In the dim light of the warm study, Cochrane turned round to the 
figure standing in the shadows. The Sabbat official lit up a cigar. He 
got no pleasure from the smoke, but felt it added character to his 
appearance. Breathing deeply, he drew in the hot smoke. He couldn't feel 
it passing into his lungs (all feeling in his organs had long faded) but 
soon saw the thick substance rising again from his mouth. Staring at the 
hidden figure, he spoke up:
    "Well, he should be home by now," Michael Cochrane said in his 
gravelly voice. "I hope you know what you're doing."
    "I do," came the soft tones of the Kindred in the shadows - Cray his 
name was. "Don't worry, the Sabbat won't come to any harm."
    "But Fredrick Frost is unpredictable," Cochrane warned for the 
umpteenth time. He wasn't sure at all of this plan.
    "I can take care of Frost." By his voice, Cray was obviously 
smiling, though Cochrane couldn't see his face. "I've done it before."
    Again, Michael Cochrane resigned himself to the plan. Those above 
him in the Sabbat had told him to respect Cray's wishes, and that's what 
he'd do. You didn't disobey the Sabbat, that's for sure.
    "Why?" he asked then. "Why New Chelsea?"
    It may have been a trick of the firelight, but Cray appeared to 
softly glow red for a moment, before quietly responding, "That's not for 
you to worry about."
    Cochrane shook his head. He didn't think he liked this. Not a bit.
    When he looked back at Cray, the man was gone. Damn obfuscation, 
Cochrane muttered, and he sat back, letting the cigar burn down to his 
flesh.


        - End of post.
          Michael Cochrane,
          Sabbat.
          Posted by Leick.



In the guise of a destitute old woman, Lilith walked into New Chelsea 
pretty much unnoticed. Another mortal city, her idea of fast food.  
However, there was a Kindred community here... opportunities to reap and 
answers to be found.

Lilith noticed the abundance of life and activity in the City Center.  
She shrouded her appearance into that of a young woman in her early 
thirties, wearing a nice evening gown and strolled down the busy 
streets.

Wandering moodily through the dark night, Lilith found herself passing a 
place called the "Red Scorpion" and recalls an old superstition. If you 
kill a scorpion, don't burn it. If you do, it will attract Vampires from 
miles around. This watering hole seemed interesting enough and Lilith 
entered.

            - End of post.
              Lilith,
              Nosferatu.



To Harajj

       Thanks for you help in transportation to get me here, I'm yet to 
communicate to another Gangrel though. I am weak, I must admit, but I 
refuse to feed until I have completed my first mission. I have read the 
Silver Stone can regain my strength temporarily until I have made 
contact, but I don't know where to go. If you have any information 
please write me, you know where you can contact me. I will notify you 
immediately if our contact changes. 
       If you come across any Gangrels, show them the amulet; my Sire 
gave me it as you well know, and he told me no harm can come to you of 
any Gangrel Vampire as long as you wear it. Tell them where I am if they 
prove to be of my clan, but please hurry for my weakness will kill me 
unless I have the stone.
       Until next time, please keep out of trouble, disciple!
               Tigristique.


               - End Of Post.
                 Tigristique,
                 Gangrel.



Frost looked down at Victoria Treagard's theater. He was standing on
the same roof as he had during his previous attempt to destroy the
theater. This time he had not come to destroy it, he was only casing
it. He had made a special order for the weapons he needed to do the job 
the fun way. The night air was cold and crisp. Frost breathed in the 
air; he still felt the cold sharply in his lungs. The sky above was 
clear and the stars shone like a million diamonds against the
blackness around them. The night was almost the same as the fateful
evening when he had been Embraced.


