Fredrick Frost's taunting sparked something inside Cray. It wasn't 
anger, not hatred, not mocking humor. He wasn't sure what it was 
that he felt, but it drew him out of the shadows.

As Cray stepped forward, drawing the light from the room as he 
gained solid form, draping the massive throne room in black shadows, 
he cast his mind back on what he had just witnessed. The fight, the 
ridiculous melee that had just transpired in this very room, 
providing the rotting corpses that now littered the cold stone 
floor.

Rutger Leick was a smart man, for a Necrosyne. He was vicious, 
cruel, swift-thinking and ambitious. But he didn't like a straight 
fight. That was his main weakness as far as Cray was concerned. If 
Leick had just taken on Frost himself, Cray may have been able to 
help him defeat the little trouble-maker. At least that way Cray 
wouldn't have had to do it himself.

But then, everything in the end came down to Cray. Past events had 
proved that. Centuries, millennia, ago he had taken the initiative 
and performed an action that was to cause him to be cast out from 
the community, doomed to wander the Earth restlessly. But it had 
been necessary, and Cray never regretted his actions, not for a 
minute. Then, when he had heard of his people's imprisonment, Cray 
had devoted his time to finding a way to free them. He had worked 
his way into human and non-human organizations, poured over every 
mystical book still known (and a few unknown) to the pitiful 
corporeal beings on this planet. He had collected magical artifacts 
from the four corners of the world, and all this he had done without 
an ounce of selfishness.

And later, after the Ancient Ones' abortive attempt to draw the 
Great Crystal together to free them, Cray had found the secret. It 
had been here, all along, and he had never seen it. And so he had 
pulled together many disparate chaotic influences together in the 
city. The Sabbat (an organization ridiculously easy to infiltrate - 
if the Mafia had been so lax Cray would have had a much simpler time 
back in Sicily) had brought their forces here to overthrow the 
Camarilla (like they'd ever manage that!) and several individual, 
but no less effective, disruptive characters were "encouraged" to do 
their stuff. It had been beautiful for a while, the complex play of 
indisciminate killing and destruction, but more than that, it had 
served its purpose. The city had been distracted; Alexander Laplace 
had been distracted. And amidst the confusion, Leick had been 
willing to make his move.

And now, yet again, it was up to Cray to save the day. Here was the 
one being who had a chance of stopping the Ancient Ones before they 
really got started, and Cray was the only one who seemed to care! 
Their leader, Kazha Dhum, certainly didn't. He refused to see the 
threat that Fredrick Frost represented, would not listen to Cray's 
wisdom on this matter. And so... here he was.

"So you do have a spine after all," Frost grinned, twirling his 
hefty sword in anticipation, seeming not to even notice the sudden 
drop in illumination caused by Cray's arrival. They could both see 
more easily in the dark anyway.

"Not really," Cray disagreed, that familiar gentle smile on his 
smooth face. "This body is just a cloak I wear, an affectation. Soon 
I'll grow tired of it, as I have of you my dear Fredrick. I think 
it's finally time to dispose of you once and for all."

"Well you'd better hope you're a little more successful than last 
time," the vampire sneered. "You seem to have a little problem... 
'disposing' of me."

Nodding slowly, Cray mused, "True. But I've been relying too much on 
my people, their power. It's time I trusted my own strength, 
Fredrick. Took the cause into my own hands."

"What do you mean, your 'people'?" Frost frowned. He still held his 
sword tightly in both hands, watching Cray carefully for his move. 
This distraction must have a purpose.

"The 'evil' you've been warned about," Cray informed the Cainite. 
"The great and ancient force awakened beneath the Earth. My kin; 
right now they're downstairs wiping out what's left of your invasion 
force." Frost's nostrils flared; Cray knew that Frost had ordered 
this assault that was killing dozens of his kind. But more 
importantly... "And that little teleportation amulet? I'm afraid I 
had that removed, too much trouble. Your little group of friends had 
to be dumped down there," he pointed to the floor, "right in the 
middle of the action. I'm sure they're just having a swell time." He 
grinned.

"You son of a bitch!" Frost snarled and raced at the unassuming 
young man whose smile was as offensive as the face of death. 
Masamune swung out in a wide arc, cutting a clean path right through 
Cray's chest. The man stood with his eyes closed, arms spread wide 
in a quasi-crucifixion pose. Angrily, Frost swiped the sword back 
and forth half a dozen times through Cray's body, until he realized 
it was having no effect. The sword passed through him like water, 
like he wasn't even there. Regaining his composition slightly, the 
Caitiff gently tapped the sword against Cray's solid head then, 
satisfied that it really did exist, stabbed sharply at it. The point 
slid smoothly into Cray's eye, and slipped out just as easily. No 
damage. No resistance. Was he here or was he not?

"Having trouble, Fredrick?" Cray grinned. "The more time you waste 
here, the less time your friends have to live." He cocked his head 
at a particularly loud scream from within the solid-walled complex. 
"Perhaps that's them now."

