Hellraiser
Arcane
I'm voting B) for first and C) for second.
-
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Let's Play VtM: Night Empire
- Thread starter grotsnik
- Start date
ironyuri
Guest
I'm still glad people are swinging to B/C.
We don't lose anything with C. We found a bolt-hole on our Witanhurst adventure. That is both a security risk (we need to have Cripps and security cover it) and a boon for an emergency situation.
I will flop on my phone vote BUT with a small change to what kz3r0 said above, so my final vote will be:
B
C
(P)hone Humphrey Trentbridge and excuse Tony from the ball, explain that Sommers is concerned about the possibility of being exposed in the press and request that Humphrey use his connections to the Home Office, police services or intelligence services to look into Mandrake. Who is s/he, how is the reporter receiving his information and can they trace the contact. Tell Humphrey we will meet the bank board at a later date in private (re-assurance), but that until the Mandrake issue is resolved you cannot risk exposure or breaking the Masquerade.
We don't lose anything with C. We found a bolt-hole on our Witanhurst adventure. That is both a security risk (we need to have Cripps and security cover it) and a boon for an emergency situation.
I will flop on my phone vote BUT with a small change to what kz3r0 said above, so my final vote will be:
B
C
(P)hone Humphrey Trentbridge and excuse Tony from the ball, explain that Sommers is concerned about the possibility of being exposed in the press and request that Humphrey use his connections to the Home Office, police services or intelligence services to look into Mandrake. Who is s/he, how is the reporter receiving his information and can they trace the contact. Tell Humphrey we will meet the bank board at a later date in private (re-assurance), but that until the Mandrake issue is resolved you cannot risk exposure or breaking the Masquerade.
a cut of domestic sheep prime
Guest
Yep. That's why I didn't suggest it. Seems like the older vamps enjoy every opportunity to mock poor Tony. Case and point, the short chair right after he became a Baron. I wouldn't be surprised if they organized a boycott of his soiree just to cause him to look the fool.
And on a metagame note: I could totally see grotsnik giggling as he wrote something similar to what SerratedBiz just wrote about Cripps. Remember the turd "floating merrily by" after Tony decided on that jaunt to the sewers?
grotsnik
Arcane
- Joined
- Jul 11, 2010
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- 1,671
I cackled like an idiot when I read 'Cripps would be beside you snorting phlegm like there was no tomorrow'. Us Brits, we've a, uh, sophisticated sense of humour.
- Joined
- Dec 29, 2011
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- 2,835
Although I'd prefer to go directly after Mandrake, BC sounds like a good compromise.
Call Trentbridge for the reasons ironyuri stated.
VOTIN' BC
Call Trentbridge for the reasons ironyuri stated.
VOTIN' BC
Gondolin
Arcane
Fact is, our power base should not be the kine or the kindred, but our position as a bridge between the two worlds. The bankers have money and need a couple of favors done. The kindred could use the money and are probably in a position to do the footwork on those favors. I see an opportunity here as long as we remain the only conduit between kine and kindred.
laclongquan
Arcane
The only relation Kindred will have with Kine is fangs and necks, masters and servants. It's impossible that we control the conduit between the two.
At best we control the Kine politicians of Whitehall, therefore in general control British politicians. A limited zone of control, is about the best we can do.
At best we control the Kine politicians of Whitehall, therefore in general control British politicians. A limited zone of control, is about the best we can do.
Gondolin
Arcane
And a limited zone of control it will be. I'm not saying that Anthony should have a monopoly on all relations between kine and kindred because that's impossible. However, he can have a temporary monopoly on the relationship between certain groups. Say a banker needs some info that the Nos can get. Will the banker go to the Nos directly? Of course not. He doesn't even know they exist. Wouldn't know how to approach them in the first place. Will the Nos contact him? Not likely. They don't give a shit about him. But Anthony can make the whole thing work and become more or less indispensable to both sides.
Esquilax
Arcane
- Joined
- Dec 7, 2010
- Messages
- 4,833
Great observations, bro. Indeed, it seems like we've been doing this to a certain extent already. Way back when du Marchais organized that raid against the Sabbat warehouse, it was our Kine connections that ensured there would be no suspicion or Masquerade breaches. I'm pretty sure that our political connections were the only thing that kept us alive back then.