London, England
November 12,
1865

 Fredrick Frost walked along the cold London street. The street smelled 
strongly of coal. Frost came to his house. He was the son on a wealthy 
factory owner and therefore his home was quite large. He pulled out his 
key and slowly pushed the door open. It was late and he did not wish to 
awaken his wife or his three-month-old son. He slipped in the door 
silently, putting down the heavy briefcase he had been carrying. Without 
making a single sound he crept slowly up the stair, careful not to step 
where he knew the stairs would creak. He pushed the door of his bedroom 
open and sleekly slipped inside. 
   As he entered, he saw a figure perched over where his wife was. He 
could see his wife's head at the man's wrist. He moved towards the man. 
The man's head turned swiftly as he approached and he pulled his hand 
away from woman roughly. She collapsed back, her body starting to jerk 
violently. Before Frost could react, the man had knocked him down. Frost 
threw him off, but in a moment the man recovered and, grabbing Frost by 
the neck, he sank his teeth in. He drank from Frost until he was nearly 
dead. Then he stopped, throwing Frost's still body to the floor. Frost 
could not feel anything in his body; his vision was blurring and, 
slowly, he could feel himself dying. He looked up hazily and vaguely 
made out his wife standing over the crib, her mouth firmly attached to 
the infant's neck. As his eyes began to close for the final time he 
thought he saw a figure standing outside the window.  
   The next sensation Frost felt was a salty liquid being poured down 
his throat. He began to suck on something. Slowly his vision began to 
return - as it did he sucked harder. Then the object was pulled away 
from him. His senses began to return. He sat up and looked around.  
Beside him stood a man who looked quite young, even younger than him.

  "Who are you?" Frost asked, his voice still shaky.

  "I am the man who saved your life from the Vampire who sought to kill 
you and steal your wife."  Frost thought he heard the man sigh.  "My 
greatest error was making that one. But you Fredrick Frost shall be the 
one to rectify that mistake." As he helped Frost to his feet little did 
he realize that Frost was in reality his greatest error.  As they left 
the house Frost still did not understand what had happened, but he did 
know that he would destroy all those like the one who had killed his 
son. In time, revenge would be his.


 In time...  More then a century had passed since that dark night in
London, and still his vow was unfulfilled. He suspected that it never
would be. He turned away from the theater. Walking slowly away, he asked 
himself if his immortal life had been wasted on a futile
cause...


             - End of post.
               Fredrick Frost,
               Caitiff.



Angelique stared out of the west window of Nicholas' penthouse apartment 
in uptown Chicago, faintly remembering the vista of former sunsets. Of 
her mortal life, the beautiful colors displayed by the setting sun were 
the part of her previous life that she missed most.  A warm breeze 
passed across her bare shoulders as a single, lonely blood-tear fell 
upon her cheek. "I shouldn't be so sad," she thought to herself. "I have 
so much to look forward to now. I have all the time in the world to see 
the wonders of the world I've always wanted to visit. And, thanks to 
Nicholas, I have a job that I love, getting 
to teach others about the things I love..."
    "...So much," Nicholas said as he walked across the plush crimson 
carpeting towards her. "And you'll probably love where we're moving to, 
after you finish the remodeling designs, of course."
    "New Chelsea, right?" she sighed. "I've heard so much about the 
architecture. Maybe we could go tonight so that I can get some ideas for 
our new home?"
    Nicholas wrapped his long arms around her waist, kissed her gently 
on her bare shoulders, and said, "You know I can only stay 
intermittently with you there, my Childe, as I have duties here I cannot 
even consider abandoning."
    "But you said..."
    "I know," Nicholas apologised, "but, as I've said before, we each 
have things we must do, occasional duties to attend to with respect to 
our rank in the clan." Nicholas let Angelique go and wandered back into 
the master bathroom. "I am going with you because you are not yet ready 
to be on your own," he said, over his shoulder. "In time, you won't even 
want to be around me," he kidded, then scoldingly said, "And, about us 
going early, you should know better than to even ask.  I must present 
you to the Prince there and obtain permission for you to hunt."
    Angelique looked back out the window, pouting. Then, there was a 
knock at the door. Half dressed, Nicholas answered it, accepting a 
package from the young woman standing in the hall. He closed the door 
and came back to the bedroom window through which Angelique was still 
staring. "Maybe this will tide you over until then," Nicholas said 
before handing her the package, which contained photos of various 
structures and popular places throughout New Chelsea.
    After opening her gift, Angelique began to delve into the 
photographs, which left Nicholas free to finish getting ready for their 
night on the town. "Tonight," Nicholas thought to himself, "she must 
feed completely unaided. I must stop coddling her and prepare her to be 
on her own. If things continue to go badly here in Chicago, I may not be 
around to protect her much longer. I can only hope she finds an ally in 
New Chelsea soon after we arrive."
    Angelique sensed something was wrong and observed her lover's aura. 
The mixture of gray and silver in his pale aura had overpowered the 
normal pinkish hue, letting her know something was VERY wrong...