The Caitiff ran for a door, grabbing hold of the handle (when did 
these get back on the hinges? They'd broken during the fight just a 
few minutes ago) and pulling. It wouldn't budge; it felt as immobile 
as though it were part of the wall itself.

"Let me out!" Frost yelled, running at Cray again. The Ancient One 
could almost see the blood boiling inside his flesh, and it made him 
feel warm inside. Perhaps this would all go well after all.

"Aaaaaahhhhhhh!" the vampire yelled, charging at his enemy with 
Masamune held high. Cray let him approach, and Frost leapt at Cray 
with all his strength. Imagine Cray's surprise when he found himself 
flying backwards as though he had received a fatal electric shock. 
His back hit the wall, and it took a moment for the sight to return 
to his human eyes. There before him stood Fredrick Frost, looking as 
puzzled as Cray himself was. A brilliant white glow shone from 
Frost's chest, and quickly subsided revealing the amulet, the cursed 
amulet, that had previously interrupted Cray's plans.

Anger seethed within Cray, boiled his inner being like nothing he 
had ever experienced. This Necrosyne, this little nothing of a 
vampire who didn't even have the powers that his kind were meant to 
possess, had the gall to threaten the life of an Ancient being like 
Cray? Something awakened deep inside Cray, something that had lain 
dormant since the day he had awakened so long ago now. Right then, 
at that moment, Cray knew what he had to do.

It wasn't about his people any more. Not about their survival, not 
about their conquering and dominion. Suddenly it all became so 
clear. There was Frost, and there was Cray, and only one thing 
mattered: killing Fredrick Frost.

Fire burst forth from Cray's hands, shooting out and smacking Frost 
forcefully in the chest. The little vampire toppled to the floor, 
singed by the intense heat. Cray stomped over to where he lay, and 
beat Frost repeatedly with both fists. Masamune reached up 
pathetically and passed easily through Cray's body as he continued 
to beat up his vampiric victim. However, Cray's flesh brushed up 
against the amulet, and another small explosion shot him back off of 
Frost.

The Caitiff stood to his feet, his face bruised and torn. Masamune 
hung loosely from one hand, and he seemed to be having trouble even 
keeping to his feet. Cray watched him with amusement, but couldn't 
keep his eyes off the subtle glow of the malevolent amulet.

Fine, Cray figured. Can't get near the guy, we'll just have to do 
this the easy way. Not as much fun, but...

"Hold it right there Freddy," Cray warned the slowly advancing 
vampire. The Ancient One held one cupped hand in the air, an 
incandescent energy ball sitting atop it. "One more step and I'll 
let this loose on us all."

"What..." Frost mumbled past swollen lips, "what... is it?"

"It is death," Cray said softly, smiling. "I release this, and 
everyone in the building dies in ten seconds. Human, Kindred... 
other. Nothing alive or dead will survive it."

"You're crazy," Frost gasped, shaking his numb head. "You'll kill 
yourself and all your people too."

"That's true," Cray nodded solemnly. "But you'll be dead, and all 
your friends too. That's all that matters now." His eyes focused on 
some other dimension, invisible to Frost's eyes, as he continued. 
"My people have never appreciated me Fredrick. I've done everything 
for them, sacrificed my life to help them, and they won't even 
listen to a word I have to say. So screw them. It's you and me, 
Freddy. That's how it was always meant to be." His eyes cleared up 
again, and he frowned in Frost's direction. "Now back off!"

"Okay," he said warily, taking a step back. "See, I'm not gonna hurt 
you."

"Oh to hell with it," Cray shrugged, and threw the ball into the air 
anyway.

Frost watched in shock as the bright sphere raised into the air, and 
expanded in a matter of seconds to encompass the entire Bezoar 
Complex. An evil hum increased gradually in pitch, an ominous 
countdown. If Cray had been telling the truth then Cochrane, 
Hammond... Rachelle... all would be dead in about five seconds now. 
he had to do something, and quickly!

The Caitiff charged at Cray, but was easily repelled by a shock wave 
that sent him flying to his back on the ground. By the time he got 
to his feet, he heard the fateful sounds emitting from Cray's 
chuckling lips:

"Three... Two... One... Now!"

Darkness. All was darkness again, but for a single shaft of light 
surrounding Fredrick Frost who stood tensely on shaking feet. It 
took him a few moments to work out what was going on, but when he 
saw that Cray was entirely motionless it made at least some sense to 
him.

Time. Ever since Nalal had dissolved himself into the fabric of time 
things had come unstuck. Time had an unfortunate tendency to freeze 
at important moments, and this sudden release of energy was likely 
responsible. But what was the light shining around him?

Frost took a step forward, to emerge beyond the boundary of the 
spotlight, but hit a solid barrier. He could not escape the light. 
What was this? His eternal prison? Was this hell?