However, the reason I voted B is that in order to function as a bridge between the world of Kine and the world of Kindred is that you need lots of useful contacts on both sides for it to work. If we aren't acquainted with very many of our fellow Kindred, then it's pretty hard to find individuals in the world of vampires that are in need of our talents.
Онега
Trying too hard to get banned
grotsnik, do you know how many words you wrote in the first 24 Chapters? Im guessing you know.
57.000, half a novel. Including the second part, a full novel.
I have some unanswered questions though.
Answer those that don't meta spoil us in advance.
What would have happened if we tried to dominate Karthik?
Some anarch dogs caught us. What would those choices lead to?
There is screaming in a burning house. What would have happened with those choices here? Whats the relevance?
Would the worms be just a Joker card or was there some consequence involved?
Hob came from Howard but he was already in London at the time we could have picked D.
What would have happened with these choices here?
They set us up the bomb! Would C be successful in tricking the Sculptor into the trap?
What if we didnt play Eames game?
Could Jamieson have survived, with what consequences?
Dubrik asked for Willkinson to bury her alive. What if we refused? Dubrik is still around today though...
We stayed home and met Rannigan. What would have happened in b,c?
Quote from Chapter 24 about a certain ghoul working for a newspaper...
57.000, half a novel. Including the second part, a full novel.
I have some unanswered questions though.
Answer those that don't meta spoil us in advance.
What would have happened if we tried to dominate Karthik?
Some anarch dogs caught us. What would those choices lead to?
There is screaming in a burning house. What would have happened with those choices here? Whats the relevance?
Would the worms be just a Joker card or was there some consequence involved?
Hob came from Howard but he was already in London at the time we could have picked D.
What would have happened with these choices here?
They set us up the bomb! Would C be successful in tricking the Sculptor into the trap?
What if we didnt play Eames game?
Could Jamieson have survived, with what consequences?
Dubrik asked for Willkinson to bury her alive. What if we refused? Dubrik is still around today though...
We stayed home and met Rannigan. What would have happened in b,c?
Quote from Chapter 24 about a certain ghoul working for a newspaper...
laclongquan
Arcane
The Burning House choice is a Humanity opportunity that we missed. Well, Codex consensus missed.
Kz3r0
Arcane
- Joined
- May 28, 2008
- Messages
- 27,017
That would ahve earned us the attention of the press and of Scotland Yard detective.
And LOL at Humanity opportunity , do you remember how we began this game?
laclongquan
Arcane
Should I have phrased it "The chance for Summer to become more bro and actionhero and humanistic by rescue humans from a burning house"?
Excidium
P. banal
That would be poor larping bro, Anthony is not that type of guy.
- Joined
- Dec 29, 2011
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- 2,835
Eh, even the most evil bastard has moments of genuine compassion. It's not entirely out of the realm of possibility that the coward survivor of a war might still feel some survivor's guilt and subconsciously wants redemption.
Esquilax
Arcane
- Joined
- Dec 7, 2010
- Messages
- 4,833
Anthony has done some evil things. Probably the worst thing he's done is framed two innocent people so that he could protect a child molester with powerful political connections that he could exploit.
However... he also has shown a surprising amount of loyalty toward Eddie, Erika and even Humphrey. I think that his background of war trauma allows him to retain at least some faint echo of Humanity. He is a nasty motherfucker, but I don't think he's totally irredeemable.
Excidium
P. banal
It wouldn't make any sense, mere guilt or compassion isn't enough for a vampire to throw himself into a burning house for a random mortal.
The way I see it, Anthony is loyal to those that show loyalty to him, and only because it suits him to be an inspiring figure. As much as we like our buddies, we're Ventrue, we're destined for great things...Edgar and Erika are merely muscle, and Humphrey is just a pawn.
Esquilax
Arcane
- Joined
- Dec 7, 2010
- Messages
- 4,833
Haha, I am not suggesting that at all. Tony is still an enormous asshole and far from any sort of redemption. All I'm saying is that it's probably best to follow the Path of Humanity, particularly given his backstory (the fear of death is a very human thing).
