Looking out, down along the dark alley, the figure moved slowly. 
Karl had noticed the shadow and begun to watch, for it was obvious 
that this person was trying to get along to Karl's apartment.

The figure ducked now from one side of the alley to the other, rain 
pelting off its head and shoulders. Karl judged that the figure was 
Kindred, male, a messenger of some kind - no, more than a messenger, 
he had something for him. He was armed and probably able to use it 
too, but Karl had more defences than necessary.

Feeling quite confident, Karl let the Cainite in. The soaked visitor 
lowered his Oriental eyes to the ground in respect. "I come with a 
message from Alain Roche, and a symbolic token," he said pulling a 
long object from inside his coat.

The object was wrapped in cloth. The Kindred knelt and presented the 
object, flapping open the cloth to reveal an ancient sword. "Please 
accept this with honor," he said gesturing to Karl, who held the 
sword with both hands, lifting it from the messenger's.

The figure spoke again, "There is a letter also," reaching inside 
his coat once more. Karl, still in awe at the marvellous gift, took 
the note, then remarked, "Please, could you get up? Nobody deserves 
to be treated like this, but the Prince." And turning away to read 
the note, murmered to himself in a slightly sarcastic tone, "And 
it's getting that he shouldn't even be given that respect anymore 
either!"

The messenger stood. "I'll leave now?" he spoke, inquiring rather 
than telling.

"Yes, on you go," the elder Tremere nodded distractedly. "I'll reply 
to Alain myself."

The messenger left and darted along the alley, dodging the puddles 
and trash cans, while Karl stood watching, making sure he was away.


          - End of Post.
            Karl,
            Tremere.






    She could do this on her own. She knew she could. Rachelle had 
refused her... she wasn't surprised actually. Still, sometimes she 
wondered. That girl had a worse temper than Airegon herself did. It 
was quite funny in a way though.

    Airegon slowly wandered around the complex. She was looking to 
see if there was a way she could get in where there were only a few 
guards. She knew it would help if she had other people with her, but 
not now. Now it would only attract attention, and that was not what 
Airegon needed. Her plan would not be ruined before it even came 
into action...

    *****The Next Night****

    Looking around the dark alleys, Airegon ducked as she heard 
voices. Tonight would be the night. Yes, tonight she would start a 
family.
    A group of tough looking guys had now walked into view. After 
they had gone past her, Airegon stepped out of the shadows directly 
behind them and attacked. The start of her new family had begun.


            - End of Post.
              Airegon,
              Brujah.






Dinner at Margaret's parents' house tonight. Frank sighed. His wife 
was in one of her moods today and he knew the flame of her 
antagonism would only be fuelled by the 'nurturing' environment of 
her childhood home. Margaret's folks would make sure that fire was 
stoked. They couldn't wait until she finally decided to leave Frank. 
They hated him.

All in all, he really wasn't looking forward to it. Maybe he could 
stay home, claim a headache or something. No, he sighed, it'd never 
work. He'd just have to suck in his gut and bear the wrath of his 
in-laws for a night. If he got through the evening, surely he'd be 
the stronger for it? If not the deader.

Frank stopped for a moment on the chilly sidewalk. The darkness 
wrapped around him like the warm clothes his mother used to make him 
wear when he was a child. It was oppressive, suffocating. He 
shivered as his ears strained. Had there been a sound?

No, he realized, not a sound. A vibration picked up by his ears, but 
somehow not a sound. Frank didn't know what it was, but it seemed to 
be coming from the littered and urine-smelling alley to his right. 
Not really the curious type, Frank picked up the pace and scurried 
on. None of his business what was going on in there.

But he didn't get much further. It suddenly felt like the air about 
his legs was the consistency of molasses (a memory flash - consuming 
vast quantities of thick molasses as a child in Oregon) and they 
stopped moving altogether. Confused, Frank angled his wildly darting 
eyes down to his feet.

