, since the order hasn't been around that long, and we remember them in plate armour, so we must've been awake in the 13 or 1400s. I'm more curious about our familiarity with Agostino. Is it just our familiarity with his order, or do we know him? I doubt he's Dracula himself, he wouldn't need us otherwise. Maybe he's Roman? That could explain things, if he was from our times. He could also be using an alias, like us, literally hiding his power level. But then, again, he wouldn't need us.

>>6454497
>Agree to hear him out. He has been patient and gracious. You have dined well. You will know his purpose in treating you so, whatever it may be.
>"Thank you"

If we're such an old timer, I guess we can take out the rust to our manners and say thanks for treating us like a guest.

>>6454558
>I'm genuinely curious as to why we have this compulsion.
My guess is that, if we're older than our name, and old ENOUGH to be a Pict, maybe that compulsion comes from the myth we took our name and our ritual. With how significant it was for John to put a spiked armor to kill the Worm, it something that just struck to our psyche and we developed some arousal (?) to it.

Or, it might go deeper than that. The Google AI said something about a curse being placed on John and his family for generations. Maybe our compulsion is not only about mutilating ourselves, but more of what happens after: If our enemies decide to fight us, to tear us apart, to try and somehow survive, we just cursed them and whole generations of them, like some kind of ultimate vengeance, the last laugh, it's not mutilation but fucking them over for trying to be some gruesome beast against the Worm itself.

>>6454558
red rite of the immortal hyrda, chopped off limbs and heads probably regrow

>>6454558
I'll (continue to) answer most of these things in character, but I know I have been a bit verbose so I will clarify in case there is misunderstanding: 'Malcolm Ashwood' is a British/English name, and our MC was originally a Pict, and so predates it by centuries, closer to a millennium. Agostino and the others know him by the name Malcolm Ashwood because it is an identity he used in the past while active, for a very long time. It will be a serviceable name until you discover your True name - if you see fit to do so. At his age, this is actually the second time he's forgotten it.

>>6454497
>Agree to hear him out. He has been patient and gracious. You have dined well. You will know his purpose in treating you so, whatever it may be.
We might as well hear him out, we can figure out a lot of the rest ourselves if need be.

>>6454515
+1, since those were originally my queries back at >>6454427 and all, lol!

>>6454497

>>6454497
>You will converse on your own terms. You have questions that you will hear answered before you entertain his designs.
>What do you want of me?
>What is a Kogian?
>Who bound me?

We probably forgot a lot due to the sheer length of torpor. We probably lost a lot of the blood potency we had in our prime. We should have a pleasent conversation and then go search for some circle of the crone members to learn more about ourselves through ritual or gossip.

Gonna call it here for hearing Sartori out, but will have Malcolm ask any questions that aren't answered by the shpiel. In the same way that choosing to sit silently allowed him to look inwards and remember key parts of himself, asking certain questions or considering certain concepts can potentially trigger memories, so keep that in mind as he shakes off the cobwebs.

>>6454667
>any questions that aren't answered by the shpiel
From the three that were voted for, to be clear!

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"My thanks to thee, Sartori. Thou hast done well and rightly to purchase my attendance thus. Speak now thy piece." You say with the cadence of a mollified tiger.

The other Elder smiles more broadly, and bows once more. The other Kindred present seem to settle somewhat at your words as well, relieved you think at your entertaining their master. Elias is the exception, he almost seems more on edge than before, tense and focused.

The Kogaion replies. "Excellent. First of all, you ought to be told that it is the year two thousand twenty six AD. Your imprisonment and slumber persisted for a length of two hundred and thirty two years... Much has changed since your internment. Before I should go on, might I ask, do you recall anything of how you came to be captured so?" He begins.

You take the revelation plainly. That is some time indeed, but in the expanse of your unlife, it is still brief, and only the second greatest of your slumbers. Nevertheless, you consider his question.
Spears fashioned from yew wood.
The smell of incense, and wine.
Howling ashes... An icon of the cross...
"I hold no firm memory of it, though suppose it may gather to me in due time. A battle of some manner, methinks, thou made mention of the Lance..." You speak truthfully.

"Yes, the Lancea et Sanctum, the worshippers of Longinus and Christ." Agostino confirms. He straightens his posture slightly. "It is their belief that the Kindred are the wolves of their God, tasked to harrow his lambs. They believe also that when Christ should return and bring about the day of judgment, those vampires faithful to him will be delivered from their damnation, and the rest condemned to Hell." A pause. "Those of their cloth in Charleston long ago devised a unique punishment for those deemed worthy of worse than Final Death... whereby the offending party is rendered torpid and trapped within a tomb of cement and stone, then sunk to the floor of the ocean nearby and forgotten. Left there to await the Second Coming. You are but one of eight treated to this incarceration, supposedly, though there may be others... We are not concerned with their fates, however. You are the first to be resurfaced and roused to waking, to my knowledge. No small feat."

Hearing of this mistreatment riles your inner monster somewhat, even with a full belly, the impudence causes hackles to rise in your mind. You remember more clearly now the white and red robes, the pallid, fanged faces of upstart crusaders... Long have the Christians been your enemies, before even your glorious apotheosis as the Worm.

>Cont'd

For now, you permit the Dragon to continue.

"We have taken these great pains to restore you not out of any sense of altruism, however, I must confess." He goes on. Something flashes behind his eyes, a spark of rememberance perhaps, or steeling himself to proceed. "You are among the mightiest of Kindred to have dwelled in this region, and the Domain of Charleston is under dire threat. Huntsmen of a like we have never seen. Well funded, highly trained, meticulously armed, and seemingly made awares of many secrets heretofore only known to our own kind. Knowledgeable of our weaknesses, our gathering places, and many of our institutions as scarcely any human could be. And no mere band of a few seasoned witchfinders. We believe there to be at least three, maybe four score of them... a veritable army." Agostino's carefully curated countenance becomes severe and dour now. "They now harshly outnumber those of our Praxis. We've been embattled for weeks, reduced from seventy and eight to now, I believe, fewer than forty across all the Clans and Covenants. The Carthians were wiped out completely within the first four nights. Several havens and strongholds have been put to the torch."

You listen carefully as he explains his motivations. For the good of the 'Praxis', it seems, you have been sought out. The word isn't unfamiliar, it refers to the cluster of fiefdoms in any one city that are squabbled over by your less enlightened cousins - even without the fog of a recent and long Torpor, you would struggle to remember the last time you felt something akin to 'civic duty' regarding the feudal communities of other Kindred. Carthians, however, is a term you've never heard before, and if they have already been eradicated, their negligible worth is of no further consideration to you.

"What of my chosen?" You ask. This talk of Covenants recalls to mind your own cult. A half dozen kindred, a little more than double that in mortal supplicants. And... One other... Your Childer... A priest of your small coven...

The Elder's brow wrinkles slightly at this, and he shakes his head. "All slain or driven off not long after the Bishop and his templars declared your demise publicly. Your Childer, Abner Morris, defected before then to the Invictus, tucking himself up beneath their wing for safety. He took with him the chiefest among your servants, the Ghoul, Rupert Callow. The former perished in a Monomacy duel near two centuries ago, and Callow hasn't been seen or heard of since that time."

>Cont'd

Now you consider it a great fortune for these others that your appetite has been fully sated, for this newest revelation causes you to brim with rage. Your face draws taut, fangs showing through a half open jaw, and your skin literally crawls; rhythmically, slowly your dead heart thrums, and with each pulse, waves of small serpentine rises ripple outward from your chest to the ends of limbs, and across your face, like centipedes skittering between your muscles and your dermis. Hatred boils in your core, a molten bile.

Sniveling shrews, whelps, cowards, and insects all... Repulsive weaklings, routed by witless, sanctimonious cretins!
And Abner! Infidel! Disloyal churl!
At least a hundred times did you drag one of the mortals into the shadow of damnation, and but less than a handful were consumed by you in short order! That he, the only of your brood on this continent would sidle up to simpering bureaucrats in the wake of your absence is an insult to your legacy!

But on the brink of Frenzy, you flex all the will remaining within you to slow the thrashing blood, and calm the raging Beast even as it fills your mind with fury and whispers.

Your near-outburst is not unnoticed. The other vampires are all either braced to defend themselves or flee.

You loll your head around once, composing yourself, and emit a low hiss to release the last wisps of anger. "Thou art Kogaion... This word is known... To me..." You begin to ask another question, and the focus upon it triggers another rememberance.

You know this other Elder.

You know the word, because you learned it's meaning from him before, prior to your imprisoning.

The Kogaion is one of the leaders of any Ordo Dracul chapter, typically a powerful and wizened vampire tasked with locating, cataloguing, collecting, studying, or guarding things such as sites of supernatural power, or mystic artifacts, and imbued texts. They are reclusive, curators of secret knowledge, and yet from afar tend to have a firm hand in steering the organization within the territory they operate and sometimes beyond.

Like yourself, in fact. Solitary, powerful, guardian of hidden wisdom - a Hermit. A King of The Grove.

>Cont'd

This is how you two came to meet, and thereafter to convene on matters of the blood, and the nature of damnation itself. It is through a fine mist you see many vignettes of your old meetings, but you begin to remember having once entertained his company as often as every month. He is of the Mekhet clan, and while you are his senior by many centuries, he is among the Eldest of the vampires in this Domain.

You cross your arms and change the subject abruptly. "Why then didst thou seek me out? To make thine hunters my own quarry? To loose a lion on the jackals what snap at thy fragile heels?" You say, not yet admitting your recognition. "To entreat me for the doing of such an errand wouldst require of thee much more than red blood."

"Of course." Agostino admits simply holding up an open palm. "Never would I consider insulting your person with a contrary expectation. There are belongings of yours, however, that I would be glad to return to your custody for assistance with these interlopers." He makes a summoning gesture with his hand to Itch, who obediently circles the plastic tub you're standing in and withdraws a black rectangular box from his breast pocket. It had been hidden by the power of Obfuscate, you can tell by its sudden registering to your senses. Silk, steel, and a neutral chemical taste. The Nosferatu hands this to the Elder, maintaining an eye on you all the while.

Agostino opens the box and holds aloft a bronze dagger which looks like the beak of an eagle.

You recognize it immediately as yours. A favored tool in your sorcery.

"I'd gladly relinquish this implement now, and I tell you also that we've come to possess three pages of your Requiem Diary. These could also be yours, and beyond that, I am uniquely suited to assist in the gathering and locating of the rest." He goes on.

Your Requiem Diary... Writ by your own hand, a recording of your unlife for the express purpose of preserving your past. Precisely the sort of relic that a Kogaion might seek out. But only three pages?

You must reclaim them. And you must gather the rest.

Select One:

>Agree to defeat the hunters for your dagger and the pages of your Requiem Diary, as well as the resources of Agostino and his order in reclaiming the rest. You've collaborated in the past. You can again.
>Demand the pages and dagger now. You will find the rest of your own accord. You will slay the hunters if you meet them, but you will not be bargained with for service.
>Attempt to use Auspex to penetrate Sartori's mind and discover the whereabouts of the pages, and anything else he knows about your Requiem Diary, such as how the pages came to be separated.
>Delay negotiating for now. You have other questions that will be answered now that you have heard his reason for bringing you here. (Include no more than three questions of your own choosing)

>>6454729
>Agree to defeat the hunters for your dagger and the pages of your Requiem Diary, as well as the resources of Agostino and his order in reclaiming the rest. You've collaborated in the past. You can again.
>"I have the feeling you know where more of my belongings are currently at, Sartori. With all honesty, I ask if you have them, and if not, where to find them. And also, I ask for my dagger to be given to me, once I kill at least half of the Hunters"

I believe Sartori and whatever other capable vampires will put us down once we did our part of the deal. We should secure the dagger and get some of our power back, that way they show they're actually willing to cooperate with us instead of doing acupuncture with yew tree stakes. And if they really betray us at the end we can get some edge from our priced dagger.

>>6454729
>Delay negotiations
[Why do you only have Three Pages, Kogaion? Losing parts of my relics is not a wise move for knowledge sake or bodily preservation.

In giving me this charge, you are aware that you will be giving me the authority to lead a war host? I will not be sicced as a lone dog at the rats, and sneered at as an outsider when I demand their obedience for my purposes.

What other elders call this place home? I require knowledge only of the important movers and shakers, as well as how much you care for their unlives. I make no promises to save them, merely consider consequences.

I'm fine helping an old acquaintance. I do want to demand our dagger and the first two pages immediately, though giving room to be haggled down to one page just so we are sure he has the real McKoy.
Killing some hunters isn't that onerous.

>At least a hundred times did you drag one of the mortals into the shadow of damnation, and but less than a handful were consumed by you in short order!
I think maybe you meant the inverse, or I'm dumb? That only less than a handful WEREN'T consumed?

