Masquerade: Midsummer Nights (Apply in OOC)

[Luminesa]

Tears trickled down Alexei’s face as the torture finished. Yet he kept his brave face, and did not allow her to see him break. He let himself weep silently for a moment at the loss of his innocence, at the beginning of his understanding of the Masquerade. He then opened his eyes, which were weary, but still a sparkling sky-blue. He had been tortured before, though never like this. He felt a thousand years older, as though he had lived another lifetime and was now ready to crumble into dust.

He was too exhausted, even, to keep Anna from forcing him into a blood-bond. Wait! Please! Don’t do this...please! The words played through his head. Yet they never emerged from his lips. I’ll let you have anything from me, but please do not...do not... The words slowly dissolved away, as he was forced to drink her vitae. His face became warm, and he felt the skin turn red. His mind fell into a sort of haze, and he could feel his eyes only following her as she moved away from him. His heart beat fast. All of the trappings of love.

Trappings he had once known before.

...It feels like love...It always comes...the same way... More tears fell. He had seen behind the veil once, and so as Anna stepped away he understood what he was feeling. Yet he knew in a way that he would have to bear this pain as his cross. He could do nothing. Not now, as his body felt hot and tingly around her. She was certainly beautiful, and he had found her elegant appearance, her perpetual calm, and her secretive intelligence likable, before she had begun to torture him. If she had not been a cruel Prince, perhaps he could have truly loved her. Yet such was not a reality to him. He was in a blood-bond: in love, but ultimately still alone.

Before he could react, Mikhailov had landed at his feet. He looked down at the Mage, surprised but too tired to react. He was still full of energy, and covered in now-dried blood. Seeing all of the blood, and the number of vampires, made him want to act, to protect the Mage from becoming a meal. Yet with Anna’s control over him, he could not move. He could only bend over and stroke his hair, an odd gesture which he hoped the Mage would understand.

Mikhailov was not in the mood for sentimentalism, and he grumbled as he moved to a kneeling position. A position he hated. “...I imagine you didn’t bring me up here to talk about paying for the window...” he muttered. He felt Alexei’s hand on his head, however, and the sensation distracted him for a moment from snapping at Anna. He turned to the docile Inquisitor, whose eyes looked empty but also afraid for him. Like Silvanus, his hands were soft, but a genuine compassion marked his touch.

“...You must...be quiet...” Alexei whispered, finally, “...It will be over soon...”

The Mage stared at his eyes, which were full of deep sorrow. He did not understand why Alexei was in such pain, but then Anna forced him to drink her vitae. She did not give him time even to reach for the pistol in his coat pocket. The hot, tingling sensation spread through his own body as soon as she finished, and he felt his blood boil. Just after Silvanus had teased him, had tricked him into showing his vulnerable side, now Anna was forcing him to be attracted to her. Violent repulsion sunk into his stomach, but he could not bring himself to shoot her. His hand refused to go for the pistol. “...Ngh...what...how...you...” he mumbled. Alexei continued to stroke his hair, causing for the Mage to stare at him in confusion. “...What...are you doing?...” he questioned.

Alexei smiled. He could not tell why he was smiling, but as he saw Mikhailov acknowledge his care, he felt his heart slow a little. “...It’s going to be okay...I promise...Just relax...” he whispered again.

Everything in Mikhailov’s body rebelled against this feeling. He felt like screaming. He wanted to run. Yet he could only shiver with hate, with anger, as he looked back toward Anna. Even with Alexei’s soothing words, his feelings only softened into dark disgust. “...I’m already...Silvanus’s puppet...and you want to...compound that don’t you?...” he sneered.

“...For all of your wisdom, you understand very little...” Alexei did not speak condescendingly, but kindly. He did not seek to taunt. He saw the vulnerability in his eyes, and knew that either Anna or someone else had an effect on him. He rejected his own body’s responses, both to his own benefit and to his pain. “...This is what we must give to protect the Masquerade...The Prince wishes to bestow her kindness...please accept it, so you may be safe...”

“What do you care about my safety?! You threw me through a window!” the Mage shot back. He stopped himself when he saw the sadness illuminate in his eyes once again. Alexei’s mind had wandered elsewhere, but the images in his mind had prompted him to beg Mikhailov to obey Anna.

“...My Prince, please show him kindness. He is a wounded soul, and he is enraged, like a bleeding animal. I do not know what you wish, but he will threaten the Masquerade if he continues his behavior...” Alexei spoke carefully, knowing that Anna could very well do the opposite for his brashness. Yet he used a polite, gentle tone, and given the blood-bond he sounded loving and devoted. Had he not been bonded, one would have thought he was Anna’s husband, or simply a caring butler.

Mikhailov merely found his defense creepy, but now noticed something else. How could he have taken so long to realize his face and Silvanus’s face looked almost identical? With Alexei’s mask taken off, now he could see all of his face. His nose, mouth, and chin were exactly like Silvanus’s, but his cheekbones were somewhat softer, due to his being alive and not an undead being. If Silvanus had been a normal human, he would have looked exactly like the young man. ...Uncanny...He is Silvanus...but alive...and somehow not a menace... he thought. Finally he mumbled, “...Who are you?...”

Alexei did not respond. He just turned to Anna, awaiting her response to his plea.

[Finsternia]

Silvanus

"Giving me the cold shoulder, aren't you Bulehard?" Silvanus edged closer and his right hand rested upon the Nosferatu Primogen's shoulder, which should have been a comforting gesture if not for the person who did it. "Aren't we colleagues, partners in crime? We Malkavians are as good as sleuths as you and your clan, we did help you get some information you otherwise cannot last month..." A serene smile appeared on the Elder Malkavian and his toxic green eyes stared at Bulehard's physique without revulsion. "Worry not, Ulysses... The only thing that I have for the Prince is... servantly devotion. And of course, we are all free to object, even if the majority has won." He gave his fellow Primogen three pats on the back before going in the study room. He already knew what he would find, a tortured Alexei with information taken and stolen from his mind. Silvanus' charteuse green eyes flashed a faint glow for a moment as powerful Auspex trained through the ages slipped through the Hunter's mind to see what has been done. A little sad smile teased his lips. 'Such filmsy mental walls are nothing before an experienced Thaumaturge. I must say, it took quite awhile for the Prince to break down those trauma induced walls... The actress has done a wonderful job.' The Primogen spared Alexei one last pitying stare, noticing the scent and aura of a blood bond over him, and he bowed before Anna. "Greetings, my Prince. Forgive the intrusion awhile ago, I have forgotten to crack the mirror. It was a mistake on my part. I hope to receive a proper punishment." He resumed his posture and watched, now live, the blood binding of Mikhailov. It's rather... uncomfortable to have his little pawns to be tied to another's will, but he reminded himself to play the long game. For now, Mikhailov would find it harder to make a blatant Masquerade breach like awhile ago and using vulgar magic that could expose the supernatural to Kine. Silvanus watched his discomfort with a little sadistic glee, seeing the supposedly calm and calculating mage show the thinly veiled aggression underneath the facade.

Demon Fox Riyoko

The Kitsune placed her hands inside her dress' pockets as she surveyed the crime scene. "Check the other side for fetishes, totems and the like. You're right. This is unnatural fire, this is arson." Charred bones are among the wreckage, Garou tracks and signs of intended arson to cover up the slaughter that has happened. If she could estimate the use of the fire, it was to burn evidences, not to torch the werewolves within the bar. There was clearly a fight and it was a fight that the Garou lost. A few supernaturals that she knows of could spar directly against an entire bar of angry werewolves and beast folk: the Primogen Council and its Prince, the Inquisitors, and some known mages. However, two of the prominent mages of Los Angeles were in a passive stance against supernatural politics, one is under the employ of Silvanus and his signature light magic isn't hanging around. There weren't any trace of Awakened magic but there are traces of Kindred blood magic. She noticed a whiff of it on the police officers and she can see that they are rather more prone to supernatural suggestion. She made another tour around the scene before returning to Connor. "The Camarilla has already been here to cover up the blatant supernatural. The fire isn't their working though, it's forced man's work and the only trace of Thaumaturgy in the air are on the policemen. There are no silver weapons either and must have been disposed before the fire started. We might have ran across Hunters here, Connor."

[Luminesa]

Silvanus returned, and his appearance seemed to confirm Mikhailov’s fears regarding Alexei. The young man did indeed look exactly like Silvanus, save for parts of the face and the eyes. His aggressive expression became one of fascination...and fear. Alexei could not possibly be an illusion made by Silvanus. He was a living, bleeding human being. ...No...that’s not right...it can’t be right...Maybe I was right...Silvanus is hiding another form and is using this one to torture me...They can’t be so similar...Alexei is a human...a stupid human... he thought.

In the meantime, Alexei smiled at the Malkavian as he entered the room. “...Hello, Lord Silvanus...It is good to see that you are well...” He noticed the sad look Silvanus gave him, and he pondered upon it. Just a day ago the Primogen had wildly desired his blood. Now he gave the guise of a noble, a refined man who knew how to act around others. He saw the pain of others and was sympathetic to them. Well, except to Mikhailov. He still showed the Mage his cruelty, even if he only showed a hint of it.

“...We must protect the Masquerade, Mikhailov...” Alexei whispered, as he saw Silvanus enter the room. “They do not need to know what we have seen...what we have heard...This is our burden...and you must share that burden as much as I...”

Mikhailov only continued to seethe. Even Silvanus was glad to see him in pain, was glad to see him bound by Anna’s blood. His desire to kill rose again, but he could do nothing. Anna’s blood had a grip on him, and Alexei’s voice, much like Silvanus’s own, was too soothing...

[Imperialisium]

Anarchs

The Anarchs of Los Angeles were a shadow of their former selves. The destruction of most of the Revolutionary Council and all of Los Angeles Barons during the late Spring of 2017 reduced all semblance of coherence to zero. They became roving gangs, many having suffered casualties, and more apt to fight each other than the Camarilla. Left and right Anarchs either submitted to the Camarilla and joined the sect, fled the city for neighboring Anarch territories, or fought among themselves until the Prince's forces came knocking. But there were still some left that were not isolated individuals or coteries. The largest groups of Anarchs left belonged to the South Los Angeles based criminal gangs known as the Brazen Skulls and the Blood Claws. The Brazen Skulls numbered about a dozen cainites led by 12th Generation vampire named Alessandro Corchiga and was for all intents and purposes a hispanic coven. Adopting many mortal likeness in that they demarcated themselves by only accepting hispanics into their ranks. The Blood Claws were much the opposite, accepting anyone regardless of background so long as they commit to the gang, and ruled by the 11th Generation vampire Louis Velanquez. Louis despite his lower generation was the younger of the two, having diablerized his sire two years prior before forming his own coterie and gang.


The Brazen Skulls would be a dead end for Pentex, they didn't trust outsiders; however, the Blood Claws would be more receptive of working a deal. After these two groups numbering about a dozen Cainites there was the several smaller gangs and coteries. There was the Dockyard Saints that prowled the boarwalks of Los Angeles southernmost beaches and shipyards. Numbering only six individuals as of June and an unspecified number of ghouls. The Coven of the Purple Hearts which masquerated as a Gentleman's Club. Feeding on but not killing patrons while performing adult entertainment. Intelligence would list five cainites and several female ghouled performers and guards. Pentex would also find leads on eight other Anarch coteries numbering 3-4 individuals and at least three dozen solitary members living alone in and around Los Angeles.


Anna's Study

Bulehard did not hide his contempt for the Malkavian Primogen and frowned at Silvanus' toxic green eyes. Turning his face away as the Prince once more went to Alexei. Anna moved with unnatural grace and Bulehard watched with keen interest. As the Gargoyle behind Alexei once more wrenched his mouth open and she poured a second serving of her vitae into his mouth. The Gargoyle sneering delightfully as the umcomfortable pain it was causing to Alexei as he forced the man's mouth shut. Forcing him to gulp the second serving down his gullet. The same would happen to Mikhailov a moment later. Albeit Mikhailov tried to fidget and resist the iron grips of the Gargoyles. Causing one to back hand him across the back of the head. If the Gargoyle had been human it would have hurt its hand more than Mikhailov's skull. But no it was a brick slamming into the back of Mikhailov's cranium. Causing stars and circles to swim in his eyes as his brain lurched back and forth from the impact in his skull. Any harder and it would have been a black out concussion. The other Gargoyle grasping Mikhailov forced open his mouth once more. Anna smiled as she gave him his second serving. Reinforcing the blond bond in the two as she stepped back and placed the bowl down.

