The assassin crept in silently through the small opening in the window. The Ventrue fools had left the window cracked open, thinking the space was too small to admit anyone entrance. How little they knew of the ways of the Children of Haqim. It was darker now inside. Morning was fast approaching, and the pair were preparing for bed. Now was the time for Asabi to strike - the time when they would least expect it. He would not be as discrete as was usual. For this kill, his victim's death was to be witnessed by the elder Ventrue - though Asabi's identity must remain concealed. The Assamite wandered down the narrow hall as silently as though he was but a soft breeze blowing across the ground. There. He was just outside the doorway now, looking in on the reclining Cainite who was his target. Her shocking red hair spilled out onto the bed she lay on, looking for all the world like someone who had already died, splayed out in full clothing across her bed. But then, Asabi acknowledged, she had already died - many years ago now. It was her Final Death he had come to oversee. But where was the other? Cheyenne Chitcka, the one who was to witness her companion, Shandrill Moorhar, meeting her doom? A noise behind him; Asabi vanished into the shadows beside him in an instant. The being approaching hadn't noticed. It was her, Cheyenne. She wandered into Shandrill's room, taking a look at the reposing girl. Was Moorhar asleep? Possibly the Chitcka woman was trying to determine that also. Mentally, Asabi willed the witness to move further inside her companion's room. She did so. Asabi prayed a word of silent thanks to Haqim before entering. Chitcka didn't notice his presence at first. The rafiq were trained in stealth, and Asabi was among the better of his kind in that area. Cheyenne Chitcka stood over her (yes, sleeping) friend, watching her with a strange eye. Asabi was certain that she was thinking much the same as Asabi had - how like a dead girl young Moorhar looked today. If one did not know, one would not be able to tell. In her waking hours, of course, Shandrill Moorhar was a vibrant and excitable girl. Though nearly 700 years old, she behaved like little more than a teenager. For some reason, the Ventrue had not been able to develop emotionally past the age of her Embracing - 17 years old. Perhaps some trauma involved in the Becoming (alas, it was often thus for the munafiqun) had precipitated this. Whatever the reason, Shandrill Moorhar was hardly less than a force of nature when awake. It was a powerful life force for one so long dead, and Asabi would enjoy removing it. But now, the child appeared so still and lifeless, it was like a different person altogether. There would indeed be little muruwa for slaughtering one so still, but Asabi's contract had been made. He would perform his duty, to the fullest extent of his abilities. Cheyenne Chitcka caught the Assamite's presence only as he stepped suddenly forward. A shrill shriek of shock and horror escaped her chapped lips as Asabi brought down a fat, curved blade onto Moorhar's neck. The girl never even awoke, her dark blood spilling out in a river down the blue bedspread while her eyes (in the detached head on the floor) remained firmly shut. The blood called out to Asabi, begging him to drink. Like all rafiq, he walked the Path of Blood. But also like all rafiq (excepting the Antitribu) he suffered the curse - that the Blood of Khayyin's Progeny was poison. Someday, Asabi knew, the kafir (especially those wicked Tremere) would receive their punishment. But all would happen in Haqim's time. The clan could wait. Asabi did not expect the attack that came though. The grief-stricken woman lunged at him, her nails bared to scratch at the assassin's face. He was too fast for her and her fangs, which parted to allow a hiss of anger to spit his way. The Assamite ducked to the side, causing Cheyenne Chitcka to fall in a heap on the floor, her own misjudged momentum thrusting her on. By the time she had gotten up, Asabi was gone. Pausing before he escaped by the route he had entered, Asabi listened. Smiling, he heard the sobs as the Venture wept bloody tears for her slain companion. The Assamite's work was done. He had fulfilled his contract, as muruwa demanded. He took a step outside the window, feeling the chill touch of the pre-morning air on his skin. It was crisp, and clean, and clear. Today would indeed be a good... A cold fog rushed over him, drowning the Assamite in its choking gray mass. Muffled within, Asabi was torn to shreds and devoured by a group of hungry Ancient Ones, on their way through the town. - End of Post. Asabi, Assamite. Posted by Rutger Leick. In a small clearing amidst the thick-trunked trees near Rachelle Proulx's apartment, Johnnie Hammond stood idly, casting his gaze round the handful of gathered Cainites that had congregated here. Frost had sent word to them, and although Hammond didn't believe (couldn't believe) quite everything he had been told, he knew enough not to ignore Frost's rallying cry. The Caitiff had been there many times for Johnnie, and it was the least the Gangrel could do to help him out now. Besides, there were strange things afoot in the Gothic City's streets. Johnnie wasn't the superstitious type, but with the things that he had heard, and those glimpses he himself had seen, there was no way the anarch could rightly ignore it. Not completely. The animal in him reacted on its own instincts - something was definitely wrong. And so, in some vain attempt to put right whatever it was that had gone wrong (a rather strange new path for the once incurably rebellious Caitiff), Fredrick Frost had called together anyone that would heed his call. They were gathered here in the clearing, a motley crew indeed. Frost himself was here, of course. And his sometime girlfriend Rachelle (Johnnie was never quite sure just what their relationship was at any given time). Johnnie, natch, and some guy in a long coat he had never seen before. Matthias, the guy had called himself. Hammond had walked the streets of New Chelsea for a few years now, and he'd never seen the guy, nor heard word of him. Odd, but what wasn't these days? They just stood here, no one moving. The large moon (a bulbous lemon shape, on its way back from being full) crept slowly across the sky over their heads, patient as a snail in its long journey. The natural satellite's pale blue light (a faint reflection of the death-dealing sun's rays) illuminated the small group, glinting off metallic weapons where they appeared. Eventually, Fredrick Frost pulled up his wrist, checking his watch. "We've got two more coming," he noted with a huff. "Where