>>6454729 #

>Agree to defeat the hunters for your dagger and the pages of your Requiem Diary, as well as the resources of Agostino and his order in reclaiming the rest. You've collaborated in the past. You can again.
They seem to be treating fairly enough, and I would begin this quest in earnest now.

>>6454752
no real reason to refuse him, But I do want him aware that beyond just our potency, we need authority and OUR SHIT BACK, NOW

>>6454729
>>Agree to defeat the hunters for your dagger and the pages of your Requiem Diary, as well as the resources of Agostino and his order in reclaiming the rest. You've collaborated in the past. You can again.

Wow. Exceedingly ancient Elder Gangrel have access to true immortality that lets them survive true death at the small cost of raising their generation by one. Our boy may also be a mariner Gangrel who has drunk the blood of mythological beasts.

FYI, the average cainite of 10th gen or higher can hold about 10 blood points, which is about two persons' worth of blood. If our boy can hold 4 times that amount, then that would make him 6th gen at the highest, with a blood pool of thirty.

>>6454758
he ate 2 people, then said he could drink triple more. so 6 more.

that's 8 people total.
8x5 is 40 bp.

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>>6454772 >>6454774 >>6454777 >>6454778

>>6454752
>That only less than a handful WEREN'T consumed?
That's right. You have three surviving direct childer, one of which is in Europe, and the other in North Africa; they are inconsequential to your Requiem now, and won't come up. Every other time he ate them.
>>6454756
>>6454758
>>6454761
This game is based on V:tR, but stylistically I prefer the V:tM Elders overall and what that level of play tends to feel like. Also, even though I am using a lot of the canon material, I have taken a lot of liberties and made adjustments to certain parts of the lore which may be noticeable eventually.

As far as blood goes... Maybe the thread wants to way in on how I play it:

Under nWoD rules, the average human had 7 Vitae and he had 2 on the boat and 4 in the pool/feeding pit, which means that, yes... He has roughly 42 Vitae in his reservoir right now it has to do with his... Ability
Do you want me to track this in the thread for you? Do you want me to reveal MC's Blood Potency? He doesn't understand these things in numbers, so for narrative purposes I was going to keep it vague but privately track these scores for writing purposes. I could also explain his exact ranks in different Disciplines and his Devotions, but didn't opt for that as a default because... Being an Elder he has a lot. I don't want to bog down the story. He is a big dick swinger and this game is going to revolve around that level of supernatural being most likely; I think the World of Darkness really shines brightest at the lowest and highest levels of power. This quest will continue to have body horror and mystery as strong themes, but will also have splatterpunk elements and I think some over the top action as well. I am all ears if people have preferences around transparency with numbers.

>>6454770
As long as you make it clear in a diagetic way what we can do, when we're running low on resources, etcetera I don't much care to micromanage and track that stuff.

>>6454748
I can get behind this line of thinking, actually. If we're going to be woken up because they have no other alternative, the best they can do is to give us a seat on the table. Honestly, we MIGHT not even go to have a dinner with them, but it's a thing about manners, right? And it's a lot better if we have some other vampires around to help, they will have their own glory and boost of status from that.

>>6454729
I'll change my vote >>6454745 and support >>6454748, but I do wanna add my vote about asking Sartori for some information about our stuff. We want our junk back!

>>6454770
Like what >>6454772 said, I don't have a problem if you keep it like that. The amount of bullshit elders can do is so much that I prefer we just keep on like we've been doing. Also anon, I just wanna try and guess one of our MC compulsion/curse, and say that instead of blood, we just bleed out some really squishy and slimy centipedes or freaky looking, mutated lamprey instead of blood, which means our embrace and trying to make a blood bound with other vampires is a complete shit show, specially for ghouls

>>6454770
My vote is whichever one is easier for you. There are actually ranks of elder. You got your false elder, your true elder, your low tier ancients, your luminaries, your meths, then you have your blood gods who if they were in a coterie could kill an anti.

>>6454770
The really ancient cainites get unique disciplines like Gitka the Salt Queen, that one malkavian who can feed on words instead of blood, and Shalim.

>>6454729
>>Agree to defeat the hunters for your dagger and the pages of your Requiem Diary, as well as the resources of Agostino and his order in reclaiming the rest. You've collaborated in the past. You can again.

I'm gonna call this vote and, but I will include part of the vote to negotiate because it won't get in the way and I think it'll enhance the scene.

>>6454729
>Agree to defeat the hunters for your dagger and the pages of your Requiem Diary, as well as the resources of Agostino and his order in reclaiming the rest. You've collaborated in the past. You can again.

I'd say get an upfront payment of the dagger and/or diary pages, with help getting the rest as payment after we've dealt with the threat. Frame it as needing them to deal with the threat.

Better to appear to be civilised and cooperative for now

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You drag your tongue over a fang, tasting two drops of blood made all the more metallic in flavor by having cooled inside your mouth.

Very interesting.

Your words are deliberately uttered, one at a time. "Ah, now comes the truth of it! Thou hast summoned me for a bartering! I ask of thee, then, how didst thy august cabal come into possessing these relics, which by thine own accounting belong in truth to me? Perhaps thy herd, which I be accused of supping upon significantly, shouldst be my own by the same right thou claimst that blade, aye?" You say, allowing some small measure of invective to enter your tone for the first time since waking.

There is a charge in the air at your open indignation. And a tense quiet.

Elias steps up to answer this. "The same way we come by all our relics: looking for them, and/or killing things. The particulars are our business. And we're at the top of both those games in this town, with strings to pull and leads to follow." He explains.

Then, Martha follows his lead but veers in another direction. "Which means if you decide to Nancy Drew this shit on your own, we'll beat you to the punch and torch whatever we snap up."

"Hey!" Elias follows up with a scowl in her direction. "Lay the fuck off, Waldron!"

She spits off to the side. "Stop treating him like a fucking flower, he's a fucking WMD shaped like a dead barbarian! Show some fucking teeth or he's gonna cram your narrow ass into a blender and make a Castellan margarita with a Kogaion ash rim on the glass!" Her shoulders lock and she thrusts an accusatory finger towards the floor as she yells.

You find yourself reminded of the size of these creatures, and cannot help but be amused.

"You are heard then, Sartori." You say clearly, as if ignoring the other two. "The dagger, my blade, thou hast said clearly that thee wouldst bequeath it unto me firstly. Do this and also two of three pages from the diary before rise of dawn, and I shall pledge thee my tooth and talon, and I shall visit all my great menace upon thy foes the huntsmen." You bargain back.

>Cont'd

Agostino smirks at this, and tilts his chin upwards, likewise ignoring the younger vampires around you. "I can deliver one page and the blade both. The other two pages we keep until your work is through. And thereafter I will personally contribute to restoring your diary to you... Are these terms acceptable?"

You scrutinize the other monster carefully for another quiet moment, considering. Your gaze drifts slightly to Mr. Itch, and again to the sumptuous curve of his axe's blade... You hear rushing water all around, and the muffled sound of a dog trundling through underbrush, baying and barking...

"I bid thee, lend thy axe-sworn knights for the making of war, that I might command and lead them in bloody battle against our quarry." You suggest, not rejecting the offer, but including another dimension. Assistants. If there truly are eighty witchfinders running amok, even you could benefit from numbers. You could use extra fangs and claws at your command.

You think that thought and, for reasons beyond you, feel a twinge in your dead heart. An impulse to some kind of mysterious action that just hardly escapes your grasp...

Agostino tilts his head either way, measuring the notion. Then he speaks, brow knit together slightly. "Our warriors are occupied enough with their duties, and their numbers have dwindled across the conflict. Still, I will contribute to your retinue Mr. Itch and one other. I trust that should you need more for your hunting party... You will see to it yourself by the usual means." He quirks a brow at that last part. You aren't sure what 'usual means' the Elder refers to, but think better of elucidating your misunderstanding and thus betraying your ignorance. It suits you now to seem aloof, not clueless.

The Nosferatu dips his head ever so slightly in acknowledgement.

You dip your head in return, once to him, and then more deeply to Agostino. "Then the accord is struck." You hold one large claw outstretched.

The Dragon tosses your dagger to you, and you catch it easily, then hold it high to admire the hooked, bronze blade under the sterile lighting of this warehouse. Bringing it down to hold in both hands, you find yourself fixating on the edge of the knife... You grip the handle tightly, and prick the point to one calloused, numb fingertip. It pierces the epidermis, but draws no blood.

>Cont'd

"Unfortunately, Mr. Ashwood, none of the pages are stored here." Agostino says, drawing your eyes back to him. "Could we offer you accommodation for the day at our Chapterhouse, by chance? Or would you care to join me in my own haven? I could have it waiting for you at either location. Or if there is a place you intend to go, perhaps I might arrange for it to be delivered by an appropriate courier? Do know, the documents have been read only by myself and Elias, and their contents shared only with one other, my pupil Martha. Your secrets are not known or spoken amongst our initiates." He reassures.

The offer is worth considering. You do not recall where your own haven is hidden, if it still remains at all. But there are always other options for a monster like you...

Select One:

>Accept Agostino's offer to sleep at the Chapterhouse. If you'll be working alongside these Dragons, you would appreciate the chance to learn more of them. (Gain Contacts/Allies: Ordo Dracul)
>Accept Agostino's offer to sleep at his haven. The two of you have a past, and you're likely to recall more of it if you visit his lair, and perhaps can share with him that you remember. (Gain Friend: Agostino Sartori)
>Decline. You were once loosely affiliated with the confederacy of pagan cults known as the Circle of The Crone, and though your own followers are gone, there will be other blood sorcerers in the Praxis that will be duty-bound to receive and aid you. (Gain Contacts/Allies: Circle of The Crone)
>You think little of the Covenants, and instead have always preferred to associate by Clan, so you will ask where the Gangrel of Charleston gather amongst themselves, and go seeking hospitality from one of them. (Gain Contacts/Allies: Gangrel)
>You will find a haven for yourself using your own cunning and instincts, even if that means sleeping in an underwater cave. It will be safe, and solitary. Ideal for you to meditate on your personal history and learn more of yourself. (Gain Haven: Cave)
>You will ask about the local Elysium, the gathering place for all the Kindred of the Praxis. Etiquette dictates you should announce your presence at Elysium in order that the rulers of this Domain are aware of your return. This will make you known, and perhaps open doors as they seek to curry favor or factor you into their petty power games, though it could also invite hostility and undermine a chance at surprising enemies. (Gain Status: Praxis)
>Write-in

while Malcom does have an affiliation with the Circle, his cult was destroyed and it's been over two hundred years. He is able, if he so chooses, to shift allegiances and join another Covenant or remain more or less Unaligned. The only group that is off the table is Lancea et Sanctum.

I only have two main plotlines developed for this story: the mystery of how he was captured and trapped on the seabed, and the hunters that are attacking the city. There are a number of other characters that the MC may or may not come into conflict with, but it isn't baked in or part of a pre-planned narrative. Outside of unraveling his past and fighting The Bad Guys, I have no expectations of what you guys might want to do with him. Start a new cult, bring the Circle into power? Defect for the Ordo Dracul or Invictus? Become a hermit pulling the strings from the shadows without any specific allegiance? Dethrone the Prince and take his place? Bring back the Camarilla? With a really powerful Elder, you can kinda do anything you set your mind to, and I am curious to know what seems entertaining or like a fun challenge.

>>6454838
>Accept Agostino's offer to sleep at his haven. The two of you have a past, and you're likely to recall more of it if you visit his lair, and perhaps can share with him that you remember. (Gain Friend: Agostino Sartori)
I think we want to tug on this thread eventually. Makes sense narratively to do it sooner than later. We'll spend time with the "Dragons" soon enough

>>6454841
I think if you keep offering these options for new allies/factions/locations then eventually as a player base we'll settle on some goals we want to pursue.

But I'd like to suggest revenge against the Lancea et Sanctum would lead itself directly from the mystery of how he was captured etc.

But I think right now the MC would be interested in getting all his memories back, and therefore access to all his power. Kinda interested to know what he was trying to do before he was captured (not that past goals have to influence present goals).

Probably also need to identify who else is on our level to really rival us, but all in due course I suppose.

>>6454838
>Accept Agostino's offer to sleep at his haven. The two of you have a past, and you're likely to recall more of it if you visit his lair, and perhaps can share with him that you remember. (Gain Friend: Agostino Sartori)
Uncovering the mystery of why we were imprisoned and revenging ourselves on Lancea et Sanctum for it sounds like a good medium term goal.

