What time was it? Nalal lifted his head and refocused his eyes. He 
had been staring at the book for so long now, his eyes didn't want 
to change position. 7:30 am. No wonder the drowsiness was beginning 
to settle on him. The sun would be in the sky now, and the call of 
daylight sunk him further and further into the depths of 
unconsciousness.

But he must stay awake. He was researching.

Within his books was much knowledge. Some of it he had put together 
himself, though most was accumulated from various sources - both 
vampiric and mortal. He also had works by Kindred who lived here 
long before Columbus ever set foot on American soil.

Some of it was fascinating. Right now he was reading about the 
ancestors of that clanless anarch Fredrick Frost. For instance, his 
great, great grandfather was also a vampire. Deacon Frost had also 
been clanless, though his Sire was a Brujah. Something in the Frost 
system must cause the dilution of Kindred blood. Nalal wondered if 
it would even be possible for Fredrick to Embrace another 
successfully.

The Bulgarian Toreador rubbed his eyes with his left hand. Some of 
the light from without was beginning to peek in through the boards 
on the windows. If he got up, Nalal would have to watch where he 
stepped.

There was something he was missing. He didn't know what. Somehow all 
the recent events in New Chelsea were tied together, but for the 
life of him he couldn't imagine how. Maybe he was wrong. Who knows? 
But even as the day of Gehenna approached so fast, Nalal thought the 
Kindred of this city may not live long enough to see the great 
disaster.

He slammed the book with a growl. There was nothing in here with any 
bearing on modern events. He needed fresh insight, fresh blood (so 
to speak).

He needed a partner. One with a similar spirit to his own. He closed 
his eyes. There was one out there who might be of help. But would 
she listen? She was, after all, Tremere. And they were not known for 
their kindness.

But surely she would see that the work was for the good of Kindred 
society. Wouldn't she?

Nalal didn't know, but he sent out an emotive message. Her powerful 
mind should receive it, he was sure of it. Tamlin would come.

She had to.


              - End of post.
                Nalal,
                Toreador.





Jennifer lay in her chamber in the wooded den of Karenthuras. She 
hadn't seen him for days and was starting to get a little worried 
for him. It was not like Karl to stay out all day; he had nowhere 
else to go but here to this den.

Meanwhile, Karl had found himself an empty building which could only 
be entered by the small lane leading along the alley about fifty 
metres from the nearest street. It was not such an old building, but 
was not in use and it was near the center of the city - just what he 
needed.

Karl left the building and started along the alley. There were 
several bins and refuse sacks along the side of the way and there 
were no lamps to guide his feet. He marveled at how perfect this new 
home would be.

Just towards the end of the alley, a beggar sat with his hat on the 
ground. "Penny for the poor," he said as Karl came closer, in what 
seemed to be an English accent.

"Go home old man," Karl replied, tossing him a dollar and waving him 
on.

The old man clambered to his feet, where he stood swaying for a 
moment before departing, headed down the street.

Karl wondered at the safety of the beggar. How, with so many Kindred 
in the city, can this man survive, sleeping rough on the streets? 
Wonders will never cease! He headed back to his home in the woods.


           - End of post.
             Karenthuras,
             Tremere.





Karl came to the edge of the woods, near his forest home. The 
feelings he had told him that now was the time to act. He paused 
while looking over at the entrance to his den. Thoughts went through 
his head about Jennifer. How long had she been here, not knowing 
exactly what he was? Many times he had nearly made moves to Embrace 
her. No, not now, this could not be.

Karl summoned the entrance and it appeared in front of him and he 
quickly slipped inside. Jennifer was quite unaware that he was home 
after several days 'sleeping rough' in the city. He went immediately 
to where his blood research was, and scrambled everything all over 
the floor.

Flasks smashed to the rocky ground and the smell of Kindred blood 
stained the damp air. The chamber was destroyed and all the research 
with it, all but what had been taken before now. The place was a 
disaster area and, when he left the chamber, he summoned the walls 
in on each other so that no-one would ever know of this place.

