Post by Thee Independent on Jun 12, 2005 18:52:07 GMT -5
Tuesday
Night Two
Under mysterious pretenses, Jun’ko Morimoto and her trio of MotorDragons (Xang, Chris, and Taka) depart from her chop shop in Chinatown, their motorcycles newly outfitted with off-road features and even dangerous tanks of nitrous oxide. They head towards the east, vanishing into the hills.
Reconvened for a second night, Prince Alex’s visiting Council returns to the Mulholland Manor to get the business rolling. Each representative takes a seat. Unexpectedly, the Tremere present two equal representatives, Ethan Starr and Alexis Mae Tanner. Ethan takes the main seat, while Alexis settles into an advisor’s chair. As all the councilors file in one by one, there are only two seats left vacant: the Malkavian, and the Nosferatu.
The councilors rise as Richard Cordon introduces the Prince, who informs those gathered that the Malkavian Representative Vassily Belvakov is “no longer able minded enough to take part in such an important discussion.” Prince Alex furthermore concedes his affiliation with Clan Toreador in lieu of his rulership as Prince, indicating Rosalyn Du’Bois as the Rose Clan’s voice. He also introduces Harameshi Keimasa, the Gangrel Representative, as L.A.’s new Sheriff.
Harameshi bows before the Council. "I will serve the city and its masters to the utmost. I am glad to be given this position. Arigato gozimasu."
However, before their most serious business can begin, Richard Cordon leaves the room, summoned by the beep of a pager at his side. When he returns, he whispers to Prince Alex, who then openly requests that Judas St. Martin, Ventrue Represenative, accompany Richard Cordon to the door, leaving the collective Councilors in a state of surprise. When the Ventrue is gone, the Prince says, with a sad air of finality, “Mr. St. Martin…may not be joining us again.”
There is very little time to recover before the Prince explains Hollywood’s difficulties in detail:
“I have asked all of you to come here and represent your clans for reasons that many of my older advisors do not quite understand. Let me explain them to you. I feel that it is absolutely essential to the endurance of our local government that we bring in specialists. I do not necessarily mean that each of you is exceptional in a field, but rather that every one of you hails from a unique American city and that you possess experiences and insights that are particular to your homes. Here, we have been sitting upon the same problems longer than even my personal reign and nothing has been done thus far to prevent an attack. I adamantly believe that our very survival depends upon fresh thinking and reasoning. Thus, I requested that the clans send representatives that hold an exceptional grasp on their own belief systems and who are fully capable of representing their clan’s views at the same time.”
“If you have followed Kindred news in the area, there is a rumor of new leaders within the Sabbat. This may be our downfall or our chance to defeat them. It all comes down to our being prepared. This is most certainly a story worth looking into. Unfortunately, the Sabbat is not the only problem we are facing. I have always kept a tight leash upon the Anarchs,” his distaste for them is evident as he speaks. Interestingly, he did not exhibit the same emotions when speaking about the Sabbat. Where there was only urgency before, now there is malice. “Yet even under my watchful eye, their faction is growing very large as many of the clanless and disenfranchised run to them. I can feel that they are up to something, but I have had no confirmation yet. I suspect that they are waiting for the Sabbat to strike. We direly need inside intelligence on the matter.” It is apparent that he would not hold an Anarch free-state in any higher regard than if the city were to fall to the Cainites.
“There is something happening amongst the shape-changers- especially the Werewolves. We have always had our share of attacks from them, especially those vampires that stake claims closer to the hills. In the last eight months or so, the Lupines’ activities have almost completely cut out. The only time we ever hear word of them anymore is when a vampire with a death wish hunts too far outside the boundaries of the city limits.”
“This is very puzzling, especially since there have been similar reports across the country. My greatest fear is that all of these enemies of ours are plotting and will unintentionally attack us simultaneously and easily steal our city and lives from us.” He pauses long enough to remove a slight grimace from his pale face. “Similarly, much of the other-worldly action has nearly vanished; both the spirits and, some say, the Fae have pulled away. There are terrible stories going around about what has happened to the wraiths, but I have heard no actual report of truth yet. This could possibly have something to do with the Werewolves also, but that is only speculation.”