There was a soft mist flowing freely between and around his 
black-clothed legs, gray-green swirls slipping past thick wollen 
socks (a 'wonderful' Christmas gift from his wife) and tenderly 
caressing his scuffed shoes. He stood for a moment, watching the 
seemingly living mist capture his lower half, with a kind of 
detached curiosity. Frank's mind had fled the playing field, 
gamboling freely somewhere in the tall green grass that demarcated 
the borders of the game area. The only part of him that moved were 
his eyes. Those blue and white orbs flickered across the bizarre 
scene at his feet, never settling on any one place for longer than 
half a second; they moved as though possessed. But in fact they were 
the only part of Frank Humbert's body still under his cognitive 
control.

The mist climbed up his body, and as he felt the intangible 
sliminess that froze his soul, something inside Frank screamed. But 
his body was calm.

Its fate was sealed.



         - End of Post.
           Frank Humbert,
           Kine.
           Posted by Rutger Leick.






Alain Roche looked up from the parchment that had been the focus of 
his attention: an ancient manuscript. His quarters, just off the 
side of the Prince's throne room, were something that he had to get 
used to - still, he spent as little time as possible there. Slowly 
but surely he was installing the latest electronic equipment, 
microphones no larger than a dime, motion detectors, infra-red 
sensors beyond the spectral range of his Kindred's vision. Even 
spells of warding had been cast. His quarters were now safer than 
that of the new Prince.

How he missed the old Laplace. He was sure that Laplace would have 
dealt far more severely with his murdering of Grogan.

Alain was quickly establishing a core, an elite, of those around him 
whose speciality was intelligence and stealth. What alarmed him more 
and more was the ever increasing reference to "Cray". For some 
reason the name stirred a deep hatred within him. Alain was not sure 
whether this was some prescient warning, or a past memory not yet 
making its way to the surface.

Alain sighed; he wanted so desperately to hear what Karenthuras had 
to say about their new Prince and the name Cray. He wondered how 
Rand would react to his new position - another one he needed as a 
friend... "Wait until the blossom falls before you gather the 
leaves," Alain smiled, reflecting upon something Nikko had always 
said. But a sense of foreboding entered him. No! He would increase 
his state of preparation for all-out warfare. The spells, 
enchantments that he had thus far learned, had to be extended. He 
would refresh himself of the most ancient of Lore. The ancient rites 
would be prepared. He would gather enough force around him to kill 
an old god. Fear, unease gathered. Mentally he had to calm himself 
as he saw, just for one second, how weak they all were.

-Divided we are falling....

His vision clouded, a memory: that which happened in Japan could so 
very easily happen here, except for one difference - in Japan their 
codes of honor and duty had saved them all.

It was time, before the sun gave rise to a new dawn, for him to go 
home and send a few messages, to call in favors from those scattered 
over the rest of the world. By tomorrow, if Cray had ever been seen 
before or heard of, he would know what or who he was dealing with. 
He just wanted to make sure that Cray would underestimate him...

No one ever takes fool seriously, he just had to make sure that Cray 
would think he was a fool. For that he needed the other Tremere. 
Tremere - dangerous friends, deadly foes. Alain just hoped that they 
could live up to the past.



              - End of Post.
                Alain Roche,
                Tremere Primogen.






The Sabbat leader in New Chelsea lit up a cigar and plopped it 
between his pale, chapped lips. He couldn't inhale the smoke, of 
course, but he liked to watch the ghostly patterns of gray mist 
swirling before his eyes. It reminded him of lazy days a century or 
so ago, before he had Become.

Not that Cochrane regretted his immortal status for an instant. He 
was Kindred - more than that, he was Sabbat - and the power that 
gave him was intoxicating. To live forever was a special gift 
indeed, one given to very few on this Earth. And Michael Cochrane 
was glad he was one of those few.

But there were still pleasures from human days that he missed from 
time to time. Smoking chief among them. It had been so very long 
since nicotine gave up its strangle hold on Cochrane, but the feel 
of the cigar between is teeth, the warm weight of the smoke 
corroding his lungs, the sticky smell that stained his clothing and 
his gray hair, these he still desired. Now all he could do was go 
through the motions, observe the outward formalities of a good 
smoke. It was as much a lie as the Masquerade.