the hell are they?" "Let's just get started," Rachelle advised, noting Hammond's restlessness in particular. The two remaining guests nodded in agreement. Frost gave a return nod, and began. "You may have heard," Frost said, his voice sounding shallow in the vast silence of the woods, "about what's been happening in New Chelsea. The strange goings-on. The deaths." "There's always deaths," Hammond interjected. "We don't always mean it, but it happens." "True," Frost nodded. "But I'm talking about Final Deaths here, Kindred deaths. You haven't noticed?" Johnnie shook his head slowly. Matthias, his gray eyes betraying no more emotion than his flat voice, said, "I've seen it." "Then you have some idea," Frost stated. "There's something out there, something..." "Hey!" came a voice from the forest, cutting the Caitiff leader off unintentionally. Two shadowy figures emerged from the darkness, revealing themselves to be muscular, black-clad Gangrel (Johnnie could smell the wolf on them). The first raised a large hand to allay the tension apparent in Frost's stance at being suddenly interrupted. "What's going on?" "Tempest," Frost visibly relaxed. "Glad you could make it. This must be Blackthorn." The other Gangrel nodded noncommitally. Johnnie got the distinct impression that they weren't sure if they wanted to be here or not. A Gangrel himself, Hammond knew how his kind could be. They were stubborn, and most of all they like to work alone - or with others of their kind. This tentative alliance must seem discomforting to them. With Johnnie it was different - he trusted Fredrick with his life (or, unlife). These new Gangrel didn't have that background from which to work from. Waiting for them to take their place in the circle, Frost eventually continued. "Some of you, then, have been aware of the growing threat." "Yeah, I seen it," Tempest growled. "Buncha rebel magicians, that's what I think." "I wish that's all it was," Frost said sharply. Then, his head cocked oddly to the side, he said softly, "You've served it, Tempest. You know what it looks like, how it thinks. That's why you may be of some help in this." Johnnie watched with interest as Tempest's face contorted in fascinating features. Instant resentment popped up first, but softened quickly into cautious introspection. Apparently he realized Frost was right, as the pensive face quickly became pale(r) and fearful, then just as suddenly angry. Finally, it settled somewhere around quietly fuming. It all happened with alarming speed, hard to make out with any clarity. But that was how Hammond saw it anyway. Briefly he wondered how Tempest had served this evil. Was he aware of it? What had he done? Was it a faceless evil? Someone he knew that had been revealed to be part of the threat facing the city? What? These questions, however, would have to be asked another time. "This... thing," Frost went on, "in the city. It's old. Older than... well just about anything else you can imagine. And powerful. Alexander Laplace was holding it at bay, we just didn't know it." "And now that he's dead, it's gotten loose," Hammond finished. "Exactly. It's not strong enough yet to do much damage, but it's gaining every day. Soon there won't be a city left to defend. We have to do something, and quickly." "No problem," Johnnie stated quickly. "We done this kind of thing before, right?" "No," Matthias said quietly. Hammond frowned at him, taking in that placid face and soft gray eyes. "Specter was nothing. She was Kindred, barely older than I am," (Hammond found this remarkably hard to believe, but...), "while this... this is something... else." "He's right," Frost nodded. "It's nothing we've ever faced before, nothing the Kindred race has ever faced before. It's ancient, it's powerful, and it's very, very angry." "And you think the bunch of us is gonna beat it?" Tempest snorted. "We're just gonna get ourselves killed." "Well that's not so bad," Frost said. "Trust me. Anyway, we have... help." "What kind of help?" Johnnie had to ask. "Some people in higher places than us," Frost said with an odd twist of his mouth. "The Tremere Primogen for one." "Tremere!" Tempest hissed. "Michael Cochrane for another," Frost added quickly. "The Sabbat leader?" Hammond asked. "I ain't working with no Sabbat!" Blackthron growled, pointing a finger roughly at Frost. "You'll do whatever needs done, Blackie," Frost snapped back, grabbing the Gangrel's finger with his right fist. "If you want any of us to survive the next few days." He let go of the now sullen Cainite's finger. "This isn't about likes or dislikes." He cast his gaze sequentially round every one of them as he continued his speech. "It's about survival. Our survival, our friends' survival. It's about all Kindred and Kine. It's good versus evil. Or..." he added with a wry grin, " 'not entirely evil' versus evil." "Where'd you get all this crap from anyway?" Tempest huffed. "Someplace we're probably all going before too long," Frost answered evasively, piquing Hammond's interest. "For now, we have to -" And that's when time froze. At least, it froze for Johnnie Hammond. From discussions with the others later, he found that the others had similar experiences. But not Frost. Since Hammond didn't directly experience this portion of time, he couldn't know exactly what went on. But upon coming out of the time freeze, the missing portion of time came upon him in a rush. Much later, he was able to sort out in his mind some of the details of what had happened. At the time though, he hadn't known what was happening. Here's what he pieced together: A shadow that had fallen across an old gnarled oak tree consolidated into a physical from. The blackness fell away, revealing the familiar form of Cray, Prince Leick's "Director of Current Affairs" (meaningless title). The man walked slowly between the frozen bodies, still as statues. It must have been like walking through a wax museum, only Cray enjoyed it much more, knowing that he himself had created these particular exhibits. Soon he came upon Fredrick Frost, the only one of the group not affected by the time freeze. "Hello Frost," Cray said gently. "Long time no see." "Not something I'm currently regretting," the Caitiff sneered. "You left so suddenly last time we talked," Cray went on. "You didn't even say good-bye. How do you think that made me feel?" "Probably not quite as bad as this!" Frost grunted, drawing Masamune and swinging it in a wide arc with one smooth gesture. The sword bit into Cray's neck, and passed right through his body, emerging from the lower side of his chest. The man's eyes had closed, and now they opened with a smile. He was unhurt, unscathed, unruffled. there