SCO
Arcane
- Joined
- Feb 3, 2009
- Messages
- 16,320
Fuk yeah, middle eastern adventure, getting into proper PTSD.
laclongquan
Arcane
Saying Erika is muscle is like saying this
is a pair of tits
is a pair of tits
grotsnik
Arcane
- Joined
- Jul 11, 2010
- Messages
- 1,671
grotsnik, do you know how many words you wrote in the first 24 Chapters? Im guessing you know.
57.000, half a novel. Including the second part, a full novel.
I didn't, actually. Scary shit. As to all the C & C, honestly, half of it I can barely remember what I had planned, but I'll have a go:
Wouldn't have worked (obviously); Karthik, being a Ravnos and pissed off with you, would have gone along with it and fed you an absolute fuckton of false and misleading information.
A would have been a chance for a little action; we'd never have encountered the Anarch leadership but would have gained a little respect amongst the less sophisticated clans as word of the bloodshed spread. B was an obvious lead-in for any players who fancied going over to the Sabbat.
As has been said, I did have a 'oh, shit, you've been spotted!' subplot for that; I guess there's no real difference between A and C other than the humanity change which would've had me trying to write Anthony as less/more of a dick.
Simple enough; you'd have had the worms at your disposal as a resource or possible weapon. The exact consequence would've depended on how wisely you chose to use them in a later update.
C would've been an earlier chance for me to bring the Tremere into the picture and flesh out the purpose of the temples, which never really happened. Anthony would also have noticed Eames' own interest in the subject/that she'd been excavating the temple below her own chantry. D would've had Sommers finding the device Rannigan used to first contact Hob, but I'd also planned a Sabbat attack on Sommers' train, organised by Dubrik, which could have killed Fellowes. For E I had a couple of Cathayan potential allies/foes planned, but it's probably best they didn't make it in.
Wouldn't have worked as a base plan, though if you guys had agreed on some fiendishly complex plausible variant I'd probably have gone along with it. Most likely the agent you'd have sent (Oscar? One of Eames' people?) would get caught, betray the plan and the Sabbat would have turned the trap back on the Camarilla.
Not a clue. Probably just a way for me to keep track of our intentions towards her and future politicking.
B was the bad option. If Angelos hears there's an attack, he's not going to think it's unrelated to the ex-Cammie stood next to him. He guts Jamieson and dives for the cavern exit, surviving the blast. C would've meant a living Jamieson but a crippled, vengeful, flesh-craftingly horribe Angelos returning later on.
Dubrik's attitude towards you wouldn't have changed much, but you wouldn't have received that key info (obviously) and you'd have been able to do something with Wilkinson, whether that be turning her back to the side of right and good or having her murdered.
We stayed home and met Rannigan. What would have happened in b,c?
Staying at Eames' should have made you a virtual prisoner of hers (again) but it really slowed down the narrative the first time so it probably wouldn't have worked. Not sure about Fellowes.
laclongquan
Arcane
Intrude on the privacy of your toreador hitman would not be the most bro thing you can do: You cant help but show contempt/incomprehension to the artsy stuffs in Fellowes' den and give bad impression/insult.
grotsnik
Arcane
- Joined
- Jul 11, 2010
- Messages
- 1,671
For those interested, it was actually a toss-up as to whether the scruffy bloke was Vogler or not. The other possibility was that it was a pissed-off lowly Brujah who'd been going around complaining to the barons about the Setite's activities and being ignored every time.
Chapter 3
The news that you will not be attending the charity auction seems to perplex Sir Humphrey; at any rate, you can hear him spluttering away on the other end of the phone for quite some time.
“Mandrake?” he scoffs, at last. “My dear fellow, it’s a composite column; a patchwork hack. I know one or two of the journos who write for it, they buy their rounds down at the Speaker’s Arms like everybody else. One of them saw me with you and wanted to get a bit of leverage – he’ll come up to me in Claridge’s a week from now, smug as a toad, and ask for a favour in return for dropping the story. Happens all the time.”