He didn't stop there either. He could sense where Jennifer was and 
went to her speedily. Turning round, she smiled at him as he grabbed 
her by the throat and pinned her against the wall. She choked and 
squirmed, wrestling with his hands but it was no good. All the 
feelings she had when she was first brought to the den came flooding 
back, but this time it was worse. What had come over the Tremere 
that would cause him to do this? Why was he going so insane? Who 
could explain why the Tremere had been away so long?

These were not questions for Jennifer to answer. Karl opened his 
mouth and, with his teeth contracting again, he dropped her to the 
floor. Jennifer was dead. Karl stretched out his arms and roared 
loadly to the walls. He was not so much in regret of what he had 
just done but more in pain with what he had Become and what he was 
going to eventually be.....


            - End of post.
              Karenthuras,
              Tremere.




The rain continued to pour mercilessly throughout the night. The 
out-of-town street was deserted. Alain Roche had been standing, 
motionless, for the past three hours in the shadows. No muscle had 
moved without his control. He had simply waited.

Events had moved too quickly, even for the Yakuza. Groups had 
formed. Outside influence. Someone knew of his plans ? He would 
change tack, strike out uncharacteristically - without form.

His Zen Master, Nikko's father, had instructed him on warfare: 'When 
you attack, attack with force, without hesitation, without face, 
with great speed. Always strike the head - its commanders. Never 
allow time for your enemy to gather; confine the cranes to their 
nests.'

Soon all of Shimata's family would be killed (with honor of course). 
Telling Onikage that Kenshiro Shimata was the Red serpent Lord of 
the Yakuza had sealed his fate. They would not even be able to hide 
in Japan. No lord, even of the Yakuza, could face an onslaught of 
one of the Great Houses. Onikage's clan would rather all die in the 
attempt than fail to live up to their promise.

However, the prize was his - Kenshiro.

A side-door opened. There, with their backs to him, were Kenshiro 
and three of his goons. Their auras were bright, human. Yet Alain 
waited, silently, patiently for the right moment.....

The speed and silence of the attack, when it came, gave Alain's 
opponents no chance. No gun had been pulled from its holster when 
Alain stood alone, in front of Kenshiro.

Kenshiro's face was a mask of terror, his overweight, over-opulent 
body adding a suitable frame to the already pathetic picture. 
"Who..... who are you?" he blurted.

Alain Roche saluted. "I am Ryu Kassiguru, sensei, master of 
assassins of the House of Leaves, the Eleventh House. I now avenge 
the honour of this house...."

Kenshiro flushed. "But.... but, my family destroyed all the minor 
houses over a century ago....."

Alain's blade fell. "I survived," he muttered slowly.

Looking at the body of Kenshiro Shimata, he calmly quartered it. 
Then pouring gasoline over the remains, except for the head, he set 
it alight. He wanted no-one to be able bring the corpse back as one 
of his kind.

Alain, idiosyncratically, for the first time in years laughed. "No 
corpse to turn here...."

Taking the head under his arm he watched. Eventually he left, head 
in his possession. He had avenged Nikko and her father. Their souls 
could now rest. All debts had been paid. Alain no longer cared what 
became of him now. To avenge was the only reason he had come to New 
Chelsea in the first place.....

One day he could wear his old Japanese name with honor.

Alain moved into the shadows and then turned for his temporary home. 
He knew a new name now, "Lilith," but did she know his.....? Would 
she be ally or foe ?


             - End of post.
               Alain Roche,
               Tremere.




  Frost stood on the roof of the fire hall in the Japanese quarter, 
his trenchcoat blowing gently in the wind. His sword was in its 
sheath along his side. This is where it had started, he could feel 
it. Some strange evil emanated from the spot where another Kindred 
had stood. It felt cold. This one cared for nothing but herself, not 
other Kindred or humans or anything. Then again, neither did Frost.

