It was nearly midnight and the streets were filled with people. In 
the Japanese quarter, the wretches of humanity were dealing death 
and destruction. Drugs, firearms, prostitution and whatever vices 
sated their dark desires. There were also normal, average, everyday 
citizens going about their normal, average, everyday lives.

"So many people, so little time," mused Lilith. "I guess borrowing 
all those explosives from that Sabbat warpack outside city limits 
wasn't such a bad idea after all". Shrugging, she added, "Too bad I 
had to garrote the lot when they disagreed".

From her perch on the fire hall roof, Lilith overlooked the police 
station, which was three blocks away. If the recently blood bonded 
Sarah and Sonya had carried out her instructions to the letter, she 
would see the fireworks any time now.

A thundering explosion tore the police station to shreds.

In a matter of fact tone, Lilith stated: "I am the catalyst".

Seconds later, a bank and martial arts building were wiped from the 
face of the earth. An apartment complex, a movie theatre, a 24 hour 
store, a supermarket, a Japanese temple all gutted and burning.

Fire engines started streaming from the fire hall. Four in all; not 
one would get a block away. Lilith shrieked in delight as she 
leaped onto the vehicle and started her frenzy. A slashed throat 
here, a ribcage there - the firemen didn't stand a chance.

Sonya and Sarah soon arrived and each leapt onto a separate fire 
engine as Lilith jumped onto the final vehicle. 10 seconds later, 
all three stood upright, dripping in the blood of her enemies. 
Wiping the vitae from her cheek, Lilith smiled. "I take it that 
nearby ambulances will not arrive in time".

Sonya nodded, "All taken care of mistress. Sarah and I have seen to 
it personally".

"Indeed... hehehe... like what Caine did to Abel", shouted Sarah.

Lilith winced at her comment. "Let us return home. I hope you 
didn't kill the KBC news reporters, there's nothing good on TV 
tonight."


       - End of post.
         Lilith,
         Nosferatu.





Tempest awoke groggily. His spilled blood had dried on the floor and 
the sun was just now going down. After a few seconds, Tempest could 
see again. His sword was laying across the floor, just in front of 
his face. As he sat up, a surge of pain hit his shoulder and he 
grimaced.

A few hours after he had woken up he had bandaged himself, then 
cleaned and sharpened his sword.

As he looked in the mirror at his bandaged shoulder he saw the blood 
slowly soak the gauze. Standing silently as he watched, the Gangrel 
thought to himself, "I must find the ones who did this to me and 
gain my REVENGE!" Then a spasm tore his thoughts from his mind, and 
he collapsed to one knee. When he stood up, there was a scowl on his 
face. "After I find the three responsible for this, I will find 
Lorac and he will pay," he said quietly.

The next day (that is to say, the next night) Tempest walked out of 
his house and made his way down to the local bar - an unseemly place 
known as The Dive. When he arrived he shoved the door open and took 
a seat at the bar. The place was mostly empty except for the gruff 
and ugly man at the counter. Tempest walked up to him and said, "I'm 
looking for someone."

"And who may the person be?" the bartender returned, bitterly.

"Lorac Majere... you know him. Now where is he?" Tempest said 
angrily.

"Ah yes, Lorac. But why should I tell you? What's in it for me?" he 
asked, jadedly.

"Your life is what's in it for you, and if you don't tell me your 
life will be mine!" Tempest growled as he grabbed the man's collar 
and lifted him off the ground.

"Lorac... Lorac lives in an old brick apartment down town. It's by 
the Rusty Nail Tavern... That's all I know, I swear!" he said, 
sourly.

"Thank you." Tempest then dropped the man and strode out into the
street in time to hear an explosion, then see the smoke as it 
drifted slowly into the pitch black sky. "Tonight will be a good 
night," he said to himself.


          - End of post.
            Tempest,
            Gangrel.