“Maybe so,” you tell him, politely, “but could you find out who wrote the story anyway? Just as a precaution. I’m sorry about tonight, Humphrey – truly, I am. There’ll be another time for this. Right now I need to ensure I’m not being watched on my end.”
He grumbles away for a little while longer, but finally accepts your apology.
“It’s not Mandrake you should be worried about,” he tells you. “It’s the board. How long do you think I can keep finding pretexts for you to meet them after dark?”
“The night London runs out of charity balls, midnight galas, dinners and businessmens’ strip clubs,” you retort, “is the night the earth’s consumed in fire and ash. Take care, Humphrey. Have a bottle of Bollinger on me.”
***
As you duck in through the automatic glass doors of the Westminster offices, Antonia comes scurrying out from behind the front desk to meet you.
“He’s already here,” she hisses. “Just like in the picture. I showed him into the meeting room.”
“Not quite true,” someone says, amiably, from the staircase. “I’m afraid I couldn’t keep still in there. You must be the Patrician.”
Vogler looks much like his photograph; the ridiculous sunglasses are, you note, still perched on his crooked nose. He hops lightly down onto the ground floor and extends a slightly grubby hand for you to shake.
“Sorry to keep harassing your secretary,” he tells you, “but it seemed rude to turn up at your house and I don’t like using phones. Wilhelm Vogler – please don’t call me Prince, it’s fucking embarrassing. Would you mind if we go and find somewhere outside to sit? It’s a lovely cool night.”
***
In the end, you take him down to Gordon’s, a dark and fashionable little grotto below street level, wedged between Charing Cross station and the Embankment park, where the two of you squeeze into a cast-iron outdoor booth, ignoring the few droplets of rain falling from the sky that cause the suited revellers to squeal and barge past one another to reach the safety of the interior bar. Vogler orders an expensive bottle of port, then proceeds to ceremonially measure out two glassfuls before pouring them out through the railings onto the grass beyond.
“So,” he says, grinning at you.
“So,” you echo, straight-faced.
“I suppose you’re surprised,” he ventures. “To see a Gangrel coming to you like this, I mean.”
“Not particularly,” you tell him. “My sire once advised me that it’s the worst mistake you can ever make, tactically speaking, to judge our kind by their blood alone. The ‘typical’ Nosferatu or obvious Brujah is almost certainly a stereotype because they know you believe in stereotypes. And so they make you their fool.”
Vogler laughs at that, a hearty, old-fashioned guffaw that seems at odds with his slight frame.
“It’s a good point,” he admits, and raises a hand to remove his sunglasses. “But on the other hand – in the end, we are ruled by our blood, each one of us. I learnt that the hard way.”
You’re discreet enough not to stare. You’ve seen this blemish before, and it’s even become a somewhat iconic feature of one or two noted Gangrel, who made a bad mistake in their youth and let their Beast run away with them. But it is, nevertheless, a little disconcerting that Vogler’s eyes, from pupil to iris, are pure, textureless, blood-red.
“Mine was a wasted youth,” Vogler says, with a slightly sheepish smile, and pushes the sunglasses back up over his face. “I was a real sap for the Gangrel stereotype, Patrician – your sire would have sneered at the sight of me. ‘Honour and loyalty’, the purity of the wild, tussles on the taiga, blood in the snow. A simpler, nastier time.”
He isn’t quite the cool customer he appears to be, you note. He speaks with a calm, unpretentious sort of gentility, but there’s a quiet impatience to him, a slight restlessness that makes itself known in a tapping foot or his long-nailed fingers playing over the iron table. The Beast works itself out, you think, in all kinds of ways.
“And then came Swansea,” you prompt him. He nods.
“It was an old friend of mine,” he continues, “who gave me some invaluable advice. Your wildness finds its best expression away from the wild; what value can a beast have amongst other beasts? Independence has not served our kind well, though we certainly brag about it often enough. Insulation and isolation turn us into coddled pups. We need the Camarilla - to remind us of the value of our qualities and our traditions, if nothing else. And the Camarilla needs us, too, I’d argue.”
He pours another glassful of port and tosses it over his shoulder into the bushes.
