Karenthuras placed the sample back in the rack. It appeared that the 
Primogen's blood was a darker, deeper red than the others. This was, of 
course, just a figment of his imagination, but the image was strong in 
his mind and it demanded his respect. Grogan had never been as far as 
Karl's domain before, but Leick had ventured as far as the "visitor's 
chamber" and even overstayed his welcome.

   He took out the next vial. It had a tag with print on it, wrapped 
around the side, which read "Victoria Treagard - Ventrue, 12th gen."  
That one was very annoying. Karl had only ever encountered her once 
before when she came to him to ask advice. She paid for her information 
but had yet to be fully compensated for her actions.

   A voice interrupted Karenthuras' musings from beyond the doorway: 
"Karl, Karl, are you in there?"

   "Yes, my dear Jennifer," he called back. "I'll be out in a couple of 
minutes."

   Karl put the vial back and neatly swept the rack under the bench.  
Jennifer wouldn't come in, as this was one place in which she was not 
allowed. She was well disciplined, considering her circumstances. He 
exited the room.

   "Yes," he said to her now. "Do you need anything?"

   "Well," came the reply, "I was in that study room, the one with the 
tall shelves, and I came across another door just in behind the 
book-case."

   "You must never go in there, you hear?" Karl said sternly as the 
expression on Jennifer's face sank. "I have not been in there for a 
good number of years, so I had it blocked up. And for a good reason, 
too!"

   "OK, Karl," she acquiesced, "but what's in there?"

   Karl turned away. "You needn't worry about that."

   Jennifer went off, dissatisfied with the response but still curious.

   Karl entered the room, again, where he kept the blood samples. The 
Tremere clan knew many things about the Camarilla (and, in fact, most 
things!), one of these things being that the Masquerade was getting 
easier to keep as the generations went on. There had been many Clan 
meetings about this subject and the conclusion was that the blood could 
be diluting too fast! Soon, Kindred would be unable even to sire their 
own, because the blood would not allow it, would not be strong enough. 
Kindred and Kine would become indistinguishable, and some proposed that 
this would be acceptable if it meant the Kine would suffer the most, but 
that would unfortunately not be the case.  Karenthuras was appointed, by 
his clan, to investigate this circumstance, to see if there was anything 
they could do to delay the inevitable, for they knew one day it had to 
come. This is the way it was written; but it was not due for thousands 
of years yet.

   Karl had gathered a collection of Kindred blood. There was at least 
one sample from most clans, but he would need several generations of 
each before he could make a proper analysis. The Tremere Clan, at the 
Grand Assembly in Vienna, had already ordered that samples be taken from 
every generation from Karenthuras down. (They didn't distrust him, just 
didn't want 'accidents' to happen.) Karl was lacking samples from one 
clan in particular, but he was sure he would find what he was looking 
for within his own shielding.



          - End Of Post,
            Karenthuras,
            Tremere.




   Suddenly Leick stopped in mid-sentence.  Airegon looked at him, 
confused. He appeared to be like a statue.  No matter.  Now she could 
escape.

   She turned around and saw Sheilina watching her. "Come on, Airegon," 
said the Caitiff, "we have to leave. Now."  She took a step closer. 
Airegon hesitated.  "Come on," she urged again. "He won't stay like that 
forever. Let's go."  Still Airegon hesitated. Why would Sheilina help 
her?  "Airegon, come on. I'd like to get some traveling time in before 
it gets light. Let's go!"

   "Why-" Airegon started to say.

   "Ask questions later," Sheilina interrupted. "My car's over here."  
She started off back through the woods quickly. Airegon followed. They 
got in the car and started for Canada.


     - End of post.
       Sheilina,
       Caitiff.





Montreal, Quebec
Canada

   The street in front of the small white house was dark. Frost stood 
near his car. The trunk was open and there were a few things in it.  
There was a small latch on the top of it used for releasing it from the 
inside. While traveling, Frost would often sleep in the trunk to avoid 
the sun. Soon Frost would be driving out of Montreal and head back to 
New Chelsea. Frost calculated that the trip would take him four nights.

   Cochrane walked slowly from the house. He was completely dressed in
black. "You're leaving tonight I take it."  Frost nodded indicating that 
he was. "You haven't been given the mark yet." Cochrane pointed at his 
wrist.