"Now, we deal with a most important finding tonight, one I was most disappointed to find out about." Anna's eyes roved over them all and the court of cainites also present. Watching from other sofas, the second level balcony, or standing else ware in the room. All told there was almost twenty Cainites present in one room and six Gargoyles. That was not even counting the ten ghoul servants present as well. In ages past this would have been a literal Court with a throne, a high table, lower tables, and all manner of medieval trappery. Now, in these modern nights, things were more subtle and less obvious. For the Camarilla especially was always seeking to improve upon their Masquerade skills and what better way is to adopt the appearance of contemporary human society. "Sophie, begin proscribing the minutes of this Court, and prepare for a duplicate to be sent to Archon Regulus in San Francisco."

The room itself was informal but this was all for intents and purposes now a formal session of the Prince's Court. Sophie, a small girl no more than fourteen, with pale skin and albino red eyes shuffled forward holding a laptop. She opened the cover and pulled open a document. Begining to transcribe the night's proceeding's quickly and efficiently. Sophie was a revenant. Born of ghouled parents who's masters had taken them else ware. Leaving Sophie alone for her parents did not want her. However, Anna had taken her in as a servant in her mansion. Sophie was a servant for life or until Anna released her from service, in turn she was fed and clothed and had her own small room to call her own. The formal tone of Anna was a marked one for sure. Unmistakable. It was an accent and tone of Eastern Europe. A dialect heralding from the Carpathians and Sea of Marmara. Informally one could pick it up but it was easy to mask. Formally however, Anna spoke plainly and without attempt and masking herself.

"Information has come to my attention that one of our own as consorted with powers and engaged in conspiracies leading to breaches of the Masquerade. Such information is evidenced gleaned by the minds of Alexei, the young kine before us, and may be verified by a power higher than myself if they wish. Accordingly, as Prince of Los Angeles and all the territories, privileges, and rights as that title grants me. Silvanus of Clan Malkavian, Elder, Primogen; You stand accused of Conspiracy to breach the Masquerade and Traditions. How do you wish to plead?"

The room was so silent one could hear a pencil drop on the carpet from the balcony wrapping around the room above. All eyes turned on Silvanus. Bulehard, who had been standing next to Silvanus, looked at him wide eyed and stepped away. As if by merely standing next to the accused would be enough to incriminate him.

The Crystal Mirror Club

The Crystal Mirror was one of many clubs in Los Angeles. The sprawling metropolis dominating Southern California hosted dozens upon dozens of clubs, bars, and all manner of night life venues. Almost all were influenced by the supernatural forces also residing in the city. In some fashion at least. Either through direct ownership or influence. The Crystal Mirror was owned by a man named Harry Everkamp. A self styled bachelor and playboy whose property, the three storey club, sat on a Mid-West city boulevard on the Northern end of that borough. The Crystal Mirror was host to all manner of entertainment. Its first floor housed a regular dining, carousing, and bar scene. The second floor hosted strippers, dancing, and eclectic club music. The third was for the more adult and....consenting adult activities. Coincidentally, it was also were his other clientele came to feed.

In truth Harry Everkamp was an alias. A fake. The real man was not a mortal at all. His name was Harold Errington of Kent, England. A sixty-two year old 13th Generation Ventrue Vampire. Harry or Harold rather was an Autarkis. He was neutral in the Sectarian conflicts and intrigues dominating the larger Cainite world. He did not recognize the Prince as his superior and also never made moves againt her. He kept to himself and he kept his head down. In return the Camarilla could care less about him and simply wrote him off like many other Autarkis as a solitary isolationist doing his own thing. So long as he did not breach the Masquerade he' have no qualms. At least until a report of 14th and 15th Generation vampires frequenting the place came to the ears of the Camarilla. Specifically the Prince's Scourge, Nikolai Samerikov, who gained the position after regrowing his legs after an unfortunate event last Spring.

The black armored van pulled up just short of the Crystal Mirror which was thronging with over two hundred people in and around its premises. Running your own business and keeping things a secret from the kine was fine by the Camarilla. But the presence of significant amounts of thin-blooded vampires and embraces getting out of control was another. Enter the office of the Scourge. Who's sole task was essentially population control and assisting any Sheriff present. However unlike the Camarilla position known as the Sheriff whom enforces law and order on a domain. The Scourge has no pretense of investigation. They hunt down vampires guilty by simply existing and not sanctioned by the Prince or a respectable power. Which included illegal embrasures.

Behind the black van, which had ICE labelled across the side, a 67' Mustang rolled up. The driver side door swinging open right as the back door of the van opened up. A tall, military cut, Russian accented man hopped down from the van. He was a bull of a man if you ever saw one. Biceps as thick as some man's thighs and well proportioned. "Nice night for a hunt, right John?" The man opposite Nikolai, smaller but still well proportioned simply kept a plain look, "Every night is a nice night with you Nikolai." John's reply had a tone of a quick quip that caused Nikolai to chuckle. From the van, following Nikolai, a squad of armed men in full combat gear wielding shotguns and AR-15's followed them. A second van pulled up behind John's car a moment later. Another squad jumping out and quickly moving down an alley way to move parallel to John and Nikolai's unit. Nikolai held his hand up to his ear piece. "Our perimeter is set and we got snipers on the rooftop. You sure you want to go in alone John?"

"I work best alone." replied John stoically as he kept pace moving down the side walk. Moving through the throngs of people and into the club with a waive of a counterfeit ICE badge made up by Medorna earlier in the week. Nikolai just shrugged as he watched John go and turned to the men behind him. "Alright comrades. Thermals on. Tag and bag anything that isn't human or legal." The men pulled their thermal scopes down over their faces and moved forward in a disciplined fashion. Immediately people began to notice and take alarm. Calls of alarm from the Human crowd caused them to warily watch the soldiers move forward and past them. Others moved across the street quickly. Scared that something might go down. But it was a perfect cover in a city that was home to many illegals anyways. Better yet all the armed men present were actually human except for Nikolai and John. Most were ghouled and others were just paid in the service of the Prince. All were trained professionals. Ex-military or soldiers of fortune with excellent track records. Recruited by the local Camarilla as foot troops capable of blending in with mortal society. Mainly because...well...they were human's.

A man broke from the line waiting to get in and ran. Nikolai heard the entire thing over his com bead let alone watch it happen. "Bogey, cold, taking him down." A well disciplined burst from one of the agents caught the running man directly in the back. Causing him to sprawl on the concrete in a shallow circle of blood. Immediately the crowds began to get anxious and run. That was fine. It would look like a casual government raid. The thermals would pick out anyone not human. After all....vampires didn't give off body heat. Nikolai turned his back as a pair of soldiers approached the gunned down man. Passing over a strange scanner like device. A device created by the Camarilla. Allowing one to read the potency of one's vitae. One of the soldiers fit a small sample into a tube on one end. "15th generation. Bagging him for disposal." The other soldier pulled out a large plastic bag from his rucksack and rolled it out. A body bag. The man was unceremoniously scooped up and zipped up inside. The soldiers picking him and hauling him back to the vans. Else ware the situation would play out similar. Some of the quicker thin bloods were fleeing with the crowds. Sniper rounds struck them in the back as they fled. Fire teams coming by minutes later to analyze and then bag them up for incineration.

The club inside was only hazily aware of what was going on outside. Nikolai was by the entrance telling people to calmly leave. He was strangely good at crowd control for being a Russian Civil War veteran accustomed to creating chaos then keeping the peace. John moved deeper into the club. Moving up stairs and entered the second floor. A den of debauchery in John's mind as people received lap dances. Women shook their hips and bodies on poles. Bright neon lights zipped across the dark floor while loud electronica music played.

"Care for a dance handsome?" said one topless woman. John ignored her as he continued for the stairs. Moving up to the third floor and down a dimly lit hallway. Moving to a back door were a hulking man stepped infront of John. Blocking his entrance. "End of the show buddy. Turn around." The man's jowls shook as he spoke. Muscled and fat, 6ft 6, and easily over three hundred pounds. Tattoos on his knuckles and neck told John he was an ex prison inmate.

"I need to talk to your boss." said John matter-of-factly. The bouncer crossed his arms and replied in a condescending tone, "Turn around and fuck off." John didn't move and just held the man's gaze impassively. John's tone didn't rise or lower a single octave. "Harry Everka-."

"Boss ain't in, are you thick in the head?" The man looked down at John and dipped his head. "So. FUCK. O--AHG." He clutched his neck were John had delivered a swift throat punch. The man fell to his knees and barred fangs. Trying to speak but only a gurgle from his crushed windpipe. A normal man would be dying from oxygen deprivation. The bouncer's fangs said otherwise. "Yeah...I thought so." said John as he pulled out a knife and slammed it between the bouncer's eyes. The blade pulped the bouncer's brain and caused massive hemorrhaging that pooled round the blade of John's knife. John pulled out the blade and silently walked past the slumped vampire. Having given him his Final Death.

John opened the door slowly and stepped through. On several couches humans half naked or completely nude were tangled with Harold's other form of clientele. That of Cainites. The humans enraptured in the orgasmic experience of the Kiss. John ignored them all as he moved past them to a small door on the other side of the room. The Cainites in the room just eyed John with blood on their lips. John turned the doorknob. It didn't open. Locked from the other side. John sighed and delivered a forceful kick. Busting the door from its frame to swing open on broken hinges.

A man with platinum blonde hair in a white tux sat behind a brownstained oak desk. "You're going to have to pay for that." said the man angrily. John stepped through the threshold without a care on his face. "We need to talk."

"Yeah? What's there to talk about. You come into my club. My. Club. Kill my security and assault my clientele with your fucking goons?!" Harold turned a small tv to John to show footage from security cameras in the club and the adjoining streets. "Mass illegal embraces and thin-bloo-." John was cut off by Harold who spat infront of John. "I don't answer to your fucking Princess or whatever you assholes call her."

"You know the rules Harold." said John. Harold made to reply but this time John cut him off. Yet, the difference was that John's voice was kept cool and monotone. "You abided by the Traditions and the Camarilla looked the other way."

"Fuck your traditions guy. Yeah. I know who you are. I've heard the god damn rumors. Pet Changeling running around on the orders of Ms. Angelos. I know you're also not here to chat otherwise a phone call would have sufficed." As the last word left Harold's lips he pulled a gun from his desk and aimed it at John. Pulling back the hammer of the 9mm pistol while John just stared impassively. "Tell the Royal bitch she can suck my---" John dove to the side as Harold fired off a round. Outside the Cainites reacted to the gunshot by jolting and making for the exists. Harold got up to fire again but was blown back by four well placed rounds to the heart fired by John on his side. John jumped to his feet as a female vampire came at him fangs bared and fingernails extended into claws. She hissed as she pounced, John emptied six rounds into her body as she collapsed into Harold's desk. Harold himself was still alive and pulled himself up. Weak from the loss of vitae.

"Fu---you." The back of Harold's skull was blown out over the back of the wall as John fired a round through his forehead.

The sound of commotion behind him caused John to duck and turn. Aiming for targets. All he was Nikolai coming through the door followed by four soldiers who sprayed entire magazines into the Cainites and humans alike. Killing everyone in the room but John. "Sure next time you won't want me to come with you comrade?" smirked Nikolai as the soldiers fanned. Pulling combat knives and scanners to sample, mark, and eventually bag up the victims of the raid.

"What about the humans in here." said John passively. Nikolai cocked an eyebrow, "There's going to be a bunch of missing persons reports, fatal muggings, and break in's this week John." John walked out of the room, the club, and down the street without a word.