    The evening went smoothly, but there was little said between the 
two. The strain of Nicholas' secret weighed heavily on them both.  
Nicholas informed her that she must find her own prey tonight, without 
ANY help. Angelique silently obeyed, feeding from a young girl who was 
otherwise alone in the ladies' room of the restaurant. The young girl 
left first, woozy and only slightly drained. Unsure of the previous few 
minutes, she assumed she had merely blacked out and continued on with 
her evening as if nothing unusual had happened. 
    As sunrise approached, Nicholas and Angelique fell asleep in each 
others arms, holding onto each other with a sense of desperation, as if 
they had only a few more nights to be together.


             - End of post.
               Angelique,
               Toreador.



The rain fell hard on the cold, dark street. Rutger Leick, Brujah 
Primogen, stood in the shelter of a large stone building. The Primogen's 
bulk was lost in the immensity of the coal-stained structure, and he 
appeared as small as the gargoyle water-spouts that sat, leering, atop 
the massive building. He hated the rain. Always had. All it was good for 
was making things grow, and what had that to do with Kindred?
    Facing the wall of drizzle, Leick's thoughts turned sour. Over the 
past months he had let the Primogen council seize most of the power from 
him. Before, it had been Leick who had truly run the city, with the fool 
Prince sitting on his throne, dozing silently. Now, after his 
distraction over the Crystal of Darkness, the other Primogen had taken 
control of their respective clans and the relevant operations associated 
with them. Leick's greed for power had lost him what little power he 
had. Rutger resolved to get it back.
    Idly, he rubbed the stub of his left wrist. His hand was gone. That 
anarch Frost took it when the Crystals chose to go with him rather than 
defend Leick from his attack. More than anything else, this physical 
sign of Leick's loss bothered him. It wasn't the physical handicap that 
upset him - he could live with that. But every time he reached for 
something, he was reminded that Frost had bettered him, that Leick had 
lost the power to someone else. That his situation was degenerating all 
the time.
    The rain wasn't going to stop. That was becoming clear now. He'd 
have to walk through it to get anywhere. The big Cainite shook his head, 
and stepped out into the torrent.
    As the cold drops slid off his hair and down his forehead to his 
nose, Leick formulated a plan of action. Obviously the first thing to do 
was become strong again. The physical impairment shouldn't stop him. It 
was time to feed, to build up the Blood Pool strong enough that his 
power would be obvious to the other Primogen. When he had built up his 
strength, then it would be time to rebuild his power base.
    The Brujah's long black coat was slick with the rain now, and his 
face was dripping, the water pouring off the end of his nose. Passing by 
a small music club, he sidestepped in, out of the rain.
    It was dark here. A few blue lights in the ceiling provided 
ilumination for a single guitar player on stage and several people at a 
bar. The crude painted sign above the bar proclaimed the name of this 
place to be "The Dive". Not a very appealing name, Leick thought to 
himself, as he wandered further in. 
    The guitarist was playing a jazz/blues construction, with a slight 
Mexican flavor. The mix was a little odd, but satisfying. He leaned over 
to the mike occasionally to sing some words, but they were few and far 
between. The dim blue luminescence gave him the impression of an angel, 
caught somewhere between Heaven and Hell. A very strange situation.
    Then, on the other side of the room, Leick caught sight of a 
beautiful young woman. Her black hair glowed in the blue light, and her 
shadowed face was flawless. She was the one, Leick decided. She would be 
the first.
    He didn't even have to say anything. Looking over into her eyes, the 
Brujah concentrated his Presence. He allowed himself to become like a 
magnet, directed toward her only. There was no way she could resist him; 
her will was weak. Caught by the bulky Primogen's Presence, the woman 
slowly walked towards him. He decided to play with her a bit, allow her 
to feel in control. Feeding didn't have to be about domination over the 
weaker beings, it was about pleasure. He subtly altered his Presence.
    The woman approached him then, and slinked past him, rubbing her 
hand across his chest teasingly. She continued to walk, entering the 
ladies' restroom, giving him an inviting look before entering. Leick 
smiled, and followed her in.
    His eyes squinted a bit as he entered the brighter-lit bathroom. He 
was surprised at the (relatively) pleasant smell of the room - only a 
Kindred could withstand the odor of a gents' restroom.
    The woman had backed up against the row of sinks, facing away from 
the mirror. Leick approached her slowly, exuding Presence. He came close 
to her then, smelling her hair. She clung to him as he let go of the 
restraints on his Presence, letting loose its full power. She fell into 
his arms and he kissed her neck lightly. As her head tilted sideways, 
Leick's fangs extended, and he heard the woman's heartbeat intensify. 
The smell of the near blood excited him, and he held onto this moment 
for a few seconds. This was the best part of the Feed, this when you 
were so close as to almost taste the blood, but yet to sink your teeth 
in and drink it. Having had enough of the wait, Rutger buried his teeth 
deep into the woman's neck.
    Not too much, he warned himself. The Blood Pool will be built 
slowly. A death here in this cozy hole would attract attention. No, she 
couldn't die, he would take enough only and then leave.
    It was agonizingly hard to pull away; her blood was rich and salty. 
But he did so eventually, and gently licked the marks where his teeth 
had been, healing up the wound. The woman was limp in his arms, and he 
laid her softly on the ground. When she awoke, she would not know what 
had happened. If she remembered him at all, she would not remember his 
Feed. Maybe she would think she passed out and he ran. Maybe she 
wouldn't even recall entering the bathroom. Either way, the Masquerade 
was safe.
    Leick slowly exited the ladies' room, and headed toward the door. A 
couple eyes followed him out, but most simply ignored him.
    When he exited "The Dive", the rain had slowed to a drizzle. Right 
now he didn't mind the wetness. He could feel his strength increasing, 
the warm oxygen-rich blood seeping throughout his body. At times like 
these he couldn't understand the Karoush tendencies of the Prince and 
his like - how could one feed on an animal when Kine provided so much 
more? The warmth filled him as he wandered on down the street.
    I wonder, he thought to himself, who will be my next victim?