   "I think it would be better if we saved that honor till after I get 
the job done."  Frost ran his hand through his hair. "We wouldn't want 
anyone getting suspicious would we?"  Cochrane seemed to accept this. 
"What are your plans for New Chelsea anyway?"

   "That is privileged information, Frost, and you're not privileged 
just yet." Frost glared at Cochrane his eyes glowing gently. He stepped 
slowly back from Cochrane and made his way towards the car.  Frost 
didn't quite trust Cochrane, but there was no one else he could trust. 
Frost opened the door of his Barracuda AAR and began his long journey 
back to New Chelsea.



         - End of post.
           Fredrick Frost,
           Caitiff.




    Falling. Falling into darkness. Everything faded: her senses, her 
emotions, her life. Brooke embraced the all-consuming nothingness into 
which she was hurtling, accepting the loss of what had been her 
existence. This was the ultimate peace.

    But no. Something was drawing her back. No, she wanted to stay, to 
remain in this place. What could possibly cause her regression into 
life?

    As her senses began to slowly seep back, Brooke experienced taste. A 
thick, warm, salty taste. It was good. She wanted more. Instinctively, 
she reached out for the source of the taste - although she couldn't see 
it. That's better! The taste flowed freely now. A slow stream of warmth 
trickled down her throat, and she began to awake.

    More senses came back to her, and Brooke felt what she was grabbing. 
It was soft and fleshy: an arm. Her teeth were sunk into the wrist of a 
hairy man, and his blood flowed into her mouth. She didn't care. She 
needed it, the blood. She Thirsted. Hungered.

    Sitting up, Brooke opened her eyes, to focus on the objects before 
her. The first thing she saw was the man in front of her, donating his 
blood to save her. He was tall, and thick-bodied. The pale moonlight 
gave his head an ironic halo.

    That was all Brooke saw, as he stood directly before her, his arm at 
her mouth. She bit deeper into the man's arm then, sucking ferociously 
at the wound there. The blood poured from the opening, down Brooke's 
throat, but didn't quench her incredible Thirst. And, just at the height 
of her craving, the supply ceased.

    The big man in front of Brooke had removed his wrist from her mouth, 
and raised it to his own. A massive tongue emerged, licking his wound 
tenderly. When he removed it, the arm was healed as though it had never 
been pierced.

    That was when Brooke Remembered. Remembered who she was, who these 
people were (she now saw a female and a decapitated corpse here). They 
were Vampires, unholy legions of the undead she had sworn would all die 
at her hands. And now, now God help her, she was one of them.

    She sunk to the ground, then, holding her head. Is this what it's 
like? she wondered. For all of them? A great pain welled up inside her 
skull, as her brain twisted and turned, reshaping itself. She screamed 
from the pain and blacked out.

    When next she awoke, the others had gone (though the smell of oil in 
the air told her the motorbike had not been gone long) and Brooke saw 
why. Off in the east, the sky was lightening. It was almost dawn. She 
had to find a place to hide.

    As she ran, Brooke's head continued to throb. She felt that this 
torture was part of her Becoming. Her brain was adapting to their blood 
in her system, destroying brain cells and reshaping synapses. Why? She 
had never heard this about Vampires...

    Aching from Hunger and pain, Brooke concealed herself in a nearby 
basement, to hide from the lethal sun.





    The Malkavians were almost to their Haven. They'd have to be quick 
to outrun the sun. They had hoped to stay with the girl, to guide her 
through the torture of the Malkavian Becoming. But, alas, it could not 
be so.

    Ah well, the driver shrugged. If she survived, she'd come looking 
for them.

    The sun began to glint off the bike's mudshield as the Malkavians 
raced, beginning to smoke from the rays, to the safety of their Home.


         - End of post.
           Brooke,
           Malkavian.
           Posted by Leick.



London, England.
1894.


   Cheyenne woke up abruptly. It was 8:00pm and the sun had just gone 
down. She had that nightmare again, about her becoming a Vampire and 
killing her parents. It had been 664 years since that night. But to her 
it was like yesterday. She had lived in London since then. But she knew 
she had to leave. Cheyenne had heard from her friends of a city called 
New Chelsea, in America. She took her things and left. She would start a 
new life there. 

   Cheyenne got to the river and was about to board a ship when she saw 
a young girl, appearing maybe 17 years old. Cheyenne somehow knew she 
too was a Vampire. She went to the girl and tapped her on the shoulder. 
The girl turned around. She had flaming red hair, and silver eyes just 
like Cheyenne.