>>6454838
>his haven
We accept your hospitality

>>6454838
>Decline. You were once loosely affiliated with the confederacy of pagan cults known as the Circle of The Crone, and though your own followers are gone, there will be other blood sorcerers in the Praxis that will be duty-bound to receive and aid you. (Gain Contacts/Allies: Circle of The Crone)
Second place for me is staying with Sartori though, since you've started this quest I've been doing a lot of reading into lore though and I'm really attracted to the Crone and the Cruac. Maybe we can even get some more rituals under our belt, ritual magic sounds fun in a game like this

>>6454948
I can confirm that associating/allying with the Circle will help you remember the obscure Rites in your arsenal more quickly, and open the door to developing new ones entirely. If you end up aligning with the Ordo or Invictus, on the other hand, it will probably preclude you from recalling the strangest of your blood magic (though, of course, those options will open new doors like learning Coils or institutional secrets, receiving artifacts, etc etc). Whichever Covenant the MC roots himself in will likely grow considerably in power, especially with the local vampire numbers so low and the community in disarray - there's an opportunity for rapid expansion if the hunter threat can be taken care of before everyone's dead. This means that the Covenants will probably all either want the MC in their camp or off the board or possibly both.

>>6454957
QM, does accepting help from Sartori blocks us out from getting the contact/friendship of the wizards later? I'm really curious about them desu

>>6454967
No, not at all, nor would spending the night at the Chapterhouse. I want you guys have time to feel the city out before I present opportunities to lock in with a specific group, or create your own.

>>6454968
Cool!

>>6454838
>Accept Agostino's offer to sleep at his haven. The two of you have a past, and you're likely to recall more of it if you visit his lair, and perhaps can share with him that you remember. (Gain Friend: Agostino Sartori)

>>6454969
I like your post ID, in my head I call you Mr. Fucc.

>>6454838
>Accept Agostino's offer to sleep at the Chapterhouse. If you'll be working alongside these Dragons, you would appreciate the chance to learn more of them. (Gain Contacts/Allies: Ordo Dracul)

>>6454971
Lmao, thanks Mr. Sloucho, I have to say I'm really enjoying the quest so far

>You aren't sure what 'usual means' the Elder refers to, but think better of elucidating your misunderstanding and thus betraying your ignorance.
We can multiply ourself by lopping off limbs, I suspect.

>>6454838
>You will find a haven for yourself using your own cunning and instincts, even if that means sleeping in an underwater cave. It will be safe, and solitary. Ideal for you to meditate on your personal history and learn more of yourself. (Gain Haven: Cave)
Our boy doesn't seem a social sort, and I don't trust any of these mosquitos enough to know where we take our torpor.

Letting this vote sit because I think I have a few more anons following along that haven't had a chance to vote yet.

Updates may slow for the next few days somewhat, I'll be out in the woods but making some visits into town intermittently.

>>6455040
Appreciated much anon, very glad to have you!

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>>6454838
>You will find a haven for yourself using your own cunning and instincts, even if that means sleeping in an underwater cave. It will be safe, and solitary. Ideal for you to meditate on your personal history and learn more of yourself. (Gain Haven: Cave)

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"Thy pretty attire dost hide a hard heart, for thee to extend these invitations is a brave thing indeed." You finally say in a neutral tone. You look Agostino up and down slowly.

He cocks an eyebrow again. "And should I expect you would betray the hospitality offered?"

Your expression remains emotionless, the death mask of an unfeeling corpse. But your voice livens somewhat, suggesting the insinuation of danger was a compliment or a... joke? "Would that I were so cruel a dastard, for the fright of me shouldst stretch then from an end of the earth to the other! Nay, expect only companionship this night, brave Dragon." At the end, you are still staring, and an actual smile slowly creeps across your face, as if being thawed from ice with a candle. It is significantly creepier and more unsettling than your typical blank visage.

But your host, at least, is not deterred. "Very good, then. I maintain several personal sanctums across the area, as it were, and think it best we adjourn to the penthouse apartment where I often entertain members of my order for private engagements." He says, and then it's his turn to look you up and down, pausing.

You reach up with a claw to pick a morsel of red flesh from between two dirty teeth.

"The complex, it is attended to by mortal humans. I own the building, but not all of the staff are... Privy to my affairs? You may understand better in a few night's time as you've seen things better for yourself. Things move very quickly now, they change often and there are many, many more people." He continues. Then finally, he offers a weak sort of smile, all polite and subtly emotive. "I digress, Mr. Ashwood, it would be ideal if you presented in a less obtrusive manner. Or perhaps, not present yourself at all - you could follow along at a distance comfortable for yourself and conceal yourself by whatever means are preferable. The choice is entirely yours."

You consider this, and simply nod.

>Cont'd

He looks past you to the two Ghouls, then, and clasps his hands behind his back. "Stewards, if you would attend to the matter of cleaning?" And after that, to Martha. "Miss Waldron, your talents were greatly appreciated, but morning comes soon, and so you are dismissed. Convene with me tomorrow night, I'll have a car sent over." He instructs.

The three of them reply with small bows, and begin moving. The Ghouls head to a back office, you think to gather cleaning supplies, and Martha exits from the door you entered by, which you cannot see but you can hear, and you can smell the ocean peek in as she leaves.

Then you are left only with the Kogaion and his Castellan.

Agostino crosses his arms over his chest, now, posture shifting somewhat in the absence of those lower on the totem pole. He smiles a bit more easily. "This has been rather fascinating, and at times I confess, narrowly concerning. Not many were made awares of this scheme to bring you back from the depths, naturally, and I'm sure it comes as no surprise that several took exception to the idea. Of course, I hold a certain measure of sway in this Domain, and being that I'm one of the few to have had civil words with you in the past, my vouching for the idea was enough to resolve certain reservations. But you'd already gathered that, I presume? That you and I have some history between us?" He says.

You nod.

"Good. You're gathering back your mind rather quickly. You've Miss Waldron to thank for that. She is making great strides studying Torpor, even on the verge of developing a new manifestation for the obscure Coil of Dreaming. She is young but quite gifted, a psychiatrist and somnologist in life. Oh, heh, suppose you're yet to know the terms for these new-fangled human sciences! As I said, it all moves rather quickly now." Agostino goes on, shifting his weight slightly. "Nevertheless. The pages, yes? I'll have Elias bring one to where we are going, it should be dawn in roughly an hour and a half. You'll forgive our timing, I thought it best we limit your window of wakefulness this first night in the case 'woke up on the wrong side of the tomb', as some might say."

You tilt your head at this. Not the way that Sartori does. You tilt your head the way a mantis does, just slightly. Empty seeming but primal. This initiates another pause.

>Cont'd

The Kogaion seems to gather something from the gesture, either way, for he breaks the silence with a nod. "Yes, anyways, as it were, I'd like to do you a final courtesy. I think you ought to have some choice in the matter, you see. You have likely discerned that one of the pages we possess reveals your vulnerability to yew wood. Another contains the diagram for some manner of Cruac ritual, I confess I studied it at great length, but even with the insights provided by your past discussions with me, I simply lack the context to comprehend its meaning. The last refers to Abner, and at some length." He finally says. "You may decide which of the three is rendered this evening, and which two are retained by the Ordo Dracul in the meantime."

Elias eyes you warily as ever when the offer is made.

Gears begin to click together in your head.

Select One:

>You will use Protean to change your appearance into that of a livid mortal, outfit and all, and accompany Agostino that way (Feel free to describe what you want to look like, and what you want to be wearing, just keep in mind the only fashion sensibilities he has are what he's seen this evening, and clothing from 300ish-1794 AD, and feel free to provide character art if you see fit)
>You will use Protean to take on the form of an animal and accompany Agostino or follow behind him at some close distance (Specify: cat, mastiff, raven, or vulture - first two go with, latter two follow)
>You will use Obfuscate to blot out all perception of your person, and accompany Agostino unseen

Also Select One:

>The page containing your Bane - the sooner it is out of circulation, the sooner you can prevent others from learning of your weakness to yew.
>The Cruac diagram - some power of the blood arcane and potent enough to warrant recording on paper instead of commitment to memory, it could be of great use
>The entry regarding Abner Morris - it may illuminate his defection to the Invictus, or possess clues and leads such as the location of your own haven, or his, which may eventually yield answers about how you came to be captured by the mewling churls of the Lance

>>6455123
>You will use Protean to take on the form of an animal and accompany Agostino or follow behind him at some close distance
>Raven

>The Cruac diagram - some power of the blood arcane and potent enough to warrant recording on paper instead of commitment to memory, it could be of great use

>>6455123
>Protean [Mastiff]
>The cruaic ritual

>>6455123
>You will use Protean to take on the form of an animal and accompany Agostino or follow behind him at some close distance
Bat.
>The Cruac diagram - some power of the blood arcane and potent enough to warrant recording on paper instead of commitment to memory, it could be of great use

>>6455123
>Protean - Cat
>The Cruac diagram
I admit, I want more of our memory to be revealed of him to try and remember if he's was one of the ones who betrayed us potentially.
Also I like the idea of the cat, the mastiff is cool but we aren't his dog, even if we're his dawg

>>6455123
>You will use Protean to take on the form of an animal and accompany Agostino or follow behind him at some close distance
>Cat, Kellas cat breed. looking like a Cait Sith

>The Cruac diagram - some power of the blood arcane and potent enough to warrant recording on paper instead of commitment to memory, it could be of great use

>>6455123

>>6455160
Support

>>6455160
+1

>>6455123
>You will use Protean to take on the form of an animal and accompany Agostino or follow behind him at some close distance
>>Cat, Kellas cat breed. looking like a Cait Sith

>The entry regarding Abner Morris - it may illuminate his defection to the Invictus, or possess clues and leads such as the location of your own haven, or his, which may eventually yield answers about how you came to be captured by the mewling churls of the Lance
Let's learn about our failson and start working towards avenging our entrapment.

Calling the vote, may get an update out this afternoon or evening; pulled over along the road right now for a lunch.
>Cat
>Cruac diagram
>>6455216
>Kellas cat breed. looking like a Cait Sith
Excellent idea, anon - now that it's on my mind, I think I'll change MC's dog-form from mastiff to Irish wolfhound, as well. Big, scraggly, lean, and regionally appropriate.

Got most of an update done, might not have signal for a day maybe? Gonna drop what I've got for your reading pleasure, and will post the rest at my next opportunity.

Spoke five minutes too soon kek

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You begin tearing the clothes from your body, with no concern for preserving them. They come apart easily at your tugging as if made of rice paper. The scraps are discarded among the butchered bodies around your feet.

You take a step forward then. "The diagram." You answer tersely, staring at Elias when you speak.

He hesitates, but bows his head, and wordlessly turns to leave as well.

Agostino gives him a glance, but keeps his attention mostly on you, still. "Alright then, shall we retire for the morning?" He says.

"I see no reason why not, loathe as I am to yield for slumber so soon from waking. I am burdened now with a lingering restlessness, which stalketh from artery to vein, and bone to fang, prowling forth and back with dire visions of vengeance and feasting." You say, frowning only the very slightest amount at the proposition of more nightmares, lighter on the mind though they may be in daysleep. But you will need all of your strength when next the sun sets, and so will not afford the folly of remaining awake within the confines of Sartori's abode. Easier to rest and rise with total vigor for the trials that lay ahead. A beat passes. "Ferry us now away, Kogaion, I shall take on the likeness of cait sith and be as like a shadow within thy shadow at the side of thee." You proclaim.

You then place each hand to either opposite shoulder, clutching tight with arms crossed in an X over your chest, and bring your legs together, looking slightly up. You grow very still, even moreso than for the rest of the evening - it is the frozen stillness of a tombstone. Your blue-grey complexion, which has thus far conjured to mind a bog-drowned corpse, now lightens and solidifies to a uniform grey color. It tightens also, taking on a slightly ridged texture. Your eyes and hair, likewise, take on this same coloration and firmness, and all of the contours and separations of your figure melt together until you appear to Agostino as a statue in the shape of a man, a dull, featureless cocoon, all in the span of a half dozen seconds. And, no sooner than it has formed, the grey figure caves in from the forehead, and begins shedding apart in flakes that whirl through the air gently and feather-like.

Ashes.

It falls apart and crumbles, and the ash splits and flakes ever more until the individual motes of grey-white dust are imperceptible, melting into the air, grains of sugar in bitter coffee.

From where Agostino stands, it seems a moment you have dissolved to nothing.

And then a rather large, black cat with a proud, feral bearing jumps up from the bottom of the pool, tucking up on the edge of it, and jumps down to the ground to sit before the Elder. It looks up with sickly yellow eyes that glow just a touch too brightly, tufted ears rotating and wiry whiskers trembling. It attempts a meow, but emits instead an especially raspy yowl.

"You just ate!" Agostino replies with a smirk.

>Cont'd

The cat, of course, is you. A Kellas just over a foot tall at the shoulder, and a bit over thrive that in length, weighing an easy ten or eleven pounds. You don't understand his joke, or care for it, and strut past with all the grace and vanity of a housecat, though by all appearances you are a wild mongrel of considerable size.

