Sorry, this has been clusterfuckish. I did get the Sheriff bit wrong, and I think I may have misinterpreted the intent of some of you as 'tell Fellowes to kill Karthik now, while he's vulnerable' rather than 'tell Fellowes to kill him later'. So with that in mind, if you're unhappy with the first half of this update, just tell me and I'll retcon it - it's not going to have any immediate implications. Hopefully this chapter will be enough to save me from the lynch mob. If not...well, at least I'll die with an erection.
BBC - that is one cool pic. Going on Chapter 1.
Chapter 12 - Dead End
"Well," you say, choosing your words with a great deal of care, "Thank you for the gift, Karthik. And thank you for coming all the way down here to...explain the mechanics of the thing to me. Unfortunately," and you give a little laugh, "we're heading to a Camarilla function immediately afterwards and I can hardly take these creatures with me. I assume I'll be able to pick them up tomorrow night?"
He takes your arm. Your feet shift against the edge of the pit.
"If you cannot manage," he tells you, "I could always drop a few of them off to your house tonight. Special Karthik courier delivery, keh-heh-heh-heh. I wouldn’t want to think you didn’t care for this present of mine. Was it the Brujah? Simply a demonstration, simply a joke; I’ll pay for him, of course."
You slip, very gently, out of his grasp.
"A kind thought," you reply, "but I think I'd rather wait until I have the time to deal with them personally. After all, if one of these creatures were to get loose and break the Masquerade...well, even if it wasn't traced back to me, I'd have the safety of all Kindred in this city to consider."
Karthik snatches hold of your arm, more roughly. You can feel his fingers tightening about your wrist.
And Jamieson coughs. The movement makes the barrel of his shotgun tilt upwards. Karthik's gaze flickers towards him for a moment.
Then he nods, and leans inwards.
"I have given you," he hisses, "a great and powerful weapon. The loaded gun is in your possession. And if one does not make use of a loaded gun, if one leaves it on the mantlepiece or tosses it down into a cupboard somewhere - they have a habit of going off all by themselves, keh-heh-heh. One must always take one’s chances."
He lets go of your arm, holding up his hands mockingly as if in surrender.
You acknowledge him, and turn, away from the pit edge and the horrid, writhing things that lurk below. Karthik is quite alone now.
"I understand," you say. Fellowes catches your eye. His hand snakes down, so fast and so subtle that it’s barely noticeable, towards his belt. “It’d be most imprudent to leave a loaded gun lying about. And one must always take one’s chances.”
You glance back towards Karthik. His posture has changed; his eyes flicker from you to Fellowes, and on to Jamieson and the Brujah. His shoulders are a little slumped, his fists clenched.
“Oh…heavens, really?” he says. He sounds a little tired. “I’m trying to give you a gift, blueblood. You have so many enemies, so few friends…and you want to make an enemy out of me?”
“Oh, don’t worry,” you reply, with the utmost calm. “You won’t be my enemy, Karthik. You won’t have time. Fellowes, if you would…”
Fellowes’ arm swings up; his pistol cracks. Karthik takes a step forward. And out of the darkness to your right, a body-worm leaps towards you, its ghastly bone-teeth extending from the underside of a rotten foot-
“Not real!” Jamieson yells, gleefully, and fires. The blast hits Karthik in the shoulder, tearing through cloth and flesh. He moans, and topples back. The worm vanishes.
You straighten up. Karthik is kneeling, his face bloodied and torn, on the edge of the pit. He raises his hands, slowly, to his face. Several of his teeth appear to be missing.
“Teri maa ki chut!” he moans. “You thtupid fuck!”
“Karthik,” you tell him, “it was your duty to inform the Camarilla that this creature existed. Instead, you chose to hide it, and use it for who knows what purpose, endangering the Masquerade. At any time, considering the…nature of this creature, this might be a crime worthy of Final Death. In wartime, it’s treason. And, as loyal subjects of the Camarilla, none will object that we carry out the sentence.”
The Brujah steps forward, unsheathing his long silver katana. He hands it to Fellowes.
Karthik’s fat face is contorted, grotesquely, with pain and fear.
“Lithen,” he says. “Jutht lithen to me. I know where Rannigan ith. I can help you find him-”
“And?” you reply, unmoving. “Where is he?”
Karthik hesitates.
“Jutht…jutht let me get out of here,” he tries. “Let me get out of here and I can…make thome callth…”
“Not good enough,” you tell him. “I’m sorry, Karthik.”
He tries to sneer at you.
“My people have altered governmenth,” he snarls. “Where unbelieverth thaw only wildernetth, we created a paradith for the prophet and the theerth. Our trickth have thaped the world.”
“And now you’re powerless pissers punchin’ above your weight,” Jamieson says, calmly. “Guess that’s why there’s a ‘disillusion’ as well as an ‘illusion’, ain’t it? Every lie's got to fall sometime.”