  Everything had become so cold. Revenge for the life he had to 
live, and how every night he had to feed; sometimes killing, 
sometimes only drinking as much as he needed to suppress the Beast 
within. Revenge had destroyed him and now that he no longer wanted 
revenge he realized he had nothing left. A sad state of affairs. And 
now he was trapped by the Sabbat and their ideals. This city was 
going to explode soon. But why do the Sabbat want this city? Maybe 
it's the dark energy emitted by what remained of the Crystal of 
Darkness far underground. Then again maybe they just liked the 
location. He hoped it was the latter rather than the former. He 
hoped that damn Crystal would never be thought of again... By anyone. 
At least he was the only one who really knew what happened to it, 
and he would never tell a soul.

  Back to business though. Someone had blown this place to bits for 
a reason, the reason didn't really matter. He knew that soon he 
would face this freak mutant Nosferatu and her band. He only hoped 
that he was strong enough to stop her. He had always been strong 
enough before. But this one was different. Could the one-winged 
angel triumph over the dark feather-less angel? One-winged angel... he 
hadn't called himself that since his early days in Europe. He had 
thought of himself as an angel with only one wing, trapped on earth, 
unable to fly to heaven. Staying on Earth hoping God would send 
another angel to help him ascend. Hoping that by ridding the world 
of the great evil that plagued it, the Kindred, he would somehow win 
mercy. But no matter how many he killed, there were always more. And 
then there was his greatest sin: Rachelle. He had allowed her to 
Become; he hadn't saved her, then he had made her into a mirror 
image of himself. Perhaps it was time to die and set both of them 
free. Let himself finally rest.

  Damn he was distracted today, he couldn't seem to keep his 
thoughts on the task at hand. Finding the freak that had done this. 
Destroying a whole area of a city was worse than anything he had 
ever done. From here Masamune should be able to lead him to him 
prey. But he would still be cautious - no need to rush in head first 
as he did too often.  This had to be planned. He would follow the 
trail tonight and then plan for tommorow.


            - End of post.
              Fredrick Frost,
              Caitiff.





Light ash fell around the Scotsman's face, and alighted on his 
flaming nest of hair. The Japanese quarter of New Chelsea had burned 
long and hard, and pieces of it still floated through the night 
breeze. It was Rand's job to hunt down the Nosferatu whelp 
responsible for this. But he wasn't allowed to kill her.

Why? he wondered.

The Tremere glanced back over his shoulder. The two younger Cainites 
hung behind a bit, idly kicking the loose stones about their feet. 
Drukh, the Nosferatu neonate who had discovered her deformed 
clan-mate, was here. She had been ordered along on this hunt by Jack 
Lewis. The Primogen was too cowardly to join himself. Rand snarled 
softly. What good would the little runt do?

Johnnie Hammond, on the other hand, might be of some use. Windrunner 
had seen the anarch in action. He was good, for a mere 
sixty-year-old. The only thing that bothered Rand was, why had the 
Gangrel come along? He didn't care a whit for the affairs of the 
city.

Seeing the Scottish enforcer's gaze, Hammond wandered up to him.

"So," the Gangrel said. "What now?"

Rand thought quietly for a moment. "I doubt there is much the three 
of us can do to stop this maniac," he admitted.

"I know a guy," Hammond informed the Elder. "You won't like him, but 
he has a... personal interest in all this."

"Who?"

"Fredrick Frost."

Frost? That clanless freak? He was almost worse than the Beast they 
were chasing. How could they use him?

But, Windrunner admitted, they needed all the help they could get. 
If Frost would aid them, Rand would accept the support.

He nodded to the younger Cainite, who grinned back. They would find 
Frost tonight.

And who knows? Maybe they'd run into that Samurai wannabe, Alain 
Roche. The more the merrier...


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



The rendezvous with the Giovanni contact did not go all that well. 
The Yakuza Lord Kenshiro Shimata was dead, assasinated by a Tremere 
named Alain Roche. Lilith failed as she was not there to protect 
him.  Would she avenge a complete stranger...? No.

The fact that Lilith was still walking meant that the Giovanni 
clan's schemes would continue without the thug.

Now, there were other Kindred hunting her. She wasn't worried about 
the Sabbat or the magic-sword-wielding "Vamp". Perhaps she would 
contact the nearest Archbishop to establish formal relations.