"I still fail to understand your need for that habit, Mr Cochrane," 
came a familiar, smooth voice from somewhere in the darkness of 
Cochrane's study. He started slightly, but by now was used to Cray's 
sudden appearances and disappearances. True, he hadn't heard from 
his Sabbat superior in quite a while now, but realized he should 
have been expecting him. He always showed up when you had just 
forgotten about him.

"I enjoy it," Cochrane said somewhat defensively, the bristles on 
the back of his neck standing on end for reasons of their own.

"A lie of course," came the gently humorous tones of Cray's velvet 
voice, and a shadow moved against the blackness of the dark room. He 
was walking, a silhouette among a pool of shadow. Briefly Cochrane 
thought about turning on the overhead lights, despite his aversion 
to them. You see it would annoy Cray, who preferred for some reason 
to remain unseen (why? Cochrane knew what he looked like) - however 
chances were Cray had rigged them not to work. He liked to perform 
little tricks like that, just for show. Strange man (correction - 
not a man at all).

Cray's liquid words continued to flow: "You can't enjoy it at all 
any more. All you can do is sit there and pretend you gain some 
perverse pleasure from destroying your long-dead body. A corpse 
cannot gain that kind of pleasure, Michael."

The (mocking?) tones of the mysterious Cray dug deep into Cochrane's 
necrotic flesh, causing great irritation in the Sabbat leader. Did 
Cray have something important to say or was he just here to bug 
Cochrane?

"Say what you came here to say, Cray," Cochrane growled, annoyed at 
the nursery rhyme flow of his sentence (what a lovely day, won't you 
come and play, you know that horses eat hay).

Was that a laugh? If so, quiet. "Getting impatient are we?" Cray's 
even voice answered. "Careful not to overstep your limits, Michael." 
Where was his shadow now? Cochrane's weak eyes couldn't make it out. 
The voice gave no hint as to Cray's position either, seeming to come 
from all around. "I am here, Michael, because you and your Sabbat 
crew do not seem to understand the importance of your task."

"We are gaining in strength!" Cochrane almost roared, slamming an 
angry fist against his heavy oak table (damn that hurt!). "The safe 
houses are full; we are almost ready to invade."

"Invade?" the hint of an emotion crept into Cray's voice. 
Interesting... "That's not what I'm talking about. The sword, 
Michael. Where's the sword?"

The sword? He must mean the Masamune. But what? Why would a Sabbat 
overlord be obsessing over a simple hand weapon when the Black Hand 
was poised to overthrow the Camarilla once and for all? It was 
almost as if he didn't care about the takeover any more at all.

"Masamune?" Cochrane's voice betrayed him, allowing some of his 
shock and confusion to seep into it, tainting it like a bitter 
poison tasted in your beverage, revealing to you your impending 
death. "I don't have time to deal with that right now."

"Don't have time!" The voice was a deafening roar, a strong wind 
whistling about the room. Cochrane's suit whipped in the torrent, 
his eyes watered from the sting of the racing wind. His dead ears 
rang from the sudden noise, and he fell in pain and fear to the 
floor, his eyes shut against the storm around him. What was going 
on?

Apparently nothing. Michael Cochrane got up, and looked about him. 
Three candles burned along the window sill and now he remembered 
having lit them an hour ago (that rotschreck was hard to overcome 
though) - so where had they been during Cray's visit?

Cray's visit? There was no sign of his presence. Cochrane had just 
began to think he had fallen asleep, dreamed the whole encounter, 
when he noticed a short sentence hovering in the air before him. 
Words, floating stationary in the center of the room. Frowning, 
Cochrane allowed them to slip into his mind, penetrating his ears to 
go directly to the brain.

- Before all else, collect Masamune -

That's what he would do. Get the Masamune. It was, quite obviously, 
his first priority.

The sword must be recovered.


          - End of Post.
            Michael Cochrane,
            Sabbat leader.
            Posted by Rutger Leick.






   Everything was dark. His eyes were open but no light was present. 
Frost got to his feet. The darkness was like a shroud, wrapped 
around him, protecting him from what he should not see.

   "You're awake, good," the soft feminine voice seemed to come from 
all around him. "Much has happened since you were brought here. Soon 
it will be too late to return you to your plane of existence."