“So, Swansea. Because the Camarilla won’t find you fit to rule unless you’re already ruling. I gathered together the local misfits – a few fellow Gangrel, a Malk or two, some nights I’d swear the primogen outnumbered the rest of the Kindred – and made something of that fucking shithole.”
“And your old friend,” you suggest, “passed the word on amongst the higher-ups that a trailblazing Gangrel was creating new Camarilla territory and might even prove a shining example of leadership to bring other clan members back into the fold.”
You’re hoping for something, any hint or slip that might indicate the identity of Vogler’s patron, but he just smiles disarmingly and says,
“Well, quite.”
“All right,” you tell him. “I think I understand where you’re coming from. But why – if you don’t mind me asking – have you come to me?”
Vogler bares his teeth, momentarily.
“Here’s my train of thought,” he says. “As you pointed out, there’s many who might take a Gangrel prince of London as a positive sign that the clan might be ready to come back to the Camarilla fully, in time. I might also be popular with a lot of the Brujah and Nossies who might see me as a two-fingered salute to you toffee-nosed pillocks, no offence intended.”
“None taken,” you reply, calmly.
“Nevertheless, Venice are accustomed to a stable London. They’ll want to know, as their first priority, that the new prince will be accepted by the powers-that-be in the city and hold on to power for centuries to come. So – someone like me will need a local running mate, as it were. Someone a bit more civilised and well-bred, who can be photographed with their hand on my shoulder, so all of the sceptics, the, uh-”
“-the toffee-nosed pillocks-”
“-quite, so they’ll say, ‘It’s all right, that filthy Gangrel’s just a puppet, the real clans still have the power. Toreadors are fussy little woofters and it’ll be a damned long time before the Tremere are trusted in this city again, so a Ventrue’s my best bet. Now – why you, specifically? I’m not naïve, Patrician, I know I’m an outside chance. If I ask for help from a London baron who’s already in cahoots with a more likely candidate, he’ll string me along and then fuck me over. You’re prominent but young and…not hugely popular, so I’m betting none of the obvious candidates will have indignified themselves by asking for your help.”
He leans forward. A faint, eerie scarlet glow begins to creep over the top of his sunglasses.
“I’d like to go into business with you,” he tells you. “I think we’d make a good team – fuck, on a good night we might even give the bastards a run for the money. Help me make my mark on the city, and I’ll give you the power you’ve always wanted.”
You find yourself, quite without meaning to, licking your lips.
“If I agreed to this,” you reply, “and I’ve said nothing yet of the kind, mind you...then I’d be your Seneschal. I’ll accept nothing less. Promises and loyalties are all too often forgotten, in this town.”
“Gangrel are honourable creatures, Patrician,” Vogler says, with a slight shrug. “Or so the stereotype goes. Well, think it over and tell me when you’ve decided. I’m staying at the Millenium Hotel, in Grosvenor Square – where they did for Litvinenko, you know? Here's hoping to hear from you soon.”
He shakes your hand once again, rises, and strolls out into the dense, thoroughly out-of-season rain that is now cascading down over the rooftops and rattling upon the gutters.
How do you want to respond to Vogler’s offer?
A)Tell him no outright, and start searching for more likely candidates. Stringing him along will certainly make an enemy of him in the long-term.
B)Tell him yes – and begin trying to make contact with more likely candidates to win their support. Why bet on only one horse?
C)Tell him yes – and invite him as your guest to the next council. Presumably the envoy will have arrived by then, too; the barons can get a look at him.
D)Tell him yes, and encourage him to use his Venetian contact to try and gain a private audience with the envoy.
E)Tell him yes, and take him downtown to the Pleasure ‘N’ Pain. The ordinary Kindred of the city need to hear about him…
F)Tell him yes…and do nothing. Request funding for bribing wealthy barons, and then a little later, request more. Time to see how much this Gangrel can be milked for.
Chapter 3
The news that you will not be attending the charity auction seems to perplex Sir Humphrey; at any rate, you can hear him spluttering away on the other end of the phone for quite some time.
“Mandrake?” he scoffs, at last. “My dear fellow, it’s a composite column; a patchwork hack. I know one or two of the journos who write for it, they buy their rounds down at the Speaker’s Arms like everybody else. One of them saw me with you and wanted to get a bit of leverage – he’ll come up to me in Claridge’s a week from now, smug as a toad, and ask for a favour in return for dropping the story. Happens all the time.”