“Strangely, even though all of these entities have made themselves scarce, there are other kinds suddenly appearing that we have not ever had much experience with. Some call them Demons, some Angels. The fact is that they have been appearing more and more often and they cause havoc wherever they go. This is an immediate, serious concern to be dealt with. And yet,” his weariness is returning, “there is another, similar problem to be addressed. The Hunters…are returning to the cities in frightening numbers. And if ever they had perseverance, it is now. Many Neonates and even Ancillae have fallen to their holy wrath in the last year and there has been little that we could do to prevent it so far. We need to know more. We do believe that these murderers are…somehow…different altogether from those humans we encountered in the last couple of years that wield magic not unlike our own. These others seemed to have disappeared back to whatever woodwork they came out of. Even the local Tremere have no report to make about them in recent years.”
“The Nosferatu…are not present, of their own choice. They did not respond to my summons. I suspect this has to do with tensions that exist between the Toreador and the Nosferatu.” It honestly sounded like he very nearly called the sewer-walkers by another name, but he caught himself. “This is most certainly a problem that must be attended to before almost all others.” He shakes his head and tilts his head back, looking up towards the stark ceiling. “I pray we can be reunited.”
“Many of our local leaders are fighting amongst themselves. The Tremere Primogen…no longer holds his office. Many of the other Primogen have become voiceless and weak, speaking only what their clans wish them to and not holding proper representation.” This must be another, previously unspoken reason for Alex bringing in outsiders for council. “The bickering is weakening our structure. If this continues, we will not withstand an attack of any kind, from any of our many…many foes. I had hoped that others across the country would recognize my reservations and respond promptly and seriously, and I can only trust that you, my councilors, have more up your sleeves and backing you up than you have revealed thus far. I must have faith in your wisdom, but it will take more than that to secure our future.”
In time, the Councilors are given a written explanation for the Nosferatu’s uncharacteristic absence, handed to them as the Prince retires briefly:
"The local Nosferatu hold extensive political power within the Camarilla. Three times since Los Angeles' inception, they have used their pull to sway the make of the local Kindred government. It is believed that they at one time even aided in the degradation of Los Angeles to a temporary Anarch Free-State, rather than backing the Kindred that stepped up for Princedom.”
”The local Toreador hold equal power in politics, and it is believed that the Nosferatu have been offended by the direction the Toreador are pushing the city. It is likely that the Nosferatu blame Prince Alex Le Croix for the entire happenings of his clan, perhaps they believe that he endorses their actions. If so, this is the most likely reason that the Nosferatu have virtually disappeared.”
While some take notes and others read cautiously, Alexis Mae Tanner, half of the Tremere’s representation, suggests that the Councilors introduce themselves to one another. She begins, explaining that she is an emotional therapist who specializes in Kindred psychology. Alexis also mentions that she and Ethan have witnessed the Camarilla’s rebuilding of New York after liberating the Big Apple from the Sabbat.
Ethan is quick to follow. In an informative and rousing speech, Ethan Starr lays bare his reasons for representing the Tremere: as the CEO of the Starr Reporting Syndicate, he can bring his own Public Relations Firm’s savvy to the aid of the Camarilla, both in terms of financial aid and, more importantly, media control. He agrees with Alexis on their experiences with a troubled New York City, and strongly encourages the Council to adopt unity as a strength and also to work intimately with the local Primogen. Then, surprisingly, the PR man diverts his speech into a difficult topic: the common mistrust of his represented Clan, the Tremere. In a strong, stable, winning voice, he takes the Council by surprise, forcing them to evaluate their deepest apprehensions towards the Warlocks. As a skillful coup de grace, Ethan connects mistrust with predispositions , and humbly asks that the Tremere representatives “be defined by our actions and by our words, and not by the crushing weight of history that, if it comes to bear upon our Clan, will only sink one more dedicated Voice in these shadowed hours.”
Ethan summarizes his and Alexis’ purpose here in Los Angeles. “We are here to mobilize our Clan to the service of the Council and the Camarilla. We are your direct link to the Tremere; we can make those seemingly impossible tasks possible, and create calculated miracles out of travesties. In the formation of our goals, and the plans to accomplish them, we will bring our Clan’s centuries of power to strengthen our defenses, preserve our control, and if need be,” he closes, putting a point on it with a gentle fingertip tapping his open palm, like a miniature lightning bolt tapping the earth, “strike down our enemies.”