   "Who said that? Where am I? Why am I here?"  Frost's questions 
seemed to trail off into infinity as if nothing were around to hear 
him.

   "I am the guardian of eternity, and you lie at the edge of the 
abyss between the land of life and the land of death. I brought you 
here so that the dark being could not destroy you. He believes you 
are dead, that will be a great advantage."

   "You brought me here when the spell hit me." Frost felt around 
for his sword. "Where's my sword?"

   "Masamune is safe, it remained in the land of life because its 
power cannot be transferred to this plain."  The voice stopped as if 
disturbed by something. "Not much time remains - you must listen 
carefully. Now the oracle of this realm will speak; heed her words, 
for they are those of one to which the future is open."

   As the guardian's voice faded a new voice appeared in its place. 
A harder one, like the voice of a diamond. "Fredrick Frost, chosen 
one... but pawn of evil. Holder of Masamune, your destiny is still 
clouded in darkness, a darkness that can only be seen through in 
shattered pieces. I shall reveal the parts I can see; do with it 
what you will." All was silent for a moment. Frost tried to speak 
but found the words remained stuck in his throat. "The darkness that 
lies in the path of others rises from the darkness behind you. The 
truth as you have known it is a lie, the dark man has made you see 
what he wished you to see so that he might control your destiny - he 
is the darkness behind you.  A light ahead of you... a woman, she who 
guards Masamune in your absence, she is the one who has freed you 
from darkness. She is the one who will help you gather forces to 
fight the dark man. A king, only recently having gained the throne, 
he is the ultimate pawn of darkness in this battle. He must be dealt 
with before the battle can begin; if he fights many will fall. A 
warrior who is shrouded in darkness, his loyalty must be gained, but 
be careful for he is bound by a code of honor. Finally the leader of 
a dark cause, his role I cannot clearly see, but he is important - 
perhaps even the key to victory. I have spoken; heed my words."

   "Much time has already passed since you were removed from the 
plane of life." The voice was the guardian once again. "I offer you 
a gift: it is an amulet. When the day of final battle comes it will 
grant you great power, but it will only work once and for but a 
short time. Use it wisely."  Frost felt metal form around his neck 
and down onto his chest. "I shall send you to Masamune."

   Frost felt himself being pulled away. Rivers of space and time 
fell in torrents around him, washing away the world where he stood. 
A moment later, he was in the living room of his apartment where 
Rachelle sat at the kitchen table looking at blueprints. Suddenly 
she looked up and saw him, stared at him in shock. Then she ran over 
to him and held him tightly to her. She didn't speak, she didn't 
question him, she simply knew it was him and wanted to hold him.

   "Hi, kid." He kissed her forehead softly. "Have I got a story to 
tell you."


         - End of Post.
           Fredrick Frost,
           Caitiff.






"What is this?" came one of the voices around him. "Where are we?"

"Be quiet," Kazha warned his companions. The world was bright and 
full, even though it may have been what the mortal inhabitants of 
the realm referred to as 'night'. But centuries of living below the 
ground had accustomed their kind to a much more oppressive darkness 
than any that humans or vampires could imagine.

The thought of their lengthy imprisonment sent the disparate 
particles in Kazha's physical form scattering about at greater 
speeds. Anger burned in his gaseous body. If he could spit, he 
would, and the heat of it would melt the concrete that paved this 
sidewalk. To be held at bay by one of the Necrosynes - it was enough 
to drive one mad.

But, oh, the power in that one! His simple presence was enough to 
lock their entire race (or near enough) beneath the hard surface of 
this vile planet, trapped among the rocks and dirt that the human 
race trod upon with their unclean feet. He had wielded some strength 
like none had ever seen, though in the end Kazha's people could 
sense his madness.

They had been waiting, you see, biding their time. From the depths 
they had called together the fragments of the Crystal of Darkness, a 
source of power they had brought with them millennia ago. It had 
been completed (oh how they had rejoiced at the song of its 
reunion!) but something had failed. The vessel had turned against 
them, bringing the jewel down to them, rather than summoning them up 
to it. Now Specter and the Crystal were forever trapped beneath the 
Earth's surface, doomed to live together for eternity, sealed in 
walls of granite.

