Let's Play VtM: Wild Nights - Chapter 10

[Breaking Axe]

Esquilax seems right, I'll go A

 

[Esquilax]

Er... I could be horribly wrong, you know? I mean, what I'm suggesting is very risky - I think it's a risk well worth taking, but if I'm wrong, it could pull the noose around our necks even tighter. The only reason I'm opting to do this is because I think it's probably Argyll and if we get the manuscript, then the leverage that our would-be blackmailer has on us will be gone.

My paranoid nightmare scenario is that if it turns out Argyll took our treatise, we search through his room and it turns out to be a ruse to flush us out and report us to Eames. however, since the culprit must have taken it recently and Eames has been busy doing Hob's bidding, I doubt that anybody but the thief knows about Joan's manuscript.

Another potential scenario could be Argyll turning out to be innocent. If this is the case, we'd narrow down our list of suspects, but then we've got two very suspicious rivals on our tail.

I think that this is a direct consequence of our dealings with Argyll. First, that night we called Dubrik - we never should have left the Chantry. If we had stayed, we would not have been spotted tossing away our cell phone and no suspicion would have been cast on us. Then we probably pushed Argyll against us when he saw us trying to (unsuccessfully) cozy up to Fowlesworth.

I see this choice as similar to the choice Anthony made when he lost his Barony after du Marchais incited the war against the Sabbat. Think of it as a wake-up call.

EDIT:

It's a bit of a damning evidence but not enough to get us killed in a Camarilla court session. Running get us no where since we have nothing to trade or bargain anyway.

Ha! People much more powerful than us have been killed on far flimsier evidence. Esteban du Marchais, for instance. Make no mistake, if we get revealed, we'll either be blood-bound to the Seven or killed.

 

[laclongquan]

On the one hand, Argyll seems a likely candidate. He's just forever snooping around so it's more than likely the snooper who took our stuff is him.

On the other, I dont think the stuff's enough to get us killed. Dont forget, du Marchais got killed because of a lot of publicity resulted from his poor performance: he presented a flimsy piece of intelligence that later on proved to be faulty, his intelligence lead Camarilla to war, he loudmouthed too much during the call-to-war event, and he made a good scapegoat for Eames' ascendance to power. Compared to our case it's just a single treatise that smell of Anarchist and Sabbatical influences. No I dont think it's that dangerous.

Still and all, this remind me of another event related to Sommers: the Eddie training session instead of meeting Erika right away. If Anthony had chosen to met Erika right away, perhaps the war could be prevented... Perhaps if Joan act now instead of wait and see, there will be a momentous change of outcome.

I dont change my mind yet but I am thinking.

 

[Breaking Axe]

Yeah, there's risk in every decision, and looking at our options right now, none seem particularly attractive. We might as well take a chance on the most likely suspect in order to regain the advantage, failing that, well, it's not like our odds of survival were particularly high in the first place.

 

[grotsnik]

I feel I should acknowledge - I really fucked up here; Excidium was right, 'B' won, but I thought 'B' was 'go in and shoot her'. B should have resulted in something else quite drastic happening. Truly sorry about that, that kind of mistake's too big to be acceptable.

 

[Excidium]

No problem...shit happens.

 

[ironyuri]

derp

we still love you baby

 

[laclongquan]

Since it lacks some votecounting procedure lately, it's easily happened.

 

[Storyfag]

Loving the Archbishop. Who's the Cardinal again? Probably a Lasombra...

Now, as for our little Tremere spy: D

 

[Storyfag]

Arright grotsnik (and any other Brits out there), please explain what the hell is the Sabbat up to at the Isles. Seriously, What. The. Fuck. Hope you guys are all right out there

 

[grotsnik]

Arright grotsnik (and any other Brits out there), please explain what the hell is the Sabbat up to at the Isles. Seriously, What. The. Fuck. Hope you guys are all right out there

Well, I don't know if anyone will know entirely what's happened/happening for a while, but here's my current impression;

On Thursday, an armed gangster in Tottenham got shot by the Metropolitan police. Met lied about how it happened, causing a crowd to gather in front of the police station, including gang members who began to riot, and kids from the rough black estates nearby. Looting began, all manner of scumbags turned up and began to steal. Fires were lit, and the police had difficulty stopping the rioters in any way whatsoever.