Sartori walks along just behind. When you approach the door and rear up on your hind legs to lightly bap the doorknob, yowling a couple more times, he comes up behind and opens it for you to slink out into the waterfront district. "This way, if you would." He says, moving to the corner of the building and around it to the other side.

You trot out a ways and sniff at the air a few times, craning your head out to catch heavy wafts of ocean breeze, carrying a cocktail of different scents and many of them unfamiliar. You even sit back and straight in a sort of meerkat posture, front paws tucked at your chest, to catch a smell moving just above your quadrupedal eye level (or nose level, rather). But, upon hearing Agostino, you turn to face his direction, and then you gallop off to catch up, and settle back into a trot when you see him approach a grey... Vehicle.

In truth, it is a nondescript sedan, a Honda Civic with a vintage of a dozen years. To your eyes, it is a peculiar wagon, low to the ground, with a sleek metal carapace like some tremendous beetle, and fat wheels wrapped around with a stinking black agent of some alien make. Curved, black mirrors encase the vessel, reflecting the light of glittering towers and radiant, glowing signage. There is no hitch of any kind for horses or cattle, and in fact, you realize that you barely detect the scent of horses at all. Their fur and manure was once ubiquitous where men made their homes, but you estimate the nearest such creatures are numbering less than a dozen, kept together a mile away... It seems to you in all ways this is the chariot of a demon. There are four other machines of its kind alongside it, though their particular contours and hue vary from one to the other; the phenotypes of differing breeds, perhaps?

Has the Masquerade fallen from this forsaken world in your long absence, that the disciples of Vlad Tepes may conjure and travel in such infernal conveyance? You consider then certain aesthetic similarities between the metal chariot and the ship you rode upon, and some of the smaller ones in the harbor.

>Cont'd

"They call this the automobile, Mr. Ashwood, I assure you it is quite safe and appropriate for our needs. They're everywhere these nights. This model is, I think, my favorite. Unerringly reliable and inconspicuous. Perhaps in time I should like to purchase you one as well. Driving these machines can actually be quite relaxing, I find. Come along." Agostino says, stepping past you and pointing to the vehicle with a small black talisman. More of those flameless lights blink along its corners, and then he opens the door, revealing seats, and a wheel for steering not unlike those used to control the rudder of a ship... And yet this automobile has no rudder... How curious...

Nevertheless, you bound up into the interior, and perch on the curved shelf nearest the front window. Your companion sits before the wheel, and closes the door. He places a strange key, attached to his talisman, into a small, odd receiver as if to open a door - and yet when it is turned, the metal beast roars with life, and you hear machinery clattering from the front of it, and you smell vapor, fire, and many other less savory smells also, causing your feline face to scrunch.

When the car begins to move, you start to slide and nearly lose your footing entirely, before springing off the small counter to the chair opposite Sartori's. You place your paws on the ledge of the adjacent door and look out the dark window - as it turns out, not a mirror at all - into the night.

You see many things which seem to you terribly strange. More automobiles, though they all lie motionless. Humans, in some places, but very few. Some dark-skinned like the slaves, others white, but all looking destitute. Even with all these wonders, there still are vagrants in the settlements of humans.

More signs and images of great detail, portraits of the most vivid kind you've ever seen, some even moving and the size of long houses, placed atop metal pedestals like enormous trophies in a giant's museum, saying thing's such as, 'CHARLESTON AQUARIUM', or 'OLD SPICE - THROUGH SMELL OR HIGH WATER', or on one, 'WHY ARE GAS PRICES SO HIGH THIS SUMMER? IRANTRUTH.COM'. Inscrutable incantations in English lettering, but syntax beyond your reckoning. Throughout the voyage, Agostino seems unsurprised by these oddities, and so you assume they are all quite typical, preposterous though that seems.

Only the buildings seem distinctly recognizable, and only some of them. Passing by the old Battery, and then to a residential neighborhood nearby - you remember the colonial stylings, and in fact even recognize certain structures, having stalked their dark corners long ago. You feel something strange seeing these relics looming in the dark, some even lit along the sides with gas lanterns... In your dead heart a sensation stirs of some small comfort. A tablespoon of peace.

>Cont'd

Before long you are pulling off of the scorched-black street into something of a concrete cavern, by your own estimation, below a tall building of black marble with gilded fixtures and angular designs. The cave is bathed in warm orange light, and filled with automobiles, it's roof held aloft with cement columns. Agostino stops the car once he has arranged it into careful alignment with a row of seven others.

Sartori gestures for you to follow with a jerk of his head as he exits, and you scamper out to circle his black wingtip dress shoes, looking up expectantly. So close to the ground, and now surrounded by artificial light, you notice that his shadow is far darker than yours, and even wavers ever so slightly when he moves...

"And this is the private elevator, we'll stand inside and it will take us directly to my domicile. Once the doors close you my take another shape at your leisure." He explains, leading you to a pair of sheer metal doors, with only a metal button just next to them in lieu of handles or knobs. Upon pressing it, the doors slide apart, into the wall, revealing a cell with a nine foot ceiling, and a width and length of seven feet. The floor of it and lower third of the walls is black marble, and the ceiling is brass with four luminous circles embedded evenly like the side of a six faced die. The upper part of the walls are silver mirrors, and looking up into them you realize something else unusual about Agostino: he has no reflection at all.

Not in the way of other Kindred, either, whereby his silhouette is a muddled, dark blur. There is a total absence of him in the surface of all three mirrors.

The doors slide closed, and once more you become a still, dull husk, and like an insect molting from its shell to spread fresh wings, you emerge in sinewy, jerking jolts and unfurl from the cat-cocoon into your natural form - a six foot two mustachioed cadaver with a scarlet stare, holding in one clawed fist a hooked bronze dagger older than the entire city.

>Cont'd

Facing forward you see the hazy, oily impression of what ought to be your own reflection. But that is all; though Agostino stands aside you, there is no second impression in the mirrors. He doesn't say anything about it, though. Instead he straightens his posture slightly and looks up to you. "This building is called Onyx Roost, and while the penthouse is reserved for hosting my Ordo Dracul colleagues or the occasional guest, there are other available units in the building, and below the garage we entered by a boiler room and storage basement. Could I interest you in a three bedroom unit, or the underground facilities if they are more to your taste? No other strings attached, you may consider it a condition of our agreement."

Select One:

>Accept his offer for extended lodging (Specify an apartment or the boiler room/storage area)
>Decline his offer for a longer stay; you will stake out your own territory when night falls again
>Ignore his offer for now, and ask him about his peculiar shadow
>Ignore his offer for now, and ask him about his lack of reflection

>"You just ate!"
>When you approach the door and rear up on your hind legs to lightly bap the doorknob, yowling a couple more times
>You even sit back and straight in a sort of meerkat posture, front paws tucked at your chest
>causing your feline face to scrunch
>you scamper out to circle his black wingtip dress shoes, looking up expectantly
Cats are unavoidably cute, even when they are really ancient man-eating warlock worms.

>>6455606
>Decline his offer for a longer stay; you will stake out your own territory when night falls again
I stand by this decision.

>ask him about his lack of reflection
The shadow we can pretend to have not observed yet, and keep in mind. The reflection, it would almost be weirder if we didn't ask.

>>6455606
>Decline his offer for a longer stay; you will stake out your own territory when night falls again
We will have our own space, this is mostly to try to remember him more and have a safe secret place to gather power one more night.
>ask him about his peculiar shadow

>>6455606
>Decline the offer, ask about his shadow.

I like you buddy, but we need to make our own way in this world.

>>6455606
>Ignore his offer for now, and ask him about his lack of reflection
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rdnuIPrGwx0

>>6455606
>>Ignore his offer for now, and ask him about his lack of reflection

>>6455606
>Ignore his offer for now, and ask him about his lack of reflection
Reflection is less suspicious.

>>6455705
Funnily, as I was drafting the overall outline and basic cast for this story, I actually had the distinct thought that it may end up having kind of a Baki quality to it where our MC is exceptionally dangerous - but in order for it not to be a (complete) power fantasy he has to periodically contend with other Elders or supernaturals that also have exceptional, weird, deadly abilities

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You reply first with a single, curt shake of your head. "No such niceties are required of thee. Do not mistaketh indulgence of thy hospitality for a dependence, aye?" You say. Again, you lift the dagger before yourself, and run a claw across the sharp edge of the blade.

"Of course, Mr. Ashwood." He says easily.

There is a pause as you continue your ascent across a half dozen more stories.

Then you point to the mirror with your blade, looking at the conspicuous absence instead of directly at your companion. "Wherefore dost thee lack a presence upon this mirror? Be ye doubly cursed, O' Dragon, spawned of twice turned soil?" You ask rather tactlessly. You have some idea of why this might be, and yet the peculiarity of it begs the question, especially given that he does possess a shadow - albeit an unusual one.

Agostino smirks, looking at the same spot where he ought to be reflected. "Hm? Yes, you have the right of it. 'Twice turned soil', heh, so archaic. As I recall I did not even benefit from a crude burial. The details elude me in this late age, but it's my understanding that I was slain by some interloper while still being groomed for service by my first master, and upon being discovered dead on the cobblestone floor the next evening, he chose to Embrace my corpse despite the risks. I arose Hollow, as you've keenly surmised. We used to discuss this between us, you know?" He tilts his head in that way he does, and lets another pause hang.

You turn to regard him directly, noticing something in his dark eyes. But you say nothing.

"My Ka absconded with my reflection, echo, and shadow." He goes on. "Only the latter of three am I able to approximate with the power of the blood. Perhaps had I remained amongst the Sethites I may yet have learned to better manage this condition. Alas, I was meant for more than meek servitude, yes? Too curious, too... Optimistic?" He says this as if he isn't totally sure about the chosen word, but relents finding a better one with an affable shrug, and grins. Then he turns to meet your gaze, crossing his arms. "I suspect this may be ringing a bell or two."

It is. As you said, he is 'doubly cursed'. A Kindred embraced a day after dying, without proper funeral rites, has a chance to arise Hollow, whereby his Reflection becomes untethered. He will not appear in mirrors or recordings, leaves no footprints, no echo, and his voice cannot be recorded. But that Ka - hungry ghost - haunts the mirrors and reflections within a few miles of its progenitor forever, eating carrion and drinking stagnant water, possessing all the original's memories but its own capricious (often malicious) will.

>Cont'd

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>>6455897

How Agostino manufactures a shadow, even an odd one, is another matter, and escapes you for the moment... But you have a vague impression it's to do with his particular Bloodline. You remember having dealings with the Sethite Cult long ago, which had holdings throughout many regions you traveled in old Europe, and you recall their devoted including two or three unique vampiric lineages... You think no more of it for now, and don't press the matter as the elevator finally stops and the doors slide open once more.

Agostino steps out, and gestures for you to follow, which you do at a somewhat slower pace.

The penthouse is luxuriously appointed. High ceilings, granite floors, polished black marble and gilded fixtures along the walls and coffered ceilings. Large, plush furniture, many tropical looking plants, including more than a few entire palmetto trees, and in many more places than you might expect for the haven of a Hollow Mekhet, mirrors - vast, impressive mirrors. Two are rectangular, wider than tall, with black surfaces not unlike the windows of the automobile, affixed to stands facing an enormous sectional couch. The only area that seems neglected is the open kitchen off to the right, and for obvious enough reason. There are two stories to this domicile, with a staircase leading to a balcony on the left side, with three doors on the bottom floor and two on the top.

The decoration is a mix of leather-bound books, oil paintings of temples and astrological symbols, and glass cases or marble pedestals displaying relics you can identify as mainly being Egyptian in origin, near all of them predating even your own considerable vintage.

You smell linen, papyrus, copper, ink, clorophyl, incense, and many sterile chemicals you assume are meant for the cleaning and maintaining of this place. You hear no others residing within; the place is vacant but for you and your host.

"Welcome to my satellite office. With the recent chaos, it's seen very little use of late, and so I am glad to be able to offer it as shelter." Sartori says, stepping farther ahead and then gesturing grandly to the space. "Fifteen minutes before dawn, metal screens will cover the windows, and the guest room is fully interior, as is the library, which as an auxiliary store contains no material I would find objectionable for an outsider of the order to peruse."

>Cont'd

You nod, stepping over to the couch, analyzing the fibers, and then turning your head to see the murky silhouette of your reflection in the black glass of the strange mirrors opposite this sitting area. You have some time yet before you must rest, and finally have total privacy with this old acquaintance of yours.