It was the only punishment Kazha and his kin could arrange for her - 
eternal life encased in granite.

There had been other attempts, of course. Their kinsman, Lorac 
Majere, had been far too selfish and weak for the task, but they had 
succeeded when the One came to them. Their savior, their servant, 
their family. He who was now called Cray. He had created a war, had 
set the Necrosynes against one another, and amidst the distraction 
had arranged the death of the Guardian. And now they were free.

But their bodies would not return for some time. For now, the 
ancient ones crept through the streets as mist, swallowing up their 
prey and absorbing the physicality of the victims. It wouldn't take 
long.

Kazha Dhum would be whole again, would lead his people against the 
parasites that had erected their foul construction on the land. Once 
again humans would be their slaves, their food, and their 
entertainment.

It was time for them to live again.

But for now, there was little they could do. But wait. And watch. 
And whisper.

Soon.


          - End of Post.
            Kazha Dhum,
            Ancient One.
            Posted by Rutger Leick.






Alain Roche hunched over an ancient tome, something he had inherited 
from a very old friend. The incantations were complex, the form 
ancient. Years of trained discipline bore fruit; spells, 
incantations, almost in their hundreds were deeply imbedded into his 
mind. As a sorcerer and a mystic he would cause any opponent one 
hell of a nightmare.

Alain had instructed more explosives to be set within the Japanese 
quarter. Soon he would have to follow Sun Tzu's edict upon the 
unbalancing of his opponent. He had to make them be fearful. Fear 
generated hasty reactions, and hasty reactions would result in 
mistakes.

A knock on the door caught his attention, and: "Hai." His captain, 
Ho-Tsuru entered.

Ryu smiled. "The news? Is it good?"

The captain shook his head. "It is worse, far worse than we expected 
Ryu." (The formalities were dropped, this was a private meeting; 
with no Gai-Jinn - foreigners/strangers - present.)

Alain examined the reports on Cray. Somehow, even though he was 
disturbed, Alain feared less. He was beginning to understand the 
measure of the daemon. Alain nodded. "Mmmm, time to act Ho-Tsuru. Do 
you play Go?"

The question caught the man off guard. A puzzled expression, then 
the reply, "Hai."

"Good," responded Alain, "then you will know that we must initiate 
the stages: Confining the cranes to their nest, the running attack, 
and then the counting of the pieces..." Ho-Tsuru nodded. "Tonight we 
will detonate the fire-traps and bombs of the largest safe house we 
know of, that should unsettle them. Secondly, this report will be 
delivered to Leick, as well as to Karenthuras and Rand and all the 
other Primogen. Then I will watch." More importantly, Alain thought, 
I will try and kill Cray. But for that I would need to bind him so 
that he could only fight me physically. "Saki?" Ho-Tsuru nodded.

"To honor." Both agreed.

Ryu smiled. "Ho-Tsuru, can we get any help from the Kindred in 
Japan: especially Tencho, the sorceress?"

Ho-Tsuru laughed, "Yes, I am sure that it could arranged."

"By the way," the Tremere Primogen said suddenly, "I want everyone 
to look for a sword called Masamune, that is if Fredrick Frost has 
not re-materialised." Something in the Thaumaturgist's bones told 
him this feat may have been somehow accomplished. "Rachelle Proulx, 
one of our kind, has it. Protect her fully. If Frost is there then 
let him know that I want to meet him. Tell him it is urgent; we both 
have to play a game in which we must be seen to oppose each other. 
So that when we both strike in unison, true fear will be generated." 
Ho-Tsuru nodded.

Later, in solitude, Alain smiled. He was looking forward to death, 
unfortunately so far it had always seemed to avoid him. Suicide was 
never an option. Ever since Nikko; he knew he had a way back, a way 
back to a human soul. He chuckled, wondering how Frost would react 
to his message later this evening. Well every Sorcerer has his own 
secrets. Cray had been too confident to ask a few questions that 
would have given some interesting answers.



           - End of Post.
             Alain Roche,
             Tremere Primogen.






   Her family was great now, at least fifty members. Quite fun to 
work with actually. They all listened to her and followed her every 
command. Airegon's Progeny had been trained well and fought 
extremely well. It was amazing that they had learned so much and so 
well in such a small amount of time. But now she must not think 
about that; now it was time for her plan to take effect.