            - End of post.
              Rutger Leick,
              Brujah Primogen.



Alain Roche walked the streets of New Chelsea in the early evening, 
searhing for his Kindred in this new and strange place. A place where he 
was unknown. The quest for knowledge was deep within him. 
  "Power is futile if one does not know its limitations or 
implications". 
  "To love", another limit. 
  "Why does he still respect some mortals?" He mused. "Maybe because I 
am so young, their vitality, their eagerness." 
  He turned to watch a couple in a doorway, so young, so desirable. 
Blood-lust surged through him. He must fight it. Maybe there is a 
blood-bank nearby? he thought. 
  "How I hate my self imposed morality - I am still too human." 
  Alain knows that it is only a matter of time before he loses all 
morality; only self-discipline will remain. 

  Walking on through the streets, he searched for a mentor, someone who 
could teach him some more. Someone with discipline, with courage and 
self-control. Only those with self control will rise to the top of the 
debris - with eternal liberty comes eternal vigilance.  He searches.... 


            - End of post.
              Alain Roche,
              Tremere.



The pain! It was agonizing. It tore at every fibre of her body. Brooke 
could feel the pieces of her falling apart, as though her essence were 
decaying. It was Hunger.
   Not Hunger as she had known it before. There was no feeling in her 
stomach that cried out for food. No craving for solids, or the 
fulfillment of a hot meal. This was a Hunger that infested every 
particle that made her up. It was a longing for blood.
   She knew it instinctively. It wasn't a conscious thought, something 
she had deduced from her knowledge of Vampires. It was a gut reaction; 
the Vampire part of her called out for the only substance that could 
hold it together, to keep it animated. She needed blood.
   It was so hard to focus. Several nights now since her Embrace, Brooke 
Stills was still recovering from the torture. The blood that kept her 
brain alive was corrupting it. Neurons scattering, misfiring. Her mind 
wandered, and concepts that had been familiar before the Becoming were 
now alien and impossible to understand. Conversely, she felt as though 
the very universe were making itself known, in a way only she could 
understand. Is this madness?
   Unable to stay with one thought, the former Kindred killer found 
herself wandering in the woods. Why am I here? she wondered suddenly. 
How did I get here? She looked up past the trees, to the moon shining in 
the cloudless sky. It was full and bulbous, glimmering wanly like the 
sun's ill sister. It reminded Brooke that this was her life now - no 
longer a life in the sun, but a sickly imitation of a life. A poor copy 
that could never stand up to the real thing. Was it even worth holding 
onto? The Blood cried out Yes!
   Holding her head. Brooke stumbled into a clearing. There, in front of 
her, was a large gray wolf.
   Brooke stood perfectly still. She knew wolves were not prone to 
attacking people, but she wasn't exactly a person any more. Would the 
creature sniff her and think her carrion, to be devoured without a 
second thought? She was terrified, but stood her ground, steady.
   Then, the Malkavian Childe noticed the wolf's eyes. Those glittery, 
violet eyes. In them was the mark of human intelligence. This was no 
mere beast, that much Brooke could see. What was it? She had heard tales 
of Vampires becoming wolves, but wasn't that a myth? Brooke wished her 
Sire had not left her alone. Perhaps she should search him out, to learn 
of her new identity.
   No! These filthy Beasts were anathema. They were evil and deserved to 
be killed, not respected, not befriended. How could she sit and learn 
from the demon which had made her like him and not act out some violent 
form of retribution? It couldn't happen. Even now that she was one of 
them (especially now, she corrected), Brooke hated them.
   The wolf took a step forward. Fear of the unknown rampaged through 
the young Cainite, and she turned to run. Her flight took her behind a 
thick copse of firs.