“Maybe so,” you tell him, politely, “but could you find out who wrote the story anyway? Just as a precaution. I’m sorry about tonight, Humphrey – truly, I am. There’ll be another time for this. Right now I need to ensure I’m not being watched on my end.”
He grumbles away for a little while longer, but finally accepts your apology.
“It’s not Mandrake you should be worried about,” he tells you. “It’s the board. How long do you think I can keep finding pretexts for you to meet them after dark?”
“The night London runs out of charity balls, midnight galas, dinners and businessmens’ strip clubs,” you retort, “is the night the earth’s consumed in fire and ash. Take care, Humphrey. Have a bottle of Bollinger on me.”
***
As you duck in through the automatic glass doors of the Westminster offices, Antonia comes scurrying out from behind the front desk to meet you.
“He’s already here,” she hisses. “Just like in the picture. I showed him into the meeting room.”
“Not quite true,” someone says, amiably, from the staircase. “I’m afraid I couldn’t keep still in there. You must be the Patrician.”
Vogler looks much like his photograph; the ridiculous sunglasses are, you note, still perched on his crooked nose. He hops lightly down onto the ground floor and extends a slightly grubby hand for you to shake.
“Sorry to keep harassing your secretary,” he tells you, “but it seemed rude to turn up at your house and I don’t like using phones. Wilhelm Vogler – please don’t call me Prince, it’s fucking embarrassing. Would you mind if we go and find somewhere outside to sit? It’s a lovely cool night.”
***
In the end, you take him down to Gordon’s, a dark and fashionable little grotto below street level, wedged between Charing Cross station and the Embankment park, where the two of you squeeze into a cast-iron outdoor booth, ignoring the few droplets of rain falling from the sky that cause the suited revellers to squeal and barge past one another to reach the safety of the interior bar. Vogler orders an expensive bottle of port, then proceeds to ceremonially measure out two glassfuls before pouring them out through the railings onto the grass beyond.
“So,” he says, grinning at you.
“So,” you echo, straight-faced.
“I suppose you’re surprised,” he ventures. “To see a Gangrel coming to you like this, I mean.”
“Not particularly,” you tell him. “My sire once advised me that it’s the worst mistake you can ever make, tactically speaking, to judge our kind by their blood alone. The ‘typical’ Nosferatu or obvious Brujah is almost certainly a stereotype because they know you believe in stereotypes. And so they make you their fool.”
Vogler laughs at that, a hearty, old-fashioned guffaw that seems at odds with his slight frame.
“It’s a good point,” he admits, and raises a hand to remove his sunglasses. “But on the other hand – in the end, we are ruled by our blood, each one of us. I learnt that the hard way.”
You’re discreet enough not to stare. You’ve seen this blemish before, and it’s even become a somewhat iconic feature of one or two noted Gangrel, who made a bad mistake in their youth and let their Beast run away with them. But it is, nevertheless, a little disconcerting that Vogler’s eyes, from pupil to iris, are pure, textureless, blood-red.
“Mine was a wasted youth,” Vogler says, with a slightly sheepish smile, and pushes the sunglasses back up over his face. “I was a real sap for the Gangrel stereotype, Patrician – your sire would have sneered at the sight of me. ‘Honour and loyalty’, the purity of the wild, tussles on the taiga, blood in the snow. A simpler, nastier time.”
He isn’t quite the cool customer he appears to be, you note. He speaks with a calm, unpretentious sort of gentility, but there’s a quiet impatience to him, a slight restlessness that makes itself known in a tapping foot or his long-nailed fingers playing over the iron table. The Beast works itself out, you think, in all kinds of ways.
“And then came Swansea,” you prompt him. He nods.
“It was an old friend of mine,” he continues, “who gave me some invaluable advice. Your wildness finds its best expression away from the wild; what value can a beast have amongst other beasts? Independence has not served our kind well, though we certainly brag about it often enough. Insulation and isolation turn us into coddled pups. We need the Camarilla - to remind us of the value of our qualities and our traditions, if nothing else. And the Camarilla needs us, too, I’d argue.”