[Luminesa]

Anna never answered his question. In fact, she came back a second time, and made him drink again, much to his horror. Yet he continued to remain calm. He swallowed the blood, and his tears. Only one other person had ever attempted to take such a hold on him...and she was dead. Of course, Anna was too powerful for him to consider killing, and now that she had strengthened the blood-bond, it was too far from his mind. He saw her, and he had to fight to tell his heart to stop pounding in his head. ...Does she...wish to make us Ghouls?...I hope not... He would be unable to protect the Masquerade that way. He would simply be a lifeless puppet, much like the little girl who walked into the room and began to type about the meeting.

WHAM.

Mikhailov, in the meantime, took a hit to the back of the head from a gargoyle. Not only had he been also forced to drink again, but now his head hurt. He stared at Alexei, dazed and coughing his own blood, as the former seemed to look deeply in love with Anna. Yet now he saw clearly the fear in his eyes. Even such a powerful, peaceful Inquisitor could show fear. Mikhailov almost wanted to act, now that his body had become calmer. Yet neither of them seemed to be the focus of the meeting anymore.

Now Silvanus would be tried for treason. Both the Mage and the Inquisitor turned toward him in shock. Mikhailov wished to wait and see how Silvanus would defend himself. After all, he was eight hundred years old, and seemed to be able to slip his way out of anything. Yet Alexei saw something else, behind the superficial. He knew Silvanus better than Mikhailov. The Mage only knew the cruel, manipulative Malkavian. The Inquisitor, however, knew a different side of Silvanus. Putting himself at risk, he approached Anna. His body felt clear attraction to her, now, and he had to restrain himself from kissing her.

“My Prince, he has not betrayed you...I have worked for him...Forgive me for my impulsiveness, but I have supported him, since he saved me from the Tzmisce Elder you saw in my memories...He had made certain that the Masquerade has been protected...and he has used me to do so...I have...fought the enemies of the Camarilla only, as he has commanded of me...” he explained, eyeing Silvanus as he spoke. “...I love you, my Prince...and I shall not leave your side...please, my testimony is true...and if otherwise is proven, you may kill me and throw me to the dogs.”

Mikhailov was shocked. If only his body would let him use Magic, he could have swept both Silvanus and Alexei out of the room. He needed answers, more than anything. Silvanus had hired an Inquisitor to do his job for him. The Mage had only been a side-act, then? Now he had further questions. He only hoped Silvanus could properly defend himself, so they could all go home and he could get those answers. ...Idiot...I do hope you haven’t doomed us all, in your stupid haze of judgment... he thought.

[Finsternia]

Silvanus

The Primogen wasn't even surprised by the accusation. A Malkavian showing such promise and loyalty will ought to be questioned and Alexei's appearance is indeed suspicious. Whatever Masquerade breach that has happened tonight have already been covered up by Silvanus' agents, Dolls specifically made to eat people's memories and his own Clan. Giving Alexei a raised eyebrow, Silvanus placed his hand over his heart and bowed to Anna. "As the presumptious child have rudely answered in my defense, Your Grace, I plead not guilty. There is a reason why Alexei is my... appointed agent in the Society of Leopold and my agents and their information aren't cheap. Alexei is a budding Hunter with great potential. After all, who wouldn't be tempted to take the reins over a mortal who killed an elder with half a milennia of expertise and power backing them up? Alexei served as my inside intel from the Society of Leopold and I tell you, my Prince, that this isn't an usurpation of power nor is it an attempt to breach the Masquerade. After all, who is the Clan that will suffer most? It is me and my flock of troubled Kindred. If you still doubt the words of a blood bound slave, I volunteer for a confirmation via the ritual you have procured for my dear Alexei." Silvanus smiled assuringly, his hands clasped behind his back. If anyone would be put to the spotlight such as this, they may break or even feel offended or nervous. But the Malkavian seems to be a stone wall and even more dignified looking than any Ventrue. It was almost eerie, seeing a Malkavian of his age to be so calm and collected when you would expect him to thrash and turn like a rabid dog.

[Luminesa]

Alexei found himself confused by the response. Silvanus did not want for him to defend him? His benefactor did not desire his payment in loyalty? He had no desire for physical rewards or for a promotion of sorts, but he did wish to protect the person who had protected him for many years now. His eyes met Silvanus’s cold stare, and he lowered his eyes. He almost seemed to be bowing with the Malkavian, though he did not bend his body the same way. Now he became silent, listening to Silvanus and allowing him to explain. Being called a mole, however, was painful, and he had to force himself to keep quiet. ...But I am an Inquisitor...I wish...to fulfill my duties still...my father’s work...is not yet done... he thought.

Mikhailov, on the other hand, gave a secretive grin as he watched Silvanus. What a perfect actor. What an elegant visage he displayed for his audience. Silvanus bowed slowly, his long hair rippling over his shoulders softly as he began to speak. His words were calm, well-placed, and far too coherent for a Malkavian. He kept his eyes down, and his voice soft, yet he spoke with authority over his work and over his subject. He barely hid his smirk, as Alexei meekly bowed his head next to him. Of course the little Inquisitor didn’t understand, the Primogen was both cunning as the Devil and clever as a Fae. ...Heh...I guess...I can forgive you torturing me this once...if only because the little brat gets put in his place... he thought, gleefully.

Of course, as all of these thoughts coursed through his head, he had to wonder if he was really starting to go mad. Who else would see such beauty in such madness, unless they were not insane themselves?

[Imperialisium]

Saint Vincent Catholic Church

The Church was quiet, its stained glass windows depicting its Saintly namesake among other angelic figures were lit by the dull glow of candles, casting an orange glow on the face of Jesus Christ as he hung on a Golden Cross before the altar. The preachers pulpit of cherry oak wood rose to the right. Bedecked in orange silk linens with the symbol of the Holy See upon them. The crossed keys beneath a triple tiara crown that was the Pope's official coronation head dress. The symbol of the Keys to Heaven and Earth, and the crown of Christ's Vicar on Earth. Though this Church was far from Rome. Certainly far from the light of those papal choirs and despite it's name. Los Angeles clearly hasn't been home to Angels in a long time.

Beneath the pews, altar, and home of the Bishop there was the catacombs. Home to numerous sanctified tombs holding the crypts of many deceased faithful. But beneath that was the secret chambers and rooms of the Los Angeles Cenaculum. The Cenacle was a warren of several rooms that were spartan furnished and only had the basic necessities baring the small infirmary annex which was lavishly furnished with modern equipment. A man, Reynolds, was on one of the cots with his head bandaged. Stripped down to his shirt and undergarments. Propped up on a pillow. Hideyoshi stood next to him with Councillor Maxwell across. "He got hit hard by the blood sucker, Sir. Unconscious before he hit the floor but he should be alright. We don't have any Sisters or members of the Order of St. Joan here but his vitals are stable. From what we can tell its a concussion." said Hideyoshi. Maxwell released a small frown.

"We're always down on numbers aren't we. Ever since--. Well it is best not to dwell on the past." Maxwell's curt words were toned with care. But also some sadness. The Los Angeles Cenaculum had been hit hard in the recent past and never recovered.

"What did happen in 98'. If I may ask." said Hideyoshi.

"Jordan doesn't like the story told for a reason." replied Maxwell, looking at Hideyoshi in the eyes, the Japanese man did not waiver and replied quickly if politely,"Jordan is not here. He's off scouting the Garou." Maxwell signed and let his shoulders drop. As if receiving a great weight upon his aging shoulders. He took a deep breath before speaking, "In August of 1998 we were close to launching an assault on the Vampire leadership in Los Angeles. A swift surgical strike and then mop up any resistance left over one group at a time. Ready to rid the county and prepare for a general Inquisitorial liberation of California from the creatures of the night." Maxwell looked down at Reynolds and paced a few feet away from the bed to Hideyoshi's right.

"We numbered sixty-three individuals. Nine Inquisitors and the rest being good soldiers in the name of God. That was just in the County. We had close to a hundred operatives in Southern California and had done much to disrupt the Vampires presence. But we were beaten to the punch." Maxwell made the sign of the cross across his breast as he continued,

"The Cenaculum, up in the hills near the LA forest, was assaulted by just under two hundred Vampires. Anarchs is the name of the Sect the Vampires would proscribe too. They breached the outer courtyard almost immediately. Inquisitor Calerone and six Condottieri perished there. Everyone holed up in the Cenaculum proper as the outer buildings were overrun with the loss of another Condettieri lance and the wounding of Inquisitor Peronn. The vampires laid siege to us that night. Managing to breach through the second floor and through the front door where Inquisitor Feldman and all the Gladius Dei present died trying to hold the foyer and adjacent gallery. The second floor was overrun in minutes and a counter attack by Inquisitors Pillson and Lucas temporarily drove them back. Before through sheer numbers we lost the floor and both Inquisitors. The staff on the upper floor were slaughtered moments later. The survivors barricaded themselves in the sublevel and radioed for reinforcements over a wireless. We held out for four nights as the Vampires launched assaults every night. But we held the sublevel beneath the Basilica. Help would not be arriving from the Vatican and nearby Cenacles for another twelve hours when the vampires finally breached. By then we had realized that we could not hold and made a fighting retreat. Losing many along the way as we wound through the passages to the outside were we would escape via vehicle into the Mojave. By the time we reached the tunnel mouth there was only myself, Jordan was but a choir boy in training, a couple of sisters from the Order of Saint Joan, and three Condotierri."

"Did help ever arrive?" asked Hideyoshi. Maxwell was silent for a moment before answering, "Yes and no. Help did arrive from nearby operatives and Rome. Several operatives rendezvoused with us a few clicks East of the Cenaculum to help us escape North to a safe house in Sacramento. A squad from Rome arrived hours later. Apparently our transmission was muffled and it took time to decipher it." Maxwell shook his head.

"What of the Cenaculum? Why have we never gone back?" pressed Hideyoshi now thoroughly intrigued. Maxwell looked at the man sternly, grasped his shoulder firmly, and said with a voice of granite, "Do not seek out that place. It is a den of evil now and the ghosts of the dead there best be left to rest."

At that Maxwell walked out of the infirmary annex leaving Hideyoshi with the unconscious Reynolds.

Anna's Study

Alexei's approach and words was met by a powerful stair from the Prince. Her tone was laced with the disciple of Dominate, "No one asked you to speak. Be silent!" Waiving her hand dismissively Alexei could feel the power of her Dominate, vastly reinforced by the blood bond, move his body almost against his will to sit back down. His jaw clenched shut.

She listened to the Malkavian Primogen speak. She frowned at moments before turning back to an impassive expression.

"Your plea is noted. I have seen his memories, his luck in slaying an Elder is irrelevant to the accusations against you, unless you are forgetting the Traditions. In which case let me remind you that any fault of a Childe, by extension those in your employ, are the fault of the Master or Sire until they are released. I did not formally release them to be responsible for their own actions in accordance with the Traditions before their fight that ended in one literally bursting through one of my windows. In the interest of fair trial I will read your mind."

Anna got up swiftly and without warning clamped a hand on Silvanus head while muttering in a strange language. Immediately Silvanus would feel like someone had shoved a knife into his forehead. It was the conscious reaction to having another mind invade his own mental faculties. Anna would not be kind in this search. Even as she already felt the shifting madness that was Silvanus mind. The Malkavians were indeed insane, to varying degrees of course with some being barely noticeable to others deserving to be locked up in an insane asylum; SIlvanus was mad, but he was not a fool, and not mad enough to lack common sense or logic. He wouldn't have survived this long or achieved his position if he was like that. So his mind was indeed shifting in a random pattern of logical thought. But Anna was not looking for a pattern or even rational thought. She was looking for answers to be found in recollections. Silvanus memories which mad or not were always more honest than the spoken word.

[New Minahasa]

Mortimer

Reports and intel arrived on Mortimer's office desk just as he was reading the recent headlines. "The Wolf Caught On Fire!" and "The Crystal Mirror Incident" were just some of them, but they were more than enough proof to show how dangerous the city was becoming. "This place is getting dirtier and dirtier each passing day, and I wonder why they still call it the 'City of Angels'. Well, I guess Hollywood is just THAT good at producing entertainment, huh? Millions of eyes diverted from the atrocities that occur here. But then again, where would the fun be if chaos doesn't exist?", a short-lived grimace was visible on his face.