Many of them are hammered by the charisma in Ethan’s speech, and while they are recovering, a none-too-comfortable Keanu Blake takes the opportunity to speak in the paid speechwriter’s shadow. “I can't say I feel justified in being here. I bring no skills to this table that I'm sure Keimasa isn't capable of producing himself, and I am obviously new to this club, and thus bring no connections, influence, or status with me. Still...still, we have all been chosen for reasons none of us can fully understand, and I can accept that. While I am here, you may each consider me at your service. I've no reservations in being here, and none in completing the tasks at hand."
After stating his opinion that it is high time the Camarilla be heard in Los Angeles, the most powerful Voice on the Council rises to the challenge, as if Keanu’s opinion were meant directly for her. Rosalyn Du’Bois opens her arms to the Council, beginning, “Yes. If ever there was a time for the Camarilla to be heard, it is now. Keanu could not be more accurate. Across the Nation, it seems, we Kindred are coming upon hard times. The Sabbat has made an example of Atlanta, San Francisco, New York, and now San Diego. We can not allow this to happen to Los Angeles- it would be a travesty. Still, as we witnessed in the Big Apple, The Camarilla will prevail in the end so long as we hold on to our unity.”
Unlike the other Representatives, Rosalyn deflects self-praise like an unwelcome gnat – she hardly speaks of herself, but instead glorifies the Council and its responsibility to the Camarilla, and to itself. She also delivers a sideways response to Ethan’s impassioned charge. “I have never been one to buy dark tales nor to judge others without knowing them, though. So let me be the first here to say welcome! Thank the Prince for having the courage and foresight to invite the Tremere! I am no fool; I have watched the Tremere persevere time and again for the Camarilla, often at the expense of their own lives, and I say we can trust them.”
“We must trust them.”
In the aftermath of her presentation, the Council is dumbfounded, but also greatly reassured to have individuals as dedicated and strong of character as Rosalyn and, somewhat by way of her approval, Ethan and Alexis of the Tremere, as well. Apparently, when the Ventrue is removed from the Council, it falls upon the other two leading Clans to fill the void of leadership.
When the Prince returns, he informs the Council that the Malkavians have chosen someone to represent them in Vassily’s stead. Ethan suggests that nothing be too deeply discussed within the Council before all Clans are represented, and the Prince adjourns the Kindred for two hours, giving enough time for the local Malkavian representative to arrive. He never does. Ethan and Rosalyn meet unexpectedly in the hallways outside the Council Room; the Toreador and the Tremere have been acquainted with one another, and though it seems they have not seen one another for some time, the flames of passion that are nearly impossible for a Kindred to conjure are there, powerful and throbbing just beneath the surface. In between longing, sexual glances and a mutual desire for the kind of human connection neither gets the opportunity to experience with other immortals, Rosalyn invites Ethan to accompany her to Christian Sanders’ gala the following evening. Richard Cordon interrupts their intimacy, and in the Council Room, the Prince informs them that events have occurred that make him unable to oversee that night’s proceedings. The Councillors agree to remain on the premises until the following evening.
While the city’s Kindred plot behind the veil, a lone mortal man comes dangerously close to piercing their Masquerade – at great risk to himself. Ahriman Jones, bani Flambeau, followed a map squandered from the local Hermetic chantry to find the dreaded Tremere stronghold, the last known destination of his estranged childhood friend and arcane companion, Neil. The map led him to a barren bluff overlooking the Pacific. Not long after arriving there and staking out, Jones found what he was looking for.
A robed figure wandered gradually through an expanse of large stones until he came to an open hold burrowing into the rock. There, the person stopped and started pouring blood into the opening. Jones approached the man to ask what he was doing, and to both of their surprise, the robed one lost his footing, grabbed Jones, and the two of them tumbled head over heels into the pit. There they met one of the Tremere’s corruptions: a massive ghouled canine, so full of vitae that it stood nearly a head taller than Jones! Starved to a dangerous hunger, the ghouled animal struggled against its hard chain bindings. The robed Tremere scrambled up the pit, with Jones in hot pursuit; by the time the Flambeau reached the top, though, the Warlock was gone, with no trace of footprints left at all. Jones barely had time to begin seeking spirits to answer his questions before the ghoul managed to break free and come in pursuit of satiating blood. Jones engaged in mortal combat with the beast, an dafter being crushed, clawed, and chewed upon, slew the abomination with his magically sentient sword and erstwhile spiritual companion, Three.