Select Three (3):

>Ask for more information about these Hunters you are needed to dispatch - has anything yet been learned about them?
>Ask how Agostino came by the location of your resting place, and if he knows anything more about the other 'prisoners' awaiting 'judgment'.
>Ask again how Agostino came to possess three pages of your diary, and your ritual dagger - now that you're alone together he is likely to be more forthcoming.
>Ask for more clarification about his past with the Sethites, the Ordo Dracul, his bloodline, and your history together.
>Ask to know more about Agostino's Reflection - what is its disposition towards him, are they in regular contact, does he know of its activities?
>Ask about the status of one of the other Covenants here in Charleston; their leadership, known assets, and territory (Specify Ordo Dracul, Invictus, Circle of The Crone, or Lancea et Sanctum, can be chosen multiple times for different Covenants).
>Ask about the Praxis writ large; who rules, to what Covenant do they belong, what is the structure and what officers remain, and how is it contending with the Hunters overall.
>Write-in

>>6455883
>Ask how Agostino came by the location of your resting place, and if he knows anything more about the other 'prisoners' awaiting 'judgment'
>Ask again how Agostino came to possess three pages of your diary, and your ritual dagger - now that you're alone together he is likely to be more forthcoming.
>Ask for more clarification about his past with the Sethites, the Ordo Dracul, his bloodline, and your history together.

I want to ask him more personal stuff now that we are alone. We can learn more about the modern world and the situation on the field without bias with our own eyes.

>>6455883
>Ask about how he got our relics
>Clarification about our shared past to jog the memory
>Ask about the circle of the Crone in specific.

>>6455883
I do not trust what can be opened to remain closed, it is merely a weapon to be weilded against the sleeper metal or cloth does not matter for blocking the light of the sun when another controls that power, its only proper to sleep in a place that has never seen the light of day all else is vanity in hubris

Do not admit ignorance to a would be jailer of the twice turned of what you should already know so show your questions carefully

>>6455895
Sure, but
>>6455881
>the guest room is fully interior
i.e. has no walls adjacent to the outside, and thus no windows by which sunlight might intrude.

>>6455895
>>6455897
Also, if it eases your concern and you aren't (as is seemingly the case), familiar with Protean:

https://1d6chan.miraheze.org/wiki/Protean#1e_Powers
>Haven of Soil - The vampire can merge with natural earth and soil, both to hide or to sleep away the day. With experience, they can also learn to merge with wood, water, natural stone, and/or processed stone (artificial stuff like concrete or asphalt).
Referenced earlier here
>>6454491
>You can meld with stone, soil, water, or wood, even the wood of this ship's deck.
MC has 6 dots of Protean, with the last operating similarly to the 4th but allowing him to take on the shape of humanoids, including basic clothing, referenced here
>>6454492
>You can even take on the shape of humans, or other vampires, so long as you know their appearance. Becoming a perfect doppelganger, but possessing your own mind and abilities.
(Though I didn't spell it out so explicitly), and of course a handful of unusual Protean Devotions.
So, with that said, with the floors being granite and walls marble, even if all the windows came open and you were sleeping in the main living space, with Haven of Soil you'd be safe as houses.

>>6455888
I'll support these questions. I'm actually interested in integrating ourselves with this Circle. After we deal with the pesky hunters, we could use the Circle to enact revenge on the Invictus. The again, we need more information before committing ourselves.

>>6455888
+1

>>6455883
>Ask for more information about these Hunters you are needed to dispatch - has anything yet been learned about them?
>Ask again how Agostino came to possess three pages of your diary, and your ritual dagger - now that you're alone together he is likely to be more forthcoming.
>Ask how Agostino came by the location of your resting place, and if he knows anything more about the other 'prisoners' awaiting 'judgment'.

>>6455883
>Ask again how Agostino came to possess three pages of your diary, and your ritual dagger - now that you're alone together he is likely to be more forthcoming.
First, bring us up to speed, wouldja Aggie? I suspect this may hint at how he found us, also.

Then, onto business:
>Ask for more information about these Hunters you are needed to dispatch - has anything yet been learned about them?
>Ask about the Praxis writ large; who rules, to what Covenant do they belong, what is the structure and what officers remain, and how is it contending with the Hunters overall.

>>6455883
>Ask how Agostino came by the location of your resting place, and if he knows anything more about the other 'prisoners' awaiting 'judgment'.
>Ask for more clarification about his past with the Sethites, the Ordo Dracul, his bloodline, and your history together.
>Ask to know more about Agostino's Reflection - what is its disposition towards him, are they in regular contact, does he know of its activities?
Getting jogged on our personal history seems good. The other stuff we will inevitably learn in time.

>>6455883
>Ask about the Praxis writ large; who rules, to what Covenant do they belong, what is the structure and what officers remain, and how is it contending with the Hunters overall.
>Ask for more information about these Hunters you are needed to dispatch - has anything yet been learned about them?
>Ask again how Agostino came to possess three pages of your diary, and your ritual dagger - now that you're alone together he is likely to be more forthcoming.

Those that have played my previous quests will know I tend to be a reader's writer, and I know some anons prefer a lengthier update - still, I was bored in my hammock with no signal last night and laid it on pretty thick. We're winding down on dialogue/lore for now though, and next comes Daysleep.

Appreciate all of the enthusiasm so far! Anyways, here we go...

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"Those are television screens, there. Machines that show... They are like mirrors showing reflections from far off places, moving images, invented some decades ago now. They're more popular than the automobile, now, and much cheaper." Your host explains, gesturing to the black glass that caught your attention. He is still behind you, removing his blazer and draping it over a black leather wingback chair, and then the cravat. He rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt, and you notice tattoos on his forearms in dark black ink - Egyptian hieroglyphs on the right, and two ouroboros serpents banded around the left, each eating its own tail, each identical, and separated by a few inches. Zooming in your hawkish vision you can tell the subtlest difference in the color of the ink, and conclude that they were most likely done by different artists as a result, and thus at different times.

He steps around to the large couch, and plops down, sprawling out his arms. He looks up to you, still not phased in the slightest by your nakedness, and yourself not even considering the need for wearing human clothing for the sake of politeness. Agostino runs a hand through his curly hair and relaxes his shoulders. "Anyways, one needn't be endowed with the senses of a predator like ourselves in order to see that you still have much on your mind, yes? What else can I tell you?"

You decide to be direct. "Thy underlings presumed to maintain secrecy whenst I queried thee about this blade. Again I ask, how didst thee come by my effects, and to what end?" You press, holding the dagger up momentarily as a sort of example.

He deflates slightly, but nods a few times, relenting. "Sure, sure. Forgive them that, if you would. Elias simply means to protect our interests, and Martha is petrified by you, as any Kindred her age ought to be." He begins, excusing them. "As for the pages..." He nearly winces as he reflects on this, and looks out the window to the city's skyline. "When Abner Morris abandoned the worm cult and pledged himself to the Invictus, he was still young. Your reputation was as much an obstacle for his assimilation as it was a badge of honor to descend from such a... Notable specimen." He looks back to you warily at that last part. "You'll be none too pleased to hear this, but, well, don't bite the messenger: Morris auctioned off your diary in pages and chapters in order to help lubricate his integration with the First Estate. Sometimes for money, or territory, other times for personal favors. Many of the bargains were made privately. He didn't get very far before the majority of the collection was stolen from him outright, and to this day it isn't known by whom, or what. Two dozen pages or so, I'd say, had already been sold. They've been floating around ever since, occasionally resurfacing."

>Cont'd

This news does make you begin to seethe, but not terribly so. It doesn't surprise you, and the cur is dead for all his trouble. Still, it stings to be so disappointed by one of the few Childer you suffered to live...

Agostino goes on, furrowing his brow slightly. "I was outbid several times, unfortunately. I only managed to squarely purchase one page, and it was the Cruac diagram that's on its way here now... I thought it may aid my research. Even though the exercise was ultimately fruitless, if it better enables you to deliver our city from the current threat, then perhaps a stroke of fortune that I should hold onto it all these many decades." He says, shrugging slightly.

"And the two others? The blade? What of they?" You interject.

"Delivered to me by an emissary of the Prince, Felix. He is... Enigmatic." The Mekhet answers. "Perhaps a week ago I learned that the Lancea et Sanctum had interred some of their worst enemies off the coast, and I had spoken of it only with the other Sworn of my order. Two nights hence, a Ghoul arrived at my most secret haven, not even a human. A dog. Attached to its collar were the pages, dagger, and a note, all bearing the Prince's seal. The note I shared with no one, but it simply said that you were among those sleeping on the seabed. By then we'd determined the identities of two others, and had already decided to attempt to awaken one, to level a powerful Elder against the Hunters, you see. Those tombs are not reserved for your typical ruffians and heretics, of course, only the most dire threats in the Lance's eyes. When I saw the missive, I immediately gathered my colleagues and argued you ought to be our target instead."

He shifts and crosses his legs, gesturing with a hand as he continues to explain. "I told the others that we had discussed and debated the blood as peers in the past, that you were no mere beast or lunatic monster, and at the same time, now knowing one of your personal Banes, I offered to arm one more of our number with the knowledge, sworn to secrecy, such that you might be defeated if it came to the worst... Had you declined our offer, Elias would have been compelled to divulge what he knew to the others."

>Cont'd

You absorb the information carefully. Your curiosity has now shifted - how did the Prince come by these pages, if not directly from Abner's auctioning? How did he know of Agostino's plot to rouse an Elder, or that you were among those trapped by the Lance? Why did he intervene to awaken you?

"Fare I must to the court of this Felix Prince, and soon." You say in a low tone. "For to me it seemeth he didst know of our past doings, and dost have as great a hand in my waking as thee."

"I gathered as much also. But finding him is no small feat. Phantom Felix acts through proxies, predominantly - Dominated thralls, Ghouls, even servants he possesses from afar, or bound spirits, and ever so many dead drops. I've never seen his true countenance, and shared a room with him knowingly only a few times." Says Agostino to this. "He is ever watching, and takes many faces, seeming to be in all places at once. It is an elaborate trick, of course, but still quite effective. I suspect you and he will have a private audience soon enough, however. He did want you raised from the deep, after all."

Your face remains a blank mask, but internally your brow knits at the complication. You table the matter for now. "Just so. Now, Sartori, thee hath spake of Sethites and shadows... Prithee tell me some few things: what path led the Dragon to the Worm? What of thy past and thy dealings with me? I recall us associates, but not to what ends." You pivot.

He smiles softly at the inquiry, seeming for a moment nostalgic. He doesn't make any gesture for you to sit, not out of any care for your dirtiness or nudity coming into contact with the furniture, you gather, but because he knows your mind and body well enough to understand that the comfort of a plush couch is meaningless to you. Standing frozen and numb, as a horrid mannequin in the middle of the room, is as natural to you as anything else and the thought of a seat does not occur to you unless etiquette dictates you take one.

>Cont'd

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Nevertheless, he answers. "Well, as I mentioned before, I am missing details. I've had my share of long sleeps as well." He begins, looking pensive momentarily. "If you haven't yet remembered, I am of the Khaibit bloodline, and was embraced in Italy some time in the fifteen hundreds. This is all rather hazy for me, I'm afraid. I know my Sire was in service to a priest of a Sethite Cult, worshippers of Set, infesting a castle in Venice. I was to be bodyguard and envoy for the Childer of my Sire's master. My curiosity exceeded my station, and it was less than a century before I first encountered initiates of another secret society - the Ordo Dracul. It was less than a decade before I joined. My insights into the arcane and martial prowess were only outmatched by my desire to learn about the vampiric condition, and so I flourished. After my first truly lengthy Torpor, I was selected to be one of our earliest pilgrims to the New World, whereby I landed here, and elected to stay. In those days I acted as administrator, helping coordinate the transporting of our members to new settlements."

"What year?" You ask, curious as the past begins crashing back.

He runs a hand through his hair again. "Before the Revolution; seventeen fifty eight that I arrived. And to my great surprise, you appeared just three years later. A legend and a menace, truly. The burgeoning Praxis of Charleston was thrown into complete disarray. You were implacable, claiming whole plantations and sometimes maroon villages on the outskirts for your feeding and your mystic studies. I first managed to arrange for a parlay in seventeen eighty, a year after you had fully established your personal cult in the swamp to the South of the city. You told me you'd only come because in England you grew fascinated by the so-called 'spirits', kidnappers that would slap unfortunates in irons on the street, drunkards especially, and spirit them away to America for indentured servitude. You were fascinated I think by the tribulation and trauma of it, but also how it seemed to you to echo certain heroic myths; the voyage across a great water, to a faraway land, like a sort of katabasis or damnation. You'd been using the practice as a 'crucible', you called it."

>Cont'd

This all comes back easily. You recall now seeing in a vision that the chattel slavery of the Africans would eventually eclipse the spiriting business entirely, and your divinations informed you that Charleston would become a great nexus of pain and creation. You saw suffering and tribulation at an industrial scale; hundreds of thousands of bodies broken and commodified and tormented, it rivaled your washed out memories of decaying Rome, even surpassed it in some ways. You saw new religions and political movements fomenting in the mingling of far-flung cultures. It was the perfect proving ground for your exaltations. A ready made larder to nourish your horde, and labyrinth for the producing of heroes and monsters both.