No. As he let his shoulders relax, he felt the same soothing 
calmness he had when he had died not so long ago. This light came 
from the same place, though it had leaked into this world, perhaps 
to collect the souls that had perished here tonight. But why, if he 
was dead, was Frost still on Earth? Questions needed answers.

"Greetings, Fredrick Frost," came the gentle feminine voice of the 
Guardian of the beyond. All Frost's aches and sorrows drained from 
him at the soothing sound of that voice. If there was one thing 
Frost could wish for, it would be to be with that voice for all 
eternity. But he was damned, as were all Kindred.

"Guardian," Frost called up into the light. "What's happening to 
me?"

"You have guessed a part of it," the voice flowed into his mind like 
a gentle mountain stream. "Time has stopped, for now. It is this 
moment where you meet your destiny."

"You mean I'm dead?" he asked sorrowfully. "Again?"

"Not yet," the voice advised. "But if you choose to return, you will 
surely die."

"But I've been told my existence is over," Frost frowned. "I have 
felt it. What choice can undo that?"

"Your existence on this Earthly plane is indeed finished, Fredrick 
Frost," the voice agreed. "But your choice lies beyond that."

"What do you mean?"

"The universe has made failed attempts to create you, my child," it 
said soothingly. "Your bloodline has held the key since the 
beginning. You are the first that has succeeded. It is time now for 
you to join the Universe."

"Join the universe?" he balked. "What are you talking about? What's 
going on?"

"You have two choices, child. You can return to the world and 
perish, or you can become something greater, something altogether 
more wonderful. You have still much to do, but not as Fredrick 
Frost. To continue in your journey, you must leave this mortal shell 
behind you."

Conflicting emotions tore Frost apart from inside. "But what about 
my friends? Rachelle?" His voice became infinitely small. "I can't 
leave them to die."

"Nor can you help them if you return," the voice reminded him. "Come 
with me, and they may yet live."

"You mean I can help them if I go with you?" he asked.

"Perhaps," came the less than assuring response. "You can do many 
things on this side, my son, but it will be up to you and your 
conscience."

It was all so crazy. The other side? One with the universe? What did 
it all mean? But the thought of saving Rachelle was all that would 
come to his mind, and he called out at the top of his lungs: "I'm 
ready! I'm with you! What do I have to do?"

"The amulet," said the voice, and it sounded like she was smiling. 
"Wrap it around your sword." Frowning, Frost took off the amulet and 
gently wrapped the chain around the blade of Masamune. "Now plunge 
the sword into your chest."

"What?" he gasped.

"Do it," she said. "You will understand."

Taking a deep breath, Frost reversed the blade, and felt the point 
of it dig into his flesh. He tensed his muscles then, and pushed.

Lightning racked his body, and forces tore his very bones in 
indecisive directions. Masamune glowed red, then white, and seemed 
to dissolve into a flowing white light. The light hovered before 
him, then seeped slowly into his body.

Something took over Frost's body, changing it, mutating it. Evolving 
it. The process seemed to take forever, or perhaps only a moment.

But at the moment the transformation was complete, time had returned 
to its normal flow.


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




   Frost's body (or the image of it) glowed with a golden light. His 
once green eyes became sapphire as the sea. His clothes were the 
purest white ever seen. Frost (or what remained of him) stretched 
out his soul and pulled in all the energy that had been released by 
Cray in his spell. His effort was only partly successful. While all 
the life inside the complex was spared the death that was imminent 
to all things, the structure itself had been horribly compromised. 
Laplace's once great castle was falling in on itself, and quickly. 
Frost reached out again with his new power - no longer was he bound 
by the limitations of flesh, he could do almost anything. He touched 
the souls of all things living and vampiric in the complex and 
ushered them to safety, healing any wounds they may have incurred. 
He allowed them a view of what was going on inside by forcing the 
images into their mind's eye.

   Cray stood in disbelief. "How did you stop it? How could you stop
it?" Cray staggered back. "You never had that kind of power. You
never had any power."

   "You wouldn't understand even if I told you," Frost assured him 
softly. "I am one with the universe, the product of millennia upon 
millennia of attempts to forge the perfect being, one that could 
control this power. I am the most powerful being in history. I hold 
the key to the past and the future of all things. And finally I have 
the will and wisdom to control it." Frost stared up at Cray. "And I 
am the destruction for your race. The end of the line." With only a 
thought Frost brought all of the Ancient Ones to the same place. A 
look of horror appeared on Cray's face, the first in thousands of 
years, or perhaps ever.

   "Savior, who is this man who glows of gold?" one of the Ancients
inquired.

   Cray barely managed to stutter out his response. "He is, is... is 
the One"

   "If he is the One then let us destroy him, for he is flesh and 
blood, as are all of his kind," another Ancient cried out. A swarm 
of gray mist zoomed at Frost. All the Ancients went towards him, all 
but Cray. Frost put his hand up in a stop gesture. The mist halted, 
unable to move or speak.

