Two months. It had been two months since Rutger Leick had slain 
Alexander Laplace and assumed the throne of the Prince of the city. 
Two months in which nothing had gone quite the way it should. Two 
months in which pandemonium had reigned in the ranks of the Kindred, 
in which order and peace had been uniformly abandoned for panic and 
confusion. Two months in which Leick had been blissfully happy.

Power; it felt good. He had always known it of course, had 
occasionally wielded it, but this was so much better. Absolute power 
(within limits). Not like anything he had ever experienced before. 
If someone rubbed him the wrong way - dead. A coterie of Cainites he 
wasn't particularly fond of - banished. He had had fun toying with 
his new authority, and as yet the novelty had not worn off. He knew 
it would, however, and quickly. But the power would still be there 
nonetheless. Nowadays, power was what mattered. It was all that 
lasted, and for the Kindred lasting things were the only kind that 
was worth a damn. When you lived forever, 'temporary' was an all too 
familiar concept. Leick wanted things which would remain.

Power.

"Rutger," Sherilyn's rich voice whined from Leick's side. He turned 
his bulky head briefly to look sidelong at her. She was still 
beautiful, he sighed, but caged like this Sherilyn Massee was robbed 
of all that made her special to him. That ferocity, the wild 
animalistic abandon with which she hunted her prey. It was all gone 
within the strict confines of the Bezoar Complex. But letting her 
out was too risky. She was not safe out there, among the common 
Kindred. Here she would be protected.

"What is it?" he asked, a little snappily. In the expansive hall, 
Leick's deep voice rolled around like thunder. The viciousness in 
his own voice startled him somewhat. The big Brujah didn't hear his 
own voice quite that way.

"I'm hungry," she pouted, her dark red lips pursed childishly. "When 
do I get to eat?"

The Prince rolled his eyes and tapped a large foot impatiently. 
"It's coming, Sherilyn. Rand should be back with your meal within 
the hour."

"An hour?" she continued to complain. "But I'm hungry now!"

"And the food comes in an hour!" Leick roared angrily. The little 
bitch could be a pain in the neck sometimes (no pun intended). "So 
why don't you shut the hell up?"

He immediately regretted his outburst as his paramour shrank back 
into the dark corner of the hall in fear, but he couldn't apologize 
for it. That was not something Rutger Leick could do, not any more. 
Where the hell was Rand Windrunner anyway? He had sent the Scotsman 
out to hunt Sherilyn a couple nice Kine hours ago. The Tremere 
enforcer was probably delaying on purpose; he didn't like the new 
Prince much at all. So much the better. Leick didn't trust anyone 
who would trust HIM. That kind of person wasn't too bright, after 
all.

Just then, the main doors burst open and a scraggly Cainite dragged 
his deformed carcass into the room. Leick recognized him 
immediately: one of Lewis' Nosferatu that was on duty down on 3rd 
Avenue. But what in Caine's name was he doing here?

"Sire!" the Nosferatu (Sasha, Rutger recalled his name was) called 
as he hunched his way into the room, his ugly face screwed up into a 
bizarre form that reflected fear and anger at once. "Apologies for 
interrupting, my Prince."

"What is the meaning of this?" Leick demanded, resisting the urge to 
stand up. The Brujah was used to using his height as a means of 
intimidation, but the Prince should remain ensconced on his throne 
for such matters. Rutger concentrated on using his Presence to the 
same effect. "Why aren't you protecting the storehouse?"

"I didn't know what else to do," he pleaded, those sunken eyes deep 
with conflicting emotions. "The streets, Sire! They are alive! 
Something mysterious is afoot on the streets of your city." That 
sibilant, scrabbly voice was convincing, its shaky tone almost 
enough to convince Leick of its truth. Almost.

"And this caused you to abandon your post?" he intoned. The 
Nosferatu could give no response other than an impassioned stare, 
the gaze filled with frightened pleading. "These superstitions of 
the younger Kindred continue to annoy me," he continued. "Let me ask 
my Director of Current Affairs." He turned to his right hand (only 
hand, he reminded himself wryly). "Cray?"

"Nothing more than idle chatter," he assured the Prince without 
looking at him, the eyes focused lightly on the shivering Nosferatu. 
As ever, there was a gentle, almost mocking edge to Cray's words 
that Leick could never tell whether or not was intentional. "As you 
said, superstition. Nothing more. The city sleeps, as it has done 
for over a hundred years."