Agostino notices the familiarity twinkling in your dead eyes, and presses further. "Well, by seventeen eighty I'd forgotten much about my own origins, but knew your legend well. It should come as little surprise. You famously used Cruac to permanently alter your own nature. Some Ordo Dracul records indicate that one of those sages of the Circle that Vlad Tepes himself studied blood sorcery with was a 'many-headed dragon' of many centuries age. One lecture from Fouchard the Elder suggests that this may have been The Lambton Worm. There is some debate, but many of our number find the case compelling." There is another pause as he allows the gravity of this to linger.

You say nothing, for in truth you do not recall whether you were a tutor of Dracula himself, though neither do you find the notion impossible.

>Cont'd

"It was my thinking that an Ancient warlock of the Circle of The Crone might have insights about my secret history, and I thought rightly." The Dragon continues, clasping his hands in his lap. "When finally we spoke, you explained that you had met with luminaries of the Sethites more than once in your travels, but also Coteries of Elder Khaibit. You knew the history of the line, apocryphal stories of our being sired by Set's own shadow, or our progenitor being a child born of Anubis and a Kindred priestess. You believed that our line began with a blood rite whereby the first of us learned to drink the very shadows of his prey, transmuting it into Vitae... You told me that, while the Sethites had eventually reduced us to servants and lackeys, which the majority of us remain to this night, our ancestors in Egypt were originally tasked with protecting this world from the darkest spirits and ghosts of the worlds beyond. That they would seek out and watch over the low places, assuring the fell beasts could not wreak havoc on our kind or the humans we feed upon. They failed only once, by your estimation, and though you neglected to speak of it again... You told me it led to the fall of the Camarilla itself..." Elder though he is, Agostino seems nearly a neonate in his awe as he recollects these secondhand stories. It actually makes him take a breath in order to let out a sigh.

You, unfortunately, only half remember the tales, even with this retelling. But it triggers to mind other random thoughts. Shifting dunes. Flocks of shadowy, yellow-eyed owls...

"And of course, through my ill-advised persistence, eventually we made our great bargain as allies." He says, snapping back your attention.

"Another bargain? It seemest a pattern with thee and I. What of it?" You ask directly.

He quirks a brow, and he sort of smirks. "It took four years of our meeting, philosophizing, bickering, and yarn-spinning, of course - but eventually you relented, and agreed that you would teach me some of my past. Some few rites of Sethite Cruac, the rituals of my predecessors, learned by you in sunken temples along the Grecian seashore centuries before my Embrace. In return, I instructed you in what I rather considered your right anyways, minding your contributions to the art of it: Coils of The Dragon." Sartori explains rather slyly. "Unsurprisingly, you were a natural to it, and developed the first two tiers of the Coil of Blood. I dared not teach you further, and you did not ask, nor did you seem apt to further learn them on your own. Art for art, magic for magic."

>Cont'd

Your blank stare betrays your mild surprise at this. Though, now that it is said, you realize the potency of your blood no longer restricts your diet, and no matter how powerful you become you will be able to gain sustenance from mortals or even animals. This is extraordinarily beneficial to you in particular, and it occurs to you immediately that you got the better of this deal. It occurs to you also that Sartori speaks truth - there is a certain thread between the sorcery you wrought in the River Wear and these 'Coils of the Dragon', and who better to make use of them than the dragon said to coil all the way round Worm Hill?

"Thou art proud, and fear not reprisal, nor a consequence for this indiscretion?" You probe, nonetheless.

"No. Consequences are smaller than the likes of us." He says matter of factly. "Look here, do you see these marks? Do you know what's their meaning?" Agostino then asks, pressing a finger to the place on his arm you noticed the ouroboros tattoos. You say nothing, and he answers for you. "Diablerie. Twice. It is a vaunted 'Tradition' that such an act is intractably punished, and yet the bylaws of my own order call for its deployment under certain circumstances, did you know that? The rules change between places and tribes. Everything does. The wagon changes into the automobile. The scourge of the Praxis arises as it's savior. You and I, we are Elder. The conceits of our subjects need not be our own."

To that, you have no direct answer. You certainly do agree that the rules of the lesser Kindred rarely apply to you, as you are less alike them than they are mortals. You decide to pivot again.

"Speak then further of tribes, O' Dragon. What of mine? The Circle of The Crone - how fare they in my long absence?" You question.

He shrugs again, letting go of the tension of the last topic. "There is no Circle. No unity. Your followers were wiped away. Some other groups rose and fell since that time. Now only three cults remain. They are predisposed to friendliness amongst each other, but do not collaborate in any real sense, and only one of the trio has ever held some measure of power in this city." The Mekhet seems bored immediately.

>Cont'd

You look on expectantly.

"Sure then. I will speak from greatest to least. First there are the Iron Nkisi, the devoted of Yaya Kindoki, witch-mother. You may recall her from when she was but a Fledgling, in the years just prior to your slumber: Charlotte Primrose." He begins, and you do vaguely remember this timid Neonate. "Her way is informed by the Ba'Kongo pantheism taught to her by her parents, whom brought it here from the West coast of Africa. At the peak, their number was seventeen Kindred and maybe two or three times that in mortal congregants. It's dwindled, and they've suffered losses as the rest of us. Maybe eight Kindred now, and a dozen mortals."

Agostino tilts his head somewhat. "Then there are the Smoking Mirror, not even true Kindred. They're some other lesser breed, called Cihuateteo, from the Southwest. They worship Mesoamerican blood gods, Tezcatlipoca in particular. I don't imagine you're familiar but perhaps they'll be of interest? Led by some ancient creature known as La Viuda Gris. They number only six, not including her, and have had Kindred supplicants in the past, but none now. I'm not sure how many mortal attendants, but at least a dozen." He goes on. You don't know anything about these creatures or their faith, as he suspects.

"Finally, the most recent and barely notable, more like a Coterie than a coven or cult, they are called the Six of Cups. Six Kindred initially, only four now, and a single overworked Ghoul." He looks almost sad as he explains their sorry state of affairs. "Of them I know a little more, if only because they've attempted to exchange research with some of our own initiates, which so far has been declined. They worship dark mother figures, Echidna in particular, and allegedly are attempting to use Cruac in order to create lasting life. I've seen a couple of their homunculi, and they are mildly impressive I admit, but such creatures - as with most applications of blood sorcery excepting the Coils - are not enduring. They strive nonetheless for their handmade monsters to achieve permanence." He smirks a little. "You'll be unsurprised to hear they are admirers of yours, some of the only few left in this city."

Your face, rigid and dead though it is, still sinks somewhat as he completes his breakdown. By now, Charlotte herself is in the beginning of her Elderhood, but seems to have very little to show for it. You're yet to get the real measure of the Smoking Mirror, but their numbers are negligible and the Six of Cups seems to you more of a group project than a religious sect.

>Cont'd

You hear a buzzing sound, and Agostino dips a hand into the pocket of his slacks to withdraw an even smaller black mirror. He faces it and begins pressing at it, causing pale light to shine from within. "Elias should be here shortly." He says, then looks up to you, and his eyes flash. He can tell you're disappointed by the weakness of blood sorcery in this city. When last you hunted these streets, the Circle was ascendant; oracles and warlocks commanded strong territory and powerful vassals.

"If you'd like, it would be no trouble at all for me to arrange a meeting with any of them for tomorrow evening. I imagine some of the lot may yet be of use in your pursuit, if not as assistants then as food." Agostino helpfully offers.

Select One:

>The Iron Nkisi - Led by the only other Elder Kindred Cruac sorcerer, and with at least some strength and resources behind them. Charlotte is unlikely to rival your power, but also unlikely to submit her cult to you outright.
>The Smoking Mirror - A sort of vampire you've yet to encounter, and a mystic tradition you've never learned of. Perhaps they could be a secret weapon, or perhaps it would be best to exterminate these lessers before your work truly begins.
>The Six of Cups - Their weakness will make them easy to control, especially if they are already admirers of your legend. Their work may be of some use, or perhaps it is best you direct them to loftier goals in short order.
>All three - You will attempt to unite the disparate cults beneath you, and usher back in a proper Circle to this city.
>None for now - These Acolytes are of little interest to you. You would rather go about establishing your own cult first, or perhaps making contact with the other Covenants, possibly even to re-align yourself in these strange nights.

>>6456187
>All three - You will attempt to unite the disparate cults beneath you, and usher back in a proper Circle to this city.
>Invite Charlotte a little earlier than the rest to have a private talk and to catch up

I say we shouldn't make this like a dick swinging action and to put every group under our heel, but to actually empower every group, to make sure we can regain some power back, to reconstruct once and move faster once the Hunter epidemic is dealt with.

And, if we can make sure to band together for a greater purpose, that's great. But once we grew all of our strengths, I'm more inclined to actually stay with the Six of Cups, our little fan group, because people love some underdog stories.

>>6456204
>to actually stay with the Six of Cups
A benefit of them being small and singularly focused is that they are malleable, where Charlotte and Gris are older, stronger personalities with more robust systems/mythologies in place. I wanted to give a look at three different ways a Cruac cult might look (I also have been digging back through the old lore books for refreshers here and there), and am interested to see how you guys interface with them from the position of Ancient Elder, basically a demigod. I referenced a past as King of The Grove, but obviously Hierophant is on the table.

>>6456187
>None for now - These Acolytes are of little interest to you. You would rather go about establishing your own cult first, or perhaps making contact with the other Covenants, possibly even to re-align yourself in these strange nights.
Let us explore and learn instead of being spoonfeed everything they want us to know, get some footing instead of simply playing on anothers court

>>6456187
>The Six of Cups - Their weakness will make them easy to control, especially if they are already admirers of your legend. Their work may be of some use, or perhaps it is best you direct them to loftier goals in short order.

>>6456187
>The Six of Cups - Their weakness will make them easy to control, especially if they are already admirers of your legend. Their work may be of some use, or perhaps it is best you direct them to loftier goals in short order.

Those other cults sound like a lot of talking.

Nice and workable, but also the fewest people to have to talk with lol. Maybe some to fill up the cup as it were. I can hardly think of anything more embarrassing than being Six of Cups but missing a couple.

Homunculi sound cool. I wonder if they'd be good for a few missions or just one. Maybe they need some stronger ingredients, stronger blood, like some that Black Spiral Werewolves can provide.

>>6456250
Animunculi and homunculi are a bit obscure in V:tR, which is unfortunate, I think they're really cool. The corebook mentions them briefly, and they come up in certain Circle supplements as well. The Danse Macabre is a great sourcebook, and it has a long section elaborating on the creation of Gargoyles, but I wish fleshy constructs got the same treatment. The Antagonists sourcebook for WoD 1e also has a big chapter on the undead, and when I run WoD stories dealing with vampiric homunculi I usually reference those mechanics somewhat as well. The Cihuateteo, if anyone is curious, can be found in Night Horrors: The Wicked Dead, which is one of my all time favorite WoD sourcebooks.

>>6456253
Forgot to put on my hat, this is me

>>6456253
>>6456254
Sounds pretty neat. I think I remember seeing a gargoyle once if it was straight up a stone golem with wings. Lots of stuff we could do with fleshy ones like brain worms. The Thing body horror. A fire breathing dragon. I bet the undead chapter must have some neat creatures.

>>6456260
>I bet the undead chapter must have some neat creatures.
It doesn't LMAO but the mechanics are Solid. It's divided into three sections. Zombies covers different ways to throw them together, and I used that for a TWD game once. Imbued revolves around flesh golems/frankenstein type beings, and was kind of their first draft of what would later become the Promethean gameline. Revenants are corpses possessed by their own ghosts, and as a result get some extra benefits and powers that can make them pretty challenging for mortals or low level supernaturals.

>>6456263
I can see it now. 5 Revenant teenages killed by various elements to summon Captain Wyrm

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>>6456265
The Dark Mother may yet will such wretched arts...

>>6456187
I do want to support all of them, But J detest a three way tie.

>The six of cups.
You will be made into something useful, or into fodder.

>>6456187
>All three - You will attempt to unite the disparate cults beneath you, and usher back in a proper Circle to this city.
I like the Six but it's better if we unify all three as an opening.

>>6456206
It seems my idea isn't as popular :( anyway, if we end up linking with the Six of Cups, I would love some lore explanation about the Cruac in general and the flavors the other groups has :) in the way of our character explaining to the younglings, of course. I'm more of a WoD player, but every little bit of lore I get from this game it's catching my attention, specially how Protean seems like a mix of Vicissitude + Shapeshifting powers from Obfuscate, and I also see a little bit curious how my favorite clan, the Tzimisce, had a bastard child with the Tremere in this line lmao

>>6456187
>>6456204 +1

Looks like we got ourselves a tie between talking to everyone up front, or reaching out directly to the Cups first. I'll give it maybe another hour or so before I roll a die on it.