   "Hello," said Cheyenne kindly. "Are you lost?"

   "Yes," the girl replied meekly. "Where is this?"

   "This is London."

   "London?" the girl sounded incredulous. "I'm a long way from home."

   "Where are you from?"

   "I'm from Sydney, Australia," she replied.

   "Wow," Cheyenne murmured. "What's your name?"

   "My name is Shandrill Moorhar."
   
   "Nice to meet you. I'm Cheyenne Chitcka."

   "It's nice too meet you Cheyenne." Shandrill smiled softly.

   "I'll take you under my wing; you look like you need help."

   "Thank you," the girl, Shandrill Moorhar, replied gratefully. "I 
guess if you are doing this you are a Vampire too?"

   "Yes I am," said Cheyenne, wishing the girl would be a bit quieter - 
she didn't want to break the Masquerade. "Come. It's time to go."

   "Go where?" asked Shandrill.

   "To a city called New Chelsea."

   "Okay."

   So Shandrill and Cheyenne went aboard the ship and left for their new 
life. 


   When the sun came up the following morning, both girls stayed in the 
cargo bay. They found it easy. Unfortunately, two people knew that they 
were there below. Both men came down into the cargo bay that day;  and 
they wanted to do much more than just talk. They came closer to the two 
girls. Shandrill and Cheyenne turned around and jumped on the two men 
and they dug their teeth deep into the men's throats. The victims never 
had the chance to yell for help. When the Kindred were finished, they 
dragged the bodies behind some crates. And they waited for the sun to go 
down.

   "Shandril are you okay?" Cheyenne asked tenderly.

   "Yes," she sighed. "I know that I'm 591 years old but I still can't 
get used to it."

   "I know what you mean," Cheyenne agreed. "It took me a long time to 
get use to killing humans so I could eat."

   "Cheyenne," the girl interrupted the conversation. "The ship has 
stopped."

   "I'll go see." Cheyenne stood up.

   "But the sun!"

   "It's okay," Cheyenne assured her friend. "It's night now."

   So Cheyenne went up on deck and saw the lights of the city. She knew 
their new life was here, in this country. They would find their way to 
New Chelsea somehow. The night sky covered the beautiful cityscape like 
a giant protective blanket, comforting it until the arrival of the sun 
in the morning. Cheyenne had rarely seen anything as beautiful in her 
life.




    It was a few months later. Through various methods (usually jumping 
on board trains that seemed to be headed in the right direction) the two 
Ventrue made their way eventually to New Chelsea. The town was big and 
black, with stone architecture stained black from years of smoke. Huge 
gargoyles and grotesques sat atop each building, watching the frenzy 
below with a patient eye.
    They had to go see the Prince, Cheyenne realised. To introduce 
themself to him. She heard someone approaching from behind. She turned 
around ready to kill. But she saw that it was Shandrill.

    "Sorry," Cheyenne grimaced. "I thought it was someone else."

    "Is that New Chelsea?" Shandrill's eyes were wide.

    Cheyenne looked out over the dark mass before her. "Yes," she 
replied. "Yes it is."

    "Cool," Shandrill exclaimed. Cheyenne had never heard the 
expression, but let it pass. Maybe it was part of the new kids' lingo. 
"Let's go."

    "Okay! We have to go see the Prince."

    "Prince? Why?"

    Hadn't Shandrill's Sire taught her the Traditions? "We have to 
introduce ourselves."

    "Oh," the girl nodded. "Let's go then."

   So Cheyenne and Shandrill entered the dark city and went straight to 
the Prince. They arrived at the Bezoar complex and knocked on the door. 
After a few minutes, the door swung creakily open. And they saw a man. 
He told them to come in.

    "What can I do for you ladies?" he enquired.

    "We are here to see the Prince," Cheyenne declared.

    "And what is the purpose of this visit?"
 
    "It's our first night in town," she explained. "We are here to 
Present ourselves."

    "Wait here," the Cainite doorman ordered. "I'll find out if he will 
see the two of you."

    "Okay," Cheyenne nodded politely. "Thank you."

    So the man left and after a few minutes he came back, telling 
Cheyenne and Shandrill to follow him. They went throught a door and 
walked down a long dark corridor. Until they reached the end. The man 
opened it and stepped aside. "You may go in." 