He put aside the newspapers and turned his attention on the gathered documents. Having to read through everything was very much a boring thing, but it was something he had to do, and he knew it better than anyone else. His duty was more important than anything else, and if his duty required him to do something, there was a good chance that he would do it whole-heartedly. The man's tenacity was... reputable, to say the least. Though he couldn't hide the fact that being out in the field, to grab a piece of the action, the thrill, was certainly something he longed for.

The Blood Claws caught Mortimer's interest. The reports suggested that this particular group was more open and welcoming than their other counterparts. A pact, an alliance, could be feasible, but this group alone wouldn't be enough to take on the whole might of the Camarilla. The other groups and coteries were all viable options as well except for one. Well, to be truth, Mortimer had expected this to happen anyway. These hard-headed vampires would be perfect for a show of strength; an example for the rest of the Anarchs. Annihilating one of the two strongest Anarch gangs could be a considerable feat. Perhaps something that could earn Mortimer the other coteries' respect?

In any case, diplomacy was still an important tool, and if the Brazen Skulls could be convinced, it would be all the better. Mortimer's representatives were therefore sent across the city to meet these groups and coteries in personal, with some semblance of protection along with them of course. The representatives for the Brazen Skulls and the Blood Claws were given extra protection for obvious reasons, and Mortimer tasked his own secretary as the representative for the Blood Claws to ensure better success. He was hopeful that things would go his way. If not, well, there was always space for brute force.

[Finsternia]

Silvanus

Indeed, Silvanus' madness currrently is a rolling and brewing storm. It is dangerous but it is controlled by the sheer will of the Primogen. Anna would even find that his madness is regulated by a bit of sorcery. Chains bound it down like rabid dogs by their owner. The lightnings of the storm of madness would strike out of the grim clouds once in a while before being heavily oppressed by the Malkavian. Silvanus' eyes widened in shock as the sudden intrusion wasn't really expected and that's when Anna was first struck by one of the lightning bolts of his mind, a memory that would perhaps intrigue her.

It was a memory of hundreds of years past, back when Silvanus is just a bit older than the youngest of the Elder Primogens of Los Angeles. The first thing that Anna would perceive was the smell. The smell of iron, of things burning, of candles. Next was the sound. It was the sound of something dripping, rather heavy and thick, followed by a sharp hissing sound and the smell of rot and decay. Finally, Anna would regain her sight and see what the memory was about. It was a small room, perhaps at least half the size of a good hotel room in modern times. There were tables full of herbs, a couple books of unknown languages, mixtures in clay pots and vases and iron cauldrons set to cool down. On the walls were a few weapons, all clean and immaculate and were polished, shined and sharpened by the whetstone almost every single day. After the weapons were body parts hanged by hooks. Most were human, some supernatural like werewolf heads, and the few remained were mangled by Vicissitude to horrific proportions. Though the smell of rot doesn't come from the hanged up body parts; it was from the corpse that Silvanus was tending by a large table. The young Elder is standing over a human male, ritually drained of blood in preparation of the Embrace. He already has his hand cut open and the rich red vitae falling down onto the would be Childer's mouth. Yet nothing is happening. Silvanus is muttering to himself, forcing his supoosed to be Childer to open wide as his hand bled more. The stench of rot grew even more as Anna would walk closer and she would find out why. Silvanus' blood has been already transformed by his mastery of Vicissitude into potent acid and it has long since ate at the kine's face, showing the brittle bone that's at the point of collapse.

Silvanus' hand then healed itself up, sealing the cut wound as the Embrace failed. He took the bowl in which the kine's blood has pooled and drank from it, setting it down, and walking towards the rack of weapons and instruments to start dissecting his failed Childer. The memory offered nothing more but Silvanus doing his work and if Anna would try to leave the memory, it has been locked. She needs to find a relevant item in the room, something that could connect her to the next memory. Something so out of place in the setting but something that would be overlooked at first glance. Perhaps if she looks at one of the tables, she would find a plate of baked cookies, hiding among the herbs and poultices and brews.

[Luminesa]

Now Mikhailov’s eyes grew in shock, and for two reasons. Alexei had not only managed to defeat him in one-on-one combat, but apparently some time in the past he had killed an Elder. A powerful vampire, possibly the head of a clan. Of course, Anna described his deeds as luck, and Alexei did not seem comfortable as she mentioned the event. In fact, as he sat still now, he looked exhausted. Meek. Totally loyal and compliant. Of course, he had also been the one to blabber and to get in trouble with Anna. ...But he’s no more than a teenager...isn’t he?...How could he possibly have the power to defeat an Elder?...The Prince is right. That must have been a fluke, he concluded.

He then turned back to Silvanus. Despite Anna’s hold on him, Silvanus dominated his mind as he watched the proceedings. He trusted the Malkavian would wiggle his way out of this trap one way or another, but how was yet to be seen. He winced only slightly as Anna entered his mind, and Mikhailov watched every movement on his face. Silvanus remained silent, however, as Anna searched his memories. His mind was most likely a maze, and given how much he liked control, it certainly was not an easy safe to crack. ...I trust you, Lord Silvanus...Don’t show her any pain, or she’ll use you...like she’s using me, he thought.

[Imperialisium]

Anna's Study

Anna looked about the memory's construct at the items and layout. It was common when entering memories for them to be constructed in a three dimensional fashion once one penetrates the consciousness of an individuals mind. The untrained, poorly learned, or unwitting would often believe what they are witnessing is real and be swept up or trapped within until the person recalling awoke or stopped reminiscing. It took even more skill to enter memories while the person was not actively remembering. This is what Anna was doing. She was forcing the memories to be recollected by Silvanus mind. But like all memories with every recollection there is something out of place. The more one recollects the more the mind rewrites it and like a game of telephone the details get further from the truth. This was the case even among Cainites, though at a much slower rate, as like their bodies their minds are almost held in a form of stasis. Slow to change. Slow to forget.

Anna reached for the door which was the metaphysical transition between memories for Silvanus' mind. It did not open for her. I could just break the door Silvanus. She telepathically told him with a wry smile forming on her metaphysical but also very real lips. True, just like a real door, a dream's construction can be broken down piece by piece by those educated enough to do so. Yet, it was often a particularly damaging affair. Anna did not have the time nor want to carefully peel away the barriers bit by bit. Metaphysical by metaphysical brick. That would take hours if not days. So a blunt force push or psychic assault would likely end with Silvanus going truly and uncontrollably insane. A state akin to Wassail were the only cure was Final Death. No, no. That would be tyrannical and cause a schism in the Malkavian Clan in Los Angeles. She already had enough on her plate not to earn a Clan's ire for killing one of their own.

I will play your game. So long as it is expedient to do so. Anna's second message telepathically entered Silvanus mind a split second after the first. Time had no meaning in memories. While several seconds passed on Earth a person could have lived an entire life time within the confines of memory.

So she scanned the room and moved to the cookies. They were out of place. The metaphorical and metaphysical key to transition along the road of dreams in Silvanus mind. Taking the cookies the dreamscape began to shift and change.

Anarchs in Los Angeles

The Pentex representatives would find finding the coteries and individuals hard enough as is. Knowing vampires are present in an area is different then knowing exactly where. Especially in a sprawling city like Los Angeles. A third of the Pentex operatives would find nothing. The other two thirds however would find out what they are looking for. The Dockyard Saints would scoff at the offer and throw the Pentex employee into the waters by the docks. That of course was after the short firefight with the representatives fireteam of guards. A firefight that left a Saint injured and in Torpor, one man dead, one man wounded and captured by the Saints, while the third managed to get away in the vehicle the Pentex representative had arrived in. The Coven of the Purple Heart would deign to listen. Until the next thing the Pentex man would remember is waking up under a bridge a mile away looking like he just lost three pints of blood and no more cash in his wallet or briefcase. Some pictures on his phone of strippers would make it seem like he had quite the night. The rep's body guards, two bulky guys in black suits, would be found in their undergarments in an alley way nearby. Evidently also having lived quite a night.

The Blood Claws meeting was held in a lower class apartment building in the North-Eastern quarter of the South Los Angeles borough. A four story duplex of red brick and black shingles. Square framed, curtain drawn, windows peered down at the street and fenced in backyards. Rusty gutters filled with leaves from a couple of massive Oak tree's nearby rattled loosely on their screws every time a strong gust of wind came through. In the asphalt parking spaces before the building a collection of old Toyota pick ups and Camry's completed the scenery.

"You're in the wrong neighborhood eh gringo?" The hispanic male in a white t-shirt and brown shorts, crocs on his feet, walked around the small circular wooden table. Eyeing a small frame, pretty, woman seated before him. She had her hair short and done up in a bun behind her head. Her women's suit ended in a skirt beneath the knee. "So you come here, the boys think you're lost, but you come into my own home...which concerns me...and speak on behalf of some else about an offer that could be very lucrative." Louis pulled the tin container on the table before them towards himself and popped the lid. The smell of rolled tobacco would hit their nostrils at the same time. Velanquez pulled out a cigar and put it in his mouth. One of the men standing behind the women reached out holding a pair of trimmers which Lous took. Snipping off the end of the cigar and lighting it with a match that he pulled from a small box next to the tin. Flicking the match out he drew heavily on the cigar. Holding in the smoke before slowing exhaling into the air. Being a vampire one of the benefits was no chance of lung damage from smoking.

"So you seem to know what we are. Why shouldn't I let the boys have fun with you before dumping you in the Pacific. Tie some chains on your legs, enough to hold you down, no one will find you again. How does that sound?" The woman was silent but easily nervous. I mean she just got threatened to be murdered in a way that would probably be painful, involve violence and probably rape, then get tossed in the ocean bound by chains to drown. The drowning itself would take several minutes to cause full brain death. Not exactly a quick way to go. The woman's nervous silence prompted Velanquez to continue, "So here is how this is going to go down ok? You start talking, no bullshit, and you'll leave here in one piece. Well...minus any cash you have on you that is. Then, I will meet with your boss if you convince me. Public place, at night, alone. Say South Park at midnight tomorrow."

The woman briefly looked around at the group of vampires in the room. There was at least five. Her guards, a full squad of Pentex private security operatives, was right outside. Naturally the Claws didn't want them strolling in and so they let the secretary in, the operatives could keep their weapons, but they had to remain outside.

[New Minahasa]

Mortimer

A particular man of interest had recently reached Mortimer's ears. A collector of sort who had in possession of a number of artifacts, but who also happened to have a trove of supernatural relics with him. Rumours had it that an old Garou fetish, a glaive that once bore a significant status and symbol within the Garou community, was amongst the man's collection. History held records of the glaive's spectacular might and its use against Gaia's vicious enemies, namely the Fomori, and how it was crafted from the bones of said Fomori. A fetish of that renown would be highly sought, as its presence alone emanated strength and might, and its symbol was that of greatness. With whatever resources Mortimer had, he began his quest to contact the so-called Eric van Demberg and sent him an invitation over to the Mothman Central Building, asking if both men could make a deal for the ancient relic.

Helena Fontaine

Meeting with the vampires took place in a rather awkward place. Helena was aware of the rabble that was the Anarchs, but even with such low expectations, they still managed to surprise her. At one time, she pondered why Mortimer would even bother with these low-lifes. They took her to a slummy apartment building, alone, having told to leave her guards outside. She just played along as she didn't want to ruin everything. Helena tried her best to keep her calm, even though she pretty much failed to do so as the vampires called her names and threatened her over and over.

She was getting frustrated by this one vampire. "He must be their leader, the guy who went by 'Louis Velanquez', leader of the Blood Claws gang", the thought crossed her mind as the guy kept mugging and spitting threats on her face. Helena almost lost it when the guy prompted to rape and kill her, but she just let out a nervous smile. As Louis finished his little speech, Helena let out a sigh and stood up. "Look, tough guy. I came here to make offers and deals, and I never signed up to hear your bullshit, all right? You know why you shouldn't even lay a touch on my fucking suit? Because a squad of fully armed men are waiting outside for me, and that's not even the last of them. If I don't walk out of this room in five minutes, they're gonna blow this fucking shithole you call home to bricks and stones. You have no idea what Pentex can do to your little gang here," she heaved a sigh as she tried to compose herself.