Karthik ignores him. His bloodshot eyes rest upon you.
“Oh, I’ll be glad to thee the latht of you fucking Ventrue,” he says. “You think you’re thuch manipulatorth, thuch geniutheth, but you thtick to your fucking Camarilla come what may. It won’t thave you, Anthony. They’ll thlit your throat and thtake your heart the firtht time you theathe to be leth trouble than uthe. At dawn, every one of us thandth alone. Why can't you thee that? Why don't you underthtand that thith could have helped you?”
You nod to Fellowes. He steps forward.
Karthik howls,
“You thtupid fu-”
And then the body of the Ravnos goes tumbling down into the dark, over the edge of the pit. Below, the body-worms are going wild with excitement.
You stroll, casually, up to the pit edge and gaze down. One of the creatures has already clamped itself down onto Karthik’s outstretched, twitching arm. He’s still trying to say something. His mouth opens, and closes. Four more of the worms are shuffling unhurriedly towards him.
“Keh-heh-heh-heh,” you say, to nobody in particular.
*
The top floor of the Windmill, a maroon, self-consciously quaint gastro-pub on the edge of Mayfair, is empty; in the far corner table, sitting in front of the window, Samantha Eames watches a a gaunt, long-faced man tuck in to a venison pie with mashed potatoes.
She glances up to acknowledge you.
"Oh, Anthony, darling," she says, smiling and touching you on the arm. "You, ah, reek of sewage. Pull up a chair, won't you?"
You take one of the comfortable leather seats and draw it towards the table. The gaunt man gazes at you uneasily.
"Freddie," Eames tells him, "this is Anthony Sommers. Anthony, this is Frederick Boulton, our ghoul with the Red Cross. Tell him what you were telling me, Freddie."
Frederick hesitates. A forkful of pie and mash steams, held in mid-air.
"The Sabbat went for one of our vans off Great Portland Street tonight," he says. "Killed the drivers - both ghouls - and got the back doors open. They just...poured all of the blood out into the street. Like they wanted to make a gesture."
He smiles, a little sadly.
"And it turns out that the records said the delivery was supposed to be going to Afghanistan," he adds. "For, you know, the soldiers. So the papers've been calling all night, trying to work it into a story. 'Sick freaks destroy supplies intended for veterans' and so on."
"This war of Kirkbeck's has only just begun," Eames says, sitting back, "and already it's spilling over. He stirred all of us up with fear over poor, dear, Terence, and like fools we were caught up in it. We should never have let him, you know."
She sighs.
"Frederick, darling," she continues, gazing at you, "I can tell by Anthony's too, too-perfect patience that he has something he's dying to tell me. Do you mind finishing your dinner downstairs, with the others? I'll make it up to you, sweetheart, I promise."
She rises to peck him on the cheek as he leaves.
You wait until he's descended, then lean forward, and tell her,
"There's something below Battersea Power Station. A Tzimisce horror. We've trapped it inside to make sure it can't escape - and I don't think the Sabbat know about it. For now."
Eames tilts back her chair as you explain the nature of the Caecilian, and raises her eyes to the ceiling.
"Hell of a publicity opportunity," she says at last.
"Or a trap," you reply.
She nods.
"All right," she says. "You plan it, darling. Just keep me in the loop and I'll give you whatever we need. But whatever we do with this creature - we'll do it together, yah? You brought me the lead, we share the plaudits." She smiles, gently, to herself.
"Deal," you tell her.
Eames seems to be turning something over in her mind.
"Funny," she says, at last. "That's the second time someone's brought up Ogham with me in as many weeks. Makes you wonder how much of it there is beneath the city, doesn't it?"
You lean forward.
"Who was the first person?" you ask.
"Terence," Eames says. Her eyes meet yours. "But then, the funny little man always was getting into trouble he'd have been better off staying away from. Anthony, darling, why don't you come and stay with me for a while? The streets are getting dangerous and we sensible Kindred really ought to stick together."
A) Turn down her invitation.
B) Accept her invitation.
And what's your next move, for tomorrow night? (Phone call's there if you want it.)
A) Arrange, with Eames, to reveal the Caecilian in a publicity stunt.
B) Arrange a trap for the Sabbat (or someone else, if you'd prefer) using the Caecilian. You will have to suggest a plan to get the information to them - this could go through the lower-downs or the high-ups, you could pretend to defect or get someone else to do so, you could plant the information on someone...this plan will take more than one turn to carry out in total.
C) Investigate Ogham in London, visiting the Tremere.
D) Plan for an expedition north - to Castle Howard. This could involve buying up muscle, gaining supplies, investigating its history...
E) An expedition into Chinatown.
But alas this has to do... glass table in case you are wondering 
is this? I go away for 30 hours and still no updates? This better be good, Grotsnik!