"So you see," Leick smiled coldly at the Nosferatu. "Your 
imagination has had the better of you. And for leaving your post, 
you must be punished."

"Punished?" he asked, quivering. Leick's icy glare must have tipped 
Sasha off, but not in time. For the Nosferatu turned his head behind 
him, just as the guard (following his Prince's orders) swung a 
battle axe in a long arc, separating that grotesque head from its 
lumpy shoulders. As Sasha's body slumped to the cold granite floor, 
it began to decay. Having not been immortal for long, the corpse was 
still recognizable as human. Leick gave a glance to his minions. 
They would dispose of the remains in a tidy fashion.

Still, the Prince mused to himself, it seemed these superstitious 
rumors continued to spread. Could there be something to them?

No. Leick did not believe in such things. Kindred were often 
foolish, especially the very young and the very old. No, they were 
all weak and frightened, frightened of change, of an upset in the 
balance. He would have to show them exactly what to fear: him. With 
an iron fist, he would squeeze this city until the nonsense of 
other-worldly threats would be replaced by one much more tangible. 
New Chelsea was his, and it would stay that way.

For as long as Leick was alive.


            - End of Post.
              Rutger Leick,
              Prince.





Alain Roche rose from the mat. Sorrow was deep within him. He had 
lost Sekuyu, now he could lose his Clan; he had already lost his 
Prince.

Calling in his most trusted Captain, he instructed that two of the 
newly made swords would be delivered to fellow Tremeres Rand 
Windrunner and Karenthuras. Along with these were two identical 
notes, written in red, in his own blood:


"Upon death these words are written,

Justice, the sword, is always neutral. The blade that accompanies 
this note is a symbol of this. As a servant, I have the duty to put 
my existence to the peril. The Tremere clan is weak. I have failed 
to reinstate the Law. I therefore present myself as the dark angel. 
I go now to destroy Marcus Grogan, or at least die in the attempt. 
The part which you play is merely one of ensuing circumstance; you 
have had no part in this. Leick will know this if you have need to 
present this letter.

If I die, take the Tremere clan by the helm. I propose the 
leadership to be given to Karenthuras. He is proud of his Clan, and 
wears his identity like a cloak about his shoulders.

No doubt my action will cause the new Prince to attempt to forfeit 
my existence, although I will simply state that in the light of his 
actions he has no Law, he opened "Pandora's box".

Should I die in the attempt, or as a consequence of my action, then 
both of you will receive documentation of the rapid influx of 
Kindred into the Japanese quarter, along with the contact that will 
order those of the Noble Houses and the Yakuza to attack.

It also gives details of the location of the explosives. I would 
rather have the whole of the Japanese quarter decimated than the 
unmasking of the Masquerade or further instability of the Clans.
May you both exist long and prosper. As ever, servant of the 
Tremere,

Alain Roche,
Ryu Kassiguru,
Lord of the House of Leaves,
Master of Assassins."

Alain returned to the Shinto shrine of his ancestors, his mother and 
father in his mind. Their souls would understand. He honored Sekuyu. 
Finally he clothed himself in white silk and his armor. His Katakana 
would remain unsheathed now. Alain Roche smiled; white - "I wonder 
how many of the Clan will understand that white is the traditional 
color of death in Japan. I no longer exist. I am merely fate."


           - End of Post.
             Alain Roche,
             Tremere.






   Airegon had gotten away from Miguel finally, but she was scared - 
almost too scared to move from her place in the sewers. She crouched 
there in a ball, hungry and weak, for she had been avoiding going 
outside at all even to feed; because she was afraid that if she 
left, Miguel would find her. And Airegon had pretty much decided by 
now that she didn't want to be dead.

   Even with the fact that she had been hiding in the sewers she had 
still heard of Leick's seize of power and, granted the fact that she 
never really liked Laplace and she thought he was pretty darn crazy, 
she was none too pleased about Leick taking over.

   She would never be able to live in a way that he wanted. She was 
against him too much. Still, she was much less fearful of him than 
she had been of Laplace. So that meant there might possibly be a way 
that she could get rid of him. She wished that she could have 
Frost's help, or even Sheilina's, but no. They were dead - and 
Sheilina's death was all Airegon's fault. She didn't arrive on time, 
and she could never forgive herself for that. Never!

