Blood and Smoke [Short Stories] [Closed]

[Corvinnium]

"Violation, midsirection, and bloodshed."

In this first of many short stories, Blood and Smoke is told in the New World of Darkness using Vampire: the Requiem 2.0.

You begin play in Chicago, a city that plays by old rules and older power. However, times are changing. The Prince's grasp on the city is slipping, and insurrection is thick in the air. You play an agent in the employ or service of one of Chicago's Inquisitors and have been tasked with one simple mission.

Find Geoff Caul.

---

Character Creation

Character Creation is as standard for the New World of Darkness, regarding Attributes, Skills, and Merits. Discuss with your Storyteller the details of the Vampire Template to complete your character sheet. Before you proceed, there are a few things you need to know.

Age

A Vampire falls into three age categories after the Embrace. Neonates are the new-blood of the All Night Society and bear its dark weight. Ancillae, having survived their first century, influence their lessers significantly, and hold significant modicums of power. At the top of this jungle are the Elders, whose memories of humanity are long-gone, whose machinations span decades.

You are a Neonate. Your focus is on surviving from night to night. You will make mistakes; it is your lot in unlife to rectify them. Breaches of the Masquerade in this stage are near-fatal and unfortunately frequent. Avoid making enemies, make the right allies, and you just might survive.

Clans are ancestry. A fledgeling Vampire inherits their sire's clan, a trait that sets the shape of their unlife and informs their innate vampiric abilities.

Daeva: Hungry, passionate, and seductive; the ones people die for.
Gangrel: Primal, hardy, feral; the ones you can't kill.
Mekhet: Quiet, cunning, knowing; the ones you don't see.
Nosferatu: Unsettling, mysterious, fearsome; the ones you fear.
Ventrue: Unflappable, domineering, confident; the ones you can't deny.

Covenants are political/theological factions of Kindred that hold large amounts of power and influence across the world in pockets and pools.

The Carthian Movement applies mortal solutions to immortal problems with modern politics and experimental government.
The Circle of the Crone venerates painful change, female divinity, and the Old Ways revived for the modern world.
The Invictus safeguards the Masquerade with heirarchy and tradition while enjoying their Requiems as the elite among the dead.
The Lancae et Sanctum preaches a dark faith; they are both wolves and shepherds.
The Ordo Dracul struggles to transcend the vampiric curse and is well-known for its mystic studies.

[Corvinnium]

Chapter One

A week ago, the message came to you by messenger; some Ventrue punk who thought he was too good to be running errands. He handed off the letter and left as quickly as he came, like he was worried about getting snow on his new two-hundred dollar shoes.

You recognized the handwriting; the curt yet elegant scrawl Mr. Reese is fond of, his signature sitting at the bottom of the letter like a deadweight.

Friday. Nine o'clock. Business.

The letter's brevity didn't surprise you. Mr. Reese has always been economical with his words when on paper.

Although only 6:00pm, the sun has vanished behind the skyline. The sun sets early in these winter months, and nights are the longest. Although you have busines tonight, your thoughts bring you back to your previous year here. The winter chill has settled in. There will be less people hunkering down in your territory for the night and more people passing through. Feeding, for some time, will be more of a challenge.

Night has fallen on Chicago, and you have awoken from your daysleep. You have business to attend in a few hours' time; but first, a more pressing matter. Do you need to feed? Roll 1d10. Add your dots in Feeding Grounds to the result. This is your pool of starting Vitae.

---

Put logistical stuff down here after the horizontal rule; roll results, commentary on previous posts, thoughts about how much watermelon is the best, whatever. What do you think of redtext being mechanics?

[Konariona]

Chapter One

A week ago, the message came to you by messenger; some Ventrue punk who thought he was too good to be running errands. He handed off the letter and left as quickly as he came, like he was worried about getting snow on his new two-hundred dollar shoes.

You recognized the handwriting; the curt yet elegant scrawl Mr. Reese is fond of, his signature sitting at the bottom of the letter like a deadweight.

Friday. Nine o'clock. Business.

The letter's brevity didn't surprise you. Mr. Reese has always been economical with his words when on paper.

Although only 6:00pm, the sun has vanished behind the skyline. The sun sets early in these winter months, and nights are the longest. Although you have business tonight, your thoughts bring you back to your previous year here. The winter chill has settled in. There will be less people hunkering down in your territory for the night and more people passing through. Feeding, for some time, will be more of a challenge.