   Upon reaching the complex, Airegon told her 'people' to surround 
the building and attack and enter it upon her command.

   With a laugh Airegon whispered, "Here I come Rutger... my revenge 
at last."

   Then with a final burst of laughter Airegon shouted: "Now!"

   Bursting through the window, they were almost immediately 
attacked by guards... but the fact that their attack was by surprise 
gave Airegon enough time to avoid most of the guards and head toward 
the throne room. It was where Leick was, she could feel it in her 
bones, and she would have her revenge. She hated Leick so much now; 
it was his time to find out just how much she really hated him.

   Suddenly, just as she was about to burst through the door to the 
throne room, a picture of Frost appearing in a room with Rachelle 
flashed into her head. Rachelle - the thought of her and her refusal 
to help made Airegon angrier than she already was, as bloody tears 
began to fall down her face. She missed Frost so much. And Rachelle, 
she had taken him from her. Airegon would never let herself believe 
anything but that... never!

   Now though, she must finish what she had come here to do 
originally  - then maybe she could get her revenge on Rachelle.

   Throwing open the door to the throne room Airegon ran inside, 
slicing the heads off two guards with one flash of her sword. Then 
piercing another in the gut she advanced on Leick. Airegon realized 
that two of her Childer had joined her and were following closely 
behind.

   "If I don't succeed in what I came here to do," she whispered to 
her Childer, "please finish the job for me. That is the last thing I 
will ever ask of you, even if I succeed and still live through this 
nightmare."

   "We will Airegon, don't worry. You have our word of honor," her 
offspring replied.

   Now though she wasn't paying any attention; she was watching 
Leick who was in turn watching her with a very amused look upon his 
face. Then it turned to anger. This girl was a good fighter he could 
tell (those familiar movements - could only be from that fool Frost) 
and she meant to kill him - he could see it in her eyes. And just 
look what had she done to his home: she had destroyed everything and 
nearly everyone. Though that wasn't to say she hadn't suffered 
either. She had only two members of her birth family left and her 
anger had appeared to drive her mad. No one in their right mind 
would come after him, not while he was so strong. Then he flinched, 
vaguely surprised, as she charged him, preparing to attack.

   "Stop!" Leick roared, standing and unleashing the full power of 
his Presence on them. All three Cainites froze, trapped like flies 
in treacle. Airegon's eyes caught a glimpse of some strange and 
familiar shadow just out of reach of her gaze.

   Every muscle in the young Brujah's body strained against her 
invisible bonds, but it was of no use. Whatever force held her 
there, it was immutable.

   In horror, the anarchic girl watched as her two Childer burst 
into flames, surrounded by white funnels of wind as they burned, 
screaming shrilly while their dead bodies decayed to dust. Airegon's 
teeth ground together, causing shots of pain through her skull. She 
somehow knew that every one of her Progeny had met their Final Death 
at the same moment.

   "You!" the Prince glowered, stepping closer to the trapped 
Brujah. "I saved your life, and this is how you repay me?"

   The memory of his rescue pained Airegon. Why did he have to bring 
that up? She wanted so desperately to hate him, to rend his every 
limb from that worthless body. But he was right; he HAD saved her 
life.

   Suddenly she was free, her arms slumping automatically to her 
side. Leick turned away from her in disgust, grunting, "Pah!" and 
slumping back to his throne.

   She raised her sword, but knew that today she could not bring 
herself to kill her Elder. He had saved her life once, and spared it 
today, for reasons of his own. Dejected, she began to shuffle out of 
the throne room.

   "And Airegon?" came the deep tones of the Prince's voice, and 
Airegon turned to see his brutish face glaring at her from his perch 
on the ornate chair he used as a throne. "You have violated every 
law we have. If you Beget one more Childe, if you slay a single more 
of our brethren, I will not be so generous as I have this day."

   With that warning, and feeling more than a little uneasy, the 
little Brujah left the premises, weighing the foolishness of her 
acts.


           - End of Post.
             Airegon,
             Brujah.