  Frost walked slowly up to the front door of the manor. He reached 
it, and paused momentarily. Then he inserted his key into the door 
and turned the knob. As the door opened, it creaked loudly. Frost 
peered cautiously inside. It had become a habit since he left 
Masamune behind. Hopefully he would get his sword back tonight.

  Frost stepped in cautiously. The door to his left opened; by habit 
he whipped out the broadsword he had been carrying. It was Rachelle. 
  She had Masamune in her hand. Both Kindred lightly tossed their 
swords towards each other. Frost caught Masamune as Rachelle caught 
her own sword. As Masamune settled into his hand, he felt a light 
jolt pass through his body. It was similar to the jolt he had felt 
when he had touched the sword for the first time, in Japan after his 
teacher had been mortally wounded by Kindred attacking their temple. 
His master had told him to take the sword and avenge him; when he 
grabbed the sword it sent a huge jolt through him. Frost opened his 
mouth as if he were about to speak. As he did, Rachelle placed her 
index finger over her mouth so he would not.

  "Fred we got a visitor."  She paused nervously as if she thought 
the mysterious visitor might hear her. "It's Cochrane and he's 
really pissed about something. Not sure if it's about you leaving in 
the middle of their take-over plan, but he's seriously pissed."

  Frost felt sudden concern. "He got anyone with him?"

  "No, he's alone." She nodded her head indicating he was in the 
dining room. "Be careful. I'll stay out here in case some of his 
goons try to come in the front." Frost nodded his approval and 
placed the blade of his sword perpendicular to his arm. Then he walk 
into the dinning room, pushing the door open.

  Cochrane turned slowly as he entered. "Ahh, there you are Frost."  
He glanced at his watch. "Twenty minutes later than I expected but 
that's OK. So, did you enjoy your little hunt?"  Frost's look became 
one of surprise, as though he didn't think anyone knew what he was 
doing in LA. "Yes I know you were hunting for your wife; she's a 
monster even by Sabbat terms. Too bad you didn't find her."

  "If you knew what I was doing, why didn't you offer to help?"  
Frost asked, his emerald green eyes beginning to glow, showing his 
anger at the situation.

  "Vendettas are best left in the realm of personal business. I knew 
you would come back anyway. Now if you're quite done asking 
pointless
questions can I get down to business?"  Frost nodded reluctantly. 
The green glow of his eyes was strong now and Cochrane knew this 
meant the Caitiff was getting angry with Cochrane's arrogance. "All 
right, last night a group of trainee warriors were practicing 
outside New Chelsea. They had standard explosives, some guns and a 
couple of grenade launchers - like the ones I so generously loaned 
to you. Well, to get to the point, they were attacked by three 
Nosferatu. Our source inside the Primogen council has informed us 
that the Prince has no knowledge of our presence as of yet, and that 
no order was made to attack our group. The leader of the band had 
powerful Obfuscational skills. She did not appear hideous at all. 
But her concentration wavered a few times in her massacre of our 
trainees and one of the two that survived said she was the most 
vile-looking creature he had ever seen. She had spines for hair and 
wing-like protrusions from her back, but she makes herself look 
beautiful with Obfuscation. The short hand is: for striking out 
against us, we want her head on a platter. And you're the guy we 
chose to lob it off and present it to us. After that we can continue 
with our plans. Any questions?"

  "Just one."  Frost grinned. "Do you want those little garnishes on 
the plate with her head?"


        - End of post.
          Fredrick Frost,
          Caitiff.