   Maybe Rachelle....

   But then again, she had the feeling Rachelle didn't like her. On 
the other hand, Airegon never really liked her either. She was 
actually a little jealous of Rachelle and Frost, but that was in the 
past now. It had to be; there was no choice.

   So tomorrow she would go talk to her and see what she said, if 
she had any plans on a way to make Leick give into her... or kill 
him ... Anything to get him away.


          - End of Post.
            Airegon,
            Brujah.






Alain Roche approached the house where Grogan lived. It had been 
easy so far. However, years of experience taught him vigilance. He 
had despatched three of Grogan's guards. Alain smiled and thought: 
If he had allowed me to instigate his protection, not even I would 
have been allowed to get this close.

Slowly, he made his way up the hall to Grogan's bedroom. The stench 
had already entered his nose. Mentally Alain concentrated, spells 
formed in his mind. He needed to be wary. "Never underestimate your 
opponent," his old master had taught him. He could feel his muscles 
tensing; it would slow him down. Relax.... Slowly his muscles 
relaxed. Years of self emposed discipline allowed him to focus and 
control his body.

He entered the room. Marcus Grogan stood before him, his dark eyes 
boring into the strange figure before him. "What the hell are you 
doing here?" Alain nearly stopped mid-track. Then took control - he 
now knew that Marcus was aware of his intent and was trying to 
Dominate him, control him!

Feigning submission, Alain stammered, "M-m-my Lord, but... I..."

Marcus's expression did not change. "Come here!" The force of will 
that Marcus was exerting was phenomenal. Had it not been for his own 
self control, his occult lore, then Roche would have been totally 
overpowered. This could have been a Clan leader Alain would have 
respected. It was such a shame that it had come too late. Slowly 
Alain inched forward, feigning.

Then Grogan attacked. The ferocity was unrivalled. Alain had only 
just enough time to interpose his own blade. Sparks flew off as both 
blades made repeated contact with each other. Marcus's Toledo Steel 
blade and his own folded blade were being tested to their very 
limit. Pass after pass, the speed at which they fought was a mere 
blur to the human (or Kindred) eye, each pressing forward the attack 
or countered with a defence.

The first few encounters had been tests of skill, each measuring the 
extent of the others ability. However, only Alain held back. Then 
came the advantage, a twist of the Katakana and the Toledo blade 
snapped. Alain side-stepped, disengaged, then sliced.

Dropping his sword quickly, Alain bit into Grogan, drawing up the 
blood from his wounded neck. Energy filled Alain; using his 
sorcerous power he drank Marcus's knowledge. Nothing would be lost. 
Then finally, when Grogan begged for a release from the pain, Alain 
gave it. Grogan's body disintegrated, was no more.

Gathering up his sword, he left. Next stop was a visit to Leick, the 
new Prince. How quickly things changed. Now he had to do his utmost 
to survive the next encounter and strengthen the Clan.



           - End of Post.
             Alain Roche,
             Tremere.






Blackthorn walked silently down the long busy street, watching with 
great patience as his prey turned into an alley. He followed the 
figure, a tall white male, all the way in, where suddenly the man 
turned and faced Blackthorn.

"Why are you following me? I'd hate to kick your ass without knowing 
why you followed me."

Blackthorn replied by grabbing the man by the throat and pulling him 
off the ground. He then sank his teeth into the man's neck; he felt 
the vein pulse and spew the dark red liquid he longed for into his 
mouth. He drank deeply until he heard a slight sound behind him.

"Keep drinking. I'll wait."

Spinning round, and letting his meal drop carelessly to the ground, 
the Gangrel saw a dark-haired figure with a leather jacket standing 
casually at the entrance to the alley. "Who are you?" Blackthorn 
growled angrily.

"I'm glad our friendship meant so much to you," the stranger said 
sarcastically.

"Tempest, is that you?" he asked, stunned.

"Yes," came the simple reply.

"How dare you?" the Cainite snapped, feeling the rage well up within 
him.