    The girls entered what was called the 'throne room'; basically a big 
hall. In the center of it sat a weary man, diminutive on his massively 
ornate chair. Beside him stood a more imposing figure, dressed in a 
recent suit, of a style not seen in London.

    "Good evening ladies," the bigger man spoke, his voice deep and 
rumbling. "I bid you welcome. I am Rutger Leick and this is Prince 
Alexander Laplace. Who, may I ask, are you?"

    "I'm Cheyenne," she indicated herself, then turned to the other and 
said, "and this is Shandrill."

    "We are from London," the younger girl piped up.

    "And what are you doing in our city?" Leick asked.

    "We want to start a new life here."

    "If it's okay with you," Shandrill added.

    "It is okay with me," Laplace said weakly. His color really didn't 
look right. Was he always like this?

    "We may stay then?" Cheyenne enquired.
 
    "Yes," the Toreador Prince replied. "You may. Now leave."

    "Thank you, Prince." They bowed and left. This Prince was a bit odd, 
seemingly obsessed with his power, but unable to use it. Weak, but 
powerful. Strange.

    Cheyenne and Shandrill exited the building and went to search for a 
house where they could stay. After a couple of hours they found an old 
house in the middle of an industrial estate. It seemed no-one had lived 
here for years, or even remembered its existence.

    "Cheyenne, I love this house!" Shandrill exclaimed.

    "Well then, Shandrill, we will have this house." Cheyenne smiled.

    "Thank you Cheyenne," the younger Ventrue enthused.

    "You are welcome."

    They went inside and spent the last few hours they had left to cover 
all the windows before the sun came up. This new city could be just what 
they needed.