He pours another glassful of port and tosses it over his shoulder into the bushes.
“So, Swansea. Because the Camarilla won’t find you fit to rule unless you’re already ruling. I gathered together the local misfits – a few fellow Gangrel, a Malk or two, some nights I’d swear the primogen outnumbered the rest of the Kindred – and made something of that fucking shithole.”
“And your old friend,” you suggest, “passed the word on amongst the higher-ups that a trailblazing Gangrel was creating new Camarilla territory and might even prove a shining example of leadership to bring other clan members back into the fold.”
You’re hoping for something, any hint or slip that might indicate the identity of Vogler’s patron, but he just smiles disarmingly and says,
“Well, quite.”
“All right,” you tell him. “I think I understand where you’re coming from. But why – if you don’t mind me asking – have you come to me?”
Vogler bares his teeth, momentarily.
“Here’s my train of thought,” he says. “As you pointed out, there’s many who might take a Gangrel prince of London as a positive sign that the clan might be ready to come back to the Camarilla fully, in time. I might also be popular with a lot of the Brujah and Nossies who might see me as a two-fingered salute to you toffee-nosed pillocks, no offence intended.”
“None taken,” you reply, calmly.
“Nevertheless, Venice are accustomed to a stable London. They’ll want to know, as their first priority, that the new prince will be accepted by the powers-that-be in the city and hold on to power for centuries to come. So – someone like me will need a local running mate, as it were. Someone a bit more civilised and well-bred, who can be photographed with their hand on my shoulder, so all of the sceptics, the, uh-”
“-the toffee-nosed pillocks-”
“-quite, so they’ll say, ‘It’s all right, that filthy Gangrel’s just a puppet, the real clans still have the power. Toreadors are fussy little woofters and it’ll be a damned long time before the Tremere are trusted in this city again, so a Ventrue’s my best bet. Now – why you, specifically? I’m not naïve, Patrician, I know I’m an outside chance. If I ask for help from a London baron who’s already in cahoots with a more likely candidate, he’ll string me along and then fuck me over. You’re prominent but young and…not hugely popular, so I’m betting none of the obvious candidates will have indignified themselves by asking for your help.”
He leans forward. A faint, eerie scarlet glow begins to creep over the top of his sunglasses.
“I’d like to go into business with you,” he tells you. “I think we’d make a good team – fuck, on a good night we might even give the bastards a run for the money. Help me make my mark on the city, and I’ll give you the power you’ve always wanted.”
You find yourself, quite without meaning to, licking your lips.
“If I agreed to this,” you reply, “and I’ve said nothing yet of the kind, mind you...then I’d be your Seneschal. I’ll accept nothing less. Promises and loyalties are all too often forgotten, in this town.”
“Gangrel are honourable creatures, Patrician,” Vogler says, with a slight shrug. “Or so the stereotype goes. Well, think it over and tell me when you’ve decided. I’m staying at the Millenium Hotel, in Grosvenor Square – where they did for Litvinenko, you know? Here's hoping to hear from you soon.”
He shakes your hand once again, rises, and strolls out into the dense, thoroughly out-of-season rain that is now cascading down over the rooftops and rattling upon the gutters.
How do you want to respond to Vogler’s offer?
A)Tell him no outright, and start searching for more likely candidates. Stringing him along will certainly make an enemy of him in the long-term.
B)Tell him yes – and begin trying to make contact with more likely candidates to win their support. Why bet on only one horse?
C)Tell him yes – and invite him as your guest to the next council. Presumably the envoy will have arrived by then, too; the barons can get a look at him.
D)Tell him yes, and encourage him to use his Venetian contact to try and gain a private audience with the envoy.
E)Tell him yes, and take him downtown to the Pleasure ‘N’ Pain. The ordinary Kindred of the city need to hear about him…
F)Tell him yes…and do nothing. Request funding for bribing wealthy barons, and then a little later, request more. Time to see how much this Gangrel can be milked for.
Gondolin
Arcane
Can someone familiar with VtM lore tell me if this means something I should know?
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