Night has fallen on Chicago, and you have awoken from your daysleep. You have business to attend in a few hours' time; but first, a more pressing matter. Do you need to feed? Roll 1d10. Add your dots in Feeding Grounds to the result. This is your pool of starting Vitae.

---

Put logistical stuff down here after the horizontal rule; roll results, commentary on previous posts, thoughts about how much watermelon is the best, whatever. What do you think of redtext being mechanics?

I scoffed at the Ventrue fool as he hurried off, irritated. More recently, though, a wonderful daysleep has passed and I emerge, fully rested. Fortunately, though, I am not hungry; all is well [8]. The buildings nearby, though less full now, have been kind to me in the last few days, and I am well full. Not to say that I couldn't eat. Because I could. I might just so that I don't have to later. Yes, that's a good plan; as the moon rises into the sky and the creatures of the night begin to prowl, I look about for the packs of dogs in the area. They know me well after the time I've spent in these grounds, around this place.
[8, 4, 3, 9][Wits+Survival(Tracking)]

After about twenty minutes of tracking, I find a dog I recognize. It lays panting in a bush in the park; I stomp my foot and it hurries off, likely to join its compatriots. I follow silently and eventually, the dog reaches it's pack. I call out to the head dog.

The alpha of the pack responds to my call, his long, loping stride bringing him to my side in a short moment.
"Find me someone alone. Be quiet about it, and call me with a howl when you find them."
[3, 5, 3, 9, 2][Manipulation+Animalism+Animal Ken]

I wait on a bench in the park, tapping my foot slowly. I am making a good move. I am planning ahead. I am being a smart little Gangrel.

Just thinking about Orson, talking like he does, makes me want to slit his throat.

---

I put my roll results in the red brackets; think that'll work well. I'll explain rolls as needed here, I suppose.

[Corvinnium]

Friday night in a big city means lots of foot traffic; it takes the dog(s) nearly half an hour to find something, but your finely tuned ears [8,3,8,2,10,3 + 7] pick out the howling of your pack. Your ears guide you to an alleyway a few blocks over. In between a pair of dumpsters behind a dive lies a person bundled up in blankets and sleeping bags, clutter and paraphanelia sprawled around them in dingy disarray.

Having completed their task to you, the disparate dogs go their separate ways, each of them searching for different venues of survival. They know better than to compete here whie you're around.

---

Feeding scenes are fun. You can resolve it as indicated on pages 96 and 97, with as much or as little detail as you like. The time is now 6:50pm.

[Konariona]

Friday night in a big city means lots of foot traffic; it takes the dog(s) nearly half an hour to find something, but your finely tuned ears [8,3,8,2,10,3 + 7] pick out the howling of your pack. Your ears guide you to an alleyway a few blocks over. In between a pair of dumpsters behind a dive lies a person bundled up in blankets and sleeping bags, clutter and paraphanelia sprawled around them in dingy disarray.

Having completed their task to you, the disparate dogs go their separate ways, each of them searching for different venues of survival. They know better than to compete here whie you're around.

---

Feeding scenes are fun. You can resolve it as indicated on pages 96 and 97, with as much or as little detail as you like. The time is now 6:50pm.

This can barely even be called hunting, to be honest-- this one's practically on a silver platter, if you call a trash can lid a silver platter. It's simple enough to overpower the man and take what I need from this human sack of sweet, sweet blood- he can barely put up resistance. I pull him up by the scruff of his neck, brandishing my knife in his face, but it's simple enough to knock him down once again. That little charade is necessary- his memories will be hazy, but not totally gone. No, that'd be his wallet. That will be totally gone. If he has one at all.

[3,8][Str. + Streetwise(Untrained, -1)]

After I finish feeding, he's out cold. I give him a few superficial scratches with the knife and rummage through his pockets, finding a crumpled up five dollar bill and a cigarette lighter. Feeling generous, I leave him his lighter, and walk off to assess the meeting place.

---

3 Vitae drained from the man, putting me at my full capacity of 11. He's not looking too hot, though.

[Corvinnium]

The bum, left unconscious after your assault, shivers beneath his now bloodstained blankets. You can smell the reek of fear and piss about him, and he is weak on the pavement beneath you.

As the rush of feeding fades, you realize there is nothing more for you here.