A car full of Kine had been following her, and her childer, down a 
residental neighborhood for the last fifteen minutes. Eventually, 
the Nosferatu decided to make her move.

Lilith promptly stopped and confronted the men in the car. Four 
young men. "Hello gentlemen, how may we help you?" she smiled.

The driver wiped his nose. "I was just wondering. Why would three 
beautiful young women be walkin' alone down this neighborhood in the 
middle of the..."

"Half a second," Lilith timed mentally, having retracting her 
talons. "I'm getting sloppy." Admiring her decapitated artwork for 
another moment, she motioned Sarah and Sonya to feed. Moments later, 
Lilith joined them.

Lilith's philosophy was never to go into a hostile environment on an 
empty stomach. From rumors and stories, the Prince's inner sanctum 
was as hostile as they come.


           - End of post.
             Lilith,
             Nosferatu.




Though the wind whistling through the streets of New Chelsea would 
chill most people to the bone, Cray wandered pleasantly down their 
lengths. The cold didn't touch him. Not ever.

He smiled gently. Everything seemed to be going to plan. Ever since 
he had "suggested" Cochrane send the Sabbat here, not a single event 
had gone against Cray's wishes.

Soon.

It would be soon.

He patted the laptop which hung in a pouch at his side. The device 
was ready to be activated at any time, set to reconnect to the 
internet. To a certain poker site, of adult content. Before too long 
it would be time to arrange another message to be sent to Lilith. 
Those Giovanni were so easy to manipulate.

But great events were afoot this night. There would be a mighty 
clash, Cray could feel it in his bones. Or, he could if he had 
bones.

Looking at his handiwork, and seeing that it was good, Cray retired, 
sinking into the stones that made up the ground of the city. Here he 
would sleep.

Here he would dream.


          - End of post.
            Cray.
            Posted by Rutger Leick.




Tempest walked slowly down the quiet street, and glanced left and 
right before turning the corner. He had been stalking the vampire 
that had attacked him for about an hour now, and he thought he would 
catch him here.

As he went around the corner, Tempest felt an extreme pain like he 
had never felt before; the bolts of energy had hit him squarely in 
the back. He fell. Everything went into slow motion as he hit the 
ground and his head slammed sideways into the wall. Tempest wanted 
to scream out, but he knew he could show no pain to his adversary, 
so he put up the emotionless mask he wore so often it seemed only 
natural.

"You will come with me," the Cainite said as he grabbed Tempest by 
the neck and pulled him to his feet.

"No I will not!" Tempest spat in the other's eye, then tried to 
raise his arm. The pain that resulted was so intense that his whole 
body spasmed and he fell to the ground again. "You will not take 
me," he managed to moan.

"Oh I will, Tempest. My leige took an interest in you the day you 
attacked him, and it was that day you signed your death warrant. The 
master has use for such a one as you. You shall be his slave; you 
shall do as he tells you. How does that sound?" The Cainite said 
this latter with such a bitter tone, that Tempest began to think the 
same thing must have happened to him.

"I shall not," Tempest shouted defiantly. "I serve only myself. I 
shall bend to the will of no-one - Kindred or Kine."

"Then my leige shall teach you to bend."

"I shall not. I will not!" At that moment Tempest summoned his sword 
from the ether. It came to him as always, but now he had not the 
strength to use his weapon. His opponent kicked it from Tempest's 
hand then picked it up and put it in his belt. He then grabbed 
Tempest by the shoulders and pulled him to his feet again. But this 
time a green glow surrounded them - then both disappeared.





Tempest awoke in a small, well-furnished room. He knew the man had 
brought him to Lorac's house. After the grogginess passed, Tempest 
tried the door. When it would not open he summoned his sword but it 
would not appear. It was then that he became increasingly worried. 
He tried to transform into his wolf state, but it failed also. Then 
he thought of the magic user. He knew he had bound Tempest's sword 
and powers.