was no sign that the blade had penetrated, even though Frost had seen it do so. "Now Freddy," Cray crooned. "Is that any way to treat an old friend?" "What do you want Cray?" Frost asked, resigning himself to the fact that he wouldn't win this fight - not tonight. "What I've always wanted," Cray said sweetly. "Your sword, Fredrick. The Masamune." The man's gaze swept very slowly around the motionless group. "Many signs of power here," he breathed. "That one," (pointing to Blackthorn), "has a talisman of sorcery. The old one there," (indicating Matthias), "has the kind of strength that comes from age, and wisdom. But you," he smiled, "you have something much greater. Masamune, aged sword of light and magic. I have to have it Frost. I will have it." "No offense doc," Frost said sharply, "but the only way you're gonna get this sword is to prise it out of my dead hands." "I tried that already," Cray reminded him. "It didn't work. This time, I thought I'd just take it." He reached out a smooth and cold hand. "Give me the sword Frost." Fredrick Frost made no move towards or away from the man, so Cray was forced to take the step forward. His hand closed around Masamune, still held tightly in the Caitiff's grip, and a pink mist flowed around them both. It glowed, absorbing into the contact between Cray's flesh and the folded steel of Masamune. But suddenly, before it could finish its display, Cray jumped back, letting go of his treasured prize. His bright eyes were fixed firmly on an amulet Frost wore around his neck - the one given him by the guardian beyond. An animalistic hiss, one surely not formed by human vocal chords, emitted softly from the man's mouth. Slightly puzzled, but nonetheless taking the upper hand when it was offered him, Frost said, "Find something you didn't like? Too bad; better luck next time." Cray, ducking over like some feral creature of the Earth, loped his way swiftly off into the darkness of the woods. A rush, a rough wind of time blowing the Kindred back to life. "We have to what?" Hammond asked, then felt his forehead woozily. "Whoah! What was that?" He had been puzzled when Frost hadn't finished his sentence, but had suddenly felt the inpouring of buckets of heavy seconds, minutes, on his head. The jumble would sort itself out later, but for now Hammond was disoriented. "I felt it too," Rachelle stated, looked to Frost for answers. "It was nothing," he said in a distant voice, obviously preoccupied now with something else. "Nothing to worry about anyway." The strange, otherworldly tone of Frost's voice worried Johnnie slightly, but soon it was time to continue the lesson, to learn more of the evil they had to fight. And the more Johnnie Hammond learned, the less he wanted to be here. - End of Post. Johnnie Hammond, Gangrel. Posted by Rutger Leick. Blues, that what it appeared as primarily. The many threads of time shot past Nalal who stood, a mite against the giant backdrop of blue time. Small strings of what was, tunnels of what will be. All interwove, creating a tapestry of the history, and futures, of this Earth as well as others. As a spider on his enormous web, Nalal crept along the temporal pathways, seeking the answers that might save them all. A wind ruffled Nalal's bright red hair, sweeping through the tangled strands that twisted and turned in the breeze. The feel of the temporal wind was soft and cool on his astral body, and Nalal relaxed in the gentle calm of it. His gait slowed and he walked the narrow path like a tightrope, closing his matter-less eyes as he traversed the time fold. Patience. He would get there. Eventually, the Toreador's astral body collided with an energy wall, and he opened his eyes to look at its pulsating purple glow. Indeed, this was it. The barrier. The one that blocked their way. Nalal understood it now, but he had to test it once more, to determine how their chances were of getting rid of it. Taking a deep breath, Nalal allowed his body to dissipate through the membranous walls of the time stream. Like a gas he slipped into the tunnel, coalescing once more on the inside. Looking around, he saw just how little opportunity they had to win this war. And it was about to get worse. A tremor sounded, and the blue walls shook, moving imperceptibly inwards. In a moment, they lurched forward, closing rapidly on Nalal. No! This was their only chance, the only hope of Kindred kind for survival! He could not allow it to collapse, but what could one Cainite do against the natural force of time? And then the words Nalal had read (it seemed so long ago now) came back to him in a flash: "Yes, the truth is revealed. At the time when the Voice shall read the Words, he shall scatter them to the four winds. The truth will forever be broken, but available to all. Now is Hope. Now is Destruction. Now is the Final Death." He had had little notion at the time (a chuckle at the appropriate turn of phrase) of what this passage had meant, but now it suddenly seemed so clear. Time, as he had known, was not something solid. It twisted and turned, always changing, phasing in and out of existence. Nalal saw now that his travels on the pathways had done the very thing he had been trying to avoid - they had locked in place the future he saw. It was Nalal's footfalls that had solidified this tragedy that had befallen the city. The future is ours. It is what we make it. It is how we destroy it. But no! Nalal refused to believe that the only way for Kindred salvation was to doom themselves. He could not believe in a universe that would cheat so cruelly. For the first time in his life, Nalal understood his purpose, and he surrendered himself to it completely. All the temporal pressure, the dephasing stress, that had built up inside the Toreador released now. He finally became the non-corporeal matter he had known he would eventually become. But his last will was to order his energy into a specific form - a brace (to use a meaningless-in-this-situation physical term). His energy held open the pathway, to keep it from closing. At first, Nalal wondered how long he could hold it for. Then he laughed (as well as a non-physical being out of phase with space-time itself can) at the thought. How long? - End of Post. Nalal, Toreador. Posted by Rutger Leick. Frost peered across the table at Alain Roche and Michael Cochrane. The two leaders were staring at each other with looks of hatred and disdain. If they kept this up they would kill each other before the battle against Cray even began. "Hey guys!" Frost snapped his fingers. "Your little staring contest is getting us nothing." He paused but it didn't appear the mood of either of his guests