When Mr. Reese calls you for business, you're supposed to meet him at Orson's penthouse in the inner city. Ideally he'd have the two of you in the same place — the easier to contact you both — but you insist otherwise, and he doesn't push the point. He has other priorities. You've been many times before; it's a nice building in a nice part of town. Nice enough that people would give you sideways looks if they weren't paid so well to keep their mouths shut.

Orson's Haven is on the fifteenth floor.

---

Throw in your own imagery and poetic license. Do you know any of the service people here? Are you recognized?

[Konariona]

When Mr. Reese calls you for business, you're supposed to meet him at Orson's penthouse in the inner city. Ideally he'd have the two of you in the same place — the easier to contact you both — but you insist otherwise, and he doesn't push the point. He has other priorities. You've been many times before; it's a nice building in a nice part of town. Nice enough that people would give you sideways looks if they weren't paid so well to keep their mouths shut.

Orson's Haven is on the fifteenth floor.

---

Throw in your own imagery and poetic license. Do you know any of the service people here? Are you recognized?

I lounge about outside, relaxing. I am sated, full of the Vitae of the unsuspecting sheep of the world. The city hums even this late at night, and as I think, I realize that this whole hierarchy is just a matter of who gets to feed on what, with the top of the food chain being the Prince. And she gets to drain the very lifeblood from this city's dirty, corrupt veins.
I chuckle to myself. These are the thoughts of a too-cerebral Mekhet. I am focused on getting to what I want.

I wait for awhile, so I don't have to spend too much time with that abominable ass Orson. At 8 o' clock, I finally enter the building, and nod in the direction of the elevator man, Mr. Tescott. This place is posh as hell- the McKnight Apartments. I've been here enough to know the name. It's not something I'm proud of. But the elevator guy was a bouncer once, and I can tell he doesn't like being called Mister. So I do it.

"Mister Tescott. I'll be going up to the fifteenth floor."

He nods with a slight grimace, and I smirk as he presses the button and we ascend in silence, him resolutely staring ahead and me staring at his neck.. but no, that would be greedy. I'm very full- practically bursting- and besides, this is Orson's territory. Unfortunately.
The doors open and ding and I give Tescott a wink as I stride out of the doors, heading to Orson's little slice of Chicago. His penthouse is a bit down the hall- 1508- and I take a few moments to reach it. The view of the night is particularly nice here, and I pause for a moment. Sighing, I head to Orson's door. If I have to spend time with him, then at least it'll be brief. I raise my fist and rap at the door, a bit louder than is probably acceptable.

---

Tescott.

[Corvinnium]

You hear conversation from behind the door [10,4,9,4,3 + 2] as you wait for Orson to answer, but it doesn't sound like Mr. Reese in there. It takes you a moment, and then you remember Orson's gone and gotten himself a blood doll to play with. [8,8,9,4] You remember her name is Natalie. Despite her vapidity, she's good for a laugh and some decent conversation.

"No, no, no! I'll get it, you stay right there!" Natalie's voice is light, playful, and energetic.

"Natalie, I don't think —" Orson's exasperation is palpable, even from beyond the door, but it's too late.

The door opens inwards, and you're greeted by a smiling young woman; average height, lithe body, and a charming smile full of normal white teeth. "Hello, Joseph." There's genuine warmth in her greeting, and as she steps back her hand gestures you welcome. "Come in! Mr. Wright didn't expect you so early."

The apartment is large, taking up a full quarter of the floor. Everywhere you look are clean, sharp edges, the simple whites and blues of the 'noveau-modern' style. Orson is sitting at a long table by the window that overlooks the cityscape, his head held resignedly in his hands. He acknowledges your presence dully, raising his eyebrows and nodding slightly at your entrance.

"Well, you're early. What brings you around, nephew?" His voice is superior, yet tired. This is undoubtedly not how he expected to spend his time before the meeting.

---

Blood dolls are humans — usually ghouls, though not always — engaged in a long-term relationship of exchange that Kindred cultivate. In return for support and a little slice of insight into the supernatural world, the Kindred receives a person whom can be relied upon for blood and other services rendered.

Orson Wright is his full name.

[Konariona]

You hear conversation from behind the door [10,4,9,4,3 + 2] as you wait for Orson to answer, but it doesn't sound like Mr. Reese in there. It takes you a moment, and then you remember Orson's gone and gotten himself a blood doll to play with. [8,8,9,4] You remember her name is Natalie. Despite her vapidity, she's good for a laugh and some decent conversation.