   Kayla Jade sniffed the ground. It was her, the Kindred killer those 
Malkavians had Embraced. So she had survived the Becoming. Kayla hadn't 
been sure the girl wouldn't destroy herself before turning into one of 
them. Some people were like that.
   The Kindred padded after Brooke, her tail swishing the air behind 
her. The Childe had passed behind this copse, Kayla was sure of that.
   But what was this? She was gone! Kayle sniffed the ground. No scent. 
I guess her Obfuscation skills are kicking in, Kayla realised. I wonder 
how much longer before she'll have to take Blood.
   Recognising that the trail was cold, Kayla Jade loped off into the 
woods to continue her hunt. Plenty of time before sunrise.


            - End of post.
              Brooke Stills,
              Malkavian Childe.
              Posted by Rutger Leick.



Alain Roche pounded the streets. Moving through streets and alleys.
Slowly, unconsciously, to the "rabble quarter" of the city. Most avoided 
his presence, sensing that he may not be the type to "tangle with". One 
poor fool attempted to "have a go". He now was on the way to hospital, 
sure to be DOA.
  Alain did not use his powers, he did not need to. The fool was an
amateur, and there had been Japan; Nikko, she... had taught him well.
That was the problem with so many Westerners and the New generations,
they had no discipline. Onwards he walked he needed to find the head of 
his clan, to have permission to hunt. He would not disobey, even to his 
bloodlust. Better he should go hungry than dishonor himself thus.

A scream shattered his solitude, a young human scream. The sense of fear 
and urgency attracted him. Maybe the result of another of his kind. With 
all his powers and speed he hunted the sound. Then he saw:

Three men and one women. Disappointment welled within him; their auras 
told him nothing that he wanted to know. Then cold anger took him, or at 
least he allowed it to take him.

Two of the men turned to face him. The stocky one sneered, "Get lost,
you don't want to know!" Alain smiled. When human he always used to 
smile, when he was about to attack.
  The other man, smaller, presented a handgun.
  Alain un-tensed his shoulder, relaxing muscles, allowing them to not
resist a sudden movement. Slowly Alain Roche approached, smiling.
The woman held by the third man stopped struggling. All the forces
centred on a critical time, a time when action could only go in one of
two ways. The man with the gun, alarmed at the coolness of Alain, 
started to shake slightly, nervously. Pointing the pistol at Alain's 
face he shouted, "Back off!"
  Alain smiled. "It's simple. Let the woman go and you'll live."
  This statement was unexpected. The certainty, the matter-of-fact
statement had its effect. The stocky man moved in closer, to intimidate, 
narrowing the distance between himself and Alain. "Listen you...." was 
all that issued from his lips.
  A gun went off.
  No cries of pain.
  Death had been instantaneous, efficient, controlled, and disciplined.

  Alain stood now in front of the woman, the third man holding her.
Alain smiled. "Still want to bother her? Still want to live?"
The man took off down the alley. Alain looked at the woman, young. Blood 
in her veins.
  "Can I walk you safely home?" he asked.
  He would make sure that she would be safe. He would not feed upon her. 
He had no permission to do so. Furthermore, she might be worth
cultivating as a friend. The future is always uncertain and after all it 
was a "human" world, no matter how much his Kindred might delude
themselves. Yes, we have the power, but they have the number and some of 
their kind fear neither the day or the night. Maybe she could be one of 
those. Life, power, required a long sight and planning.