"Now, if you're gonna start listening, we can move on to the deal. The Anarchs are but a mess here in Los Angeles. The Sabbat took flight months ago, and what does that mean? That means the Camarilla is all that's left here. Pentex operatives in this city aren't happy with that, so they've sent me here to make a deal with what's left of the Anarchs, and that happens to be you and your lot, along some others out there. We're looking for someone who can organize the Anarchs back into one piece, to ensure its survival. Now, you should be glad that you're on our list of candidates for that. But, if you want to reject our generous offer, then fine. There's always more people out there who can fit the job anyway. Or there's always the option to just let the Camarilla swoop in and kill what's left of your lot here in the city. So, are you in or not, Mr. Velanquez? And no, I'm not walking out without my money, thank you," she stated boldly, although from her voice alone, it was obvious that her confidence could've shattered any time.

[Finsternia]

Simone de Angelo

Arcadia is a realm full of endless possibilities. As the Supernal Realm is ruled by the Arcana of Time and Fate, everything changes drastically. Where mountains once stood yesterday now runs a great river spanning miles. Forests turn into mysterious cities, oceans turn into grasslands, once weak bugs become Gods of their own right. It is where the narrative is at full force and time is thrown out of the window and the young Acanthus that has been swept away for tutelage have found the place ever wondrous as the first time he came. It was early morning and Simone did his routine of walking around the piece of Arcadia that was Endymion's domain. It was perfect paradise as birds of every visage and color flew in the air, plants known to man and not of Earth bloomed in the forests, and the very sand of the crystalline blue sea washed at his feet are golden of shine. Simone have long sinced discovered that he has been in Arcadia for months on end, if Fallen World time is what we're talking about, but Arcadia's time only dictated a month or so. This paradise is a gilded cage and leaving Arcadia isn't an easy feat. Before he went to sleep up last night, he has practiced a little charm of his own making. Simone brought his magical tools with him, his watch, his pen, and his phone, symbolizing Time for the watch, Fate for the pen, Space, Prime and Forces for his phone. He drew an illustration of a key on a piece of paper before setting it on fire and blowing the ashes out of his window, hoping that Lady Luck may smile upon him and grant him the metaphorical key he needs to escape.

Even if Endymion provided many gifts to him, spells and knowledges and all hospitality, Simone knew that if he stayed too long in this place he wouldn't be able to escape anymore. Endymion offered him the face of his mother, the promise of building a home with his father, his two other siblings and his beloved dog. It was too good to be true and even if Simone wanted to believe in the goodness of everyone's hearts, the teachings of the Sage Astorias came back to his mind. The Fae will always have ulterior motives that are beyond the scope of mortal men. He might be getting stronger and stronger here in Arcadia but he knows there's something up. Benny, his dog, is walking beside him and splashing in the pure seawater and is in pure bliss. He couldn't help but smile. "Grandpapa... I hope you didn't sell me out..." He stopped to look at the horizon. Endymion's sea seems to stretch beyond the eye's vision, endless in its sapphire glow. Benny was still splashing by his feet until something caught the eye of the little puppy, making him sprint forward to some close by part of the beach. "Benny, wait! Don't run around! You might get lost or something!" The young Mage ran and followed the dog, who could have been his familiar already at this point, and came across a part of the beach which is unusually saturated by great power. A patch of the golden sands is blanketed by a shimmering dust of all colors, glittering and sparkling in the morning sun. The energies are on par of a node and is something Changelings would even fight for. Benny barked at him once before sitting down, as if he is happy to lead Simone to this part of the beach. The Acanthus kneeled down and picked one of the larger pieces of the sparkling dust and inspected it. "It's... a magical artifact but shattered... But why?" He took out his pen from his pocket and made a swirling motion on the sand. The dust was sucked by an invisible whirlpool like force until it converged into a pile of rainbow dust. Carefully taking it in his palm, Simone looked at it with wonder. "I wonder if Kannon knows what this is..." He looked towards the sea and called for the dragon Fae's audience. "Mother Kannon! I have something to ask of you!"

Silvanus

Anna would hear Silvanus' reply to her threats. 'I am not playing a game with you, Your Grace nor I am the one picking the memories you find. Though I wouldn't advice forcefully breaking through recalled memories... You might happen to the memories of others or memories best not seen nor experienced...' It was a friendly advice for Anna as she touched the link for the next available memory. Once again she is struck by another bolt of lightning, tearing through the room's ceiling and sending her to a world of light. When the light faded away and the sudden flash blindness with it too, Anna would come face to face with a child, white of hair and eyes of sapphire, his small hand holding a cookie and reaching for her.

"Mister, do you want a cookie? You seem sad. Cookies make me feel happy!" This is a younger Alexei, at the age of 5. It was the middle of the night at 10 pm and you would be wondering why a child of such age is wandering out in Santa Monica streets. Anna would realize that she is standing in front of Silvanus, nay a Doll under the control of the Elder. "What a sweet child... I will gladly accept this offer." The Doll spoke with the voice of Silvanus, ever so charming. "What does a little cherubim like you doing out here in the night? Darker things lurk when it is dark..." The child Alexei puffed his chest and cheeks in some bravado pose. "My father's going to fight the dark things mister! He always wins when there are monsters underneath my bed or inside my closet!" The Doll showed a smile on its face as he saw a Conor Bancroft running with clear fear in his eyes. "Is that so young man... Your father seems to be here to defend you." The Hunter took Alexei by the hand and swiftly put himself between his son and the Malkavian's abomination. "Alexei, are you hurt? Did the man give you something?" Alexei shook his head and smiled. "No papa! I just gave him a cookie!"

The Inquisitor sighed in relief but then stared daggers at the Doll. Before he could make any threats, the Doll spoke, its eyes are burning sulphur green. "Raise not your sword, Conor Bancroft, for your son broke bread with I. Unless, you wanted me to slaughter you here and now... There is no fun in killing you so early..." The Hunter grimaced and led his child away and towards his car and he sped off. The Doll continued to watch the car with melancholy before smiling widely, in its hand a strand of silver white hair.

[Luminesa]

Days and nights passed in timeless stillness, in Endymion’s realm in Arcadia. The world was beautiful and peaceful, and the Sea Of Creation remained as the apex of Endymion’s work. Of course, the apex of Kannon’s work was that of her daughter, the little blue dragon who slowly grew into a long, slim, ocean-blue dragon. Kannon however had long since stopped growing. Her luminous golden-and-white form remained constant, and her human form was equally ethereal.

She spent more time on the beach now, teaching her child about the world and taking care of Simone. Endymion considered the boy his son, but Kannon longed to adopt him herself. Whatever plans the Fae held, she herself was full of guile and only wanted another child. Of course, she knew that he knew Endymion’s plans now. He had begun to see through the veil, and she knew she would have to make a choice regarding whether or not he stayed.

The day of her decision began when Simone was playing on the beach with his dog. She had been watching both he and her daughter, who now took the human form of a girl roughly nine or ten. Asia, as she had been named, still considered Simone her big brother, and she followed him to the corner of the beach, at which he found the broken stone.

“...Ooh! How pretty! Mama, look! Mama, he found something!” she cheered.

Kannon, dressed in a long light-yellow gown decorated with mother-of-pearl beads, stood from her place and approached the two children. She always looked regal, even as she dressed simply and humbly. She smiled at Simone as he called to her, but her smile turned to shock as she saw the artifact. “...A...Bridge of Arcadia...” she whispered, in awe. She blinked, and she took his hands in hers. “...Simone...what you have found is very special...and rare...I...do not imagine Lord Endymion would like for you to have this...however...” She closed her hands over his, and looked him in the eyes. Her gaze was always warm and motherly, though now with fear for his life. “...He loves you...and I love you. So I shall explain its use...”

“Story time!” Asia ran over, holding Benny in her arms and giggling.

“...A Bridge of Arcadia...is a stone which allows you to leave Arcadia. You may also use it...to come back. It allows essentially for safe travel...After all...Arcadia outside of Lord Endymion’s realm...is a frightening place...” she explained. “...That is why...if you choose to use it, you must do so in a place where he cannot directly reach you...such a place might be my own cavern, for example...” The words almost caught in her throat, and her voice became lower. “...You have been here for so long...and I know...you miss your grandfather...You may use this...if you wish to see him...”

“...Grandfather?” Asia’s ears perked, and she grinned at Simone. “I wanna meet your grandpa too!”

“Shhhhhh! Hush, my sweet child, we must be quiet. Just like the ocean...” she gently scolded her. She then nodded to Simone, holding back tears of pure gold. Tears which could heal any physical or spiritual wound. “...So please...if you wish...hold onto this dearly...and do not let him see it...understood?”

[Imperialisium]

Anna's Study

Anna watched the transition of the memory into one with a boy with silver hair and bright eyes. He looked like Silvanus and she could sense the connection between the two was more than happen stance now. More than servant and master. Agent and handler. So she looked at what transpired and how Conor Bancroft took Alexei away after the unsettling dialogue between him and Silvanus look-a-like doll. As the scene ended and the memory came to a freeze. Signalling that was all to recollect. Anna walked around the doll. The key to memories is often what remains. Not what is brought in or out of the memory itself. Anna touched the doll and waited a few seconds. Nothing happened. She frowned and moved around the doll again and it was then that she noticed the silver hair. An essential ingredient for magic was often a belonging, object of significance, or part of a person.

It donned on her then, the importance of this memory, and how the entirety of Alexei's life was dependent on this one singular moment. How this meeting, staged and planned by the Malkavian, was the hinge for Alexei becoming who he is now. Lastly the final piece would fit into the puzzle. Silvanus and Alexei not only looked alike. But they were related. Distantly of course. Silvanus was a distant ancestor separated by eight centuries of time.

Intriguing. This was a clever set up Malkavian. Anna's internal thought were at odds with her passive face as she let go of Silvanus. Breaking the mental bridge and thus their consciousness' returning to reality. Anna moved away and sat down opposite of them all once more.

She leaned over and touched the Revenant Sophie's temple. Transferring the memories gleaned by Silvanus to her. "Transcribe these as well for the report to the Archon." said Anna before returning her attention to those before her.

"In accordance with the Traditions, the Laws of the Camarilla, my authority as Prince of Los Angeles; that I, Anasztazia Angeles of Clan Tremere, Lord of the Southern California Chantries, hereby find Silvanus guilty in the 3rd Degree for the crimes of indirectly causing events that have led to potential Masquerade breaches and Progeny actions risking revelation to the Kine. Your sentence is one hundred lashes by fire. To be carried out immediately."

Anna had given Silvanus the lightest of all punishments. In many Princedoms to even be indirectly involved in a Masquerade breach could warrant more horrendous and longer punishments than several hours of physical pain which the lashing would cause. Silvanus would probably heal it completely over a night if he fed his fill. A few more nights for the scars to go away in addition.

But as Anna read the punishment every Malkavian in the room either looked down, away, gave a thousand yard stare, or in the case of one neonate began to sob tears of blood. Staining a hankerchief as Silvanus was grasped by the Gargoyles and moved to the empty space in front of the fireplace. His clothes unceremoniously torn open to reveal his back. Brutus, Anna's chief Gargoyle, moved behind Silvanus with a whip of tightly corded black leather. Raisin the whip over his horned head the Gargoyle flicked it down, the whip catching fire by some Thaumaturgical means, and lashing into Silvanus back. Splitting open the skin and causing the vitae welling up to boil and cauterize. Only to be ripped open again by a second slash. Then a third and a fourth as brutal stripes of red tore open on Silvanus back. It was painful, excruciatingly so, especially given the fire being used.

Vampires had a phobia of flame used against them, Rotschreck (Red Terror), and by its very nature caused more harm to vampires than a human. A hot brand on a human will scar and cause pain for days. To a vampire the pain is worse and takes more vitae to heal than other wounds save for decapitation and losing limbs. The Malkavians in the room looked away as the eldest among them was subjected to the pain and torment of this punishment.