had changed. They were looking at him now though, so some progress was being made. Frost decided to continue. "In two nights we will attack Rutger Leick inside his complex. The point of this is to remove Leick by force therefore isolating Cray. Once Leick is disposed of we will turn everything we have on Cray. Now I need a report on the strength of your individual forces." Cochrane was the first to speak. "My forces are three hundred fifty-four strong as of this morning. When the Sabbat heard of Cray's apparent defection they were most willing to supply me with men. They are all at your disposal Frost." Alain Roche spoke only a moment after Cochrane had finished. His voice was cold and controlled as always. I have but twenty-five soldiers under my command, but they are the very best assassins and warriors that there are." He finished and silence seemed to envelop him. "Well add the five that I collected from the local population and that makes a good little army." He looked at Roche and then at Cochrane. "If you gentlemen have any problems with each other I suggest you leave them here and forget about them. The coming battle will require all of us to sacrifice something precious; chances are it won't be what you expected either." Neither of the two said anything so Frost felt he should continue. "Ok then. In two nights at exactly 9:00pm we attack the complex. This is going to be made to look like a standard Sabbat raid. Mike, your forces have to hit the lower floors of the complex hard and fast. Occupy the bulk of Leick's forces and force him to close off those lower floors. Roche, your people will go in on the roof and close in on Leick's throne room quietly. Me and the others I collected will use Blackthorn's amulet to teleport to Leick and, if necessary, kill him." Frost looked at them one more time. "If you should run into Cray do not fight him. Try to get away. If you fight Cray you will die." - End Of Post. Fredrick Frost, Chosen One. The shallow light from beyond the window wrapped itself round Fredrick Frost, whose tense form sat slouched at the table. The pale moonlight slid in and around him, isolating the Caitiff from the rest of the world. Much depended on this one, and it weighed heavily on him. But the silence in the still apartment was soon to be broken. The wood surrounding the door splintered suddenly, and a dark form was revealed beyond it, one leg raised high in the air. It hung there, suspended, for a moment, while the startled Frost took in the situation, and then both feet were on the floor and the figure moved inside while Frost shot to his feet. The soft blue luminescence from the moon's glow outside the window slowly illuminated the figure, revealing in minute steps the form and detail of the sudden intruder. Dark, sturdy boots edged cautiously but firmly forward on the floor. Above them, tight pants clung stealthily to the wearer's shapely legs, and then the blue light revealed a bulky leather jacket, bulging with secretly stored weapons ready to be used. A slender hand clutched a wooden stake tightly and tensely, and with one step forward her face was fully bathed in moonlight. Frost gasped as he saw her identity. It was Victoria Treagard. "Hello Frost," she said in a crisp voice, anger calmly patient under the surface. Her wooden stake raised threateningly but playfully to chest level. "Been a while." "I... guess so," Fredrick said warily, holding his hands out in full sight so as not to provoke attack. He knew the weapon couldn't kill him, but once immobilized he would be very vulnerable. And this wasn't the time to take chances. "What are you doing here Victoria?" "Isn't it obvious?" she asked. "I'm here to kill you." She scratched her chin idly with the point of the wooden implement. "You know, I never did thank you for what you did with my theater. Place really looks great now, y'know?" "I'm sure we can discuss... appropriate reward," Frost said slowly. "Why don't you put that thing down and we'll talk." "Oh no, Freddy," Vicky snorted a humorless laugh. "There's no discussion here. You'll get payment in full, I promise you." "Think about what you're doing." "Oh I have," Vicky nodded dreamily. "It's all I've thought about since being forced out of town. And now, Mr Frost," she raised her weapon, "I think I owe you something." She fell backwards suddenly, grabbed from behind by Rachelle Proulx. Vicky was taken completely off guard, having forgotten briefly that this was Rachelle's place. Not one to be outdone, certainly not in her moment of glory, Vicky sent her pretty head back forcefully into the Caitiff's nose, causing Rachelle to loosen her grasp of the Ventrue. Taking the advantage, Vicky jabbed her elbow back into Rachelle's face, then spun round, plunging the wooden stake deep into her attacker's chest. Rachelle fell motionless to the ground, and Vicky turned back to the advancing Fredrick Frost, whipping out another stake. "Huh-uh," she warned the Caitiff. "You stay right where you are." And she brushed some loose strands of hair away from her face. "What's the point?" Frost wondered. "You're just gonna stake me with that anyway." "I guess you're right," Vicky shrugged, and tossed the weapon expertly at Frost's chest. He was too close to be able to react in time, and merely closed his eyes, awaiting the torpor that would overtake him. It never came. Frost's eyes opened to see Vicky frozen in place, and the wooden stake hovering in space before his heart. He frowned. Another time freeze? Was Cray responsible? +No+ came a voice from the still air. +I placed this here for you, in this moment+ "Nalal?" Frost asked. +Yes+ came confirmation. +I am no longer with you, but before my departure I put this here. Use it wisely. There is something you need from her. Feel it+ Before Frost could answer, he felt the tug of time's flow, and he quickly grabbed the wooden stake before it plunged into his dead flesh. "What?" Vicky gasped. "You don't have Celerity, I know it! How did you...?" "Long story," Frost frowned, all aggressive thoughts gone. He knew now that Vicky had a place in the plan, that Nalal had told him about this before. But what was it? Looking there, at the despicable Ventrue who wanted him dead, Frost wondered just what she could possibly do for him. - End of Post. Vicky Treagard, Ventrue. Posted by Rutger Leick. Frost stared at Victoria Treagard for a second. She was still looking at the stake in his hand. He saw she was reaching down for a weapon. Frost quickly picked up Masamune and put it to her throat. This action was more out of instinct than actual aggressiveness. Victoria stopped her motion towards her weapon and stood up