Jack Lewis paced nervously in his Haven. Word had reached him that 
Drukh was coming here with news regarding the Cainite she had been 
sent to track down. Lewis hoped it was good news of some sort. He 
wasn't sure what to do otherwise.
  The muscles in his back began to ache. His twisted spine was not 
made for the endless walking back and forth he was engaged in 
currently, and it cried out in protest. But the pain was less 
troublesome than the worry, so he continued his pacing.
  But just then a knock sounded at the door. Lewis' head snapped up 
at the sound, and he smoothed out the front of his suit.
  "Come in," he called, his voice sounding just a little 
high-pitched.
  The door swung open, and the pitiable form of Drukh slipped 
inside, closing the door gently behind her.
  "What news?" Jack asked without greeting. He observed a tightening 
around the poor girl's eyes. No, not good news.
  "I have found the culprit," she replied, eyes darting about 
nrevously.
  "Well?" the Primogen encouraged. "What of him?"
  "Her," Drukh corrected. "She is Nosferatu. But not like any 
Nosferatu I have ever seen."
  This was poor news indeed. Heads were going to roll for this, and 
Jack didn't want any of them to be his. But what was that last part?
  "Wait, what do you mean?" Lewis enquired. "How is she so different 
from the rest of us?"
  "Her appearance. It is... bizarre. Beneath her hazy cloak is a 
form like that of a demon, or some mythological monster. Snakes for 
hair, and bony wings. I have never seen the like before, and I do 
not wish to ever again."
  That was odd. Lewis had never even heard of anything like this. A 
Nosferatu with such an odd appearance. Who could tell what other 
derangements such a Cainite might be cursed with?
  "And she is creating a Brood," Drukh added. "Others, like her. I 
saw them."
  Oh, it just got worse and worse. Lewis chewed at a fingernail as 
he thought of what to do.
  But, let's face it, there was but one thing. He had to tell the 
Prince. Anything else would just cause more hassle.
  "You are dismissed," he waved a hand at his underling, and she 
left.
  Yes, he would have to tell the Prince.
  He just hoped the Toreador would take the news well.


         - End of post.
           Jack Lewis,
           Nosferatu Primogen.
           Posted by Rutger Leick.



Alain concentrated on the quarter-inch steel plate in front of him. 
Extending his Ki he punched. His fingers penetrated the plate. No 
crunch, no bloodloss. Almost perfect, apart from the slight 
compression of his finger bone. Moving across his training room, 
filled with an assortment of assassination devices, he made his way 
to the living room.

He now constantly wore his armour - not clumsy, but made of carbon 
alloys and kevlar; light and supple. He had given a challenge. He 
would not take anything for granted. No blade or bullet from a 
handgun would penetrate that second skin. He would meditate for a 
while, but first he would switch on the televison.....

When Alain Roche heard about the destruction of the Japanese 
quarter, the manner in which it had been done, his first reaction 
should have been rage. However, his mind stilled. Then he smiled. 
Perfect !

Two facts: the Primogen were not responsible as it was too unsubtle, 
and: the Yakuza and the old Houses would be terrified. It was a 
minor annoyance to Alain that the Shinto shrine and the Dojo had 
been wrecked. Onikage was still alive, more importantly so was his 
daughter (they were out of town).

From this act of terror and stupidity he would gain power. Did not 
the ancient ones realise how useful humanity was ? He would enter 
the Yakuza and take control. He already had the rank of "Master" and 
all he would need to do was depose the current Yakuza Lord on the 
basis of incompetence (made easy now). Should he resist, then Roche 
would simply kill him - the code of honor would allow him to do so 
in a formal challenge (he did have a few hundred years of Shinto 
Temple sword training; the outcome of the challenge would be a 
certainty).  Then he would have control of resources, information, 
assassins and a potential horde. His store of money would help 
silence those who would contend. Humanity always goes where the 
money is. Those of the Yakuza that would be suitable he would 
"initiate" into the Tremere, others he would simply keep sweet (if 
they were useful).

Then there were the old Houses; he had enough credentials to be 
among them - even for a gai-jin (foreigner). He would offer them 
security and protection (through the Yakuza). He knew all the forms, 
they would welcome him.

Power.

Power. For what ? Alain mused. To serve, came the answer in his 
head. He still waited for the Primogen to respond. Maybe they 
waited. Maybe they knew him as a player. A faceless killer to bring 
to the table. He was unknown to any within the City. Sure they knew 
that he was there. But they did not know of him or about him. Except 
one. The one that had destroyed the quarter. Foolish, for he/she had 
declared his/her `modus operandi`. It is better to be faceless. How 
can you attack an opponent that you do not know of or see ? Or maybe 
it was just
coincidence........