Suddenly, a sword appeared in Tempest's hand and he rushed towards 
Blackthorn. Blackthorn reached down to his waistline and produced 
two Magnums. He fired, bullets flying through the air, tearing into 
Tempest's flesh. He fell to the ground. Blackthorn walked over to 
where Tempest lay on the ground and stood triumphantly over him. 
Tempest looked up.

"You never did pay attention during a fight did you?" Tempest said 
with a sneer in his voice. He then slashed Blackthorn across the 
chest with his sword. "This is my home now. I don't want to see you 
here again, and if I do... The cut will be to your neck." Tempest 
started to laugh, then pulled an amulet of teleportation fromm his 
dark shirt and held it in his hand. In moments, he was consumed by a 
bright green flame.

"Damn you Tempest! Damn you. You have no right to this city and I 
shall do as I please!"

As Blackthorn returned to the motel he had been staying in, all he 
could think of was killing the Prince as his master had comanded him 
to do, and settling the score with his old friend Tempest.


          - End of Post.
            Blackthorn,
            Gangrel.






Excerpt from the journal of Matthias:



   The passing of an age for mankind has come and gone. The mortal 
world now relaxes, for the time they feared to be the day of 
reckoning with the Lord has passed and their world yet remains. Now 
we all have begun what the mortals call the year 2000. The world has 
survived the past two thousand years but it may not much longer. 
Darkness creeps from the depths of this place and will stretch 
slowly across the land. The first and second chosen ones have 
passed... or so it has been made to appear.

   I write this now in hopes that if my mission fails, my knowledge 
of what is occurring in this place may live on. I shall begin:

   I came here not long ago - I cannot give an exact measure because 
during eight hundred years of life I long ago stopped counting time. 
I searched for an ancient foe, one whose evil has transcended time 
itself. For an eon he has walked the earth, doing the will of the 
dark ones. My master hunted him, and his master before him, but they 
were never able to stop him. His beginnings are lost in the mists of 
time; it is unlikely we will ever know his origin. It was believed 
by one of my predecessors long ago that he once was Kindred, altered 
by millennia of service to the Darkness, but I cannot imagine any 
Kindred coming to possess the power that this one holds.

   He is pure evil. In his quest to liberate his master he has 
manipulated even those chosen ones. His power, however, has its 
limits; those who are chosen cannot be destroyed by his hand. In the 
recent years he has taken much interest in the great Jyhad, though 
his blood is not of Sabbat, nor Camarilla, nor any other Clan I can 
fathom. Over the millennia he has been alive he has been called many 
things. Today, he is simply known as Cray.

   Two months ago the first chosen was slain. Not by the hand of a 
powerful warrior but by a snake who coiled himself about him and 
crushed the life out of the chosen. A snake called Leick, a pawn of 
Cray, a mere tool. Laplace lies dead now; he long held the demons 
below this place at bay. I pray that he may rest in peace for all 
eternity. We may soon be joining him. With the death of Laplace, the 
bonds which for ages kept the dark forces at bay are shattered. 
Slowly, the dark ones gather their strength until they can arise.

   The passing of the second has confused me. The one they call 
Fredrick Frost seems to have died at the hands of Cray, but this is 
not possible. Frost, who has for nearly a century held the Masamune, 
would not have been killed by the spell used by Cray, no matter its 
strength. The sword has the unique ability to absorb many kinds of 
offensive magicks. And yet, when the spell subsided, all that 
remained was the sword. By the grace of God (if He still keeps an 
eye on his fallen subjects), Cray was not able to hold the sword for 
long, as the Caitiff Rachelle stole it from him.

To defeat Leick and his master Cray I must seek out Nalal in hopes 
that he knows the answer to two questions: Where are Rachelle and 
Masamune? And whatever happened to Fredrick Frost?


          - End of Entry.
            Matthias,
            Gangrel.






Ryu Kassiguru, or Alain Roche, entered Leick's hall. The Tremere's 
tall slender frame seemed somehow larger, more powerful. In fact 
Alain's aura could not have shone more brightly. It was infused with 
his own vitality and that of another. Slowly he advanced. Other 
Kindred had approached, took one look at his eyes and immediately 
backed off. The look in Alain's face was simply that of a killer. 
Alain was slowly assimilating the knowledge of Marcus Grogan, his 
emotional states, and his lack of self-control. It would take a 
little time before Alain's own temperament rose. The spell that 
Alain had cast upon himself was making this easier. The Katakana was 
still out of his scabbard; not threatening, but still there.