With their guard dog gone, Jones was free to enter the subterranean path to the Tremere chantry, where he could find some word about Neil. If Neil had been captured during the recent Massassa War, he was at best dead; at worst, still alive and a plaything of the treacherous vampires. The way was dark and oppressive; Jones wandered for hours through the dank depths of these caverns on LA’s Pacific coastline, but all he could find was endless rock and creeping exhaustion. The last thing he expected was for something to find him. An unnatural presence washed over the tunnel. Three went eerily (and thankfully) quiet. Jones called upon the Ars Manum and bravely – some might say foolishly – peered across the Gauntlet into the Umbral Planes.
What he saw there defied the more common rules of the realm. Alien spirits swarmed the opening, caught in a vicious metaphysical tempest, desperate to find a way out! For a brief moment, Jones gave them the opportunity, but quickly closed the Gauntlet. What he had seen would disturb any umbrally sensitive being; it was as if the adjoining spirit world were caught in a forceful, wailing current, spinning and boiling around a deep, obscured focal point somewhere farther out than it was safe to go, even in the physical realm. Was this the spirit world as it existed beneath the ocean? Had the cave already led Jones out to sea?
The spirits became phantoms, invited by Jones’ meddling to make themselves felt and known in the physical world. Some tried to communicate cryptic messages. Jones attempted to interpret their messages – be they requests, warnings, or curses – but due to their tormented nature, found them difficult to understand. Three might have been able to interpret, but the enchanted blade merely continued to goad the headstrong Flambeau deeper into the tunnels. It was like no Tremere chantry Jones knew, but you never know what to expect with the Warlocks…
Eventually, Jones came upon a skeleton. The flesh was completely gone, but an amulet remained, one that Jones picked up and kept in the hopes of indentifying the deceased. After more hours of wandering, Jones encountered a dangerous pitfall and a noisy pack of rats running through holes in the cavern walls. With a burst of magic, he frightened them away.
Already, Jones had avoided one dangerous pitfall by leaping courageously over it. But when he tried the same thing over another caved-in floor, he was grabbed by something clawed, leathery, and rank. It moved with an unnatural speed, toting Jones like a linebacker’s football in its long arm. Jones struggled to break free, but to no avail. They moved so quickly through the darkness that Jones grew disoriented; it even felt as though they fourth dimension was being stretched thin. Desparate, Jones grasped at latent Quintessence and evoked a bolt of searing mana that struck the abductor squarely through the shoulder. It hissed in pain and slammed Jones into the wall.
Next thing he knew, Jones awoke on the floor of the cave, his addled brain exhausted from spelunking and his body unusually sore. Worst of all, Three was missing – the enchanted sword had vanished!
Shrugging off the defeat in his journey to find the Tremere chantry, Jones made his way back to the cavernous anteroom where the ghouled hound had been chained to an old iron bathtub. There he encountered a cabal of Tremere Warlocks who had been lying in wait for him to return from his journey into the caverns beneath the Pacific coast. They were led by Badger Coleman, a thaumaturgically adept and unpleasant vampire, Ohm Fallow, a mysterious Tremere with a surprising amount of knowledge about the Hermetic Order, Chester Longley, a diplomatic blood sorceror with access to magicks that left the Flambeau a helpless captive, and B. Tawney, the youngest of the lot, the very same caretaker of the ghouled hound that had escaped Jones’ grasp earlier that evening.
Later, Jones found himself in a dungeon at the Tremere Chantry, and was introduced to Adept Daniel Anklar. To the mage’s surprise, Daniel was cordial, even pleasant, and offered an arrangement that allowed Jones to uncover the whereabouts of his missing friend Neil while also retaining his sanity, his blood, and all of his vital organs: Jones would be set free from the chantry with an aide from the Tremere to locate a man named Stefan Darwin, a man whom Anklar said knew of Neil’s whereabouts. After signing a contract over the deal, receiving a black-and-white photograph of Darwin, and realizing that the Magician card in his Tarot deck was missing, Jones was introduced to his Tremere accomplice, Chaz Clandestine, a young, laid-back Warlock with nothing to prove to anyone, and the two of them were off in search of Stefan Darwin…and a clue as to what became of Neil Rogers.