"Why?" Leick demanded of the shadow in the throne room's corner. 
"Why spare her life?" That placid voice in his mind had spoken to 
him minutes earlier, commanding him (commanding HIM!) not to destroy 
Airegon, as she stood helpless before the large Prince. For now, 
Rutger was content to obey the voice's orders, until such time as 
Leick thought he could rule the city without its help.

A mild chuckle rolled from the dark corner, and the shadow 
solidified to reveal the unassuming form of Cray, Leick's 'Director 
of Current Affairs'. The title made the Brujah sneer in loathing 
(whether at himself or the Director he didn't know). "Because," came 
that silky voice, external once again, "I like her." He grinned. 
"She's so very hostile."

"Well I don't," Leick grumbled petulantly. "That one is far more 
trouble than she will ever be worth to anybody. The next time she 
sets foot in here, I'll have my men stake her and hang her body up 
for all anarchs to look upon her torpor. Death is too good for that 
mite."

"Fair enough," Cray said, hands thrust into pockets as he sauntered 
up towards the dais. "Though, if I may suggest, your girlfriend 
might enjoy the pleasure of the act itself."

"Sherilyn," Leick mused, hand on chin, "would kill the bitch. I 
don't want her dead, I want her on display."

"All this is moot," Cray reminded the Prince, "until such time as 
she enters the complex again. Until then," he held up a finger in 
amused warning, "Airegon remains awake and well. Besides," he said, 
shoving the hand back into his pocket, "there's always the 
possibility of somehow using her against Rachelle Proulx."

Leick frowned. That wasn't the first time Cray had mentioned that 
Caitiff, the former colleague of Fredrick Frost (who, thank Caine, 
was undeniably dead). What did he want with her? There was much that 
Cray wasn't telling Leick, and he didn't appreciate it one bit. But, 
really, what could the Brujah do about it?

"I don't like surprises," Leick grumbled now. "You should have 
warned me what you were going to do to Airegon's coterie."

"Should I now?" Cray said, with the possible hint of anger in his 
voice. "Since I was saving your life, Rutger, I'd think you might be 
a little more grateful."

"Of course," he apologized, hating himself for it. "I thank you. It 
just... took me by surprise is all."

"Well that's part of the fun," he grinned. "Oh, there's someone at 
the door."

A knock sounded, startling Leick somewhat. He cleared his throat and 
called, "Come in!"

A nervous courtier stumbled in, looking with horror at the 
decomposing corpses of Leick's guards by the door. He knew better 
than to stare, however, and approached Leick with a silver tray, on 
which sat a faded piece of paper.

"Sire," he stuttered. "This letter just arrived from the Japanese 
quarter."

"From whom?" Leick frowned. The only one he knew there was...

"Primogen Roche, Sire," the servant informed him. "Or so claimed the 
messenger I spoke with. He bowed and retreated soon after handing me 
this note you see before you. I didn't have time to question him 
about it."

"Thank you," Leick said, lifting the paper from the tray. His 
servant nodded and left quietly, leaving the Prince to read his 
letter in peace. "What's this?" he said loudly, seeing before him 
what appeared to be the history of a foul creature spawned in Hell's 
depths (or so the descriptive language within made it seem). 
Unsurprisingly, the name of the subject was 'Cray'.

"My life's work," Cray smiled, leaning casually on the back of 
Leick's throne. "As a handy, ten page supplement. A little something 
our friend Alain Roche slapped together. A little dry, but there's 
some interesting reading there."

"Why would he send me this?"

"Oh, he sent it to all the important Kindred in town," Cray said. 
"Don't worry; none of them got there."

Not wanting to ask just what Cray meant (or how it was achieved) 
Leick merely wondered, "Then why did I receive mine?"

"There's nothing in there YOU shouldn't see," he shrugged. "It might 
even help you understand me a little better. Don't believe 
everything you read, though," Cray warned with a grin. "Journalists 
today are so unscrupulous."

Leick glared at Cray, who shot back a light, airy gaze. Then the 
Brujah returned his attention to the paper before him.

Oh Caine, forefather of our Kindred, what have I gotten myself into?


             - End of Post.
               Rutger Leick,
               Prince.