       - End of post.
         Cheyenne Chitcka,
         Ventrue



The darkness flapped around him like a cloak as the Brujah Primogen 
made his way along the black corridor. His eyes were kept firmly fixed 
on the floor. He had failed.
    The Prince had sent Leick to get Airegon, the Brujah who had refused 
to Present herself. But something had gone wrong, and Leick didn't know 
exactly what. One thing he did know: Airegon was not going to get away 
without punishment. Something which Leick hoped didn't apply to him.
    At the end of the hall, Leick could just make out the door to 
Laplace's chambers. The Primogen stopped briefly outside the door and 
took a deep breath (not that Kindred needed to breathe - it was just a 
habit). Leick hoped the Toreador Prince wasn't with a woman again. Last 
time he was here, Laplace had been busy torturing and feeding from a 
mortal female - something he apparently took pleasure in. Frankly it 
disgusted Leick. If you had to kill to feed (and some Kindred seemed to 
think it necessary - though of course it isn't) best get it over and be 
done with it. This lingering on it breeds bad habits. The quicker the 
better, that was Leick's philosophy.
    Of course, Leick wasn't a Toreador, and hadn't been around as long 
as Laplace. The Prince had exhausted all ordinary forms of pleasure 
centuries ago, and now spent his days inventing new ones. Leick could 
only hope Laplace didn't plan to practice on him.
    Finally, Leick knocked on the huge oak door, three times loudly. A 
beat, then a faint voice:
    "Come in." It was Laplace.
    Swinging the massive wooden door open, Leick was surprised to see 
Lucien duCharne standing here. DuCharne kept mostly to himself, and 
Leick didn't think he had ever seen him visit the Prince in these 
chambers. Well, maybe once... Leick couldn't be sure. Anyway, if he had 
it was a long time ago. So what could be so important?
    "Just wait a minute," said Laplace to the newcomer. He was sitting 
upright on his huge bed, but looking surprisingly animated. One of his 
better days, Leick saw. No weariness or hallucinogenic visions. Leick 
didn't know if that boded well or not for his purposes.
    "Now," the Prince continued, turning back to duCharne, "you were 
saying?"
    Without a glance in Leick's direction, the Gangrel Primogen 
continued his report:
    "As I said, we have been hearing reports for a while about a breach 
in the Masquerade." The girl? Leick didn't see what was so urgent about 
this that required taking to the Prince. Even if the girl had reported 
to the authorities (which she wasn't likely to do if she hadn't done so 
by now) they would never believe her. So what had happened that brought 
duCharne here? Leick pricked his ears up a bit.
    "A girl," duCharne went on, "in her late teens, who seems to have 
taken it upon herself to exterminate us all one by one. We don't know 
why."
    "Yes, yes," the Prince waved a hand in the air. "I've heard all 
this. It's happened before. What new do you have to say?"
    "I'm getting to that," the Gangrel said patiently. "One of my 
younger Gangrel stumbled upon a scene last night. The girl (apparently 
calling herself Brooke, my Lord) attacked three Malkavians outside Kit's 
Haven. (You remember Kit, Sire?) Anyway, she decapitated one of them 
before they managed to render her unconscious."
    "So we're done with her?" Laplace assumed. "Presumably they killed 
her, yes?"
    Lucien shook his head. "I'm afraid not, my Prince. That is what I'm 
here to tell you. Dia Knight's Malkavian underlings took it upon 
themselves to Embrace the young girl."
    Laplace's eyes widened, and he sat straighter in bed. Leick knew 
what he must be thinking. No Prince liked Kindred Siring without 
permission, but Laplace was obsessed with his power. Much more so than 
most Princes. This kind of thing maddened Laplace no end. Leick wished 
he had been able to report his news first.
    "They changed her?" The Prince was incredulous. "How dare they?"
    "Besides the personal insult," duCharne pointed out, "there is a 
more serious problem. Not only does she now have proof of our 
Masquerade, but her newfound abilities will only make her crusade 
against us worse."
    "I'm not worried about that," Laplace dismissed it with a wave of 
his hand. "The Vampire blood in her flesh will soon erase that 
hostility." Of course, he was wrong, and both the Primogen knew that. 
The Blood could do much, but not always that. Hate remained, that was 
the one constant in the Universe. "What I'm angry about," he continued 
his rant, "is this blatant disregard for my authority. Get Dia Knight!" 
he ordered duCharne. I wish to see her in my Throne Room in one hour."
    The Gangrel Primogen nodded wordlessly and exited the chambers. 
Leaving only Leick with the wrathful Prince.
    "And you, Leick," he turned to the Brujah. "What do you want?"
    Rutger Leick swallowed and spoke up. "Do you remember the Brujah who 
refused to see you?"
    "Yes," he confirmed. "You were sent to bring her. Well, where is 
she?"
    "I'm afraid," he replied, "that she would not come."
    "Would not come? You are her Elder. She must obey, or you will make 
her."
    "That is true," Leick nodded, staring at the ground, "but some magic 
was put on me. I do not know what, but one moment I was talking to her, 
the next I was waking up from a trance and she was gone."
    "Oh, Rutger," the Prince sounded disappointed rather than angry. 
Perhaps there was hope yet. "What has become of you? You used to be the 
strongest of my Primogen, now look at you." He indicated Leick's wrist 
stump where his left hand used to be. "You of all people should know 
that the mind-altering spells can only affect you if you let them. The 
mind barriers have to be let down. A hundred years ago you wouldn't have 
been so careless."
    Alexander Laplace was right. About everything. A hundred years ago 
he wouldn't have been caught unawares by such a spell. And he should 
also know much about countering the spells. After the events of 1836. 
But he didn't want to think about that now.
    "Go," Laplace dismissed him. "I have other things to worry about." 
He pointed at the Brujah with a skinny finger. "But don't forget to 
bring that young Brujah. She will bow to my authority."
    "Yes, my Prince." Leick bowed, trying to hide a smile. He had gotten 
off very lightly. Dia Knight would likely not be so lucky.
    He backed out of the Prince's chambers and closed the door lightly 
but firmly. As the Brujah Primogen made his way back down the long 
corridor, he knew just how fortunate he was.
    Airegon had not heard the last of this.


         - End of post.
           Rutger Leick,
           Brujah Primogen.



Alone on the cold street, Hope Chitcka watched her sister Cheyenne 
wandering around with Shandrill Moorhar. The feelings welled up again as 
she couldn't help but be drawn back into the past...