   "You Ancients, you who have killed many in the past - and now 
after being released killed many more - I can think of only one 
appropriate punishment. I shall lock you inside flesh until such 
time as that flesh rots away. Once the flesh is dead you shall 
proceed beyond the edge of eternity for judgment, as all mortal 
beings do. Those you have destroyed in recent days are already 
judged so you shall have their flesh, and return to their lives. You 
will have knowledge of what you were and all the memories of the 
flesh you will inhabit. Never will you be allowed to return to your 
former power. You will live and you will die as human and Kindred 
do." As he spoke the fog split into many small spheres. Flesh began 
to form around the spheres until full bodies had been made. The 
Ancients cried out at their new curse. With a slight gesture Frost 
scattered them back to where their flesh had last been.

   Now Frost turned to Cray. "You are the most evil among your 
kind..." Cray rushed at Frost in some vain attempt to stop him. But 
midway into his rush he found himself unable to move. "So while you 
shall receive a similar punishment to the rest of your kind," Frost 
paused and grinned, "instead of picking up a life already in 
progress, I shall place you in a woman's womb and force you to live 
an entire human life. You shall live as those you most despised do. 
You will be a human woman, frail and beautiful, and upon your death 
your soul shall be judged."

   "You can't do this to me!" Cray forced out. "You can't have that 
kind of power; you are a mere Necrosyne."

   "You learn too slowly. But now begone to your earthly prison. To 
live as they do." Frost forced Cray's essence into a small sphere as 
he had done to the others and sent it forward onto the horizon for 
Cray to meet his destiny. Then, with a thought, Frost transported 
himself to where Hammond and Rachelle stood.

   They stood in awe at his appearance when he materialized in front 
of them. "Do not be frightened my friends, I am here to give you 
both a great gift. Soon I must leave this world to learn the full 
extent of my new power. This journey shall end and another shall 
begin. I have searched both your souls and discovered a common 
longing. To be human once more, to live like them and die like them. 
Three days hence your immortal flesh shall resume its mortal quality 
and you shall live as they do. I know this to be the deepest desire 
in your hearts so do not argue with me. Use the money I accumulated 
in my life to live well. Now do what you will with your last days of 
Vampirism."

   "What about you Frost? Will I ever see you again?" asked Rachelle
with red tears in her eyes.

   "I will be there when you cross over the edge. Then and only then 
shall we be reunited." Frost looked up at the sky. "My time is at an 
end on this plane. Good-bye my friend. Good-bye my love. May God 
smile upon you always." With his final words Frost simply faded out 
of existence. His friends were left to wonder if they would truly 
ever see him again. Rachelle wept long for her lost love. She wept 
until the rosy fingers of dawn edged forward in the sky. Then, her 
tears spent, she returned with Hammond to her apartment.


             - End of Post.
               Fredrick Frost,
               The One.






Into the still, dark night Rutger Leick ran as fast as his bulky 
legs would carry him. Just a few blocks from the Complex, and he 
stopped suddenly. The fear and anxiety that had carried him 
thoughtlessly here had fled now, and had been replaced by other 
emotions, darker ones.

Frost! That son of a bitch had had the gall to invade the palace! 
And all those friends of his along for the ride... Leick would have 
them all put to Final Death. He was still the Prince, damn it! He'd 
call the Lextalionis on the whole damned city and to hell with the 
Justicars who'll tell him he was wrong. Leick was all-powerful! He'd 
kill every Cainite on this planet if he had to! No one fought Rutger 
Leick and got away with it. No one!

The Brujah continued slowly on his way. The underground subway 
station, long since abandoned by mortal man, was his destination. 
Once, not so long ago, it had been his Haven. It could be so again. 
He would hide there to build his strength again. Then, when he was 
ready, New Chelsea would be his again!

Gently he probed the gaping hole in his chest with the fingers of 
his right hand. It stung to touch it, but Leick had to gauge the 
severity of the wound. Just another healing to tax his Blood Pool. 
Eyeing his left hand, Leick admired its progress. Most of the palm 
was back now, though no fingers had been able to grow. Soon, though. 
Soon he'd be whole again. And this city would pay for all it had 
done to him!

A familiar voice rung out from up ahead. The sweet, lilting tones of 
a children's nursery rhyme wafted over the air, and Leick recognized 
the voice immediately. Sherilyn!

Sure enough, round the corner ahead the beautiful former Ventrue 
Sherilyn Massee skipped, her long dark hair tossing in a light 
breeze. She was so perfect in form, so brutally gently, softly 
vicious. The most lovely vampire Leick had ever known.

But she had betrayed him. Where had Sherilyn been while Leick was 
being attacked in his own throne room? She'd been outside, hunting - 
against the Prince's direct orders. Anger boiled inside Leick, and 
his meaty right hand grabbed Sherilyn's arm, startling her out of 
her wits.

"Sherilyn!" he hissed, his dark eyes burning with rage.

"Uh... Rutger!" she stammered, eyes wide as the bright moon above 
them. "I was just... uh..."