Night Two
Under mysterious pretenses, Jun’ko Morimoto and her trio of MotorDragons (Xang, Chris, and Taka) depart from her chop shop in Chinatown, their motorcycles newly outfitted with off-road features and even dangerous tanks of nitrous oxide. They head towards the east, vanishing into the hills.
Reconvened for a second night, Prince Alex’s visiting Council returns to the Mulholland Manor to get the business rolling. Each representative takes a seat. Unexpectedly, the Tremere present two equal representatives, Ethan Starr and Alexis Mae Tanner. Ethan takes the main seat, while Alexis settles into an advisor’s chair. As all the councilors file in one by one, there are only two seats left vacant: the Malkavian, and the Nosferatu.
The councilors rise as Richard Cordon introduces the Prince, who informs those gathered that the Malkavian Representative Vassily Belvakov is “no longer able minded enough to take part in such an important discussion.” Prince Alex furthermore concedes his affiliation with Clan Toreador in lieu of his rulership as Prince, indicating Rosalyn Du’Bois as the Rose Clan’s voice. He also introduces Harameshi Keimasa, the Gangrel Representative, as L.A.’s new Sheriff.
Harameshi bows before the Council. "I will serve the city and its masters to the utmost. I am glad to be given this position. Arigato gozimasu."
However, before their most serious business can begin, Richard Cordon leaves the room, summoned by the beep of a pager at his side. When he returns, he whispers to Prince Alex, who then openly requests that Judas St. Martin, Ventrue Represenative, accompany Richard Cordon to the door, leaving the collective Councilors in a state of surprise. When the Ventrue is gone, the Prince says, with a sad air of finality, “Mr. St. Martin…may not be joining us again.”
There is very little time to recover before the Prince explains Hollywood’s difficulties in detail:
“I have asked all of you to come here and represent your clans for reasons that many of my older advisors do not quite understand. Let me explain them to you. I feel that it is absolutely essential to the endurance of our local government that we bring in specialists. I do not necessarily mean that each of you is exceptional in a field, but rather that every one of you hails from a unique American city and that you possess experiences and insights that are particular to your homes. Here, we have been sitting upon the same problems longer than even my personal reign and nothing has been done thus far to prevent an attack. I adamantly believe that our very survival depends upon fresh thinking and reasoning. Thus, I requested that the clans send representatives that hold an exceptional grasp on their own belief systems and who are fully capable of representing their clan’s views at the same time.”
“If you have followed Kindred news in the area, there is a rumor of new leaders within the Sabbat. This may be our downfall or our chance to defeat them. It all comes down to our being prepared. This is most certainly a story worth looking into. Unfortunately, the Sabbat is not the only problem we are facing. I have always kept a tight leash upon the Anarchs,” his distaste for them is evident as he speaks. Interestingly, he did not exhibit the same emotions when speaking about the Sabbat. Where there was only urgency before, now there is malice. “Yet even under my watchful eye, their faction is growing very large as many of the clanless and disenfranchised run to them. I can feel that they are up to something, but I have had no confirmation yet. I suspect that they are waiting for the Sabbat to strike. We direly need inside intelligence on the matter.” It is apparent that he would not hold an Anarch free-state in any higher regard than if the city were to fall to the Cainites.
“There is something happening amongst the shape-changers- especially the Werewolves. We have always had our share of attacks from them, especially those vampires that stake claims closer to the hills. In the last eight months or so, the Lupines’ activities have almost completely cut out. The only time we ever hear word of them anymore is when a vampire with a death wish hunts too far outside the boundaries of the city limits.”
“This is very puzzling, especially since there have been similar reports across the country. My greatest fear is that all of these enemies of ours are plotting and will unintentionally attack us simultaneously and easily steal our city and lives from us.” He pauses long enough to remove a slight grimace from his pale face. “Similarly, much of the other-worldly action has nearly vanished; both the spirits and, some say, the Fae have pulled away. There are terrible stories going around about what has happened to the wraiths, but I have heard no actual report of truth yet. This could possibly have something to do with the Werewolves also, but that is only speculation.”