"No, no, no! I'll get it, you stay right there!" Natalie's voice is light, playful, and energetic.

"Natalie, I don't think —" Orson's exasperation is palpable, even from beyond the door, but it's too late.

The door opens inwards, and you're greeted by a smiling young woman; average height, lithe body, and a charming smile full of normal white teeth. "Hello, Joseph." There's genuine warmth in her greeting, and as she steps back her hand gestures you welcome. "Come in! Mr. Wright didn't expect you so early."

The apartment is large, taking up a full quarter of the floor. Everywhere you look are clean, sharp edges, the simple whites and blues of the 'noveau-modern' style. Orson is sitting at a long table by the window that overlooks the cityscape, his head held resignedly in his hands. He acknowledges your presence dully, raising his eyebrows and nodding slightly at your entrance.

"Well, you're early. What brings you around, nephew?" His voice is superior, yet tired. This is undoubtedly not how he expected to spend his time before the meeting.

---

Blood dolls are humans — usually ghouls, though not always — engaged in a long-term relationship of exchange that Kindred cultivate. In return for support and a little slice of insight into the supernatural world, the Kindred receives a person whom can be relied upon for blood and other services rendered.

Orson Wright is his full name.

"Figured I'd drop by and get a little bit of socialization in before business. Not such a horrible thing, is it?"

Orson just deadpans at me.
"No, but seriously, I wanted to be early so that we can get down to our shit when Mr. Reese gets here."

"Our shit?"

Natalie is off doing... something in another part of the apartment.
I don't care about Orson's toy.

"What 'our' shit? This is about you, nephew."

Orson's standing now.
"All he said was business. So here I am."
"He calls, I go. Simple as that."

Orson rolls his eyes at that before turning out towards the city.

"What a good dog you are."
"And how predictably uninventive you are for the 'brains of this operation', Orson. I could've heard that insult coming from ten miles away."

"I manage my branch just fine, thank you. How's yours?"

"He doesn't have one, Orson." Natalie's piped in from the other room.

He raises a hand in the air in acknowledgement. "Right, right. I'd forgotten. You're about as useful as a moderately-trained lick."

I chug on, undeterred.
"Well, Orson, every dog has it's day.. but I think the bitch between the two of us is the cushy, soft one living in a penthouse, and you'll be the one getting the sun. For now though, you do your job. I'll do whatever I'm needed for. Easy as that."

Orson turns on you, his eyes cold with rage.

"Know your place, whelp."

He pits his much older, more experienced Beast against mine, and as hot as my rage is, it is not sufficient to break his power, especially not in the heart of his territory.
Hate him as I do, Orson brutally reminds me that he is my elder. I don't think I've ever hated anyone else more.

"Ah, fuck off. Older doesn't mean wiser. You'll catch it one of these days, and I hope it isn't kind."
I bedgrudge him his authority and age. Barely.

Orson takes the victory gracefully. "I keep telling you; survive your first decade, and I'll get you something nice to drink. For once." His nose wrinkles as he inhales. "I can smell the trash you've been drinking. I don't know how you stand it."
"Blood is blood is blood. You get your Vitae and you do your thing, man. Being hungry is worse than eating dirty food," I say, shrugging.

Natalie's pulled a chair out for me, and Orson sits down in his own. "Fair."
There's a brief pause.
"Do you know what this is about, then?"

Of course he didn't fucking tell me about it. Reese hardly ever does.
"I honestly got all of three words, Orson. You know how he is."

There's a grimace of camaraderie there. "What worries me is that he's asked me to be here. You haven't gotten yourself into any trouble, have you?"

"Not as far as I know. Been laying relatively low; I stay in my territory and I have arrangements with the Ordo to leave me my prey. Haven't killed anyone at any recent point," I say with another shrug. Being a Neonate has really improved my shoulder musculature. Or it would have. What I'm trying to say is that I shrug a lot. Because I really don't know shit, I could've fucked someone over or stepped on someone's toes without even knowing it.

"Then we get to hear something new." Orson gives you a disinterested look. "How are your affairs, then?"

"I keep up with things. The Ordo guys keep bugging me about if I can do the thing where you turn into an animal, but I'm not quite at that point yet, and they keep asking. It's incredibly annoying. I visit friends every now and then. Made a few accquaintances in the Circle. Invictus is what's important, though, so I've been asking questions, learning. Absorbing knowledge. Growing."
I shrug. Again.
"The life of a Neonate, I suppose."