 New Chelsea, Illinois
 1894


    The massive door swung open, and Hope saw her sister and that 
strange young woman emerge. Hope had followed her sister here to this... 
what was it called? The building had some funny name. Anyway it was, she 
had heard, where the Prince lived.
    And who was this young Ventrue who had come to America with 
Cheyenne? And *was* she as young as she looked? Something about her 
demeanor told Hope that the new girl may be quite as old as she.
    Odd feelings of jealousy sprung up inside Hope, and she fought to 
keep them down. Her sister had fled London to start a new life here and 
hadn't taken Hope with her. And then there was this other girl who she 
*had* taken along. Hope knew there was nothing personal in the choice - 
Vampires didn't have family any more. They were all Kindred.
    After a moment, Hope decided to follow her sister. Running a bit to 
catch up, Hope tapped her on the shoulder. Following her instincts, 
Cheyenne spun round, ready for attack. And then she saw her sister.
    "Hope!" she cried. "What are you doing here?"
    "It's a free country," Hope replied. "Or so I've heard."
    "You followed me! Across the ocean!"
    Hope shrugged. "I thought I'd see what was so hot about this place. 
You seemed so excited about it when that Toreador came to London from 
here." She looked about at the Gothic City. "Looks just like any other 
place to me."
    "You shouldn't have followed me," Cheyenne said, pushing her away. 
"You're not a child any more."
    "No," Hope agreed. "I'm not."
    "So live your own life!" And Cheyenne walked away.
    Hope stood watching the two Ventrue saunter off into the mist. A 
clash of emotions tore at her breast. She hated Vampires. Even though 
she was one of them. Ever since Cheyenne was Taken (and subsequently 
Embraced Hope) things had been different between them. They weren't 
close; it didn't feel as though they had ever been now. It had been 
nearly 700 years since then, and Hope still hadn't gotten used to it. 
Hadn't forgiven the Vampires for changing her sister.
    Hope sighed and walked off, a lonely figure on an empty street.





    Shaking the image out of her head, Hope sighed. It's funny how some 
things don't change. She still felt the same as she did back then, 
watching her sister and Shandrill together. Still, Hope would continue 
to watch out for her older sister, keep her safe.
    She refused to admit to herself that it was she who needed to feel 
safe.


       - End of post.
         Hope Chitcka,
         Ventrue.
         Posted by Leick.




"You did not have to do what you did at all!" Airegon complained. "He 
only wanted to talk, and I was planning on letting him do that. What if 
it had been something of a great importance? He looked serious enough," 
Airegon shouted, glaring at Shelina. "God only knows you could have put 
my life in danger. He does work for the bastard of a Prince - whatever 
his name is. Now I am stuck with you, some freak who does magic just 
like that! I would leave but I know you know where Frost is, so I'm 
staying with you as long as you bring me to him. If you won't do that, 
then goodbye."

"Wait," Sheilina said. "I will, but give me time. I think he is leaving 
Canada."

"Great," the Brujah moaned. "So I traveled with you all the way to 
Canada just to find out that he is not here anymore. Thank you very 
much," she said with her voice full of anger.

"I said I think he is," Sheilina repeated. "I'm not sure."

"Well do a little spell and find out. You're apparently good at that, 
though you had no need to do one before. You know you're lucky I was 
watching you do whatever it is you did to find out Frost was in Canada 
or I never would have come with you."

"I don't like to do spells and why were you watching me?"

"That doesn't matter now," Airegon said, "and it won't ever, so are you 
going to cast a spell to find out were he is or do I have to leave?"

After a pause in which there was complete silence, Airegon said 
frustratedly, "Fine, you wont do anything? I'll leave and find him 
myself. And maybe while I'm at it I'll go talk to Leick and find out 
what he wanted. Oh, what was it you didn't want me to know that he was 
going to say?"

"Nothing," Sheilina said quietly.

"Well apparently there was, or you would not have dragged me out to 
Canada in the middle of my conversation. Actually it never really 
started because of you and you stupid spell casting so I think I will go 
back and find out what he wanted. Goodbye." And Airegon turned to leave.

"Wait, stop!" Sheilina shouted. "I'll do a spell and find Frost. Just 
let me explain some things to you."


         - End of post.
           Airegon,
           Brujah.



Sheilina motioned for Airegon to get back in the car.  "This may take 
a little while. And keep in mind, I'm not going to tell you everything."

   Airegon sighed, exasperated, but got back into the car.  "Well?" she 
demanded.

   Sheilina stared out the windshield, her eyes growing distant.  "It 
all started a little while after I was Embraced. My Sire didn't have his 
Prince's permission to Embrace me and when it was found out that he had, 
he was sentenced to be exiled. I was, too. My sire told me that the 
Primogen wanted something he had, that was why they were after us. He 
gave it to me and told me to go away with it, to keep it safe. I left 
with the purple Crystal. The Primogen sent a vampire with amazing 
tracking skills after me to find the crystal. I have always managed to 
keep it safe until I came here and it was stolen."