straight, letting her arms fall to her side. "You have me, so do what you're going to do. Others will avenge me." "Others will avenge me," Frost repeated mockingly. "If I had a penny for every time I heard that from a Ventrue... well I would have a really big pile of pennies." Frost withdrew the sword from her throat and let it fall to his side. Her expression did not change although her eyes betrayed her feeling of shock. "I don't want to kill you... now that doesn't mean I won't if I'm forced to. Sit down, we have a lot to talk about." "We have nothing to talk about. Only one of us can leave here alive and you're a fool if you think I'm going to be the one who dies," Treagard sneered. He saw her eyes narrow and a look of concentration pass over her. "You're getting weak Frost, you're tired, you can barely move your arms. All you want to do is sleep." "Vicky," Frost interrupted. "Stop it with the feeble mind tricks; they don't work on me." "Well maybe this will!" Victoria pulled a stake from her leg just above her boot. She lunged at Frost holding the stake before her. Frost was ready for the attack this time. He sidestepped the thrust and, putting his leg out, he knocked her down into a chair. "Good, you're sitting now so we are making some progress." Before she could get back up Frost grabbed her wrist and cut it with a small knife. The pain from the wound caused Treagard to drop the stake. Frost collected it off the floor quickly and proceeded to throw it into the corner of the room. "I know you don't like me very much for what I did to you." She hissed at him as he spoke. "I am sorry for what I did. I can't possibly expect to justify everything I have done with words. The blood that I've put on my hands in the name of what I thought was right can never be excused." Victoria's head bobbed to the side. Either she wanted to listen to him or she was looking for a way to kill him. Either way Frost decided to continue. "For almost a century hate drove me onwards. It never for a moment let me forget that it was the Ventrue that stole my life... my child. It was them who enslaved me so that I couldn't save my brothers and sisters from my wife's mad rampage. It was that hatred which drove me to fight hundreds upon hundreds of Ventrue in the name of revenge. It was that which drove me to destroy your theater and everything you held dear. It's the same hate that now drives you to kill me." Her eyes began to glare with hatred again as she remembered her reason for coming here. Frost continued anyway. "Now this place, the whole world even, are faced with the greatest threat imaginable. It's an evil that can't be described with words, something so dark that Kindred and Kine are at risk. I think that I'm the only one who can stop it." He paused, trying to read her expression. Her face was awash with conflicting thoughts and emotions. "Everyone has something they fight for. My whole life, that 'something' has been revenge for the loss of my past..." Victoria interrupted him: "What are you fighting for now Frost?" He thought he heard a sigh in her voice as she spoke. Her voice was softer than it had been a moment ago. Less filled with anger; that at least was a positive sign. "Now I'm fighting for her," he said, pointing at the crippled Rachelle lying on the floor with the stake in her chest. "I know my future comes to an end soon. Every fiber in my body is screaming it. But I can still save her future. I failed once long ago, I couldn't stop her from being born into darkness. That has been my most painful regret. Now I am not about to let her future end." He sighed. "In my life, Victoria, I have done many horrible things and I have a thousand regrets... a thousand regrets," he repeated as single tear rolled down his cheek leaving behind it a soft trail of red. "I don't know what else to say to you Victoria." He paused, trying futilely to gauge her emotions. "Nalal told me that I need something from you. Well what that thing is I have no idea. The coming fight isn't really yours so I don't ask for your support." He looked at his feet. "Maybe all I needed from you is to be able to put my past sins behind me. I honestly have no idea what else to say or do. So the next move is yours." A frowning look of intense emotion (what emotion Frost couldn't say) flickered across Vicky's eyes, and then her foot snapped back under the chair she sat on, breaking off one leg. In an instant she was on her feet, sharp wood in her hand, and Frost could not even react as she did so. Her hand shot back, then thrust forward... embedding the wood into the wall. "Just for the record," she said softly, walking away from the Caitiff, "I could have killed you tonight, Fredrick Frost" He could not think of a suitable reply, only saying, "Where are you going?" The Ventrue paused in the splintered doorway, her back to the prey she had let live. She sighed. "I'm going to see Iliana. You'll have whatever Ventrue force you need. Just don't expect me to be with them." And before Frost could utter a word, she was gone, leaving broken doors, broken chairs, and broken people behind her. - End of Post. Fredrick Frost, Chosen One. Frost sat on a park bench where he could clearly see the clock tower. His back was towards the Bezoar complex. The clock read 8:45 - not much time now. He heard Rachelle's steps behind him. He'd come to recognize the sound she made when walking, like a dog recognizes the sound of it's master's voice. He turned to face her. He saw the others standing around in a random formation behind her. Matthias stood alone with his back to a tree, while Blackthorn, Tempest and Hammond were conversing. "It's almost time," Rachelle said, forcing a smile. "Listen Fredrick, I wasn't going to say good-bye because I didn't want to face the possibility that you won't be coming back." She paused and tried to gulp. A futile action since she was dead. "But if you don't come back and I never get to say good-bye I'll never forgive myself. I just want to say that..." Frost cut her off. "I know kid, you don't even have to say it," Frost looked up into her glittering eyes. "I want to Fred. I have to say it. I've never said it before, I always knew that you knew. I just want to hear the words come out of my mouth." She closed her eyes in anticipation of the moment. "I love you." "I love you too kid," Frost said softly, moving closer to her. "Believe me, if there is any way for me to come back I will. I won't leave you." "I know you won't." A rose red tear rolled down her cheek. "But I am glad to have heard you say that." She opened her eyes and leapt into Frost's arms, wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him. The