>>6456187
>The Six of Cups - Their weakness will make them easy to control, especially if they are already admirers of your legend. Their work may be of some use, or perhaps it is best you direct them to loftier goals in short order.

>>6456292
I change to supporting
>all of them
>invite the elder early

>>6456429
Too late, soz champ, already wrote a bunch after the tie got broke )':

>>6456467
Ah well, such is death.

>Botches domination roll
Guess it's fine!

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Considering the rather feeble options briefly, you opt for a subtler approach.

"Ever I have been a sculptor, and so I taketh up fresh clay; bid the Six of Cups make ready, and instruct these low mages they shalt receive a visitation." You begin. A beat passes, and you tighten the grip on your dagger. "It is my thinking to meet these strugglers at first under guise of a prospect, and get their measure ahead of revealing my true stature."

The Kogaion seems almost amused by your scheme. "How endearingly mythic of you. The deity availing himself of their hospitality in rags, only to render judgment, punishment, or blessing after seeing his adherents from an equal vantage. I'll tell them you sought to join our number but seemed a better ideological fit for their operation - an academic courtesy in these trying times." He goes back to tapping away at his little pocket mirror. "They keep a house at Albermarle Point. I'll tell them to find you at the Wappoo Cut Boat Landing just to the West of it, they can pick you up and then have your discussion with privacy on the water, or possibly you'll be brought back to their little hideout itself. I'll point it out on a map for you, and let you know the time."

You nod, satisfied with the arrangement.

There's another buzz from the device, and Agostino pockets it, rising back up to his feet. Gesturing to where you both entered from. You can already hear the machinery behind the doors sighing and straining, and you can already detect the faintest scent of Elias' cologne, and the polyester cotton of his slacks from a couple of stories below.

Ding!

The doors open again, and out steps the Castellan holding a rectangular glass frame, of the sort a museum might use to preserve and transport an old document - suitable for a page that predates the U.S. constitution. "I thought it might be best if I simply delivered it personally." He says, striding into the apartment all business. He seems a touch surprised by your continued nudity, but does his best to conceal it and avoid staring in an impolite manner. The stake from earlier is gone now, though you can still smell it on the same hand that is now holding the page of your Requiem Diary.

>Cont'd

He approaches you rather directly and extends the frame out in offering. "Here, as promised."

Your claws tick quietly against the glass as you carefully accept it, and you then hold the fragment aloft to analyze it very closely.

Hunger. Hunger.
Climbing. Leaping. Sprinting in a whirl of hectic speed.
Chasing, chasing with frantic abandon.
Lingering in a shadow. On a rooftop.
Watching. Staring. Listening.
So many eyes.
Hungry eyes dancing across the city, bounding from wood-shingled rooftops across cobblestone alleys.

It is as arcane an illustration as they come, penned by your own hand, you can tell. The script spirals in some places, but lines the margins and runs perpendicular to itself in other places. A mix of Latin, Arabic, and Anglo-Saxon dialects make up the bulk of the text, excepting a Greek clause which reads, 'many are the beast's heads and many more are it's eyes and ears'. Black ink depicts a serpent cut into segments, and eyes, and a row of eight fangs, and then you notice the hieroglyph of a locust. You notice the mirror images of concentric circles of fangs, like a lamprey, and concentric circles of eyes.

This is a ritual of your own devising - The Stalking Locust Prayer.

Gazing upon it you can feel it's power, and how it is rooted deeply in your condition. If you understand your reading, it is an intricate modification of another Cruac Rite whereby the sorcerer is able to utilize the senses of another. You designed it to... You...

You hear rushing water.
You smell silt and fresh blood and smoke.
You hear bones snapping and splintering.
You see serpents writhing in the shallows.

You hold out an arm before you, still holding the frame, and with the other hand raise your dagger high aloft. Dead flesh tenses taut like the hangman's noose. The cacophonous din of swarming locusts fills your cold ears.

A voice cuts through the droning.

"Malcolm! Not here, if you don't terribly mind."
It's Agostino, standing slightly nearer. His shadow is a deep dark void, now, and it curves around from where he stands in an unnatural manner, and with an adversarial posture that the Mekhet does not exhibit himself. Elias, for his part, has stepped back a few paces.

>Cont'd

You relax, and lower the dagger. "Of course. Pardon thee this... indiscretion." You say quietly, and turn your head to look between them.

A few serpentine rises below the skin ripple across your neck, shoulder, and abdomen.

Elias breaks the tension with a bow to Agostino, and a nod to you. "If that's all, I better get back to my place before sun up." He says, and giving you a finally wary look, he heads back to the elevator and departs.

Agostino's shadow shrivels back to a more appropriate shape and size upon the glossy flooring, just below his feet. "Your restraint is appreciated." He says simply. A pause. "I am no longer beholden to the Daysleep, an advantage of my studies." The Dragon then says, redirecting things. "And yet I still feel the faintest impulse to submit as the light draws nearer. I should like to retire now to my office and library. There is a... Bed, in the guest room. Make yourself comfortable however you see fit, though, Mr. Ashwood. When night falls we may reconvene before departing our separate ways."

"Very well. Until that time, Sartori." You reply.

Then you lumber off to the chamber he has indicated to be your day's accommodation.

Stopping at the threshold, you find it as luxuriously outfitted as the rest of the penthouse. A black velvet comforter with gold trim, dark ebony armoire and dresser, two leather wingback seats with clawed feet and gilded accents.

You ignore all of this and tear the carpet on the floor with one claw, allowing you to stare at the polished granite floor, where a mottled, blurry thumbprint reflection seems to leer back up at you.

This will do.

>Cont'd

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>>6456489 >>6456656

i am really interested in his thought of cars as living creatures of a shelled loud growling creature..... technically the animals we become dont need to be fully real beyond physical mass and shape in function?

You sink into the floor as if it were mud, a slow descent. Your body becomes a part of it, existing in the margins of the molecules. In but two moments the only trace of your passing is the torn rug. You are stone, now, and opt to become still of mind like the stone before entering into rest.

You choose something upon which to focus your mind. The day's dreaming may yet prove revelatory.

Select One:

>The Cross - Sift through nightmare muck for memories and foresight regarding the Lancea et Sanctum. Visions of spears and fangs dance at the fringes of perception like flickering candles on the altar of a bleak chapel.
>The Arrow - think of the Hunters, that you might dream wisdom about this fresh prey.
>The Crone - It was she that guided your hands when you baptized yourself in the River Wear, and she that inspired you to craft yourself anew. Perhaps the Hag will visit you if your mind is turned to her dark glory.
>The Chalice - Your curiosity about the Six of Cups grows like a weed... Dream the truth of their ambitions, and perhaps your part in them, ahead of meeting these modern Acolytes.
>The Impaler - The Dragons appear to have a keen interest in you, and your discussion with Agostino has stirred something. Think now of Vlad Tepes, and your own two Coils.
>The Fool - Return your thoughts to the last of your Childer, Abner Morris, and all the doings of that craven wretch.
>Write-in

>>6456487
Even at Protean 6, MC can't choose non-living creatures as forms for the 4th power... But you guys could totally work on developing a Cruac ritual to become a sentient car, or maybe a way to meld with one and control it using the 2nd power of Protean. Metal is usually off-limits but this is an ancient with heinously strange blood, so I have an open mind about how his abilities could be bent with the proper amount of time and effort.

Present and Future - Dive deep, you are a sculptor, a crafter, Creator consider these beasts the "automobile" or "car" how such a beast would function, growling fuming with smoke like a dragon with contained anger, heart beating loud enough to shake a mortal man but obeys there touch, as it tears down the scorched blackened paths of this future city, of what strange beasts and machinations exists in a world where your kind is secret but such things are in the open all of this magic of black mirrors "tele-vision screens" of dancing light everywhere clothing buildings in veils of light.
>>6456489
thinking more of a playing on his ignorance, to less be a actual car and more of a beast with only the outer skin looking of one, innards of beating blood and bone, gnashing teeth growling screaming heart as it rushes down faster then most mortal animals the flat paths.

its bit of like you take the shape of a dragon but not a statue of a dragon or taking the shape of a man inspired from a statue of a man who has never been real you fill in the blanks in a way.

>>6456488
>The Impaler - The Dragons appear to have a keen interest in you, and your discussion with Agostino has stirred something. Thin

>>6456491
As freakish as we are, I don't think it really sticks well to our powers and our character anon, at least not for now.

What we could TRY to do, would be to make our own freakazoid homunculi on the shape of a car. But that would mean even get an interest into mechanics and other stuff when we're more like a warlock type of character, but who knows

>>6456488
>The Arrow - think of the Hunters, that you might dream wisdom about this fresh prey.

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>>6456604 >>6456634

>>6456525
its the full on medieval misunderstanding we have type of stuff where its better the less he actually understands there deep workings, more use his own lived experience for things that work practically the same.

like car=horse for modern society, of the "animal" people ride down the street that exists everywhere around them nonchalantly half ignored, like when a vampire in the past pretends to be rider and horse, a dog in a slum traveling at decent speed while experiencing the world at close too medium range instead of flying above it or being a man sprinting down the street.

like its not a real actual car, i desire not something that functions like a car but instead how he Thinks a car is as a animal and what gangrel can resist a dangerous large exciting animal?
sort of the mystical from the mundane where others see a rhino you see a unicorn, where people see dinosaurs we see dragons, a opposite type of view to the technocracy mages who altered collective perception on what is magic turning into science turning all else vulgar magic.

ever seen flight of dragons 1982? that type of energy but instead of the decay of the mythical into the scientific its the mythical in the mundane.

sort of want him to try something that he either succeeds with horrific to other results of a mere mimic or fail and be surprised at what is now in these modern nights.
i want to see a warlocks interpretation of what something is by more mystical means, by someone who would make a hydra reality.

the car itself dont really matter just creative expression of our power and outdate perspectives to functionally be a horrific in concept or look cryptid, its like the Judas breed cockroach disguised as a man

>>6456601
>Write-in The Book - Cast your thoughts out on the pages of the diary recollect them mentally in more then one way

>>6456491
>>6456525
>>6456601
While I am sort of inclined to agree with Mr. Fucc insofar as thematically my conception of the character was originally a (typically) anachronistic Elder of the Circle, I have to say up front
>consider these beasts the "automobile" or "car" how such a beast would function, growling fuming with smoke like a dragon with contained anger, heart beating loud enough to shake a mortal man but obeys there touch, as it tears down the scorched blackened paths of this future city
That flavor text is baller as hell. And also what the character gets caught up on or interested in across the story is ultimately up to the voters, too.
I appreciate the engagement too, with my attempts to illustrate how he is integrating modern technology with his old, weird framework. I know I could gloss over it and just refer to things as they are, and taking the time to expound on it can really lengthen my updates - but it feels necessary to give a full picture of him and his mind, you know? And you are picking up on how, in the eyes of a true Monster with a capital M, these kinds of misunderstandings can be the basis for a lot of gruesome horror!

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>>6456487
>>6456489
Our destiny...

>>6456488
>The Impaler
Dracula, my beloved...

>>6456488
>>The Cross - Sift through nightmare muck for memories and foresight regarding the Lancea et Sanctum. Visions of spears and fangs dance at the fringes of perception like flickering candles on the altar of a bleak chapel.

>>6456634
Hey op, just wanted to shoutout the great work you’re doing with the quest so far; as someone from the Tyne area, growing up I ended up hearing a small local tale of the worm, it was always an enigmatic story as there was never really a moral as such other than the initial trapping of the worm in the well; however as a child we were told that one day the worm, in his wretched white maggot-like form, would not only regain his former power, but grow in size and emerge from the well and devour the world that so confined him, folktales abound but I thought I’d share a local anecdote and again wanted to shout out your attention to lesser known folklore and mythology from my area haha; keep up the good writing and this is a very well thought through setting

>>6456488
>The Impaler

>>6456714
Man thank you so much!!! This really made my night to read, so glad you are enjoying the story so far (:
I always end up going to Poe and Stoker when I get thinking about vampires, and while a lot of people know about Dracula, not as many are aware of Lair of The White Worm, which was inspired by - you guessed it - the Lambton Worm. There's an awesome film adaptation with a very twinkish dandy Hugh Grant chopping someone in half with a greatsword, it fucking rules. That was top of mind when I decided to run this. The entire intro came to me in one feverish rush at like 1AM while on a rooftop tent with a friend a couple of weeks ago, and I tinkered with it a bit and posted it not long after. Most everything else is improv around two semi-firm narrative arcs and some plot hooks or characters right out of the sourcebooks or from previous WoD games I've run over the years.

Calling the vote for Ordo dreams.