“Strangely, even though all of these entities have made themselves scarce, there are other kinds suddenly appearing that we have not ever had much experience with. Some call them Demons, some Angels. The fact is that they have been appearing more and more often and they cause havoc wherever they go. This is an immediate, serious concern to be dealt with. And yet,” his weariness is returning, “there is another, similar problem to be addressed. The Hunters…are returning to the cities in frightening numbers. And if ever they had perseverance, it is now. Many Neonates and even Ancillae have fallen to their holy wrath in the last year and there has been little that we could do to prevent it so far. We need to know more. We do believe that these murderers are…somehow…different altogether from those humans we encountered in the last couple of years that wield magic not unlike our own. These others seemed to have disappeared back to whatever woodwork they came out of. Even the local Tremere have no report to make about them in recent years.”
“The Nosferatu…are not present, of their own choice. They did not respond to my summons. I suspect this has to do with tensions that exist between the Toreador and the Nosferatu.” It honestly sounded like he very nearly called the sewer-walkers by another name, but he caught himself. “This is most certainly a problem that must be attended to before almost all others.” He shakes his head and tilts his head back, looking up towards the stark ceiling. “I pray we can be reunited.”
“Many of our local leaders are fighting amongst themselves. The Tremere Primogen…no longer holds his office. Many of the other Primogen have become voiceless and weak, speaking only what their clans wish them to and not holding proper representation.” This must be another, previously unspoken reason for Alex bringing in outsiders for council. “The bickering is weakening our structure. If this continues, we will not withstand an attack of any kind, from any of our many…many foes. I had hoped that others across the country would recognize my reservations and respond promptly and seriously, and I can only trust that you, my councilors, have more up your sleeves and backing you up than you have revealed thus far. I must have faith in your wisdom, but it will take more than that to secure our future.”
In time, the Councilors are given a written explanation for the Nosferatu’s uncharacteristic absence, handed to them as the Prince retires briefly:
"The local Nosferatu hold extensive political power within the Camarilla. Three times since Los Angeles' inception, they have used their pull to sway the make of the local Kindred government. It is believed that they at one time even aided in the degradation of Los Angeles to a temporary Anarch Free-State, rather than backing the Kindred that stepped up for Princedom.”
”The local Toreador hold equal power in politics, and it is believed that the Nosferatu have been offended by the direction the Toreador are pushing the city. It is likely that the Nosferatu blame Prince Alex Le Croix for the entire happenings of his clan, perhaps they believe that he endorses their actions. If so, this is the most likely reason that the Nosferatu have virtually disappeared.”
While some take notes and others read cautiously, Alexis Mae Tanner, half of the Tremere’s representation, suggests that the Councilors introduce themselves to one another. She begins, explaining that she is an emotional therapist who specializes in Kindred psychology. Alexis also mentions that she and Ethan have witnessed the Camarilla’s rebuilding of New York after liberating the Big Apple from the Sabbat.
Ethan is quick to follow. In an informative and rousing speech, Ethan Starr lays bare his reasons for representing the Tremere: as the CEO of the Starr Reporting Syndicate, he can bring his own Public Relations Firm’s savvy to the aid of the Camarilla, both in terms of financial aid and, more importantly, media control. He agrees with Alexis on their experiences with a troubled New York City, and strongly encourages the Council to adopt unity as a strength and also to work intimately with the local Primogen. Then, surprisingly, the PR man diverts his speech into a difficult topic: the common mistrust of his represented Clan, the Tremere. In a strong, stable, winning voice, he takes the Council by surprise, forcing them to evaluate their deepest apprehensions towards the Warlocks. As a skillful coup de grace, Ethan connects mistrust with predispositions , and humbly asks that the Tremere representatives “be defined by our actions and by our words, and not by the crushing weight of history that, if it comes to bear upon our Clan, will only sink one more dedicated Voice in these shadowed hours.”
Ethan summarizes his and Alexis’ purpose here in Los Angeles. “We are here to mobilize our Clan to the service of the Council and the Camarilla. We are your direct link to the Tremere; we can make those seemingly impossible tasks possible, and create calculated miracles out of travesties. In the formation of our goals, and the plans to accomplish them, we will bring our Clan’s centuries of power to strengthen our defenses, preserve our control, and if need be,” he closes, putting a point on it with a gentle fingertip tapping his open palm, like a miniature lightning bolt tapping the earth, “strike down our enemies.”