For now he would gather strength.....


          - End of post.
            Alain Roche,
            Tremere.




"Perhaps we are going too far with these attacks. Maybe we should 
stop and leave town. Maybe we should contact the Prince and beg 
forgiveness. Maybe..." Sarah couldn't finish her last sentence with 
part of her lower jaw on the wall.

Lilith tossed her a bag of cow hearts then crossed her arms, "Heal 
up and shut up. I intentionally left those two Sabbat neonates 
alive, and that Nosferatu whelp in the sewers, for my own reasons."

Sonya glided into view, cautiously eyeing the partially jawless 
Sarah.  "The message has been delivered. The Prince will not like 
the idea that the Sabbat has plans for his city. Offering our 
support to the..."

"You read the message... dear Sonya?" asked Lilith.

Startled, Sonya blurted out, "Damn right! If you're going to ask me 
to risk my life delivering a message and..."

Without warning, Lilith sped towards her Childe, and kissed her on 
the forehead, whispering, "Don't ever do that again."

Leaving her proteges behind, Lilith walked towards the surface. She 
couldn't help but think of the Sabbat blitzkrieg on the US eastern 
seaboard. Of all places, why New Chelsea, Illinois? There was no 
strategic importance in capturing this city. And with the apparent 
withdrawal of the Gangrel from the Camarilla, it looks like their 
days of glory in the US are numbered. Guess it's about time for the 
Giovanni to intervene.

Lilith always repays her debts....


           - End of post.
             Lilith,
             Nosferatu.




As Tempest walked out the door of the bar, he knew what he was going 
to do this night. He would get as much information as possible on 
Lorac, then he would hunt the magician down.

He walked for what seemed like hours, yet was in reality only 
minutes. Then he noticed the street he was on was empty, and at the 
end was a weathered old sign that said, "Rusty Nail". As he walked 
toward the bar he noticed the shadow behind him. He turned; the 
shadow was gone.

"Odd," Tempest thought out loud. "Very odd."

When he entred the Rusty Nail it was alive with people - mostly 
middle aged drunks. He walked up to the bar and asked where he might 
find Lorac.

"How the hell would I know?" retorted the scruffy barkeep, his face 
red with anger at being disturbed.

"I was told someone here could tell his exact residence. I have 
important business with him," Tempest said casually.

"The only one who might know where this man is over there, at the 
table in the far left corner. His name is Farnham."

"Thank you for your help," Tempest said, but his thoughts differed: 
Why must I associate with these useless people?

Tempest walked slowly towards the table, and as he did he studied 
the man who was clearly drunk. "Hello," he greeted Farnham. "May I 
take a seat?"

"Ok," the drunken man said slowly.

"I'm looking for a man named Lorac Majere. I was told he lived by 
this bar in an old brick apartment, but there are many in this 
district. Could you please help me?" Tempest felt sick at saying 
this, begging a human for anything.

"Hic... I know him. He lives on the street north of here. Top floor 
of  hic... the Allow cot building."

Tempest then left the bar and continued down the street until he 
arrived at the Allow cot building. As he gazed up at the building he 
noticed a light on the top floor. He continued up the step; as he 
did so, he called his sword to his hand.


           - End of post.
             Tempest,
             Gangrel.




The bulky Scotsman charged purposefully down the dank halls of the 
Bezoar complex. He had received a summons from the Prince and, as 
his enforcer, Rand Windrunner had responded.

What, he wondered, was this about? He had seen many strange things 
in the city recently, but Laplace had not called him in on any of 
them. The recent destruction of Little Tokyo was all over the news, 
but such things had happened before (like the Ventrue theater, for 
example). So... was it something else?