Punishment in Cainite society was seldom light. A lashing was considered punitive. Princes and Elders have been known to slaughter all their mortal servants at the mere rumor of a breach in the Traditions caused by them in case an Archon or Justicar came to investigate. Some even cull Childe that they know would be questioned in that same scenario in order to not be held to blame.

Anna turned to Alexei and Mikhailov, "You may leave. Let Silvanus punishment serve as a warning for you. He is more valuable to me than either of you. A whipping would be the least of your concerns. Now go."

Anna finally looked up at Bulehard and he just spoke quickly, "Perhaps another time your grace." Bowing and leaving the study room flanked by the Nosferatu present.

Helena Fontaine

Louis listened to the woman and raised his eyebrows in exaggerated surprise. The woman was afraid and they all knew it. He nodded his head. But it was not to Helena. Right away she felt pressure on her skull, face rapidly going down, and crunch as her nose was broken from getting smashed off the table. The vampire behind her pulled her back up. A rag through on the table before her to clean herself up. Blood dripped down onto her suit and skirt.

"You got some big ca-honeys on you lady. Coming into here and talking back like that." Louis knew what they had done wasn't loud enough to reach outside and he flicked his head to another vampire. The Cainite put a shot gloss and poured some whiskey into it. The brown liquor being filled almost to the brim.

"I like you. I still want to meet your boss to finalize any agreement. But I will listen to what you have to offer." Louis took another puff of the cigar before pointing to the shot of whiskey. "Drink that, it'll dull the pain, consider that a lesson you can pass off to your boss. Our kind, what you could call Anarchs." Louis did air quotes for the word Anarch to emphasize his point as he spoke, "Don't take well to following orders outside their coterie. We won't work for him. With him sure if its profitable. If he tries to muscle around the other Anarchs in Los Angeles. Well, lets just say, they wouldn't stop at a busted nose. Also, you're here which tells me that the whole blowing us away shit is a bluff. Otherwise, why would you even be here. You need us for something. So go ahead." Louis motioned for her to pitch her offer.

Helena would leave, aside from the busted nose, unscathed and with her money.

[Finsternia]

Simone de Angelo

"A Bridge of Arcadia?" The young Acanthus looked down at his hands, at the fine ground rainbow powder. This is his key for escape. This is his key to freedom. His eyes shone brightly, remembering his spell from last night. His magic has not failed him. Lady Luck pulled the strings once again, leading him to the next chapter of the story, one closing to the climax in which he can finally leave. Though... something worried him. It is true that the powder still carries potent power within them but he couldn't sense any of the powers of Space lingering. He looked up at Kannon and asked. "The... The Bridge is broken... Perhaps we can try to use the remnants or piece it together? Please Mother Kannon... Bring me to your cavern..."

Silvanus

As the Gargoyle Brutus unceremoniously, and without dignity, ripped Silvanus' clothes, his scarred body is for everyone to see. Long cuts, deep cuts, serrated cuts, claw marks, burns, stitched wounds, wounds made by barbed wire, wounds made by supernatural and holy means, all preserved by the Malkavian's desire to remember each and single one again. Now, he shall have a new set of scars to remember, scars that he will never forgive. 'Putrid stone leech.' The first whip cracked against undead flesh, ripping apart skin and muscles like it hit some soft ripe fruit. Flesh and potent vitae flew, scorching Anna's expensive carpet. Whip upon whip descended, sending the Elder gritting his teeth through the pain. His aura is getting unstable as time passed by and the fog of madness reached his two retainers and servants, Alexei and Mikhailov.

It was white seering pain. Blinding pain. It was the pain of red hot rusty barbed wire wrapping around someone's neck. It was the pain of childbirth if one birthed out jagged saw edges. They would feel their very backs become raw, even if the unconscious psychic attack is merely mental. Minutes passed and Silvanus is a bleeding mess, his back exposing some bone while his flesh is currently writhing and trying to heal itself. He is already at his hands and knees, his flayed off flesh crawling back to him and his spilled blood has burned the carpet and the floor, his skin absorbing them back. His green eyes stared down at the floor, in the middle of remembering something ages ago, and it prompted him to smile. Silvanus stood up, shakily, and managed a weak bow. "Thank you... for your clemency... Anna... Forgive the mess I've... made... I will... compensate for it... I will take my leave now..." The Elder walked off, his legs almost losing balance, before his Clansmen and Doll servants helped him up. He didn't say a word to Mikhailov and Alexei and he didn't wait for them to catch up to him.

[New Minahasa]

Helena Fontaine

Time seemed to move really slowly as her head was smashed down on the table. She laid her face there momentarily, trying to comprehend what had just happened to her. Cursing under her breath, she tried to stand up and keep her composure, almost falling to the ground while doing so. Lucky for her that all she got was a broken nose. It still wasn't pleasant at all, but at least she weren't gonna have five vampires molesting her and then dumping her deep into the ocean floor. Seeing the glass of whiskey being poured, she happily drank it. Wiping the drooling blood off of her nose, she let out a smirk at Louis. "South Park at midnight, tomorrow, just as you said. The recreation facility. You with your bodyguards, and the boss with his. Don't want anything happening while the meeting is underway, do we? Now," she said as she turned around, struggling to even walk off. She left the room with a bloody nose; that of course worried the Pentex henchmen for a second, but she just dismissed the whole ordeal, claiming that it was just a mistake and nothing else.

[Luminesa]

Simone de Angelo

"A Bridge of Arcadia?" The young Acanthus looked down at his hands, at the fine ground rainbow powder. This is his key for escape. This is his key to freedom. His eyes shone brightly, remembering his spell from last night. His magic has not failed him. Lady Luck pulled the strings once again, leading him to the next chapter of the story, one closing to the climax in which he can finally leave. Though... something worried him. It is true that the powder still carries potent power within them but he couldn't sense any of the powers of Space lingering. He looked up at Kannon and asked. "The... The Bridge is broken... Perhaps we can try to use the remnants or piece it together? Please Mother Kannon... Bring me to your cavern..."

Silvanus

As the Gargoyle Brutus unceremoniously, and without dignity, ripped Silvanus' clothes, his scarred body is for everyone to see. Long cuts, deep cuts, serrated cuts, claw marks, burns, stitched wounds, wounds made by barbed wire, wounds made by supernatural and holy means, all preserved by the Malkavian's desire to remember each and single one again. Now, he shall have a new set of scars to remember, scars that he will never forgive. 'Putrid stone leech.' The first whip cracked against undead flesh, ripping apart skin and muscles like it hit some soft ripe fruit. Flesh and potent vitae flew, scorching Anna's expensive carpet. Whip upon whip descended, sending the Elder gritting his teeth through the pain. His aura is getting unstable as time passed by and the fog of madness reached his two retainers and servants, Alexei and Mikhailov.

It was white seering pain. Blinding pain. It was the pain of red hot rusty barbed wire wrapping around someone's neck. It was the pain of childbirth if one birthed out jagged saw edges. They would feel their very backs become raw, even if the unconscious psychic attack is merely mental. Minutes passed and Silvanus is a bleeding mess, his back exposing some bone while his flesh is currently writhing and trying to heal itself. He is already at his hands and knees, his flayed off flesh crawling back to him and his spilled blood has burned the carpet and the floor, his skin absorbing them back. His green eyes stared down at the floor, in the middle of remembering something ages ago, and it prompted him to smile. Silvanus stood up, shakily, and managed a weak bow. "Thank you... for your clemency... Anna... Forgive the mess I've... made... I will... compensate for it... I will take my leave now..." The Elder walked off, his legs almost losing balance, before his Clansmen and Doll servants helped him up. He didn't say a word to Mikhailov and Alexei and he didn't wait for them to catch up to him.

Kannon and Asia

Kannon nodded, as Simone decided he wanted to repair the Bridge of Arcadia. She closed his hand tightly over the glittering pieces, and looked into his eyes. "Hold onto it carefully, do not lose a single piece..." she warned him. She then lifted him, and took her form as the giant dragon. She eyed her daughter, implicitly telling her to watch Benny and to stay put. When Asia smiled and nodded back, the Mother Dragon took him and dove into the water.

The underwater world was as wondrous as ever, full of mystical lifeforms and otherworldly fish. The mermaids and mermen watched as the ruler of the waters swam past them, deep down beyond the light, and into her cavern. The glowing, pearl-filled cave welcomed both of them with a warm, sweet aura, and the dragon re-took her human form as she landed with him. She then took his hand and gently walked with him inside the cave. "...Asia will tell Endymion that we are...only talking about the Sea..." she explained. Lying to Endymion felt like a self-imposed capital punishment, and she gulped down tears as she pushed forward. She was Simone's adoptive mother, and thus she had to help him. If she could not give him anything else, she would give him his freedom.

When they reached the deepest, darkest part of the cave, she turned toward him. She then took the pieces of the Bridge out of his hand, and held them. A spell-circle made of pearls formed under her feet, and light gathered around the pieces of the bridge. Her eyes focused down on the pieces, and she whispered almost a sort of prayer under her breath. Compassion made for powerful Magic, so perhaps her powers could even restore the Bridge's abilities after she put the pieces back together.

Yet at the same time Endymion, who was taking a stroll through the palace, seemed to notice that something was...off in his realm. A shift in power was occurring somewhere in his world. He stopped walking, and frowned. He could see through the eyes of all of his creatures, usually, but Kannon was blocking his sight and hearing. How, he was not sure. She was not stronger than him. Thus he began to focus back, hoping to draw back the little servant gently.

Kannon...Kannon, my dear...what are you doing in your cavern?...What is that in your hands? His questions were soft, but forceful. He then turned his inquiries to Simone, echoing in his mind and attempting to take command. Simone, my dear child...Are you doing something you should not?...Why are you and my sweet Kannon hiding from me?...Shall I come find you?... he suggested.

Mikhailov and Alexei

CRACK!

Mikhailov felt the first drop of the whip like a flash of fire against his skin. A man with a high pain tolerance, he could handle most kinds of torture with little more than a blank stare at his captors. Yet his emotions had been amplified by the blood-bond, and his adrenaline spiked as soon as the whip hit for the first time. His eyes bulged, and he grit his teeth hard, biting his tongue in the process. Blood trickled down his lip, and he began to count the lashes in his head. ...Two...three...four...GAH! Occasionally, the pain became too much for him to handle, and he grunted in pain. He hated how weak he had become, just in the span of a few hours. Not even two hours or so, in fact. How long had it been now? ...Seven...eight...nine...GAH!... He lost track of time, as he braced his body for the invisible pain that never seemed it would end.

...Adoro te devote latens Deitas, quae sub his figuris vere latitas... Alexei could not speak his prayer aloud, but he hummed it in his head. In his inner altar, his place of refuge. His body was assaulted with the same pain which attacked Mikhailov next to him, and he refused to allow himself to show anymore pain. Looking at him, one would have thought he was at total peace with himself. His face looked asleep, and his winces were few and far between. Tibi se cor meum totum subiicit, quia te contemplans totum deficit. His mind remained fixed on an image, a beautiful stained-glass window in a church. He pictured himself reaching toward the image in the window, and the light falling over his wounds. Soon it would be over.

A hundred lashes passed, and Silvanus was on his hands and knees. Mikhailov sighed his relief when the pain began to finally subside, but Alexei rushed forward to Silvanus's side, as soon as Anna dismissed the group. He helped him to his feet, alongside the Dolls and Clansmen, and he walked out with him. The Mage, in the meantime, took his time. He was not a meditative sort, as contemplation on anything but Ascension tended to be a waste to him. Yet now as he slowly followed, his mind wandered from its singular path. Silvanus needed to actually be healed for once. He could see the bones, the muscles, the blood pouring from his back. The Primogen was supposed to be almost invincible, and Mikhailov knew he probably could fight Anna. So what was he hiding? And why did his plans have so much to do with Alexei? Why was he himself merely a pawn? He narrowed his eyes and adjusted his glasses, as he walked into the dark of the night, and he sighed. Maybe Alexei himself has some answers... he considered, as he followed the Malkavian group.