embrace lasted for only a very short time, but for Frost it seemed an eternity of happiness and joy all in one moment. She let go of him and he felt her lips pull away. As they did the clock began to ring. "It's time," she whispered. "Please come back to me." "I'll try," he said once again staring in her eyes. Frost felt a hand touch his shoulder. It was Matthias. He bobbed his head in the direction of the other three. Hammond, Tempest and Blackthorn each had a hand on the amulet of teleportation. Matthias and Rachelle moved quickly towards it. Frost followed a step behind them. As the last chime wrung he heard the sounds of the Sabbat warriors charging the building. A moment later he was inside the heart of the complex. In Leick's throne room. Leick was sitting in the ornate chair. He had not heard them arrive. Frost signaled the others to close the doors. They crept off towards the unattended doors and shut them, locking them at the same time. The sound of the doors closing shook Rutger from his reverie. "What's going on here? I asked not to be disturbed!" Leick snapped before even looking at was in the room. Soon however his eyes fell on Frost. A look of horror poured over his face. "You! You can't be here! You're dead!" "You're not looking so good yourself my prince," mocked Frost. "If I'm not mistaken we have some unfinished business to take care of." He could see Leick slowly tensing preparing to do battle. "But since I'm such a nice guy I'll give you a choice. Leave here now and I let you live. Or you can stay and I'll have your head on a platter. The choice is yours." - End of Post. Fredrick Frost, Chosen One. Nine o'clock. The bells of the clock tower rang out clearly in the crisp night air, gliding swiftly over the rooftops to reach the waiting ears of Michael Cochrane. He had been tensely anticipating the signal, and now that it had come a strange calm settled over the Sabbat leader. All the fear and worry that had held him in its grip flowed out through the soles of his feet like bathwater down the drain. The true moment had arrived, and he was in exactly the right place. In that moment, the split second of time after the bells had begun, Cochrane's eyes took in the scene around him like a snapshot. Hordes of his Sabbat underlings crouched in the darkness, hovering in the shadows like dark pumas ready to pounce. Among the crowd were twenty-five Japanese warriors, black cobras among the Black Hand's forces. The Sabbat were the backbone, but Roche's assassins were the claws. It was rather a large force for taking such a relatively poorly guarded building, but they may have to hold it for a long time against who knew what mystical assaults. It was time to spring the trap. Roche's eyes met Cochrane's, and time locked into place. The crisp air hung for that instant as still as glass, then erupted in a roar as Cochrane yelled: "Now!" Suddenly the order and quiet that had existed was shattered into a million pieces. The shouts and cries of Cochrane's Sabbat warriors (called in from their safe houses where they had been stagnating for weeks) pierced the night as the sea of armed attackers beat against the rough stone walls of the Bezoar complex. Four guards at the main doors were taken completely by surprise, trampled underfoot by the screaming horde. The sturdy doors crumpled under their force, and the army flowed chaotically into the massive building, leaving about a third of their number to keep the entrance. Some scrambling about could be heard echoing down the long corridors, as the rest of Leick's guard force got their act together, coming down to meet the invading army. They certainly didn't expect the tidal wave of warriors that hit them. To give the guards their credit, they took down several times their number from the Sabbat ranks. These forces had been well trained, and were able to act as a single unit, playing off each other's strengths. Compared to that, the Sabbat rebels were a bunch of street punks, with no cohesive element to their attack. But their sheer numbers overpowered the guards, and soon those Cainites were decaying to withered corpses alongside the Sabbat members they had destroyed. Cochrane made a point of stepping on the corpse of one of the guards - the only post-Final-Death punishment he was able to inflict. "That way!" Cochrane roared to a band of Sabbat ruffians, pointing them up a side stairway. The group had to secure that area, while the rest of them moved on. By the time Cochrane reached his own destination, the attacking force would be spread pretty thin. They had to cover all the bases, hold down every square inch of this place. Frost's plan was very specific, and Cochrane wasn't going to let his old associate down. A turn to the right, and the still enormous group ran on down the hall, occasionally losing a small band who had to secure side doors or hallways. Eventually, the group entered a very tall cylindrical hall, with a door on the opposite end. Cochrane stopped as the whole troupe came to a halt in front of (and behind) him. "What's going on?" he demanded. "Move it along!" "I can't sir," came a voice from the front. "The door won't budge." Fuming (they had to keep the momentum going or this thing might not work) Cochrane ordered his people into a proper formation to break down the large door. They charged... but had no effect. "That's a strong door," one of them commented, massaging his aching shoulder. "All right," Cochrane sighed. "We'll back up, find a way around." But no sooner had he finished giving the order than the door they had entered by slammed shut also. No amount of ramming could budge it either. "What's going on?" he wondered aloud again. The light that had been pouring down from somewhere high above cut off dramatically. Cochrane could still see fine (vampires were used to the dark) but the sudden drop in illumination gave him an ill feeling inside. This didn't feel right at all. A surprised and unintelligible yell from his left drew Cochrane's attention to the space above their heads. He now saw what his startled underling had first spotted - a thick gray fog rolling down the walls from high above (this cylindrical tower area really did stretch high up - why was it not visible from the outside?), which tumbled along the rough stone in fits and starts, forming terrifying but transient shapes as it moved. Cochrane didn't like the look of that. He definitely didn't. His people began ramming the massive doors again, but to no avail. All they could do was stand there and wait to be enveloped by the incoming fog, whose approach brought a scent of carrion to the Kindred's wrinkled noses. Soon the front end of the fog had