             - End of post.
               Alain Roche,
               Tremere.



As Rutger Leick walked into the Council Hall, he saw that the rest of 
the Primogen were already seated. At the sound of his entrance, they 
looked up impatiently, obviously anxious to get started.
   To be honest, Leick was as well. Usually he didn't think much of 
these meetings (he usually attended, then went away and ignored whatever 
they had decided) but this had been called specially. Marcus Grogan had 
sent the message out early this evening, and the Brujah had rushed over 
here to the Bezoar complex as quickly as he could.
   Obviously others were quicker.
   Silently, Leick eased himself into his traditional seat - a large one 
near the head of the table. He noticed idly that the Prince was not in 
on this meeting. He was sure Laplace had been informed, but the hedonist 
was probably otherwise engaged. It seemed as though it should be so easy 
to overthrow that one, but his powers were strong, and his mind more 
shrewd than it often seemed. No, Leick would continue to follow his 
path, the strengthening of Blood, and regain his position as leader of 
the city from the shadows. All in good time...
   All eyes were now on the Hispanic Tremere, who had called this 
meeting. No-one spoke, waiting for him to initiate proceedings. He said 
nothing. A minute passed, and some of the Primogen began to fidget (Dia 
Knight most noticeably - those Malkavians didn't have much of an 
attention span sometimes) but eventually Grogan cleared his throat. 
Remaining seated, he said:
   "I suppose you're all wondering why I have convened this meeting of 
the Primogen." A murmur of acknowledgment swept across the table. Talk 
about stating the obvious. "It has been brought to my attention that a 
body has been found."
   Rutger sighed. Another speech about protection of the Masquerade. 
These were always tiresome. But something in Grogan's eyes said that 
this was a little more serious. Leick listened.
   "The body," the Tremere continued, "is not human. It is one of us, a 
Cainite." Some small disturbance in mood, but this was nothing really 
new. Kindred died, it happened. So what? "His blood has been drained, 
apparently by one of us."
   That got everyone's attention. Diablerie was the most disgusting of 
crimes to the Camarilla. It must always be taken seriously. Leick 
shifted nervously in his seat. While he knew others in this room had 
toyed with Diablerie on occasion, Leick had done so quite recently. 
After losing his hand he had killed one of the last Brujah in the city 
and taken her blood to replace what he had lost. But that couldn't be 
the body found. Rutger had placed it very carefully in the path of where 
the sun would rise, and her dried husk of a body had surely burned up at 
sunrise. No, it couldn't have been her. So someone else was committing 
Diablerie in this town. Leick wondered who.
   Marcus Grogan went on to describe where and when the body of the 
young Cainite (a Gangrel) was found, and how it was clear that Diablerie 
was the cause of Final Death. He closed with this:
   "We must all go and seek the perpetrator of this crime. Not only does 
it violate the precepts of our Traditions, but is a disgusting and 
heinous act. The criminal must be found and brought to justice. When his 
identity is known, we will convince the Prince to call the Lextalionis 
on him. All in favor?"
   What could they say? Even if they ordinarily wouldn't care, Grogan 
had brought it to their attention in a formal setting and basically said 
that if they did not agree with him, they would be violating the 
Traditions. And they could not do that without suffering the 
consequences - the least of which would be losing their place on the 
council.
   One by one, each of the Primogen raised their hands, supporting the 
action proposed by the Tremere. Grudgingly, Leick raised his own hand, 
the good one. He just hoped in all this that his own crime would not 
come to light.
   Satisfied with the response, Grogan sat back without smiling. He 
glanced around at everyone else, inquiring with his eyes if there were 
any other items for discussion. When no-one responded, he said: "Meeting 
adjourned."
   The loud screeching as the Primogen shoved their chairs back echoed 
in the large chamber, bouncing back and forth across the high rafters. 
Leick was the last Primogen to file out. As he did so, the thought 
crossed his mind:
   Perhaps Frost's murder of my Brujah will be brought to light.
   One could only hope...


               - End of post.
                 Rutger Leick,
                 Brujah Primogen.