"Disobeying me!" Leick finished, and marched along the sidewalk, 
dragging his girlfriend behind him. "My palace has been stolen from 
me, my minions slaughtered like cattle, and I've been impaled right 
through my chest by my closest ally. And all the while here you were 
cavorting with all manner of street scum. Don't argue with me, I can 
smell the blood on your breath. You little bitch! I should have 
killed you a long time ago."

"But, Rutger!" she squealed as his sharp nails bit angrily into her 
arm. Her voice didn't even register on Leick's seething ears; he was 
too far gone into madness to hear the pleas of the little whore. 
He'd take her back to his lair, and he'd get every bit of pleasure 
he possibly could from her. Her Blood would nourish him, rebuild 
him. He'd be strong again, strong enough to do whatever the hell he 
liked. Damn this city, and everyone in it!

Damn Fredrick Frost!

A sound rumbled throughout the crisp air then. It began subtly, then 
quickly swelled to a mighty roar. His jaw hanging open in shock, 
Leick turned back to see the tall, majestic outline of the Bezoar 
Complex shrinking, crumbling, becoming little more than dust. Huge 
chunks tumbled off to the side, bouncing off nearby buildings and 
knocking pieces off of them. It took only seconds for the entire 
structure to be reduced to rubble. Indeed, it seemed that less 
remained of the great palace than did of Victoria Treagard's famous 
theater.

Something in him tugged at him, begged him to flee back to the 
palace to see what was left of it, but he resisted. The anger in him 
grew, and he knew then how much he hated Frost. How much he hated 
all the Kindred of New Chelsea. He continued his journey, muttering 
to himself all the way.

Befor long, Leick was descending the stairs that would lead to his 
hidden Haven. The air was damp, and stank of mold. The odor was 
comfortably familiar, and Leick found that he almost enjoyed his 
descent. He felt like Orpheus, climbing down to Hades to recover 
that which he sought. No woman was Leick's goal. No, the female he 
dragged behind him would die tonight - after he took all that he 
wanted from her. What he sought from Hell was power. Strength. 
Enough to level this God-forsaken city.

"Now, bitch!" Leick yelled, throwing Sherilyn roughly through the 
open doorway. She tumbled to the cracked concrete floor of the 
abandoned subway station, splitting her porcelain forehead open on 
it. The bright red blood sang to Leick's thirsty body, demanding 
that he drink. But he restrained himself. There was more he could do 
to her first. So much more.

"It's time to pay for what you've done to me," he growled to the 
frightened and cowering Sherilyn as he advanced slowly on her. "You 
will experience ten times the humiliation, fear, and pain I have 
experienced. You'll feel it all!"

He stopped. What was that, glinting in the corner? Surely it 
wasn't...

In his last few seconds, Rutger Leick realized exactly what it was 
that he saw. It was almost funny, if it hadn't been so tragic. The 
little explosive mocked him with its grin, and its brothers all 
around joined it in a chorus of laughter.

Damn that Frost.

So well hidden was Leick's lair, that its destruction never even 
made the news.


             - End of Post.
               Rutger Leick,
               Prince.






The small room in New Chelsea's Japanese quarter was at least large 
enough to hold a sturdy wooden table and the four remaining Primogen 
of the city. Lucien duCharne, Gangrel Primogen, looked around at his 
silent companions. How few of them were left...

It had been a costly siege. DuCharne had been made aware of it, but 
had kept his nose out of the dangerous situation. As it turned out, 
he believed he had made the correct decision. So many lives had been 
lost last night that the Kindred presence in the city was barely 
detectable by the vampires themselves. The Bezoar Complex had been 
leveled, the Prince had (apparently) been destroyed sometime 
afterwards, and Iliana, the Ventrue Primogen, had died during the 
fight itself. Along with the ranks of Sabbat warriors (who duCharne 
would certainly not mourn), the death toll had been higher perhaps 
than any recorded Kindred skirmish in history.

But if what Alain Roche had told them was true, the mission had been 
a success. DuCharne was, in some ways, shamed at his inaction. True, 
he had kept his Gangrel out of the main fray and for that he was 
thankful, but he had sat by for months while a supernatural evil 
built up within the streets of their city. Kindred were being 
slaughtered, and the Gangrel Primogen had turned a blind eye. 
Perhaps if they had all acted a little sooner, none of this would 
have happened. But it was too late for these thoughts. Reparations 
must be made, the city's undead underworld must be reformed to keep 
the Masquerade in control. Without strong and structured leadership, 
the Kindred population would fall into chaos. Now was the time to 
organize and regroup, before disaster befell New Chelsea. The main 
threat was over, but the work was far from complete.

Life goes on, and each day brings a new challenge.

"We have some Primogen vacancies," Dia Knight, the 
uncharacteristically solemn Malkavian Primogen commented. "We'd 
better fill them quickly."

"The Toreador place has been open for some time now," duCharne 
pointd out. "That should be our priority."