Very quickly, a staggering number of street gangs, low-lifes and fuckwits contacted one another all over the city, wanting a piece of the action. They began to cause havoc themselves, though it seems very few of them cared or even knew what had caused everything to kick off in Tottenham; the messages that've been intercepted seem mainly concerned with 1) stealing as much as they could and 2) the fact that the police clearly weren't up to dealing with the situation. More fires spread, partly just for vile kicks and partly to keep the coppers busy. More looting.

Because all of these people (possibly thousands, though it's impossible to tell for certain since they kept fading away into the darkness and popping up elsewhere) struck so quickly, one after the other, with similar and dangerous methods, since each successive riot had its eyes on the ones before (they even kept looting the same shops, like JD Sports. Unimaginative cunts.), there's been a great deal of fear.

There was a strong element of competition between these scumbags, which is almost certainly one big reason it's now spread to other cities, though tonight's been relatively quiet across the capital. Messages have spoken of 'showing London how it's done'.

Basically, a worryingly widespread criminal subclass, that's - generally speaking - self-destructive, has struck out against the ordinary populace in unison. It almost feels like all of these wankers suddenly emerged out of the woodwork, though of course they've been there all along. All the pundits seem to be blabbing about modern materialism, apathy, amorality, etc., I think it's the city-wide and national communication and collective encouragement between a usually disparate and disorganised criminal underclass that's been a real, under-discussed spark here, and the one that's going to be the most important to study if it's going to be prevented elsewhere.

...yeah, that's my view, though some are arguing this is all of those nasty black folk ruining our perfect society and a few idiots are even trying to say that it's actually the angry young generations rising up against the government because they've been treated so badly by society.

Anyway. Normal service will be resumed shortly.

 

[Bob]

Looked like a feedback loop to me. The police failed to put things down when they were relatively small, the news of that spread fast and more people came to get in on the action - which was failed to be put down thus getting more people in on the action. Once people realised the thing could be done they wanted to have a go too, see if they could do it better. Rinse and repeat for a couple of days in an environment where there are a lot of people with little interest in maintaining social unity.

Why we have such a large section of society essentially disinterested in its welfare is something you could talk about for a while. It may even be shorter to list the reasons why someone might be interested in the welfare of society and work out which ones don't apply.

 

[Excidium]

Here in thirdworldia the police just beat the shit out of everyone.

 

[ironyuri]

In dedication to grotsnik:

The Smiths - Panic

Bro,

All my love.

Bro.

 

[laclongquan]

bros, it's high time we loot ourselves some new updatan. Who's with me?

 

[Storyfag]

Shut it lac. Our Brit BROs have bigger problems than you right now.

 

[ironyuri]

Shut it lac. Our Brit BROs have bigger problems than you right now.

That's not quite true bro. Brits' biggest problem right now is Third Worldians who cannot into civilised discourse.

Ie: Laclongquan.





iceburn.gif

 

[grotsnik]

Updates gonna update and all that. Enjoy the ungrammatical Latin.


Chapter 8: The Fire In The Minds Of Men




Ubi tu Londinium pulchrum ibi ego, from spring, from hill, from river the old circles the old temples altissima flumina altissima tempora sine sole sine I watch I serve I kill for the old circles the old blood the old mysteries foetet plus ultra foetet plus ultra corrigenda-

The Centurion slips through the sewers, heading eastwards.

He has abandoned his usual, erratic pathways for the night. The forgotten lines of the holy city are unguarded; they will have to watch themselves, for now.

Pulvis tenebras et umbras Londinium pulchrum, minding the gap the gap the gap between the prince of mysteries and them who were banished a name a name cetera desunt what was its name it stinks of the old circles the old temples the old blood but it doesn’t belong not any longer dixi delenda est-

It’s been some nights since he first smelt the intruder; at first, he’d ignored the unusual, yet faintly familiar impression as being from a dream or a memory; the ancient London that lives on as an echo and a shadow of the new. But the stench endured, and the stench grew stronger.