Then Alain saw the figure of Leick looking at him. The twinkle in 
his eye. Alain wondered - did he know? Leick raised his arm; Alain 
stopped.

"Ahhhh, Alain Roche," he rumbled. "Or is it Ryu Kassiguru?"

"All three!" Alain responded in private humor - where was Leick 
going?

"Ryu!" the large Prince chuckled to himself. "Mmmmm, an amusing name 
is it not?"

Alain nodded; he knew that when he did not know the field of battle, 
it was better not to move but increase vigilance. Again, the 
teaching of Sun Tzu guided him.

"So Ryu," he asked, suddenly more alert, "why are you here? Your 
manner and... the way you... almost... scared off my guards..." 
Alain's eyes smiled - was he about to mention the word "power?" Then 
further realization; he does not know yet what I have done!

"The cranes have gathered to my roost, faster then yours my... 
Prince?" Alain timed the inflection and the pause perfectly. It was 
not an insult, not quite, but it was a statement, a small one, 
saying: Take care my lord, do not discard me so hastily - learn to 
use me! Use me well. Still, Leick's eyes showed no sign of emotion. 
Good!, Alain thought, here is one who can lead...

Leick shifted his head to one side. "Well?" The command was natural. 
Alain turned, recognized the new arrival of one of Leick's minions, 
their urgency, sense of concern. The way that they looked at Alain's 
sword. That told Alain that the messenger, and only the messenger, 
knew of Grogan's fate. Leick chose to ignore the new arrival. He 
simply smiled and said to Roche, "Well... Primogen?"

The statement, its assurity, the combination of adding the facts 
together; Ryu's clothes, his sword, his demeanor, Grogan's attitude, 
and finally the arrival of his informant (in his agitated state) had 
been sufficient to allow the Brujah to arrive at the correct 
conclusion. Alain nodded. "My Prince..." he said, "can I call you 
Prince?"

Leick smiled. "Yes, Primogen Roche... Can I call you Primogen?"

Alain nodded. "Yes."

Both smiled. Both understood what had occurred, neither required 
justification, they understood the reasons. Leick continued, "So, I 
assume we understand each other?"

Alain nodded. "We do my Prince." Then Alain took the gamble: "My 
Lord, you know that there is only one occasion when I would try and 
kill you."

Leick's face stared back with a subtle darkening of his eyes. "Which 
is...?"

Alain kept his gaze steady. "Only if your actions would destroy the 
clans and the Kindred. We are after all a family, perhaps a 
dysfunctional one, but still family. Are we not?"

Leick nodded, he understood. "Mr Roche, you know that there is only 
one occasion when I would kill you."

Alain smiled. "Which is?"

Leick smiled. "If you faltered for one moment in your duty to 
protect me. Keep nothing from me; I will always require the cold 
hard truth, no matter how painful you may imagine it to be. I expect 
that someone with your sense of duty, would do their duty... I'm 
sure we both know where we stand."

"Perfectly!" Alain replied, then bowed pledging his loyalty.

As Alain left the hall, he began to realize that he was lucky to 
exist. Now he had to help; strengthen each of the Tremere. He 
desperately wanted them to come together knowing that if any one of 
them was threatened, they would have the whole Clan to protect them. 
He hoped that both Karenthuras and Rand knew that, that they began 
to understand the nature of his character. That if anything 
threatened them, in any way, then his first loyalty, equal to that 
of the Prince, would be to protect them. Together, they could 
achieve so much. "But beginnings are delicate times," Alain mused.

He was interested in what both of them thought of the new Prince.



             - End of Post.
               Alain Roche,
               Tremere Primogen.






The new apartment lay empty. Karl had not been there for some time. 
In fact, he'd been out of the city for over two months. He knew 
about the Prince and the trouble Rutger was brewing and decided to 
preserve himself from whatever evil may have resulted from the 
take-over, for such things as the dethroning of a powerful Prince 
can, and most often does, bring much evil and darkness to a place - 
but then this was New Chelsea.

A stack of mail greeted Karl as he entered his home; though most of 
it was addressed to the late owners, he found one addressed 
'Tremere', hand delivered. Karl paused for a moment, wondering who 
knew he was there and why they wanted him. As he opened it, he 
realised that the paper inside was from the Bezoar administration, 
possibly Grogan, but he had never summoned Karl in this fashion 
before.