"None of them seem interested," Alain Roche put in. "They've been 
timid since the death of their Elder at the hands of Leick." He spat 
this last word, like one disillusioned with a fallen mentor. This 
was, obviously, not the case, but his emotions seemed similar. 
DuCharne was familiar enough with these feelings himself to identify 
them.

"We'll have to approach them ourselves," duCharne suggested. "It's 
our duty to recruit the Primogen, and quickly. Lewis!" The Nosferatu 
looked up, broken from his reverie. "You have contacts among the 
Toreador, yes?" He nodded his pale, disfigured head in confirmation. 
"See to it then."

"What about the Ventrue?" Knight asked, business-like (whatever had 
come over the usually scatty and aloof Malkavian?).

"I have some thoughts," Roche spoke up. "I think we have to offer 
the place to Miss Treagard."

"Victoria Treagard?" DuCharne was unsure. "She's not even two 
hundred."

"I believe," the Tremere said slowly, "that she would be Fredrick 
Frost's choice. We owe him a debt, my fellow Primogen. And as 
strange as it may sound, I do believe he would choose Treagard as 
the replacement."

"Fair enough," duCharne nodded. "But if we accept your choice, you 
must do us the same courtesy."

The sharp-faced Cainite angled wary blue eyes at the rough-looking 
Gangrel. "And what would that be?" Roche asked.

"There is yet one more vacancy to be filled," duCharne pointed out.

Counting the group silently, Roche answered, "I cannot see which, 
duCharne." He paused then, and his eyes widened. "Surely you 
don't..."

A wide grin split Lucien's face for the first time in a very long 
time indeed. Wrinkles appeared around his weary eyes as he did so, 
enjoying the shock on the Tremere's face. "I believe it's unanimous 
among those gathered here today, Ryu Kassiguru, Tremere Primogen 
Alain Roche." He stood up, his bulky form raising above the others 
still seated. "If you'll have it, the throne of Prince is yours."

For the moment, Roche was speechless. "Of course," duCharne 
continued, "the seat of power is gone now, but one chair services as 
well as another. I see no reason the Primogen Council cannot be 
based in this Japanese quarter - at least for now.

"Well?" he finished, looking deep into the Tremere's eyes. "What do 
you say?"


             - End of Post.
               Lucien duCharne,
               Gangrel Primogen.
               Posted by Rutger Leick.






Alain Roche returned home. Alone, he entered the tatami room. 
Looking about him he felt an old feeling that he had a home. The 
inner torments, the uncertainties had died within him. He almost 
felt tired and old - a human emotion. The Primogen seemed now to be 
working more as a team. There was a strong future.

He laughed out of pure joy, something that he had forgotten how to 
do - he was now a Prince! He could not take himself seriously. To 
have received such an honor was beyond his expectations and was 
taking time to sink in. He had arrived at New Chelsea to avenge a 
death, that of Nikko.

The Primogen worked now; he wanted to bind a friendship amongst 
them, not to fear each other. True there would be politics, 
advancement, but all would have to be tempered within a bond of 
Kinship. As a Prince (the title made Alain aware of his failings) he 
would rule not out of emotion, but by laws. Laws of compassion and 
justuce. Laws that he himself would also obey.

He recalled the instruction of his old master: "To rule is to lead. 
To lead is to step forward first, to face the danger first and give 
enough strength to those that would follow."

He would not be a soft touch, violation of the strictest of the laws 
would be still punishable for the most by death. The penalty would 
not be automatic; a Primogen court would be held. In this manner 
none of the Primogen would ever feel isolated, and fair justice 
would be seen to be done. He did not want to make the mistake of the 
other Princes; he was there for all of the Kindred. Now he was of no 
clan, no Tremere. He now was of all the clans.

Tears of blood formed at his eyes - his loneliness. Alain looked 
around him - had he not been given so much? He now had to be a 
father to the most dysfunctional of families, but a family 
none-the-less. Still his soul, or what was left of it, searched for 
Nikko.

Turning, he left the room. A guard saluted - he now was constantly 
guarded, something he had to get used to. The other Primogen had 
insisted. His first command would be a celebration. After any war, 
friendships and laughter would have to rekindled. The family would 
have to be made aware that they were still strong, they had many to 
honor, that they did have each other, and that time did not stand 
still... And there was that Ventrue he would love to dance with; 
there was something in her spirit.

Alain smiled... He was no longer Ryu; the wheel had turned full
circle. He was Alain Roche - his title was of no importance. He was
himself once again.


               - End of Post.
                 Alain Roche,
                 Prince.






   Rachelle stared at the horizon. She and Hammond were standing in 
the park opposite the ruined remains of the Bezoar complex. The rosy 
fingers of dawn were just beginning to creep up into the sky. It was 
the third night since the end of the great siege. An hour earlier 
Rachelle's and Johnnie Hammond's bodies had returned to life. It had 
been almost as amazing as the original Kindred Becoming. Blood had 
taken the warmth of life. The heart started to beat its happy, 
ever-steady rhythm; organs that had been dried and useless for 
decades had returned to life. They had both felt mortal hungers for 
food. From mortal eyes the night seemed to have lost its hue, but 
this was a fair price to pay for the joy of living.