completed its crawl down the thick walls, and it wrapped itself around the throat of one of the Sabbat members. He cried out in horror, and Cochrane could only watch as the Cainite rotted away from the inside out, screaming all the while. Definitely not good. But a sudden scuffle caught Cochrane's ears, and his head snapped round to see the door ahead swinging open. Hard light shone around a small group of human forms standing in the open doorway. The lead figure stood in a powerful and mocking stance, one hand resting on her curving hip. "What's the matter with you?" asked the woman. "Can't you guys even organize a siege properly?" Not one to inspect the dental development of a complimentary equine, Cochrane shoved his people out through the doorway as fast as he could. Many of them were still yelling in extreme pain from the tortures of the sadistically murderous rolling fog when Cochrane had the enormous door shoved back into place, and the heavy bars placed back in their locking holders to secure it. When he was satisfied with its solidity, he turned to see his savior. The woman was dark-haired and ravishingly beautiful, but her face wore a haughty and insulting look. Still, Cochrane wouldn't complain about a thing, considering she had just saved his life, the lives of many, many Black Hand members, and of course the mission itself. "Who are you?" he asked, gasping for breath he didn't need. "Iliana," she said with a sniff. "Ventrue Primogen. I heard you were planning this foolish escapade and assumed you'd need our help. Looks like I was right." Cochrane wondered how ten or so Ventrue would be much use to the cause, but saw no need to argue. They had a mission to accomplish. And they were running behind schedule. - End of Post. Michael Cochrane, Sabbat leader. Posted by Rutger Leick. Rutger Leick stood to his feet, slowly, cautiously, unable to believe what he was seeing and hearing. Fredrick Frost was alive, and had invaded Leick's 'palace' with a band of rebels. And the great amounts of crashing from below told the Prince that this wasn't the only group of invaders. It was insurrection, nothing less. But the big Brujah kept coming back to the fact that Frost was alive. How could this be? Everyone knew the anarch was dead. What kind of Cainite is this, who evades even Final Death? For the first time in a very long time, Leick felt something akin to fear. Not necessarily fear of Frost, he would hasten to point out. Fear, rather, of whatever power could be responsible for this. If he could not destroy Fredrick Frost, what assurances were there for anything any more? But this was all nonsense. The Caitiff was as vulnerable to attack as the next vampire. This foolishness had gone on long enough. Leick puffed out his chest and gathered his will. "Guards!" he roared, his deep voice rolling around the large hall in rich echoes, reverberating impressively off the solid stone walls. The call set the small band of invaders on alert; each of them automatically adopted a defensive stance, their eyes fixing on the side doors to the throne room. Leick had to admire their reflexes. Ten armed guards rushed in from three separate doorways, breaking down the locked doors easily. (For the first time Leick was glad Roche had talked him into acquiring extra guards - the additional Kindred presence, Roche had assured the Prince, wouldn't be noticed by the Kine if the Kindred remained hidden in this fortress.) The guards rapidly surrounded the six intruders in a circle, separating them from the Prince. Leick grinned widely, and the fight began. The tall Gangrel Leick knew was the troublemaker called Tempest reached behind his back, procuring as though from nowhere a large sword which he brandished threateningly in two meaty hands. One of Leick's guards stepped forward at this, producing his own, somewhat less substantial, weapon, hitting it gently off Tempest's. Suddenly, the Gangrel swung forcefully at his attacker, and at the same moment, violence erupted all over. Most of the action occurred more or less simultaneously, but in order to process the information, Leick's mind split each fight up into separate incidents. Naturally Frost's encounter was the most important to the Prince, as he desperately hoped the Caitiff would meet his match. No such luck. A slender but powerful Tremere guard swung his curved blade at Frost, who caught it easily on his massive blade - the one he called Masamune. His right foot lashed out beneath the crossing metal, making a solid collision with the Tremere's gut, and when the guard doubled over, the Masamune made an easy and clean swipe down through his neck. The guard's head rolled across the floor, and by the time it had come to a stop it had decayed to little more than a fleshless skull. Frost then immediately turned to face another opponent. His girlfriend, Rachelle Proulx began the fight more cautiously. She held a slim but well-crafted blade in her delicate hands. Taking advantage of her seeming vulnerability, two guards advanced on the female Caitiff. Rachelle's blade hovered indecisively between the two opponents, waiting to see which made the first move before she responded. The Cainite to her left extended his pike suddenly, and Rachelle sent out her sword to meet it, and the other guard chose that moment to shove his spear into Rachelle's unguarded side. She cried out in anguish, letting her sword drop as she placed one hand to her wounded flank. The guard with the pike balled up his fist and struck her powerfully on the cheek, knocking her to the floor, her sword clattering beside her. The spear raised high into the air, preparing to strike through Rachelle's heart, but it suddenly dropped to the floor, still clutched in the guard's disembodied hands. The surprised guard turned to see Fredrick Frost holding the bloodied Masamune in his hands. Dark fluid gushed profusely from the guard's wrist stumps, and Leick couldn't help thinking that Frost had too much of a fondness for removing his enemies' hands. The guard's head followed his hands to the floor and he decayed rapidly. Rachelle crawled to her knees, snapping her sword into her hand and up into her other opponent's groin, sliding the blade in half-way to the hilt. The scream of pain was deafening, and his guts spilled out to the floor as Rachelle's sword ripped up through his torso. "You okay?" Frost asked her tenderly. "I'll be all right," she said simply, and they returned to the fray. Tempest swung his sword hard, and the guard leapt back from the motion. A flash emitted from his hand, pushing Tempest's sword further out of the way and giving the guard an opening for attack. Tempest managed