He read:
"It has been many months since I last saw you. I hope that you have 
been well and the Shielding is in prosperous times. I trust that you 
have already completed your work. All I can say is good luck, for 
you knew my feelings about this. However, Bryce sends his regards 
and awaits further instruction.

"Alexander was in my thoughts recently and when I heard of the 
dethroning I made the decision to come and see you, to speak of 
counter-measures. Rutger must pay for this ultimately, but I fear 
there is a greater evil behind this. He could not have done this 
alone for I know him and what he was capable of. I fear for him, 
just as much as the city.

Vicky Treagard."


"Well, well, well, the bitch is back in town!" Karl mused. "Suppose 
since Frost is gone there's nothing to bother her!" he continued 
laughing.

"What a glorious day!"


           - End of Post.
             Karl,
             Tremere.






The central park was one of the hot sites for Kindred at night. 
Imagine it as the equivalent of Kine deciding to eat at a quiet 
restaurant, as opposed to the Scorpion club in town. The night was 
peaceful and calm and there were many a dish strolling around 
near-by.

The night air was perturbed by the squealing of wheels and the loud 
roar of a motorcycle engine. Round the corner, a block down, the 
cycle flew with reckless intent, the rider howling as she went. Some 
people, horrified by the sudden noise, came to see the source, as 
the bike came to rest on the sidewalk near the boundary of the 
serene park.

With the people all looking on Vicky showed off her bike, revving 
the engine to hear the roar. She took off the helmet and stood 
astride the bike, head to toe in leather; this was the new look, the 
new Vicky, the very old threat to all Kine in the city.

Turning the engine off and moving up to the sidewalk she yelled, 
"Honeys, I'm Home!!!" Then punched a big looking guy out, who fell 
straight to the floor. The small crowd dissipated and she fed on the 
assaulted victim.

"Wooooo!!! New Chelsea!!!!" she exclaimed as she held her head up 
and let the blood trickle down her throat.


          - End of Post.
            Vicky Treagard,
            Ventrue.






[StoryMaster's note: these events take place about the end of LAST 
season. ]


Brooke still was invisible to the Gangrel, Kayla Jade, and the 
Caitiff known as Paige Mackenzie behind her. She was, though, taken 
aback when the Kindred misted back from a wolf to her vampire self, 
as if to say, "I accept my fate in my own form will you do the 
same?" Brooke gave a half smile and allowed herself to be seen.

"I'm glad you accept your fate vampire," she said to Kayla Jade.

The Gangrel tilted her head to the side and with a look of amusement 
said, "Have you forgotten you are one too?"

Paige slowly moved to stand behind Kayla and shifted her weight into 
a ready, cat-like stance. It was a kung-fu stance that helped the 
fighter move more quickly. "Come on Malkavian! Think you can take us 
on?" she said defiantly. Brooke felt a strange tightening in the 
air.  She could tell that the Caitiff was using her Presence and 
Dominating powers on her. Being the young Cainite that she was she 
was having a hard time resisting. "Leave, now!" Paige shouted.

Brooke refused to let herself be controlled. "No! I... Will... Not!" 
she bellowed, and leaped towards Paige. Kayla, meanwhile, was 
watching Brooke's left leg. Brooke had put her weight on the leg and 
right before she leapt Kayla saw the muscle twitch. As Brooke sailed 
through the air Kayla jumped for her mid-section. Connecting with 
her, she brought Brooke down to the ground, knocking the wind out of 
her. She then punched Brooke unconscious.

"I didn't think I'd get out of that one. Thanks Paige," she 
commented looking at her friend. "I think we should teach her a 
lesson."

"How so?" Paige asked.

"Tie her to a tree. Tight enough to keep her there to sunrise, loose 
enough to escape just before she fries to a crisp." Paige laughed 
and the two proceded to tie the Kindred hunter to a tree.



Brooke woke to the smell of burning flesh, which she realized with a 
yelp was her. Growling, she ripped the rope off and ran into the 
woods for cover. "This is not over yet! It is so not over with!" she 
yelled to unseen ears.


            - End of Post.
              Kayla Jade,
              Gangrel.