He then kicked the door and it gave way to his strength, splintering 
open, but his actions were rewarded with pain from his limbs. He 
walked out into a long hallway, also well-furnished, then he looked 
to the end of the hall. There stood Lorac.

"Come, Tempest," he intoned in that deep voice of his. "I have need 
of some of your time."

Two minutes later, Tempest sat across from Lorac in a pleasant 
little room. Lorac started the the conversation by saying, "Do you 
feel the weariness in your bones? It is light now, so please do not 
try and leave."

"I shall leave if I deem it time to leave," Tempest said angrily. He 
knew Lorac was powerful, but the extent of his powers Tempest did 
not know.

"You shall leave only when I say!" the mage growled. At this time, 
three vampires stepped out from the shadows. Tempest stood up; he 
was taller than the other three Kindred. He leaped at the closest 
one. Its illusion fell - this vampire was Nosferatu. Tempest felt 
its claws sink into his flesh, but he ignored the pain. He grabbed 
the Cainite's head and pushed as hard as he could - the skull 
collapsed in and the brain was crushed. It was then that he felt the 
other two vampires grab him. They were also Nosferatu.

He grabbed and flipped one over his shoulder. He then ripped off the 
arm of the other Cainite, but his remaining arm grabbed Tempest by 
the throat and held him against the wall. Tempest grabbed his 
attacker's wrist and twisted it. As the bone snapped, it poked its 
way through the dead flesh and emerged from the skin. In great pain, 
he dropped Tempest, who swiftly stood up and punched his opponent in 
the gut. His arm went straight through the soft, putrid flesh.

The vampire he had flipped earlier recovered now, grabbing Tempest 
from behind. He threw Tempest against the wall and stood a few feet 
away. He stole a look at the quickly decaying body of one of his 
former companions, and turned to Tempest. "You'll pay for that." The 
vampire then jumped onto Tempest and began throttling his neck, 
pushing him to the wall. Tempest tried again to summon his sword, 
but was still unable. He put all of his mental strength into 
summoning the sword. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he exerted all 
the power of his Kindred Blood. In a flash, he felt the vampire's 
enchantment break, and the sword appeared! With one slash the 
Cainite's head fell to the floor. Tempest walked over to the other, 
half-dead vampire and did the same.

"Curse you!" screamed Lorac Majere. "You will pay! Those were my 
three best servants." Almost before his tirade was complete, a 
lightning bolt flew from the palm of Lorac's hand directed toward 
Tempest. The Gangrel leaped out of the way, striking out with his 
bade. It hit Lorac across the chest; he didn't even flinch. Tempest 
watched in awe as Lorac began to tranform - if that was the word for 
what he did.

Lorac's skin peeled, his muscles bulged, and wings sprouted from his 
back. Two new arms pushed their way out of the pulsating flesh, and 
his legs stretched out to impossible length. At the end, Lorac was 
huge and green, and dripped a strange black fluid from his pores, 
which squelched on the carpeted floor. He stood ten feet tall at 
least. The top of his elongated head scratched the celing.

Tempest fell on his seat in surprise when the transformation was 
over. He had never seen or heard of anything like this; the only 
thing he knew was that he must kill it. Tempest flew through the air 
and struck the creature three times. As he landed gracefully behind 
it he slashed its hamstring. Still no effect. The thing turned and 
slashed Tempest across the chest with his claws. Tempest reeled 
back, slashing blindly at the beast's torso again. He hit it four 
times with this barrage.

This time, the great monster began to howl. When he looked up, 
Tempest saw that one of his swings had grazed the creature's scaly 
neck. Realizing what he must do, Tempest threw his sword with all 
his might. It arced though the air, spearing the beast directly 
through the wind pipe, pinning its distorted body to the wall. The 
thing hung limp, before falling from its place, along with the 
sword. It hit the floor with such force that the entire building 
shook, creating a rain of plaster from the ceiling. Tempest heard 
the sound of glass smashing from elsewhere in the house.

"Ughhhhhhhh..." That was the last sound in the room.

