Follow the Nosferatu.
"Hey buddy, wait up!" Morgan shouts to the Nos.
Try to get the guy to move at a sensible pace. Follow.
The panicked little Nosferatu slows but frantically looks around, desperately panting. ‘We need to get there before they find out we know!’ He takes off again at a more reasonable pace. Morgan and Ash/Lyssha keep up and the three arrive at a door. An intimidating Brujah stands in the way.
‘What do you want, little rodent?’ the vampire seems unamused by the entrance.
The little Nosferatu shows the severed arm, waving it around frantically, too quickly for the Brujah to really see it. ‘Vicissitude! Vicissitude! There was a flesh beast in the basement!’
The Brujah’s eyes widen. He looks from the madly flailing severed arm to the little Nos and back again. ‘Do not waste his time whilst you are in there.’ The Brujah’s eyes narrow once more as though sceptical, but if the prince finds out someone has been practising Vicissitude in his domain and he has not been informed… Well, this Brujah is not going to be the cause of THAT.
The three step into the large and luxurious hall. Varying primogen (Direct advisors to the prince) stand about gossiping. There is a heavy guard, with Brujah lining the walls at regular intervals. The two most imposing Brujah stand either side of a rather illustrious chair, the prince’s throne. Silence falls over everyone slowly as the Nosferatu timidly approaches for an audience with the prince.
‘Why do you approach, subject of mine?’ the prince then sees the two others with him. ‘You best not waste my time bringing neonates into my presence.’ The prince is handsome, slender, with a long but fine featured face and well-kept brown hair reaching to his shoulders. Whilst he is handsome, his face is marred by a sceptical look. He clearly does not appreciate unannounced visitors.
The little Nosferatu seems to freeze up. The frantic movements cease, and he stands, like a deer in headlights, with the severed arm clutched in both hands. He cannot seem to find the words to speak. The prince appears to be losing a patience that was already short to begin with.
Whip out the MP5K and spray automatic fire into that treasonous moron! Fear the other one with Presence!
At this range- which is to say point blank- the Gangrel with the eyes and talons is torn apart, with a scream of surprise. The damage is not lethal, but she falls and very readily stops moving. The presence he uses on the other Gangrel is resisted easily. You did, however, just put his childe into torpor.
There is a beat with nothing but stunned silence from the vampires. As though they can’t believe anyone to be that insolent, stupid. That is when the Gangrel frenzies. His body warps, his whole frame shifting as though his skin were clay that could be molded by his will. Quite suddenly, Trump is face to face with a dire wolf. The transformation is so quick he has barely blinked. The creature has rage on its face.
Quickly, the Gangrel lunges the already short distance, its jaws connecting easily with Trump’s throat. He takes 8 aggravated damage outright. Trump is quickly dropped to -6 health as the teeth tear into his throat. He is trying to breathe, but blood feels like it’s running straight into his lungs. Vampires don’t need to breathe to live, however, and though Trump feels like he is dying, he isn’t there yet, though his speech is garbled and half unintelligible.
The other vampires are standing around watching. This is a dispute for the Gangrel to settle and none will interfere with the frenzy occurring.
"Oh! Hi Milwaukee! Spoonicus said you like the ocean so you'd be in the higher floors. Looks like he was right!" Cesar holds Spoonicus protectively with his left hand. He then speaks up, "Um.. About my clan. Malkavians? That's what I am, right? What are Malkavians?" Cesar is displaying remarkable levels of interest for one normally so detached. He squats over near a corner and holds Spoonicus to his left ear while looking at Mirella.
Mirella seems happy to explain. First, though, she clarifies. ‘You’re to call me Matron, my childe.’
‘Malkavians trace their lineage back to the sire Malkav. People thought he was mad, and perhaps he was, but he saw things in the world that no one else can. Things we cannot otherwise know, things in the astral realm.’
Mirella checks that Cesar is following. The eager Cesar isn’t stupid, even if he’s mad.
‘We, the descendants of Malkav, share this gift. Malkav dissolved himself into the madness network. This network connects all in our clan and tells us things we otherwise wouldn’t know. Many will call you mad, but Spoonicus speaks for Malkav. He has been chosen by Malkav to guide you, to command your loyalty as his knight. As such, he is your reality, but because only you hold that piece of the madness network, it must be your duty to take up the position of knight to Spoonicus. None other can do that.’ Mirella speaks kindly to Cesar, maintaining eye contact with both him and Spoonicus. ‘You must serve him well, he knows what’s best. Remember, however, that people won’t understand that what you experience is real.’
‘It is the same for me. I have a second sight, a clairvoyance that has come naturally to me. I see the future, the past, I see into others minds. I have been gifted by the madness network to know things otherwise unknowable. I may enter the astral realm myself, leaving my body behind. Malkav has chosen me for something. It’s because I am different. But that doesn’t mean you don’t have a part to play too.’
"if you say he is blessed with some sort of otherworldly sight, I will take your word for it."
Nikolai waits quietly until Caesar arrives, and listens to his question.
"Yes, please explain, матрона. What do our clans mean, and how were we chosen for them?"
‘You are Ventrue, as you know, Nikolai. You are chosen for your clans by we, the Collective of the Sight.’ Mirella grins. ‘I am one of their newest members, having only been embraced a few months ago, but already one of their deepest seers. It is my gift. We see the eventualities that will occur should you join each clan, and we choose which one would then be most befitting you. Were you a Malkavian, your paranoia would drive you to murder those around you and though you would make an admirable Brujah, your future lies with the Ventrue, my dear Nikolai.’
Mirella’s motherly smile is ever-present. She is clearly passionate about those fledglings she considers hers. She is devoted to those she calls childe.
What is this guy made of? I've punched walls with more give in it. smith mutters to himself as he tries to use his celerity to keep up with Serges mad dash across the roof.
The two run for what feels like about half an hour. They make it halfway across the city before Serge stops abruptly and drops into a back alley. When Smith joins him Serge pulls him downward behind a dumpster, out of sight of passers by.
‘You must tell no one I spoke to you of this, but you need to know.’
Serge looks earnestly at Smith, that sense of joy and friendliness gone. He awaits a reply before he continues. He needs to know Smith is on his side.
Begin teaching the Malkavians how to evangelize:
Start by pointing out all the promises of eternal life in the bible. That will be the hook to draw humans into the fold.
Two of the Malks are already Christian- or perhaps were in their previous life. Bryanna was not. Though she takes time to learn the basics of how to speak to the unconverted the other two seem to pick it up quickly. Though Ryan is still insisting that you are God.
You run them through a roleplay of some mock conversion scenarios and by the end of the night the three are passable.
Author
Topic: Kindred: Mission one. The generation is born. (Read 21222 times)