   "But what does any of this have to do with Frost-or me?" Airegon 
asked, somewhat subdued by Sheilina's tale.

   "I'm getting there. I needed the crystal back, because I promised my 
Sire I would keep it safe. But Frost didn't want my help. I'm not sure 
he even wanted to get the Crystals anymore. He sent me off to Nalal with 
a message. You know I have the power to see into the future, although I 
can't control when or where I get the visions.  While I was at Nalal's, 
I- I... I saw the end of the world, Airegon."  Sheilina's voice got 
softer and a little sad. "I won't tell you what I saw. It was too 
horrible. But the Crystals were all put together and bad things started 
to happen. And Frost was there. A few hours after I first went into the 
trance, I woke up. I knew I should be dead, we all should've been dead. 
But nothing had happened. The world was
fine. I have never had a wrong vision in my life.  So I need to know 
what happened, why I was wrong. It had to be something totally 
unexpected by the universe. Maybe some sort of sacrifice..."  Sheilina 
trailed off, thinking.

   "But why do you need me?" Airegon asked.

   "Because I'm not sure Frost will talk to me. I believe he'll talk to 
you and I need you to convince him to talk to me."  Sheilina looked at 
Airegon, her eyes sad.  "Ever since I came to New Chelsea, and I'm not 
sure why I came, I've been changing. I want to know why and how.  And I 
want to know if my wrong vision is somehow connected. They have always 
kept me safe in the past. I need to know if he's coming to New Chelsea 
and when. And I need to be sure I'm right.
   "Now, Airegon, you can answer a few things for me, before we find 
Frost. Just two questions. Why were you spying on me when I cast my find 
spell, and when I had the crystal?  Yes, I saw you,"  Sheilina said 
before Airegon could question her.  "The second question is: Did Laplace 
really kill your family and why?"

   Airegon hesitated.  She had gained a little more respect for 
Sheilina, after listening to her story, but she wasn't sure she wanted 
to tell her anything.  She took a deep breath and began to speak.


     - End of post.
       Sheilina,
       Caitiff.




 The door of the old manor squeaked as Fredrick Frost opened the door.
Frost stepped inside and closed the door. He took off his coat and threw 
it in the closet. Pulling his sword from inside it, he held it parallel 
to his arm he continued into the manor. He had only walked out of the 
landing when he sensed another Kindred in the area. He looked around; 
seeing no-one, he continued forward. When he entered the living room he 
saw who it was. It was Rachelle.  

  "Rachelle," he said uneasily. She turned around and, seeing him, she 
ran towards him and put her arms around him.

 "Oh God, Fred!" she squeezed him tightly. "I thought I'd lost you.  The 
word on the street was that Leick killed you."  She looked up into his 
eyes. "I saw him after you left. His hand..." she trailed off, letting 
go of him. "The crystal, what happened to it?"

 Frost looked down at the floor. "It's gone forever and so is
Specter."  He smiled weakly.  "The world is safe again."

 "Then why are you back?" There was a suspicious look on her face.

 "It's a long story. C'mon I'll tell it to you."  Frost motioned toward 
the sofa. Seating himself next to her Frost told Rachelle about the 
events of the last few weeks and of Michael Cochrane and the Sabbat.

 "So Cochrane's trying to take over New Chelsea," Rachelle noted after 
he was done. "What are you gonna do about it?"  Seeing the look on 
Frost's face, she exclaimed, "You can't let that bastard have the city! 
Remember what happened the last time you worked for him? You almost got 
killed."

 "You don't think I know that Rachelle? If I hadn't said yes he would
have killed me anyway. This way I've bought myself some time to plan."
He paused. "For now I'll act as if I'm working for him and when the time 
comes I'll stab him in the back."

 Rachelle looked at him for a moment. "All right, but I'm gonna help
you. I don't want you to lose that pretty little head of yours."  She
smiled. "Now what do you have planned?"

 "What would you say to blowing up a little theater?"  Frost grinned
evilly.

 Rachelle's return grin was equally nasty. "Sounds like fun."


     - End of post.
       Fredrick Frost,
       Honorary Sabbat.