Rolled 55 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>6456953
Rollán

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>>6456963 >>6456967 >>6457010 >>6457015

Your body becomes one with the granite, and so too does your mind begin to take on its stillness. Soon you can vaguely sense the reverberations of metal screens sliding and locking in place.

Some instinct - an animal intuition - deep in the back of your mind whispers that the light of the sun will soon march over the land, and so the creatures of night must retire, and hide themselves away, and relent to weakness. You can almost feel the temperature rising on the exterior of the building you're now a very small part of.

As the blood, and your thinking, begins to slow and coagulate in a state of slumber... you cannot help but think then of how Agostino, who is in more than one way a true dweller in darkness, is able to remain awake while you must surrender to the sleep of day... You cannot help but think of the mysterious vampire that founded the Ordo Dracul, and his ambitions of overcoming not just the sleep of day, but the light of it as well... And you think of what the Kogaion shared about your own participation in his 'Great Work', both as a student...

And possibly a mentor...

Transmogrified by ancient Cruac and the magnificent willpower you channeled with it, your blood and spirit both possess some rare strain of potency. Now released from the nightmare-prison of full Torpor, you are once more able to access the strangely prophetic daydreaming which has long been a source of auspicious insights.

You feel the pull of a great tide.
You drift towards the red void.
But you are not submerged beneath its surface.
You drift along a primordial current, staring up at an endless chasm.
Staring deep into the crimson dark.
Staring into the past and future.

A vision begins to knit together from the fabric of smoke and emptiness and so much blood...

Roll 1d100+15, BO3

Rolled 27 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>6456961
Lmao

>>6456960
Reposted bc a couple of autocorrect errors were bothering me; this roll still counts

>>6456964
Thank God it counts, the second one really sucked lmao

>>6456961
dice+1d100+15

Rolled 8 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>6456961
Let us avail ourselves of the blood, and of the sorcery that is its abode.

Rolled 39 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>6456961
The night comes lurks below the day hidden by the light filling all the cracks.

Fucking hell was I waylaid by the forces of darkness yesterday...

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Despite the numbness, and the death, which your flesh is soaked in across its every inch, you are a sensitive instrument.

You feel the cold wind that gallops between the pines in a frigid stampede, sharp as a cavalry saber, sharp enough to run you through to the core through the thick, bear-fur cloak that rolls off your broad shoulders and covers your body.

Cold
Cold

This is a cold world you wander, cold and unforgiving. The arctic bluster whips about you again, it's slender fingers teasing at greasy strands of your black hair. The cold would be a torment were you but still alive. Instead it is a reminder, a memory of pain - just as you are a mere memory of life.

Beneath the vast, grape-dark midnight sky, cloudless, starless, and dim-lit with a scarlet red full moon, you lumber ever onwards through the shivering pines.

Quiet
Quiet

You stalk silent as the lynx. Bright red beacon-fire eyes fixed ahead at the veil of trembling branches. These woods run cold, and quiet, like your dark, sluggish arteries, and you tread onwards a vile clot of rotten blood - hellbound for oblivion's ventricles.

Slowly
Slowly

So slow and incremental you nearly miss it - the lithe pines that horde all around gradually grow narrower, and more sparse of needle-leaf. Fewer are the branches, and fewer still, until you realize you are surrounded by naked wooden trunks. In patches and spots the bark is shorn, and proceeding further the transition is still so gradual it could be missed entirely, until you are surrounded not by trees at all.

You tread now through an endless forest of tall, sharpened stakes; wooden pikes fashioned from whittled tree trunks.

Then you hear the moaning. The begging. The cursing. The weeping.
The gnashing of teeth.
The desperate sobbing.
The doomed prayers.
The spiteful, spittle-laden oaths of retribution.

You hear the gurgling of blood and bile up ragged dry throats. You hear the friction of organs sliding against one another as they are shifted and displaced by gravity.

You smell the death.

Dying
Dying

Thousands of warriors dying, slowly, in the horrible, frigid cold.

But they are not quiet.

>Cont'd

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All around you as far as your eyes can see and much farther still, you are surrounded by an ocean of impaled men. Some young, some old, all of them armed or armored. Some in beige and olive cloth raiments with many straps, holding black-metal firearms of some convoluted, alien design. Some you recognize as late Roman centurions, their gladii held firm in white knuckle grips as the heads of pikes emerge out the gullets and mouths of their unfortunate wielders. Others are dark of skin with stone slings and no hair on their bodies. Warriors from across the centuries and across the world of men.

Onward you tread until the pikes part for a path, which leads to a mountain castle keep. Between it and you stands another figure on the path, wreathed all about in dark black plate armor, spear in the one hand and saber in the other. His face is not terribly unlike yours, but with a more prominent nose, large eyes dark like the sky, and a much fuller beard, with longer, much darker hair on his uncovered head. His complexion is more that of a man, though still hued by the pallor of death. He too is a memory.

You recognize him.

The Impaler

The dark armor seems to shudder and tremble, then bursts with fluttering movement. It comes apart in so many flaking, shaking pieces - it comes apart into bats. A teeming swarm of bats, along with the rest of his body; their swooping and spiraling conceals his hands and face as they break apart and melt into the mass of flying beasts, and the cyclone of them stretches upwards until finally splitting apart and fleeing in all directions.

You continue walking to the castle.

On your left, you see a young man in studded leather armor hunched over a spike which is thrust up through his abdomen. His wheezing death rattle practically crawls its way into your ears. Blood and spit drip down in a thick stream from his swollen lips, and you look up into his bulging eyes.

In the reflection of them, you see yourself wearing a breastplate of blackened steel. You see a great and terrible serpent circling an enormous hillock.

If you join the Ordo Dracul you will inevitably manifest many coils, and may develop more heretofore undiscovered by the order. The altered state of your blood makes you a matter of fascination and renown. Your age and condition would command immense respect. The Covenant is in a position of moderate power, but control of the whole Domain is still anyone's game at this point. In the long-term, you would remake yourself again, and eventually transcend the vampiric condition entirely: all of your banes and curses would crumble to ash, and the power of your blood woule multiply. You could complete the Great Work.

>Cont'd

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You step away from him, and take another few deliberate strides. You find yourself drawn to the side of an older man. He is impaled upside down, through the shoulder and out the groin. He's come to a stop, but has slid low enough on the spike that his face is level with your chest. Dark blood coats everything beneath him, and very little has come down from his waist in a few trickles - it seems his heart was run through, and he bled out quickly from the entry wound.

He has a scruffy, patchy grey-white beard, and wispy hair, and an eyepatch of leather. He wears a chain mail raiment with pads of studded leather. He is grinning with brown, perforated teeth. You take a knee in the frozen soil to stare into his single, milk-glass dead eye.

In the reflection of them you see axes striking at your limbs, and snakes erupt from the wounds in all directions. Roiling, roaring serpents swarm forth from your wounds. There is an endless field of broken, bloody bodies, and broken, bloody swords, and broken, bloody prayers to God for some small mercy. There is a red moon shining over a dark cloaked figure entering a cave.

In the past you had an encounter with a major figure of the Ordo Dracul, but you aren't entirely sure it was Vlad Tepes himself, though it seems so. You have some sense of the second of his brides, Mara, but also the legendary 'fourth bride' often speculated about. Whatever the exact details, Agostino was correct that you have already left a mark on the Covenant.

You step away from the dead old man, and when you turn back to the castle you see a dark cloaked figure with their back facing you, moving towards the castle keep. You begin to follow but and arm reaches out and grabs a fistful of the bear fur lining your coat. You're stopped abruptly, and turn your eyes on the impaled figure. He's... Not like the other warriors.

He's a vampire - a Gangrel, like you.

>Cont'd

The vampire is impaled through the chest - through the heart - and his legs dangle limp behind him, and his spine curves down to them, while his shoulders droop forwards. He reaches with his second hand, clawed fingers not unlike your own, jabbing into the fur. He has prominent fangs, and big mutton chop facial hair, that rises up into a mane of wild brown hair. This Gangrel is dressed in bright blue denim jeans, brown leather cowboy boots, a white wife eater tank top with brown-orange stains all over the chest, the rusty residue of past meals. The look is completed by a brown leather jacket with fringe on the chest, edges, and the lengths of the sleeves. His nose wrinkles and his yellow eyes gleam like topaz.

You aren't able to see the reflection in his eyes, because his touch is causing you to feel something very different from the cold.
Warmth.
Feverish heat.
Burning heat.
It's nearly paralyzing.
Your veins explode with searing hot pain.

"Wake up. You need to wake up now." Instructs the figure in the dark cloak without even looking back. You can't make out the nature of the silhouette's voice...

"Malcom, arise at once!" The command shakes the whole of the field of impaled men, and the entirety of the forest beyond, and the castle itself trembles and shakes a dreadful trembling shake beyond.

It isn't the one in the cloak - whoever that was, they're gone. It's Agostino Sartori, he is communicating mentally to rouse you from Daysleep.

But night has yet to fall. You can tell. You can sense the sunshine trying to claw its way in through mulple barriers and walls. You can feel every fiber of the sensitive instrument that is your body telling you to go back to sleep.

"Sartori... Explain thyself..." You think these groggy thoughts as a bead of molasses might roll down the side of a wooden cask.

>Cont'd

You feel the ethereal cool of a shadow moving across the place where you've settled into the granite, an unspeakably subtle sensation that you learned to recognize long ago while resting within soil or other materials.

But only a shadow falls across you. Focusing your dulled, muted senses, you cannot register anything else in your immediate vicinity, not even faintly.

Another thought enters your mind from beyond. "They are here. Hunters. Eight. Entered by the elevator shaft, from the roof. Hear this as I heard them." The other Elder telepathically answers. Then you hear another voice in your mind, unfamiliar and gruff, the voice of a man spoken in a hushed tone: "Keep them ears and eyes up, boys, and be quick. Monty said nobody'll be home today - seems like, but I still want us out in forty or less. Marco, Gomez, take the gas line in the kitchen. Laura, you and I are gonna hit the office. The rest of you split up and plant charges on the shelves and inside one of the TV screens. Double gloves, handle your tools real careful like. Ain't worried about em' smellin' the goods, but if they catch a whiff of us it'll be a wash. Get to work."

When the conveyed memory of what Agostino overheard concludes, you begin calculating the variables.

Agostino is fully awake thanks to his Coils, but is no less vulnerable to the scouring daylight than yourself, should he be forced to face it. You yourself are slowed and weakened by the compulsion to brumate until the sun sets, though you could periodically expend portions of the blood you consumed last night to quicken and fortify yourself in short bursts.

This room is totally hidden from the sun, as are a couple of the others, and while the main room is likewise shrouded in the safety of total darkness, you are unsure if the intruders might have some ability to remove or puncture the protective screens that guard the windows. Should it come to the worst and you are exposed to the sun, you have enough Vitae and mighty enough Resilience to withstand the burning for up to four minutes, less if you make use of other Disciplines.

Even in your weakened state, you can't imagine it terribly difficult to dispatch four mortals, even skilled ones - you have battled them by the dozens and triumphed more than once. Even if you were only to slay two of their number, you imagine it would be a small thing for an Elder Khaibit such as Agostino to eliminate the other six in quick succession, especially as you both possess some element of surprise.

>Cont'd

It also occurs to you that they intend to leave some 'goods' behind; whatever the nature of these 'charges', should you allow the Hunters to plant them as is their design, and leave without detecting you, such personal effects could be used for rituals of divination, and provide intelligence with which to plan an ambush of your own.

All other considerations aside, you also find yourself feeling especially irritable and malicious towards these invaders. Your first restful slumber in two centuries is interrupted by their scheming. You have room yet in your stomach and veins to drink more blood. You have a distinct urge to let loose, and embody your full reputation as the terrible Devourer Worm of legend.

Select One:

>Coordinate with Agostino to mount a surprise attack on the Hunters, you can both take one at the outset, and exterminate the remaining six together before they regroup.
>Remain hidden, take on the form of a rat within the walls, use your keen listening to eavesdrop on them until they leave, then attend to whatever 'goods' they have left to gather material that might be used to scry with blood sorcery.
>Leave now, flow through the granite and onyx of the building and down into the earth below without emerging, and urge Agostino to take flight as well. You can return later, when their work is done, or send expendable agents to do so, and investigate what it is they have come to do.
>Tell Agostino to flee now while in the form of a shadow that can glide across the walls and under slim cracks - you will unleash your full might to confront the Hunters alone, with no risk of potentially striking him in a Frenzy.
>Write-in

>wife eater
Freudian slip, or is that what vamps call 'em? Lol

>>6457387
>Remain hidden, take on the form of a rat within the walls, use your keen listening to eavesdrop on them until they leave, then attend to whatever 'goods' they have left to gather material that might be used to scry with blood sorcery.
The bombs are more dangerous than the men

>>6457420
>wife eater
Autocorrect KEK, really topical though!