It is hidden from me fallaces sunt rerum species ergo it flees from me ergo it fears me ergo it will run and I will catch it felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas it should not be here it must not be here-

The Centurion is angered - troubled - by the unwelcome presence. But with every step onwards, something in its addled mind begins to click; something he hasn’t felt truly in a very long time.

Excitement.

He’s getting closer.


*


No word.

You wait, and wait. The night passes, and a new one begins. Your peers move amongst you, as before – Argyll loitering around and joking, Fowlesworth a phantom in the corridors of the Vessel. Nobody tells you, or even hints at you, that they know what you are.

You feel different, though. You can’t deny that. When you think of the woman’s face, in the seconds before you pulled the trigger, a giddy thrill runs through you, and you feel warm. When you gaze into your mirror, you begin to convince yourself that a hint of scarlet is developing around your irises.

Whoever took the treatise, you tell yourself, must not realise its significance. It’s the only explanation. Still – you’d better work fast.

And on the third night, when Eames is away at the Palace, meeting with the Barons, as you head back out to meet with Osazema, London’s alight.


*


Brixton’s unusually crowded, and the air is filled with yelling; as you step, open-mouthed, out of the tube station, a gang of youths, their hoodies up, brush past you and dash out into the night.

On the road ahead, someone has pushed over a bin and set it alight; beyond, a mob of kids in balaclavas and face-scarves are flinging themselves at the windows of a sports store. A lot of people are milling about nearby, watching the scenes; some with disgust, some with enthusiasm. An overweight woman scuttles past, clutching bags of crisps in her coat.

They’re animals, you think. Dumb, grasping beasts, as greedy as they are stupid, only held back by fear.

Down the far end of the road, riot police appear to be gathering, their round shields held out in front of them, forming a thin line from pavement to pavement. They look nervous, shuffling forward as slowly as they can.

One of the hooded youths throws a projectile towards the line; a firework, which explodes upwards and outwards, sending golden sparks whizzing merrily over the tarmac. Ahead, a car is being smashed by two men with hammers. Nobody turns to look at you as you pass.


*


The body of an old woman has been laid across Osazema’s workbench. Her patterned dress is stained with soot; her eyes goggle comically upwards, her mouth open.

The Samedi gazes longingly over her, his rotten fingers dancing across the air above her corpse.

“You are back, daughter,” he murmurs, “and you are…different. Did you enjoy yourself?”

His fingers dart forward, and yank at the flesh at the old woman’s throat. It tears, feebly, leaving a raw red patch behind. There is little blood.

In their coops, the hens are going wild. Osazema raises the strip of flesh to their cage and they buffet and batter at one another, desperately trying to reach it.

“This one died in the fires in Tottenham,” he says, calmly, “but we were able to retrieve it before the emergency services arrived. We did not, after all, want the police to over-react.”

You stare evenly at him; his eyes refuse to meet yours.

“Did you plan all of this?” you ask him.

“Nobody,” he replies, “could have predicted that the Star Gang would have been held responsible for the death of one of Trident’s best officers. Nor that they would have responded with such force. Nor that the – admittedly inevitable – chaos caused by the gang would spread to the other ends across the capital. But…yes…when one lights a spark, one must expect fires.”

He fumbles in his pocket for a moment, and then tosses something across the room towards you. You catch it, without thinking.

In the palm of your hand rests a tiny sheet of what appears to be glass; soft, smooth, and transparent.

“There is your bug,” Osazema says, and from the same pocket he draws out a small black box. A pair of headphone dangles from it. It looks remarkably like an MP3 player. “And there is your receiver. It will record solidly for 14 hours at a time, you may recharge the batteries as you please…and it will not cause suspicion, even if you are searched.”

“I…” you begin, a little confused. “I was expecting…you know, Samedi magic…”

He chuckles, merrily, to himself, and slides the receiver across the workbench.

“We must not allow ourselves to fall behind the times,” he says. “The Nosferatu, I feel, have learnt this lesson best of all. And now, daughter, if you please, you will attend to your naughty little plans, and I will attend to mine.”