Eight hours later, Tempest looked at the blood-splattered wall and 
wondered why all this weird stuff had been happening in the city. He 
was determined to find out what was going on here, and for what 
reason. Tempest then opened a gas can and painted the room with 
petroleum distillate. He exited the building, lighting a match and 
tossing it back over his shoulder. Behind him, the building burst 
into flames, lighting the night sky. Tempest crossed the street, and 
watched the building burn for the remainder of the night.


          - End of post.
            Tempest,
            Gangrel.




In his private meeting chambers, duCharne fidgeted. It was almost 
time. He would be here soon.

The other new Gangrel arrival in New Chelsea, a young hot-head named 
Tempest, had not responded to the Primogen's summons. What's more, 
Lucien had heard disturbing reports about a figure that seemed to be 
him causing havoc in the midst of the city, for all to see. At least 
that Nosferatu beast had the sense to harass the more remote 
portions of the city...

But that wasn't important now. Matthias was coming.

Matthias was older than duCharne - by a good couple of centuries. If 
he was here to stay, he would be a rival for the post of Gangrel 
Primogen. In fact, the position was rightfully Matthias'. Lucien 
duCharne was not looking forward to this meeting.

Suddenly, his head shot up. There was a dark figure standing over 
him.

"You wanted to see me?" the figure inquired.

"Matthias?" the Primogen gasped, startled. "How did you get in 
here?"

The Elder Cainite frowned, gesturing backwards. "Door was open."

DuCharne shook his head. Of course it was. Get a grip, Lucien.

"Yes," he said, settling down now. "Please," he indicated the chair 
opposite his own, "take a seat." The Elder nodded and complied. When 
he was settled, Lucien continued. "I invited you here to discuss an 
important situation."

"So you indicated in your letter," Matthias said. His voice was 
distant, but still had a warmth of humanity duCharne would not have 
expected for one eight hundred years old.

"Of course. You have come here to New Chelsea to stay, yes? This 
obviously causes some concern..."

"You're worried about your job?" Matthias almost smiled.

The hair on the back of Lucien's neck (shaggy as a result of 
frenzies over the years) stood on end. The quick-tempered Gangrel 
calmed himself slowly before replying. The Beast was strong within 
duCharne - controlling it was not an easy task.

"This is not a job!" he growled. "It's a position of authority, and 
I don't know if I can trust another to hold it."

"No need," Matthias replied. Though his words and tone were 
friendly, and designed to put duCharne at ease, something in his 
eyes betrayed an annoyance - perhaps even a hatred. But duCharne 
couldn't tell if this was directed toward him or something unrelated 
entirely. "I have no desire to act as Primogen."

Inside himself, Lucien sighed a sigh of relief. He enjoyed the power 
play a little, but mostly he like to watch over the Gangrel of the 
city. To keep them out of trouble - when he could.

"You do realize," the Primogen pointed out, "that you will be under 
my authority."

"I'm under the Prince's authority," Matthias pointed out, "and so 
are you. Neither of us has any real power."

Again, something primal inside duCharne crawled nearer to the 
surface. 'Not now,' he told his Beast. 'Soon we will feed, and you 
will be satiated.'

"Be that as it may," Lucien frowned, "I am in charge of the Gangrel 
and there are things I will not stand for in this city."

"I understand," Matthias nodded. "You have nothing to fear. I stick 
mostly to myself. I have... my own reasons for being in New Chelsea 
and they have very little to do with the rest of you."

DuCharne ignored the insult of lumping him together with the rest of 
the city's Kindred, as though they were all some indistinguishable 
mass, a background sea of Kindred to walk on in his journey to 
whatever the hell he was seeking. Though this meeting had created a 
relief in Lucien, it had not gone at all as he had hoped.

"If that was all," Matthias stood up, "I have things I need to be 
doing."

Lucien duCharne stood up also. He nodded politely, and the other 
Gangrel walked stately from the room.

There was something about him, Lucien decided. Something intangible, 
but definitely unattractive. He hoped no trouble would come of 
Matthias' presence in the city.

He sat back down, and turned his mind to the problem of Tempest...


           - End of post.
             Lucien duCharne,
             Gangrel Primogen.