Orson rolls his eyes. "It's a catfish."
"The Dragons are catfishing you."

"What, you think I didn't know that?" I laugh. "I'm trying to play that back somehow and catch them on the back foot."

"I'd let them have their fun. You don't want to mess with them until you have an endgame."
He gives you a pointed look.
"Which I just assume you don't have yet."

I nod.
"Well, as much of a dick as you are, you didn't live longer than some others by being a complete idiot, so I'll take that advice."
A little smirk. I hate this prick. Especially when he's right.

Orson's smile doesn't reach his eyes.
"How I love our little talks, nephew."
I check my watch.
"Ah, yes. I do so love getting reminded that I'm the very bottom of a massive house of bastards."

I look about the room.
"A game of chess, perhaps?"

Natalie appears with the board.

It's one of the few ways we can be civil in a room with each other.

I hope this miserable excuse for a vampire gets burnt to a crisp by an angry mob.

[Corvinnium]

Mr. Reese ignores you and looks over to Orson. "Congratulations. Thurston is yours, now."

It isn't perfect, but Orson hides his surprise elegantly — through arrogance. "Good. That means we can finally settle his affairs." It isn't hard to see Orson gloating internally, cat-like in his self-satisfaction. He's been after the Thurston case for over a year now.

---

You can make an Intelligence + Politics check at a -1 penalty to discern the nature of the Thurston case.

[Konariona]

Mr. Reese ignores you and looks over to Orson. "Congratulations. Thurston is yours, now."

It isn't perfect, but Orson hides his surprise elegantly — through arrogance. "Good. That means we can finally settle his affairs." It isn't hard to see Orson gloating internally, cat-like in his self-satisfaction. He's been after the Thurston case for over a year now.

---

You can make an Intelligence + Politics check at a -1 penalty to discern the nature of the Thurston case.

As much as it's annoying, I'm unsurprised that I'm ignored. As much as I'd love to subvert this natural order of things, there's a reason it's there-- because I'd get my ass kicked if it wasn't. The most annoying thing about being a little baby in this system, though, is the lack of information I've got. I'm generally left in the dark, getting only exactly what I need to know.

What's this Thurston case about, anyways? Thurston, Thurston.. I comb my barren mind and come up with nothing. [Chance Die! (8)]

I sit back and wait, like usual, until I'm addressed.

---

Politics is untrained, with the -1 penalty I'm at a chance die

[Corvinnium]

Thurston isn't a name you're familiar with, but knowing John Reese, it's probably business. It's always business.

"It's a delicate case," Mr. Reese's tone becomes degrees colder, "and you're still young. Am I understood?"

Orson quickly hides his preening. "Yes, Mr. Reese." He says obediently.

---

Actually, because Politics is a Mental skill, the untrained penalty is -3. Same result, anyways; failure.

[Konariona]

Thurston isn't a name you're familiar with, but knowing John Reese, it's probably business. It's always business.

"It's a delicate case," Mr. Reese's tone becomes degrees colder, "and you're still young. Am I understood?"

Orson quickly hides his preening. "Yes, Mr. Reese." He says obediently.

---

Actually, because Politics is a Mental skill, the untrained penalty is -3. Same result, anyways; failure.

I take great pleasure in watching Reese rip into Orson- as much as he gets to dump on me, I too get to witness him getting crapped on. The food chain is most definitely a thing, certainly, especially amongst predators such as ourselves. It's amusing. Until you get eaten by someone below you.

Philosophical musings aside, I kick back a bit, relaxing in my chair, and wait.

[Corvinnium]

Mr. Reese gives you a chilling glare, and you know you have made an error.

"Get up."

---

Your uncle is a man here on business — and you're kicking back, relaxing in a chair.

[Corvinnium]

End of Chapter
Joseph Thurmond, after being contacted by his Avun, has been assigned (in a roundabout way) the roundabout task of finding what information he can about Geoff Caul. After some initial investigation, Joseph has discovered three things about his mark.

1. He is a Mekhet
2. He is a member of the Ordo Dracul.
3. He is missing.

The Dragons laired in the university near Joseph's territory seem to know something about Geoff Caul, and Joseph has made them an offer; carte blanche services rendered in good faith in exchange for information.

Joseph has instructions to return the following night.
Joseph has made something of a name for himself at a local Gangrel fight club.

---

You have gained 2 Beats.