   Rachelle felt a cold breeze against her warm skin. The air seemed 
to carry away all thoughts that were negative. She inhaled the cold 
air feeling it passing in her lungs, cooling her body. To breathe 
was something that, when she had been mortal, she had taken for 
granted - now she realized just how much she had missed it during 
her Kindred life. She exhaled and saw her breath turn into white 
mist. It was the little things that seemed to matter to her now. She 
couldn't imagine a more beautiful gift than this mortality. Fredrick 
Frost's last gift to her, and his best.

   Rachelle peered up at the fading stars in heaven. In her life as 
a vampire she had never bothered to look at the stars. They were 
there always, and they held no joy to behold. Now however, the stars 
were as sentinels, watching over the world. Maybe Frost was up there 
somewhere looking down. No, he was probably busy causing trouble in 
the universe; he never could behave himself. What she would give to 
see him just one more time. Even if it was only for an instant.

   "Look it's starting," Hammond whispered, pointing at the horizon. 
A
circle of light slowly began to breach the sky. It forced its way up
slowly, pushing away the darkness. "It's so beautiful. I'd forgotten
how beautiful it was."

   "I don't think I ever bothered to watch it before I was born to 
darkness," she replied. "Now I can tell you for certain that I have 
never seen anything so beautiful." The warm rays of the sun caressed 
her skin. The heat seeped into her pores and warmed her soul. The 
heart she had long ago fortified against humanity crumbled, and 
tears of joy rolled down her cheeks. Orange, red and pink crept 
across the sky pushing back the darkness. Pushing out the darkness 
in her soul as well. "It is a far, far better thing that I do, than 
I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I 
have ever known."

   "What?" asked Hammond looking at her.

   "Frost's epitaph, from his favorite book. After what he did for 
all of us I thought he deserved one." Rachelle closed her eyes and 
began to sing, her voice wavering with emotion. "Amazing grace, how 
sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now 
am found..." Hammond joined her in song, his voice also filled with 
emotion.

   "... Was blind but now I see. Amazing grace how sweet the sound 
that saved a wretch like me..." They continued to sing until the 
dawn was past and the day had begun, the sound of their voice 
carried up to heaven by a cold spring breeze. If an angel had heard 
them he would certainly have cried. After their song was done they 
began to walk home. When they were leaving, Rachelle turned around 
and blew a kiss into the breeze. Hoping, perhaps, that the wind 
would carry it to heaven, where it might find her lost love.


             - End of Post.
               Rachelle Proulx,
               Human.
               Posted by Fredrick Frost.






It was a dark city, a gloomy city. Tall, coal-blackened buildings 
loomed like demonic overlords above the Gothic City. Deep shadows 
bathed the empty streets in the blackest darkness seen on this 
world. Chill air pervaded all, causing whatever lonely pedestrians 
that could be found to shiver from the cold, hugging themselves 
tightly against the frozen night breeze. A typical night in New 
Chelsea. What living beings could willingly roam such a desolate and 
frightening place at such a time?

Nothing living. But the Kindred prevailed. The Kindred walked the 
streets with pride.

The last few nights had brought much hardship to the Cainite 
population. Hell, the last few years had. But that was over with 
now. The threat was finished, the Kindred were safe. Rutger Leick 
had gone the way of his predecessor, and the Ancient Ones, including 
the evil manipulator Cray, were nowhere to be found. Not by those 
who didn't know where to look, anyway.

They were here of course, those who hadn't already fled the city in 
terror. Bound in the mortal flesh they had destroyed, they were 
susceptible to all the weaknesses, desires, and fears that humans 
were. Inside what passed for their souls, the Ancient Ones burned 
with fearful anger, but they went on with their lives as best they 
could. Just like any other human in the city - in the world.

And somewhere, in the dark, hot recesses of a mother's womb, the one 
called Cray was busy dividing and multiplying, becoming the embryo 
that would one day develop into a fully fledged female human being. 
For now he was unaware of his past, present, or future. But he would 
be. The Universe had seen to that.

But all of this was unknown to the Kindred. For all they knew, the 
Ancient Ones had died in the Bezoar Complex's collapse, and the 
Kindred were busy rebuilding their community, their lives.

In the outer layers of New Chelsea, deep in the heart of the 
Japanese populated areas, a lone Tremere sat in his well-guarded 
Haven planning for many eventualities. Alain Roche, now Prince of 
the City, was not one to be taken by surprise. Every detail of the 
Primogen's collective plans for the city were mulled over and 
fine-tuned before being implemented. With wisdom and compassion 
Roche oversaw all the functions of Kindred society and made sure not 
even the smallest of the Cainites escaped his watchful eye. 
Naturally he couldn't do everything himself. That's why he had the 
Primogen.