[Imperialisium]

Eric van Demberg
Demberg's Pawnshop & Collection
Arleta Borough

The Demberg Pawnshop & Collection was a squat, beige, single story building situated on a rather unnoteworthy block of small time businesses. Small neon lights and old sign boards dotted these businesses in a part of Arleta that wasn't exactly known for anything. More than one of the stores had chipped paint, flicks of missing signage on their shop front boards, and dirty musty windows. This was an all too common reality in contrast to the shimmering towers and gilded foyers of Los Angeles more affluent and modern districts. The door to the pawnshop was a simple cherry black wooden door with a magnetic lock. Its windows were dusty and flickered with a neon sign that said OPEN.


Inside there would be several rows of plexiglass cases. Inside there would be a motley sort of coins, watches, baubles, trinkets, old books, and collectors items ranging from actual swords to movie replica props. A lanky shopkeeper or two worked during the daylight hours. While their employer, whom they didn't know was actually a vampire, only came in the evening from his small apartment that was adjoined to the shop in the back. Conducting private meetings and sales with folk wishing to make deals outside of normal shop hours. This of course was the real profitability for the Demberg Pawnship. The night time trades with the supernatural and more private denizens of the world.

In the back of the shop, past the small office and inventory room, was the locked apartment of Eric van Demberg. To his mortal clients he was a legal immigrant from The Netherlands. Hailing from The Hague and living in Los Angeles since 1976 when he moved as a young man. For Van Demberg scarcely looked past forty and would not need to change his alias for at least another decade or two. He even spoke with a hint of a Dutch accent. It was a good cover to say the lease and despite the relatively modest appearance of his Pawnshop he did earn tidy sums and had amassed a few million USD in currency assets along with the value of his more supernatural and mundane objects in his collection beyond those of simple trinkets.

Eric van Demberg was an Autarkis, he did not acknowledge the authority of any Sect over him, but he respected the powers that be. He didn't cause trouble and did not break the Traditions to bring down the ire of the Camarilla on his head. Van Demberg was a 12th Generation vampire of lineage to Clan Lasombra. Embraced with a group of eight others by an eccentric 11th Generation vampire from Seville, Spain. Not that he saw his sire much after, in fact he hasn't heard of him in over twenty years, and as far as he knew about the thers in his Embrace only two others have survived to the present. One he knew lived in Las Vegas, the other has relocated to South America. Somewhere in Suriname he wasn't sure.

Eric van Demberg was usually asleep at this time, but in his home, hidden within a secret alcove behind his desk was his place of rest he awoke to the chime of an E-mail being received. Unlike older vampires that take a long time to, or never truly grasp, modern technology; Van Demberg was young enough to easily master all the trappings of the modern world. After all he was born in 1942 and watched as the first computers evolved into the machines they are today.

Rising out of his padded bedding he stepped with heavy feet. If a vampire could feel tired it was when awake during daylight hours. As such he moved sluggishly like a mortal before their morning coffee. All the blinds were black out curtains and placed to not allow a shred of light. It was dark in the apartment. To the point were mortal eyes would have trouble seeing more than several feet in front of them. The only light was the dull glow of the desktop computer on his desk. Clicking open the message icon an email appeared on the screen. The business like header and signature was that of a certain Mortimer from Mothman Central Building. Some subsidiary of Pentex it seemed. Asking him about a particular glaive in his inventory. This immediately posed a red flag to Van Demberg who stroked his short red beard. His dull copper hair was kept to ear length and his pale skin shown against the computer screen's glow. He slowly sat down in his cushioned chair and began to type out a response.

To: Mr. Mortimer
Thank you for contacting me of such interest in this particular object. Though I must ask why you possess such interest in this particular item within my inventory? It is a relic that is quite old and of design not typical to the average collector's collection. However, it's pricing is quite steep for such a unique item. Cash being the only acceptable form of payment I will accept for it as a result. I do thank you for the invitation but I must decline as that will conflict with some other client meetings. I can meet at seven o'clock at Berchalds this evening, a lovely English Smokehouse, in Arleta if you wished. To discuss the transaction and should you purchase the item, it's delivery.


Respectfully,

Eric van Demberg
Demberg's Pawnshop & Collection
1329 San Quintos Avenue, Arleta, Los Angeles, 91331

[Luminesa]

Alexei’s Apartment, 7:45 AM

Alexei awakened to soft, warm silence, a strange sensation that differed much from the previous night’s action and terror. The coffee-maker in the kitchen bubbled to life, as he had set it to brew at this time, and the sound relaxed him as he awakened. He had left after bringing Silvanus to the funeral home, and had come home to get a measly three or four hours of sleep. He rose from under a mound of soft blankets, and brushed his long, messy hair out of his face. He wondered if slowly, he was becoming part of the night himself. Life during the daytime would have almost seemed foreign to him, if not for the fact that he was also a student during the day.

A student of Loyola Marymount University, despite the overwhelming tuition (which he managed to pay with the loans he received, due to outstanding grades), he was studying to be...something. History was his current major, and he did not wish to change his major too many times, given he would need a day-job outside of college, once he finished. With a class at 9:00 in the morning, he hopped out of bed, made a cup of coffee and a toasted bagel, and gathered his backpack. He would have to take a bus to get to class, and he had no time for delays.

Mikhailov, on the other hand, had all the time in the world.

Or so he told himself. Of course, Silvanus would awaken that night, and the chaos of the evenings would start again. As much as he enjoyed the madness, he needed some reprieve, and thus decided a way to get that would be by getting information from Alexei. After all, the young man did seem to know more about the Masquerade than he initially thought. He would have to try hard to pry information from him, but with some smooth coercion he felt he could garner some information from him.

Now if only he could get out of the apartment and follow Alexei, without Alexei noticing.

Lucky for him, the young Inquisitor and student did not have much time to notice a suspicious Russian man hiding behind his couch, where he had slept for most of the remainder of the night. Thus Alexei left the apartment, locking it behind him, and Mikhailov used his power to appear outside without anyone’s knowledge.

Hurrying to the bus-stop, Alexei boarded the bus without a word, a thermos of coffee in one hand and a granola bar in his mouth. If only the first cup of coffee would awaken him, the second might give him the ability to concentrate in his classes. He fell asleep in class quite often, though his sleepiness was a habit he had carried since high school. Yet he had given-up on fixing his sleep schedule a long time ago. Now he needed to protect the Masquerade.

And Mikhailov wanted answers badly. He snuck onto the back of the bus, and sat far behind Alexei. He was glad the young man was dazed from lack of sleep, as he did not turn to notice the Mage sitting three rows behind him.

Eventually Alexei arrived close to campus, and ran to get to his class on time. He arrived on time, but Mikhailov did not follow him directly to class. Rather, he went and found the library. The school had a large library, and while he needed answers from Alexei, sitting in his class and passing him mysterious notes would not be very productive. Thus he headed to the library, and began to flip through books there. He definitely blended into the crowd, as he looked rather like a professor. Of course, Alexei was awake after his class, and so he headed upstairs to find a book for a course.

10:45 AM

“...Hello there.”

Mikhailov was so surprised to hear a voice in the quiet library that he jumped. He turned around to see who was speaking to him, and he frowned as he noticed Alexei behind him. The Inquisitor had seemingly tracked him to his exact location, and now stood behind him with a book in his arms. Alexei did not sound threatening or nervous, but rather timid and friendly. He frowned in return, however, as he was surprised to see Mikhailov here. “...Do you work here?...” he inquired.

“...No. I...hm. Do you have some time and is there a place where we can sit and not be disturbed?” He did not want to waste too much time, so he blurted to Alexei.

Alexei blinked, and nodded. “...Sure. The library right here is very quiet most of the time, though. We can simply talk right here,” he answered.

The Mage smiled. “Alright. I have a few questions for you. What’s your relationship with Silvanus? You two look almost exactly alike, and there aren’t a lot of people I’ve ever seen with long white hair,” he questioned.

“...My relationship...with Silvanus?...” Alexei frowned a little more, and drank his third cup of coffee. “...Why do you ask?...”

“...I wonder...if you’re connected to him in some way...and if he’s trying to use you to get to me,” Mikhailov answered.

“...Use me?...No...I am an Inquisitor. I hunt Mages...or...I used to. Now I hunt non-Sabbat and hostile Mages...W-We should be very careful talking about this in public...erm...what’s your name?”

“Mikhailov. Dr. Mikhailov, I should clarify.”

“Dr. Mikhailov. We should not speak of these things in public.” Alexei’s eyes became cooler, and his words became more authoritative, despite his voice being soft and gentle.

“...If anyone asks we’re talking about Dungeons and Dragons. You’re a Cleric, I’m a Mage, Silvanus is one of the monsters in our dungeon. Trust me. Despite what Anna thinks, I’m not an idiot about covering the Masquerade. I’ve been doing it for decades,” he shot back.

Alexei did not entirely trust him, but he nodded. “...Very well...You have other questions for me, yes?...” he inquired, with a sigh.

[Imperialisium]

Day Time
Anna's Residence

The warm Summer air flowed through the window, whirling around the room in invisible tendrils, brushing all with the lightest of touch. The heavy fabric curtains gently swayed with the smallest of gusts as heavy fog rolled from the Mountains ringing the Los Angeles plateau. Misty walls hundreds of feet high clashed and mixed with the lighter mists blowing in from the Pacific Ocean. The misty vapors writhed and swirled like dancing willow-o'-wisps in their sterling grey performance. The Ocean and Land was their stage, the city their audience, signalling the coming of day. Their dance a coaxing number for the Sun to climb ever higher in the sky. Shining it's golden rays like a billion spotlights illuminating the vapid dancers gliding over and around the shimmering skyscrapers of the city. Casting a blanket of humid essence across the vast cityscape.

Rolling through the hills to the North-West of the city. Wrapping around the mansion, casting the grounds into a sea of fog, the structures and trees appeared like islands amid the rolling tempest. It was this cool air that flowed over and around a man sleeping on top of a perfectly drawn and spread bed. But he was not in the bed sheets, no, he rested on top of them in a white t-shirt and boxer's. His hands clasped on top of his chest and black hair lying on the stark white pillows. The man was a picturesque emote of calmness and slumber. At least that was the case on the outside. For inside his mind was roiling amid a strange land. One of a brilliant Sun in the blue sky, vast forests of evergreens and coniferous boughs, with gentle flowing streams and high snow-capped mountains. A coursing river cut through the valley and straddling its waters was a city. Walled and topped with white dome towers that stretched into the sky. A place of dreams, deep, and far removed from the circles of the world.

A man in a black suit wound his way slowly through the fields towards the city. The gentle grass, flowers, and random wild grain danced in the gentle breeze that swept the valley at random. Laughter bounded through the forests around him in harmony with the chirping of birds. The voice of children sang through the woods to gently play against the ear drums of the man in black.

We dance in the moonlight
With hearts that shimmer bright
And soft wings fluttering in the wind
We rest in the daytime
within the forest deep
our shadows cast over the garden
a safe haven while you sleep...

John...


The man in the black suit stopped and looked around him inquisitively. He felt something watching him as he continued to walk. But now that he cast his eyes on the fair city it seemed no matter how many steps he took it never got any closer. "John." The man in black stopped again and slowly turned.

Eyes fluttered awake. The Sun was firmly cast in the evening. It's glow gone from golden to pale orange. Cloud cover wound across the San Gabriel Mountains to the Western Ocean that is the Pacific. John swung his legs onto the floor and made to get ready for the day. A quick shower, some coffee laid on a tray for him by one of the house servants, he sipped the warm brown liquid as he looked at himself in the mirror. He had donned his characteristic black suit. Reaching to the top of the dresser he picked up his holstered side arm. Buckling his belt through the loops and feeling the weight of his pistols in his hip and back. A wrap on the door sounded. Opening it he saw the squat frame of Ronaldo Medorna. The middle aged Hispanic man handed John a slim manila folder.

"Some Cainites got whacked a few nights ago. No one, not even LAPD, has been there yet. Its fresh. Kai and I think it be best you check it out before we do clean up. See who did it and try to find out a trace or something to look for."