Of course, Windrunner's place was not to think, but to act. But it 
was also true that Laplace had not hired him merely on the strength 
of his... well, strength. Rand was a magician of no small power, and 
his strategies were studied all over the world (though the Kine knew 
not that it was he). Surely he could not be expected to wander 
blindly through whatever missions the Prince sent him on?

But he would find out soon enough what was afoot. The red-haired 
Celt had climbed the stairs and was almost to Laplace's door. He 
didn't meet the Prince in the throne-room, like most other Kindred, 
but in the Toreador's own private chambers. He knocked, firmly, 
three times. No response. Should he knock again?

No, the door was swinging open now. Behind stood a surprisingly 
lucid Alexander Laplace. And he was alone. No servants. How strange.

But Rand's was not to question why. He stepped in and allowed the 
Prince to close the door behind him. They looked at each other for a 
moment and then, taking a seat, the Prince began to speak:

"Rand, my loyal servant. How are you?"

Ah, the pleasantries. What was the point? Still, best to play along.

"Fine, my liege," answered the tall Tremere. "I trust you, too, are 
well?"

"Personally, I feel better than I have done in a while," he 
admitted. And Rand could see it in his eyes. "But there are strange 
things afoot in the city, Rand. I fear I have slept for too long." 
Of course, he was not talking about actual sleep, but the hazy 
insanity he had wallowed in for so long. Had the Toreador actually 
regained his sanity, or was this but a temporary recovery? Time 
would tell.

"You may have heard," the Prince continued, "about certain events 
recently, which culminated in the destruction of a good portion of 
the Japanese quarter of the city."

"I have," he nodded. "There have been rumors."

"Yes, I too have been made aware of these. The trouble is, they are 
correct. A rogue Nosferatu has been violating our first tradition at 
every turn. That useless idiot Jack Lewis has been of no help in 
stopping her, though he did at least identify that she was of his 
clan. This must be stopped, my loyal enforcer, lest Kine be made 
aware of our presence."

"I understand. But, if I may ask...."

"Why do I recruit you?" Laplace anticipated the question. "I know 
you have had little to do of late. That Caitiff who has run rampant 
should have been your job, but I have reasons not... But that is not 
important now. You must stop this mutant Nosferatu."

"Mutant?" Windrunner ejected. It looked like *all* the rumors were 
true.

"Yes, it is puzzling. I have never heard of anything like it."

"Indeed," the Tremere agreed. "I will assemble my usual team."

"No," the Prince disagreed. "You cannot use them."

"But why?" Windrunner asked strongly. "I can't destroy this violator 
without them."

"Which brings me to another point," Laplace added. "I am not calling 
a Lextalionis. The Nosferatu female is not to be killed, merely 
captured."

"What?" Rand was incredulous. "I don't understand!"

"Nor do you have to. Suffice it to say that she has made me aware of 
a certain situation that is more important than her meddling - 
disastrous though that may itself be. I must seek confirmation."

"But I cannot do this myself!" he argued.

"Of course," Laplace nodded. "Draw upon the resources of the city. I 
am sure there are many Kindred who would gladly aid you in this. 
Seek those with talent, bravery, and a level head. I have faith in 
you, my loyal Windrunner."

And with that, the Toreador's eyes closed, and didn't open again. 
Rand stood there for a while, eventually realising the Prince was 
not about to wake up soon. Recruit untrained Kindred from the ranks 
of the city? What nonsense was this? But, Rand realized, he who pays 
the bills gives the orders.

And so, the Scottish Cainite left the chambers, puzzling over the 
oddities of life in New Chelsea.


         - End of post.
           Rand Windrunner,
           Tremere.
           Posted by Rutger Leick.




Lilith glanced over her back to see Sarah, fully healed, and Sonya 
practicing their Obfuscational skills. Though Lilith could easily 
see through their shrouds, she had decided to see what innovative 
illusions they could come up with.

Sarah transformed from being invisible into a fireman, a tree, a 
Sabbat punk, then into Prince Alexander Laplace. "Nice... though he 
isn't that pink faced and I doubt anyone can impersonate the Prince 
for very long before someone figures it out," chuckled Lilith.  
"Better stay with the more inconspicuous forms."