to recover in time to block the attack, but couldn't keep inside a hiss at the sight of the orange flash that had caused his slip. A magic user! This one would die for certain. Roaring in anger, Tempest swiped at the guard's head, who ducked the blow, stabbing his own sword into Tempest's chest. The Gangrel stiffened at the pain, dropping his hefty sword with a loud clatter. The guard held his half-clenched hand up to Tempest's head, and both glowed a gentle green color. The light then intensified suddenly, and became a fire which consumed Tempest's skull. Within seconds the Gangrel was dead, and decaying on the hard stone floor. Blackthorn grinned evilly as he twirled two daggers - one in each hand. Two guards approached him cautiously, wary of the twinkle in his eye. One of them struck out at him, but found his hand split in two from Blackthorn's angry dagger. The other guard moved forward quickly, but the Gangrel's big black boot struck his chest, then Blackthorn spun round, slashing the guard's face. Another blow slit the Cainite's throat and he fell to the floor bleeding out his precious Kindred blood all over the floor. Even more cautious now, the first guard sent out a mind pulse, a Dominating command for Blackthorn to lay down his weapons. The Gangrel felt the mind wave being reflected harmlessly - an unexpected (but happy) side-effect of the amulet no doubt. He leapt into the air, kicking hard into the guard's chin. Then his right hand grew sharp claws, becoming like the powerful paw of a wolf. It swiped out at the guard, removing his head easily from his shoulders. Blackthorn's grin widened at the spilled blood of his enemies. By the time Leick had taken this all in, he had missed the fight with the tall stranger. The seemingly unrealistically calm Cainite Leick had never seen before lay dead on the floor, his remains intertwined with those of the guard he had died killing. The Prince frowned at the carnage. His elite security force should not be having so much trouble dispatching the intruders. And what exactly WAS all that racket on the lower floors? He stood watching the battle continue when suddenly a sharp pain racked Leick's body. He looked down in shock to see a sharp wooden point emerging from his chest. His eyes widened, and as she walked around from behind the throne, Leick saw the face of Hope Chitcka, his attacker. "Missed... the heart," Leick gasped, barely able to move from the skewering. How could Hope have betrayed him? He had done everything she had asked, and not even bothered to collect his reward when it was no longer needed. "Guess I'll have to try again," she grinned sadistically. "Might take a few tries to get it right. Hope it's not too much of an inconvenience Rut." "Why?" he croaked dryly. It didn't make sense. "You weren't paying me any attention Rutty," she said sweetly. "Iliana contacted me last night. It seems the Ventrue have turned against you, my dear Prince. As long as they need me, I'm going to follow the wishes of my clan. You understand, don't you old boy?" She laid a hand gently on his, mocking him in his immobile state. But she underestimated his strength. Leick suddenly grasped that hand with his, and reached the stump of his left wrist behind her, pulling her to him. "Yes I do," he struggled to say, and pulled her chest tightly to his, spearing her heart on the point of the wooden weapon which emerged from his own chest. He looked down at her startled face, frozen as the weapon pierced her heart. Baring his fangs, Leick sunk them into her neck draining the last drop of her sweet blood, before dumping his former associate unceremoniously onto the floor. With that added strength, he gruntingly removed the weapon from his chest, ignoring the severe bursts of pain as he did so. Although he didn't know it, this would be the last time the voice in his head would speak to him. - Leave. Go now. I'll take care of this myself - Taking one last look at the battling Frost, and wishing he could stay to deal with the Caitiff himself, Leick knew he was not going to disobey Cray - he had seen what Cray could do to those who displeased him. It would be difficult escaping the complex (this turned out to be false - the misty sea of Ancient Ones had slaughtered a pathway through which Leick could easily escape) but he'd make it out alive. It wasn't that easy to kill Rutger Leick. And so he fled the scene, knowing that this would not be the last time he would set foot in that throne room. He would be back to claim his rightful place. They hadn't seen the last of Rutger Leick. - End of Post. Rutger Leick, Prince. Frost looked around the room quickly, surveying the damage. Leick's Elite guard were lying in decaying piles in the room. Along side them were Matthias and Tempest. Frost had lost track of Hammond during the battle. He had been fighting a guard away from the main action behind Leick's throne. Hammond came towards him and Rachelle, Blackthorn joined him along the way. "Leick got away. What now Fred?" Hammond asked as he rubbed his sore muscles. "Johnnie," Frost said adopting his most authoritarian voice. "I want you and Blackthorn to take Rachelle out of here and get her some blood to replace what she lost in battle. After you're done that, head to Leick's old hideout in the subway station. If he's there use this," Frost passed Hammond a small radio detonator, "and blow the bastard straight to hell." "What about you Frost?" he asked, emotion flowing through his cold dead heart. He suspected that he would never see his friend again. "Where I'm going you can't follow... What I have to do, none of you can be any part of." Frost could feel Rachelle's strength seeping away as she lost precious blood from the wound in her side. "Take care of her if I don't come back," he said mournfully, indicating Rachelle who had just lost consciousness. "Go; you haven't much time." "I'll take care of her Frost. You worry about yourself." He paused. "Goodbye my friend..." "... It's hard to die... When all the birds are singing in the sky," Frost completed Hammond's thought. "... We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the dark..." Hammond continued. "... But the hills that we climbed were just a season out of time." Frost smiled. Without another word Frost reached out his hand. Hammond grabbed it and shook it. Then Hammond turned, carrying Rachelle, and went to Blackthorn. He touched the amulet and they were all gone. A moment after, Frost spoke to the silent room. "Alright Cray. Come out - it's time to end this thing once and for all. Man to man." No response. "Come out and face me you damn coward." - End of Post. Fredrick Frost, Chosen One.