John took the folder and nodded before closing the door behind him. "I'll look into it." replied John as he walked with Medorna to the entrance of the mansion. In a room with the curtains drawn, causing total darkness, to the left of the foyer John stopped. Looking left he spied a slender figure sitting in a cushioned chair. "You're up early." said John.

"I just wished to convey that these events, first with the wolves and now our own, are important. The Prince believes this attack to be the work of the Inquisition. She wishes the matter be investigated and dealt with all haste." Kai's tone was slightly condescending towards John.

"I'll be sure to tell her what I find." said John with a side ways look at Kai before resuming his pace. Leaving the mansion and stepping into the Mustang Mach 1 sitting in front of the mansion. Turning the key the engine roared to life. Giving a nod once more to Medorna, John, put the automobile into gear and it roared away through the yawning black iron gates.

Anarchs Response to Mortimer

The Anarchs responses to Mortimer, if they were sent at all for some still did not respond to him, were mixed at best. The small coteries and individual Anarchs that could be found either flat out rejected meeting with Pentex or accepting their aid; but, a few accepted. A total of eight Anarchs agreed to accept aid from Pentex or at least listen to what they had planned. Further, Mortimer had a reply via email from Eric van Demberg waiting for him to answer and the scheduled meeting with Louis Velanquez at midnight to deal with already. This was his foot in the door for Mortimer, Louis, the Anarchs by their nature were factional and didn't trust outsiders. He needed one of their own like Louis to vouch for him and start forming a coalition of Anarchs again.

[Luminesa]

Mikhailov remembered at that moment that soundproofing his conversation with Alexei was also possible. He looked around, and realized that almost nobody was around to give them any attention, but just in case he carefully activated some of his Magic. He held a hand by his ear, as though he was listening for something. Alexei watched him, confused.

“...What’s the matter? Do you hear someone?” The Inquisitor questioned.

The Mage’s face was stern and cautious. After a moment he turned his eyes back toward Alexei. “Yell something.”

“Huh?”

“Just do it. Need to check and see if this is working,” he insisted.

Alexei sighed, and he thought for a second. He then took a deep breath, and he began to sing. “Sing of Mary, pure and lowly, Virgin Mother pure and mild...” He was not unnecessarily loud, and even as he sang he seemed a little timid about doing so.

“No, no. Don’t be nervous. Be as loud as you want. You know why?” Mikhailov smirked. “Sound Magic. Nobody can hear you,” he explained.

The Inquisitor sang a little louder, then stopped singing mid-chorus and looked around. Indeed, nobody was paying attention around them. He sighed his relief. “Good. Now we shall not run the risk of a Masquerade breach for what we will talk about,” he answered.

Mikhailov nodded. He found Alexei during the daytime to be much timider than the Inquisitor warrior he had fought the night before. Even his singing was much softer. He frowned in thought. “...You really like to sing hymns don’t you? Even last night when you were fighting me you were singing. How do you sing while fighting?” he questioned.

Alexei chuckled. He had never been asked about his singing before, and he did not expect the topic to arise. “...Singing is praying twice, Augustine once said...And with True Faith, too, anything can be a weapon...I could use anything in this room, so long as I asked God to let me use it to destroy those who harm the Masquerade,” he answered. Even while the barrier was active he still refused to raise his voice, and seemed to speak constantly at a near-whisper.

“Hm. I see. You’re quite dedicated to your work, aren’t you?”

“...Of course. For now, it is all I have,” Alexei answered, his voice solemn as he responded, “and in the end, it shall be the factor by which I will be judged. Whether or not I have protected people from these beings, have allowed them to live their lives in peace, and have died to uphold order in society.” Even his voice seemed musical to Mikhailov, as he expressed his determination to always defend the Masquerade. “...But we are not here to talk about me, are we? You wish to speak to me about Lord Silvanus, right?...” When he saw the Mage’s face seemed distracted, he repeated himself quietly. “...Dr. Mikhailov?”

“What? Ah. Yes. Well, then, tell me. I’m the one asking you the questions here,” Mikhailov responded, shaking his head lightly as he came back to attention.

Alexei smiled, as though he understood why the Mage had lost focus. “...I have known Lord Silvanus since I was a child, actually...” he began, “I met him when I wandered from my home one night looking for my dad. Did you know he was also an Inquisitor?”

“...I did not.”

“Yes. I did not know this, though, and so I went into the city to look for him. Of course, this was dangerous. But I suppose I have always liked danger, to an extent,” he continued, a mischievous sparkle entering his eyes as he spoke. His voice was good for storytelling-meek yet expressive, soft yet intentional. “I found Silvanus’s home one night on accident, and I offered him a cookie. I had...brought cookies with me because I was afraid my dad would be hungry. Five-year-olds think in odd ways. But anyway, I offered him a cookie, and then my father found me, and he whisked me away.”

The Mage smirked. “Is that it?...”

“Oh no. No, that was only the beginning,” Alexei answered. He seemed to notice he had Mikhailov captivated in some way, and he gave a sad smile, as though he had seen such an expression many times before.

Mikhailov noticed the change in expression, and frowned. “Is something wrong?...”

Alexei instinctively ran a hand down the side of his neck. “...No, no, nothing is wrong...heh heh...” he assured the Mage, before adding to his story. “We net again once I became an Inquisitor. I was fifteen. He decided not to kill me one night, and before you knew it, we seemed to be in some sort of...implicit agreement. I would not attack him if he did not attack humans...”

“You’re blood-bonded to him?”

“Hm? Oh no, no, no, nothing like that. But...”

“...But?...”

Alexei’s eyes glittered once again. He paused, knowing what he would say next might shock the Mage. Mikhailov grew impatient as seconds passed, while he waited for an answer, but Alexei wasted little time finding the words. “...I swore fealty to him when I was sixteen,” he answered.

[Kingdom of Irhk]

Demon Fox Riyoko

The Kitsune placed her hands inside her dress' pockets as she surveyed the crime scene. "Check the other side for fetishes, totems and the like. You're right. This is unnatural fire, this is arson." Charred bones are among the wreckage, Garou tracks and signs of intended arson to cover up the slaughter that has happened. If she could estimate the use of the fire, it was to burn evidences, not to torch the werewolves within the bar. There was clearly a fight and it was a fight that the Garou lost. A few supernaturals that she knows of could spar directly against an entire bar of angry werewolves and beast folk: the Primogen Council and its Prince, the Inquisitors, and some known mages. However, two of the prominent mages of Los Angeles were in a passive stance against supernatural politics, one is under the employ of Silvanus and his signature light magic isn't hanging around. There weren't any trace of Awakened magic but there are traces of Kindred blood magic. She noticed a whiff of it on the police officers and she can see that they are rather more prone to supernatural suggestion. She made another tour around the scene before returning to Connor. "The Camarilla has already been here to cover up the blatant supernatural. The fire isn't their working though, it's forced man's work and the only trace of Thaumaturgy in the air are on the policemen. There are no silver weapons either and must have been disposed before the fire started. We might have ran across Hunters here, Connor."

Connor Mac Domhnaill

"Might? Pretty sure this is Hunter work. They are specialized in this type of thing. Unlike Mages and Vampires, they know how to hit to kill instead of hitting to prove a point. This was an execution. I see no spiritual traces of a totem here... It was probably destroyed or stolen.

Which means we are under the aim of people that are trained to kill us quickly... We need to invert the Hunt, turn it inside out... Prey becomes Predator now. We will discover who they are, what are they doing... Time to set up a trap and kill some vampires. Let's go. We need to find more Garou in this city as well, given that the ones in Éire won't come over here to fight."

Connor had a worried tone, as he knew that Vampires were one thing, but Hunters... They were a whole different level. They adapted their tactics according to their enemy, and the Irish Garou knew by heart the tales of his brothers in Gaia that fell to European Hunters without even knowing that they were being hunted at all.

[Luminesa]

11:00 AM

"...You...swore fealty...to Silvanus?!" Mikhailov questioned, shocked. Alexei nodded calmly. He seemed to act as though his words had no weight, but the Mage was truly shocked. He knew they had some sort of close relationship, based solely on their appearance, but here an Inquisitor had declared he served two masters. He almost wanted to smirk from the absurdity of the statement. "...So how did that happen?"

Alexei bit his lip and thought for a moment. He had never told anyone this secret before, and as his eyes dodged Mikhailov's gaze, he knew that he himself understood the implications of his statement. "...Had he not saved me during one of my first missions...I would be dead right now..." he whispered, "...He did not ask it of me...I chose to give him my loyalty, hoping that...in this way I could...repay him, and also...act as an intercessor on behalf of humans in this city...yes, that's the word, an intercessor..." He trailed off after that, and his eyes became cloudy with worry.

"...That's all fine and dandy, but if you think this is going to end in any way beside having your head cut off, you're an idiot," the Mage responded.

The Inquisitor's eyes became bullets, and Mikhailov became quiet. "...You don't understand the road I walk. It is for the sake of humanity's safety. You are privileged to be able to walk outside, to see a Garou coming for your throat or a Sabbat coming to devour you, and to be able to readily defend yourself. Normal humans cannot, nor can they comprehend these things. The stability of this city lies in the hands of the Inquisition, I am merely doing my job...and giving thanks to those who have been kind to me..." he shot.

Mikhailov glared coolly. "...Please. If you think anyone is going to stop fighting to notice you-"

"They did last night, didn't they? When I blasted you through a window?" Alexei walked closer to Mikhailov, causing him to back into a bookshelf. While his voice and appearance were not very ferocious, he was neither a fool nor a doormat. He knew the Mage's arrogant personality, based on their fight, and he held his ground. "Oh yes, they noticed your bloodied body, and the man who defeated you. I might not be powerful or wise, but my Faith is firm. I have been tested, and I will be tested again, and I will pass that test. Please do not mock me for-"

"I will mock you however I please, brat," the Mage swiftly responded, as he grabbed Alexei's throat and began to choke him. "And if I kill you right here, in the silence, it will be a mercy kill. The Inquisition will do far worse than I could ever do to you," he hissed in his ear.

Alexei began to gasp for air, as Mikhailov applied pressure. His eyes widened. He knew he could not start a major fight in the library, or someone would notice through the thin veil of silence.

Yet something caused Mikhailov to stop, as soon as he had started. His eyes looked down toward Alexei's throat, and he stopped strangling him to examine the skin. Given the young Inquisitor was not wearing his high collar from the previous night, now the Mage could see almost a dozen pink, unhealed scars on various parts of his throat. Upon close inspection, they seemed to be puncture wounds-bites. They trailed both sides of his throat, and then down toward his shoulders and collarbone. Now his eyes got big, and he turned back to look Alexei in the face. "...What is all this?" he questioned.

Despite his inner terror, and his fierce coughing, Alexei managed to lift his collar slightly. "...Th-That's...nothing...nothing...nothing..." He seemed to be speaking more to himself than to Mikhailov. A pale blush came to his face, and he now backed away. "...Do not ask any further questions. Not now," he ordered.

"...Hm? Why? Who gave you authority over me?" the Mage demanded.

"Do not ask further questions. All will be understood soon, when I am judged," Alexei repeated. He pronounced every word slowly and sharply, as though he was aware of what would happen to him soon. He stepped back again, and he gave Mikhailov a small smile. Ironic, given the man had just tried to kill him, but now they seemed to be...almost even. Yet the smile had a purpose, not just as a kind gesture, but as a sort of signal he wanted Mikhailov to memorize. And he knew he would memorize it, as the Mage had never blinked when speaking to him. Without another word, he turned and walked away, as though the conversation had never happened...

“Oh, by the way.”

Mikhailov raised an eyebrow, confused as to why he had suddenly spoken again.

Alexei turned and looked over his shoulder at Mikhailov, smiling cheerfully. “The next time you want to sleep behind my couch, tell me so I can make you a cup of coffee in the morning,” he added. When the Mage stared with his mouth agape at his answer, he laughed. Of course, Mikhailov had never thought that he was actually paying attention to him this morning. The Inquisitor then walked away with a smile on his face, leaving Mikhailov in shock behind him.