He gives you a low, stately bow; and with the same movement he lifts his cleaver from the workbench and, with great force, strikes down upon the withered chest of the old woman, just above the heart.

You don’t flinch. Dropping the cleaver, Osazema prises his fingers into the gash and begins to tear at the flesh on either side.

“Be careful walking home tonight, daughter,” he tells you, and he waggles a finger, clammy with gore, in your direction. “There is a grand and terrible beast inside each of us, and it is fitting that it should rise through us, transforming us, lifting us ever higher…but it is afraid of fire.”


*


You walk back to the Vessel through screams and laughter and shattered glass, ignored by the Kine on all sides, who continue their pointless battle for an ugly street.

Once you reach Greenwich, however, the night is quiet; a few revellers are still loitering around the pubs, and occasionally a taxi will roar down the street. You might as well be in a different city altogether.

Walking ‘home’, you think, with scorn. As if the Vessel was ever my home. As if this was where I ever wanted to be.

As you approach the church, a familiar figure staggers out of the shadows ahead, clutching a heavy plastic bag in both its arms.

“Fowlesworth!” you call.

Fowlesworth flinches, startled, at the sound of his name, but keeps his head lowered.

“Hey,” you say, catching up to him. “Do you need a hand with those?”

He hesitates, and for a moment you think he might just scuttle away into the chantry, as he so often does; but then, flittingly, like a robin reaching out for a scrap of food from the palm of a kine, he holds one of the bags out towards you.

You take it, and lift it; glancing inside as the two of you begin to walk up the steps into the church, you see a neatly folded bra, and beneath it, what appears to be a dress.

“Eames’ laundry?” you ask.

He nods. You press him;

“How often does she make you do it?”

“Once a week,” he mumbles. “Usually. She just leaves the bags outside her study, and I’m supposed to come and check every so often to see if they’re there.”

“Listen,” you tell him, “I don’t want her humiliating you like this. Next time she does it, I’ll take the dirty clothes – and once I’ve got them cleaned, I’ll give them back to you, and you can take them to her. How does that sound?”

He halts, and stares at you, his eyes going wide.

“Why?” he says, instantly.

“I told you,” you say. “I don’t like the way she treats you.”

His lower lip wobbles, curiously. He’s thinking.

“She wouldn’t like it,” he says. “If she found out.”

“If she does,” you continue, “I’ll take the blame.”

Fowlesworth frowns, as if struggling to comprehend this act of kindness.

“Thank you,” he says, at last.

“It’s nothing,” you tell him, firmly. “You should…probably take these in to her, shouldn’t you? In case anyone sees.”

Your fingers fumble, beneath the plastic handles of the bag. Pressing the bug against the back of Eames’ dress, on the outside, so that she won’t feel it when she puts it on.

And then you hand the bag to Fowlesworth, and with a desperately cheerful, hopeful smile at you, he scampers on into the church, carrying your bug along with him.



*


Sommers turns the page, gingerly, and with distaste.

HOW THE BARONS OF THE CAMARILLA DROVE LADY ANNE BOWESLEY TO HER FINAL DEATH

It cannot now be denied that a large group of Camarilla barons, including Samantha Eames, Roger Kirkbeck, Eric Wattersley, Terence Rannigan, and Weep-Not Sorley, were involved in a number of underhand and illegal attempts to drive Lady Anne out of power, including making use of the services of members of the Giovanni clan in the East End-

He turns the page again.

HOW THE TREMERE SILENCED OPPOSITION IN THE WAKE OF THE CLIVEDEN SCANDAL

Sommers keeps leafing on, through page after page of scandal and wrong-doing.

HOW THE CREATURE HOB WAS ALLOWED TO ENTER LONDON, AT THE EXPENSE OF KINDRED LIVES

The nature of the creature known as ‘Hob’ cannot be speculated on. What is certain, however, is that it conquered the mind of Baron Terence Rannigan, who began to act in its interests earlier this spring. Prince Roger Kirkbeck, fearing the power of this beast, attempted to prevent its influence spreading; but he found himself stymied by a delegation led by Samantha Eames, Rodyon Turcov and Anthony Sommers (whose sudden rise to power under the aegis of Eames must now be held as suspicious), who threatened their own Prince, in an open act of rebellion, and drove him out of the city, under the pretence that Kirkbeck himself wished to spend more time studying.