Many of them are hammered by the charisma in Ethan’s speech, and while they are recovering, a none-too-comfortable Keanu Blake takes the opportunity to speak in the paid speechwriter’s shadow. “I can't say I feel justified in being here. I bring no skills to this table that I'm sure Keimasa isn't capable of producing himself, and I am obviously new to this club, and thus bring no connections, influence, or status with me. Still...still, we have all been chosen for reasons none of us can fully understand, and I can accept that. While I am here, you may each consider me at your service. I've no reservations in being here, and none in completing the tasks at hand."
After stating his opinion that it is high time the Camarilla be heard in Los Angeles, the most powerful Voice on the Council rises to the challenge, as if Keanu’s opinion were meant directly for her. Rosalyn Du’Bois opens her arms to the Council, beginning, “Yes. If ever there was a time for the Camarilla to be heard, it is now. Keanu could not be more accurate. Across the Nation, it seems, we Kindred are coming upon hard times. The Sabbat has made an example of Atlanta, San Francisco, New York, and now San Diego. We can not allow this to happen to Los Angeles- it would be a travesty. Still, as we witnessed in the Big Apple, The Camarilla will prevail in the end so long as we hold on to our unity.”
Unlike the other Representatives, Rosalyn deflects self-praise like an unwelcome gnat – she hardly speaks of herself, but instead glorifies the Council and its responsibility to the Camarilla, and to itself. She also delivers a sideways response to Ethan’s impassioned charge. “I have never been one to buy dark tales nor to judge others without knowing them, though. So let me be the first here to say welcome! Thank the Prince for having the courage and foresight to invite the Tremere! I am no fool; I have watched the Tremere persevere time and again for the Camarilla, often at the expense of their own lives, and I say we can trust them.”
“We must trust them.”
In the aftermath of her presentation, the Council is dumbfounded, but also greatly reassured to have individuals as dedicated and strong of character as Rosalyn and, somewhat by way of her approval, Ethan and Alexis of the Tremere, as well. Apparently, when the Ventrue is removed from the Council, it falls upon the other two leading Clans to fill the void of leadership.
When the Prince returns, he informs the Council that the Malkavians have chosen someone to represent them in Vassily’s stead. Ethan suggests that nothing be too deeply discussed within the Council before all Clans are represented, and the Prince adjourns the Kindred for two hours, giving enough time for the local Malkavian representative to arrive. He never does. Ethan and Rosalyn meet unexpectedly in the hallways outside the Council Room; the Toreador and the Tremere have been acquainted with one another, and though it seems they have not seen one another for some time, the flames of passion that are nearly impossible for a Kindred to conjure are there, powerful and throbbing just beneath the surface. In between longing, sexual glances and a mutual desire for the kind of human connection neither gets the opportunity to experience with other immortals, Rosalyn invites Ethan to accompany her to Christian Sanders’ gala the following evening. Richard Cordon interrupts their intimacy, and in the Council Room, the Prince informs them that events have occurred that make him unable to oversee that night’s proceedings. The Councillors agree to remain on the premises until the following evening.
While the city’s Kindred plot behind the veil, a lone mortal man comes dangerously close to piercing their Masquerade – at great risk to himself. Ahriman Jones, bani Flambeau, followed a map squandered from the local Hermetic chantry to find the dreaded Tremere stronghold, the last known destination of his estranged childhood friend and arcane companion, Neil. The map led him to a barren bluff overlooking the Pacific. Not long after arriving there and staking out, Jones found what he was looking for.
A robed figure wandered gradually through an expanse of large stones until he came to an open hold burrowing into the rock. There, the person stopped and started pouring blood into the opening. Jones approached the man to ask what he was doing, and to both of their surprise, the robed one lost his footing, grabbed Jones, and the two of them tumbled head over heels into the pit. There they met one of the Tremere’s corruptions: a massive ghouled canine, so full of vitae that it stood nearly a head taller than Jones! Starved to a dangerous hunger, the ghouled animal struggled against its hard chain bindings. The robed Tremere scrambled up the pit, with Jones in hot pursuit; by the time the Flambeau reached the top, though, the Warlock was gone, with no trace of footprints left at all. Jones barely had time to begin seeking spirits to answer his questions before the ghoul managed to break free and come in pursuit of satiating blood. Jones engaged in mortal combat with the beast, an dafter being crushed, clawed, and chewed upon, slew the abomination with his magically sentient sword and erstwhile spiritual companion, Three.