Tonight they would meet again. It was unusual, this frequency of 
gatherings for the council, but this would probably settle down once 
everyone had gotten used to the new situation. Still, Roche seemed 
like a leader who would listen to his Primogen more than the last 
two Princes had. And to the Elders themselves, this seemed a good 
approach.

Dia Knight was currently lounging in her richly-decorated Haven, 
fussing over the arrangement of certain papers. It was that time 
under the moon when a Malkavian found it most difficult to control 
her Derangements, and Dia would be out of it for a while. On her 
good days, though, she was at least competent in her role. If only 
the same could be said for Jack Lewis. The ugly Nosferatu Primogen 
was squatting in the filth of the sewers, cowering at some imagined 
sounds from above. It would likely not be long before he was 
replaced by another - or possibly killed by one of the troublemakers 
still present in the city. Such was the lot of an Elder in the 
Camarilla.

Unlike those two, Lucien duCharne was busy with his duties, actually 
paying attention to his calling. Now stationed in the Japanese 
quarter, the big Gangrel kept a close eye on his Prince, making sure 
they had made the correct choice. So far, it looked promising. He 
wouldn't have to kill Roche just yet anyway. He felt almost as 
satisfied, actually, with the new Ventrue Primogen: the lovely Vicky 
Treagard. A little unorthodox for the Council, but in many ways that 
was refreshing. It would take her a long while to understand the 
responsibilities that came with her newfound power, but when she 
did, duCharne was fairly certain she could handle it. She was strong 
inside, dependable. What more could you ask from a Ventrue?

And unfortunately the Toreador were still squabbling over who got 
the place of their Primogen. Despite the best efforts of the ruling 
council and their Prince, the Toreador routinely broke out into 
fights regarding their leadership. Sadly, all the Elders feared it 
would be some time before a Primogen was chosen - and even then they 
feared who that choice might be. But that bridge was a long way 
away, and they'd cross it when it arrived.

As for the others, those disparate few Kindred remaining in New 
Chelsea, Roche had given many of them permission to Beget Progeny. 
Perhaps a little too many, but then most of the Childer would die 
before their first night as a Cainite was through, so all would 
balance out. The Becoming was hard on you - everyone remembered it.

For now, the Kindred lived well. The Masquerade was secure, as the 
police had found nothing vampire-related in the wreckage of the 
Bezoar Complex. All Kindred breathed a sigh of relief when it was 
confirmed that the clean-up crew had accomplished their work 
completely. The night was still, the night was silent. The night was 
safe - for Kindred.

That's not to say all was well. In unlife, just as in life, there 
are no real happy endings. Many of the night creatures had lost 
people special to them, and sorrow was just as present on the night 
breeze as joy and relief. Cheyenne Chitcka remained in her 
apartment, having forgone the Hunt for several nights now. In a week 
or so she would die a Final Death of starvation, lacking the will to 
go on any more. Brooke Stills, the Malkavian Kindred Killer, 
stumbled through the wooded areas on the outskirts of town, going 
steadily more crazy as she obsessed over the hunting of Kayla Jade 
and Paige Mackenzie. Her next attempt would cause her great 
wounding, but she'd survive to make another. And somewhere, deep 
underneath the great Gothic City, the remains of Sherilyn Massee, 
Rutger Leick's paramour, crawled through the broken passageways, 
looking for any sustenance her tattered body could survive on. The 
unfortunate thing was that she would indeed find some, and continue 
in torture and pain for months to come before wasting away finally.

And Blackthorn, the Gangrel entrusted by Frost to blow up Leick's 
lair, became drunk on his own power, thrilled with the rush of 
having killed the Prince. In the years to come, he lived up to his 
name, becoming the major thorn in Alain Roche's side. In addition to 
this, somewhere in the city, biding her time until all seemed quiet 
and settled, the mutant Nosferatu Lilith prepared her Brood for a 
new war. One that she could win this time.

But for the most part, the human population of New Chelsea sensed 
none of this. Those few wanderers in the night kept to the light, 
most of them evading the Kindred hunters stalking them. The one or 
two that fell prey would never even remember that they'd been 
attacked, their minds blocking out the horrid memory. No tension 
hung tangibly in the air, no sorrow. Nor did the elation and relief 
at the defeat of the Ancient Ones leak out into the Kine 
consciousness. Humans were blissfully unaware of all that occurred 
in Kindred society. Even Johnnie Hammond and Rachelle Proulx would 
soon drift away from it, each day becoming more and more human until 
their Kindred life was but a distant and hazy memory. Hammond 
himself moved away a few years later, and raised a family out on the 
east coast. Rachelle, on the other hand, stayed in New Chelsea until 
the day she died, unable to leave the lonely streets of the Gothic 
City behind.

It was a cold night. It was a dark night. Humans scuttled to their 
homes for shelter and safety, vampires scoured the streets for what 
little food was foolish enough to remain outside. Life went on, as 
it always must.

Life went on.


            - End of Game.
              Posted by Rutger Leick.