Sarah nodded and resumed practicing.

Sonya was shifting forms more easily and fluidly. Cunning, graceful, 
intelligent, resourceful...obedient. She was easily more than any 
Sire could hope for. Lilith considered her more like a daughter than 
a Childe, though some may mistake the two for being one and the 
same.  Sarah... well, perhaps she would change over time.

Diversion aside, she returned her view to the computer screen... 
online strip poker with a Sarah Mihcelle Gellar... very titillating. 
  Unknown to most visitors to this site, the order the cards come 
out, your opponents' card play, the detail in the room, and the 
time: it was all part of a code. Fifty minutes and eleven games 
later, Lilith's report was encoded and sent, and the incoming 
message was received and decoded.

Outgoing Message:
Yakuza operations disrupted
Local Yakuza leadership struggle in progress
Prince has been notified of Sabbat intentions
Sabbat retribution anticipated - minor annoyance

Incoming Message:
Aid current Yakuza Lord, Kenshiro Shimata
Aid Prince Laplace, no face to face contact if possible
Meet "The Dagger" on Saturday October 9th.  She will find you
Tolerate the mosquito or swat it

Those astonishing Giovanni never forget debts owed to others or more 
importantly, debts owed to them.

Launching herself from the chair, Lilith landed between Sarah and 
Sonya. "Time to test your hand to hand combat... ladies".


            - End of post.
              Lilith,
              Nosferatu.




Tempest's kick to the door of the Allow cot building shattered the 
glass. Shards crunched beneath his feet as he walked slowly up the 
stairs. When he got to the top floor, he noticed there were only two 
apartments. Walking up to the door of one, he knocked; a fat elderly 
woman answered the door.

"Yes," she screeched in a tobacco-weathered voice. "What is it?"

"I'm looking for Lorac, where is he?" Tempest growled strongly.

"He lives next door," the hag admitted. "But he's not home, he's at 
his office. I can give you the address if you would like," she 
offered, drawing out her sentences to interminable length.

"Yes that would be nice." Five minutes later, the old woman handed 
him a piece of paper with an address written across it. Receiving it 
gratefully, Tempest retreated down the stairs.

At the bottom, he noticed three men, and summoned his sword to his 
hand. Then he stepped out.

"We've been waiting for you," one of them snarled.

"I've been waiting longer." Tempest edged closer then, the muscles 
in his arms tightening and he struck three times; once across the 
chest, the second slash cutting an arm in half, the third hitting 
the vampire in the neck. The second vampire flew through the air at 
Tempest. The Gangrel dodged, causing his attacker to land flat on 
the cold, hard ground.

"You will pay for that!" the magician said with a sneer, then a 
blast of fire flew from the tips of each of his fingers. Only two of 
the streams struck Tempest; the others went wide (just barely). He 
fell to the ground, and then the second vampire was on him. 
Tempest's sword flew from his hand, to land with a clatter several 
feet away.

He grabbed the attacking Cainite's neck and twisted. With a 
sickening crunch, Tempest tore the vampire's head off. Blood 
splattered across his neck and shoulders, and dripped slowly to the 
ground. Tempest turned to face the magic user. "Your turn," he 
grinned.

"Ha ha ha! You think you can harm me?" the Thaumaturgist roared. 
Then a fire ball flew from each of the man's hands and flew at 
Tempest, who jumped and somersaulted in mid air. He just barely 
landed a foot away from the blasts. His sword appeared in his hands, 
then struck out at his attacker. The mage jumped back; Tempest 
dropped his sword and tackled the enemy Cainite. He then grabbed his 
neck and slammed his head into the pavement as hard as he could. The 
magic user flipped over and rolled away from Tempest. He got up and 
ran.

Tempest did't bother to chase him, because he knew he would see him 
tomorrow.


           - End of post.
             Tempest,
             Gangrel.