With their guard dog gone, Jones was free to enter the subterranean path to the Tremere chantry, where he could find some word about Neil. If Neil had been captured during the recent Massassa War, he was at best dead; at worst, still alive and a plaything of the treacherous vampires. The way was dark and oppressive; Jones wandered for hours through the dank depths of these caverns on LA’s Pacific coastline, but all he could find was endless rock and creeping exhaustion. The last thing he expected was for something to find him. An unnatural presence washed over the tunnel. Three went eerily (and thankfully) quiet. Jones called upon the Ars Manum and bravely – some might say foolishly – peered across the Gauntlet into the Umbral Planes.
What he saw there defied the more common rules of the realm. Alien spirits swarmed the opening, caught in a vicious metaphysical tempest, desperate to find a way out! For a brief moment, Jones gave them the opportunity, but quickly closed the Gauntlet. What he had seen would disturb any umbrally sensitive being; it was as if the adjoining spirit world were caught in a forceful, wailing current, spinning and boiling around a deep, obscured focal point somewhere farther out than it was safe to go, even in the physical realm. Was this the spirit world as it existed beneath the ocean? Had the cave already led Jones out to sea?
The spirits became phantoms, invited by Jones’ meddling to make themselves felt and known in the physical world. Some tried to communicate cryptic messages. Jones attempted to interpret their messages – be they requests, warnings, or curses – but due to their tormented nature, found them difficult to understand. Three might have been able to interpret, but the enchanted blade merely continued to goad the headstrong Flambeau deeper into the tunnels. It was like no Tremere chantry Jones knew, but you never know what to expect with the Warlocks…
Eventually, Jones came upon a skeleton. The flesh was completely gone, but an amulet remained, one that Jones picked up and kept in the hopes of indentifying the deceased. After more hours of wandering, Jones encountered a dangerous pitfall and a noisy pack of rats running through holes in the cavern walls. With a burst of magic, he frightened them away.
Already, Jones had avoided one dangerous pitfall by leaping courageously over it. But when he tried the same thing over another caved-in floor, he was grabbed by something clawed, leathery, and rank. It moved with an unnatural speed, toting Jones like a linebacker’s football in its long arm. Jones struggled to break free, but to no avail. They moved so quickly through the darkness that Jones grew disoriented; it even felt as though they fourth dimension was being stretched thin. Desparate, Jones grasped at latent Quintessence and evoked a bolt of searing mana that struck the abductor squarely through the shoulder. It hissed in pain and slammed Jones into the wall.
Next thing he knew, Jones awoke on the floor of the cave, his addled brain exhausted from spelunking and his body unusually sore. Worst of all, Three was missing – the enchanted sword had vanished!
Shrugging off the defeat in his journey to find the Tremere chantry, Jones made his way back to the cavernous anteroom where the ghouled hound had been chained to an old iron bathtub. There he encountered a cabal of Tremere Warlocks who had been lying in wait for him to return from his journey into the caverns beneath the Pacific coast. They were led by Badger Coleman, a thaumaturgically adept and unpleasant vampire, Ohm Fallow, a mysterious Tremere with a surprising amount of knowledge about the Hermetic Order, Chester Longley, a diplomatic blood sorceror with access to magicks that left the Flambeau a helpless captive, and B. Tawney, the youngest of the lot, the very same caretaker of the ghouled hound that had escaped Jones’ grasp earlier that evening.
Later, Jones found himself in a dungeon at the Tremere Chantry, and was introduced to Adept Daniel Anklar. To the mage’s surprise, Daniel was cordial, even pleasant, and offered an arrangement that allowed Jones to uncover the whereabouts of his missing friend Neil while also retaining his sanity, his blood, and all of his vital organs: Jones would be set free from the chantry with an aide from the Tremere to locate a man named Stefan Darwin, a man whom Anklar said knew of Neil’s whereabouts. After signing a contract over the deal, receiving a black-and-white photograph of Darwin, and realizing that the Magician card in his Tarot deck was missing, Jones was introduced to his Tremere accomplice, Chaz Clandestine, a young, laid-back Warlock with nothing to prove to anyone, and the two of them were off in search of Stefan Darwin…and a clue as to what became of Neil Rogers.