Most damning of all, once Kirkbeck had been removed from the picture, Eames, Turcov and Sommers conspired with the beast Hob, continuing Rannigan’s work, and allowing it into the city. These are the three fiends who now rule London (as only the so-called Barons know, though they refuse to admit it) and, lurking behind them, a monster whose motives are entirely unknown.

Sommers runs his hands across his face.

“Fucking hell,” he murmurs, to nobody in particular.

“We’ll be putting out a full print run within the week,” says Robert Griddle, arms folded. He smiles, thinly. “We’ve also got a man in the Nosferatu who’ll be circulating it online. Just in case anyone in the Camarilla manages to shut us down.”

“You realise,” Sommers says, looking up, “that there’s only one person in London who could have known all of this, all of the details? Eames isn’t going to let this stand. She’ll be coming for Kirkbeck.”

“And we’ll take him in,” Griddle responds. “As we take in all of the waifs and strays whose lives are ruined by the greed and the deceit of the Camarilla.”

Sommers leafs back over the pages of the pamphlet, returning to the beginning.

BETRAYERS OF OUR BLOOD: HOW THE CAMARILLA BROUGHT OUR CITY TO ITS KNEES

“There’s a reason, of course,” he murmurs, “for your letting me…see the preview screening.”

The Anarch laughs, innocently, as a child laughs.

“This is going to mean civil war, Anthony,” he says. “I’m sure you’ve already figured that out. Kindred may expect corruption from their leaders, and lies, but this Hob affair...well, it’s something different entirely. A monster in our midst. And once, you recall, when we first met – I told you I hoped you’d be on the right side, when the time came. And now…well, that time looks like it’s rapidly upon us, doesn’t it?”

His little fingers tap at the pamphlet.

“Your name can be removed from this,” he continues, “before we print. We can write you back in as an…unwilling participant. One who advised Eames and Turcov against the removal of Kirkbeck, but who was, ultimately, swept up in events. As, I’m sure, you were.”

“Get to your price, Robert,” Sommers says, in a low, dangerous growl, “and get to it quickly.”

“Denounce Eames,” Griddle responds, evenly. “Before we begin to distribute, part ways with her, and come and stand with us. I don’t expect you to turn Anarch – you’re Camarilla to your bones – but bring your resources, bring the strength you’ve gathered so ingeniously these past few months, and bring as many barons as will come.”

A) Ask Griddle to give you more time to win over the barons – then take the pamphlet to Eames and see about finding and stopping these two methods of distribution.
B) Agree to Griddle’s terms; denounce Eames, try and convince whoever you can to join your cause, and prepare for war.
C) Meet with Turcov, and suggest the possibility of denouncing Eames before the Anarchs have a chance to distribute. If he agrees, the two of you could come out of this looking like the real heroes. If he doesn’t, of course, or he tells Eames…
D) Kill Griddle, where he stands; then take the pamphlet to Eames and see about finding and stopping the rest of the Anarchs.

 

[Kz3r0]

D) Kill Griddle, where he stands; then take the pamphlet to Eames and see about finding and stopping the rest of the Anarchs.

 

[Storyfag]

Things are getting delicious, I see.

C

 

[grotsnik]

Also,

In dedication to grotsnik:

The Smiths - Panic

Though due to my repeated listening to it over the past few days, this has become my utterly inappropriate soundtrack to the riots.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y9Mse62NFl4

 

[ironyuri]

An enjoyable update, though I was surprised that the choice you gave us was for Sommers and not Joan. Also, you wrote Rattigan in place of Rannigan in the pamphlet, apologie for pointing out foibles.

As far as choices go:

C

Griddle is a bro and I doubt we could kill him. He's far older than Anthony and he's a brujah and he may be expecting a violent reaction to this blackmail.

At the end of Sommers' first saga he and Earnes had all but parted ways and Sommers knew what was coming between them. I think this is our opportunity to cut her loose with all of this Hob bullshit and to further strengthen Sommers' position. Turcov also wanted something revolutionary, we may be able to feed him some bullshit about that.

 

[grotsnik]

An enjoyable update, though I was surprised that the choice you gave us was for Sommers and not Joan.

Yeah, I know - I was going to have it as Joan's choice about how she should plant the bug on Eames, but I was worried about her storyline being too slow-paced just as events all around her are kicking off, fast.

Also, you wrote Rattigan in place of Rannigan in the pamphlet, apologie for pointing out foibles.

Shit! Good spot.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Terence_Rattigan

 

[laclongquan]

Shut it lac. Our Brit BROs have bigger problems than you right now.

That's not quite true bro. Brits' biggest problem right now is Third Worldians who cannot into civilised discourse.

Ie: Laclongquan.





iceburn.gif

Now if I am living in London or UK it will be a fine rapier-hit.

Unfortunately I live where I belong, nested in the capital of the best country in South East Asia. So the hit is critically failed. Boo-yah!

*******

Ahem.

Nice work, grotsnik. Very nice work. You've dropped an obscene mess onto Anthony's lap and no mistake.

Before going on I want to stress the overriding principle "Sommers is Camarrilla to the bones". His actions from start to finish in part 1 reflect that principle well and I aim to keep that going.

This obscene mess is unstoppable. I dont think the current Camarrila got enough resources to counter it. BEFORE the attack on Nos' hideout, yes they can. But now the Rats are organizing their new warrens and just suffered heavy loss in all things other than personel, no they cant. And once the version is out on Net, Camarrilla solidarity will take a hit. We probbably can prevent the paper version but not the Net version.

First thing first: keep the Masquerade. The Net version is no threat. Shits like that are commonplace. So we try to keep the paper version from hitting the street. And what with this civil war, the credibility of Anarch's press release will be severely damaged. So if we can reduce its effectiveness and its scope, it will be okay for Sommers.

Second thing: The war is looking to heat up once again, this time is Camarrilla versus Anarchs. As such, power struggle among the leadership NOW will cause unease in the file and rank of Johny-on-the-street Cami. "Sommers is Camarrilla to the bones". He will aim toward a Camarilla victory or at least prevent a defeat. Now is not the time to topple Eames. Plus, he dont know Turcov that well and Eames probabbly know him better.

Third thing: "Sommers is Camarrilla to the bones". And now that Robert is threatening Camarilla solidarity with war, he is enemy. Sommers can argue that Anarch is exploiting the current situation: with weakness of Camarrilla after the short Sabbat war they aim to discredit our leadership and rise to attack. He probbably can kill Robert (if he can) and get away with it in public opinions.

All in all it point toward an obvious conclusion.

...Please wait until the next episode...

 

[laclongquan]

A: stall and find Eames to look for ways to prevent the release. This method wont work for reasons said above: the Net version will be out no matter what. And this play into Eames' advantage which is try for media blitz and shit which wont work this time. Puppet choice, really.

B: denounce Eames and agree with the modified version of anarch's press release. This is the rat way, basically sell out Eames to get your name off the press. This will dump your reputation to the mud. Plus, it will affect Camarrilla solidarity. Anarch choice, really.

C: Ally with Turcov to denounce Eames. This is the backstabing choice Ventrue and Tremere is so famous for. The obvious downside of it is that we dont know Turcov that well and he might just stand with Eames to frame us. Plus it needs to be quicker than the release. Ventrue choice.

D: Kill Robert then go to Eames to find ways to prevent release. modified A, but the big difference is that we prove we can stand on our own feet and act on our wills. Brujah choice, really.

My recommendation is that we KILL HIM NOW NOW NOW!!! He threaten an Anarch-Camarrilla war and a threat to the Masquerade. Both are just causes to get excuted, even if he's a leader of Anarch. And they will be in chaos for a while, leaderless, and we will have more time to try to reduce the damage. Plus, we now can argue that they want to avenge Robert's death by smear our name. Another little hit to the credibility of their release.

DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

(Mind you, I am not sure Tony can kill Robert, but it's the action that count)