Everyone in the neighborhood knew Elsa’s house. The small abandoned-looking cottage crouched on the corner lot, hidden underneath a blanket of crawling vines that smothered the window panes and twisted into the masonry of the crumbling, red brick chimney.

She was known as the local witch - a woman to be peered at warily, and never fully embraced. Not even when she brought freshly baked cookies, and certainly not when she warned the neighborhood children about the wild Bandersnatch that would surely take them in the night. Nevertheless, most of the neighbors had come to like her, and worry when she went missing. Surely someone would worry now that the verdant greenery covering her house had turned grey, brittle and dead in only a matter of days.

Inside, cloistered away from the gossip of the neighborhood, the soft sounds of someone crying interrupted the stillness. The air was thick and heavy with a cloying floral incense, and occasionally the sound of bells or cymbals chimed softly, as a breeze from the garden gently rustled the various beaded strings hanging here and there throughout her abode.

Elsa sat on an embroidered pillow, watching the young woman weep quietly into a handkerchief. She had barely heard anything the woman said, the sound of her pulse was so strong - like music dancing on her eardrums. “Moira,” she languidly extended a hand towards her client. “Give me your hand please. Now.”

The woman sniffed back a tear, and gave her hand to the psychic willingly. Trustingly, even.

Elsa’s fingers traced the deep creases on the woman’s palms. Little sparks of electricity snapped between their skin - or at least, Elsa felt it, like tiny firecrackers guiding her hand, shaping the thoughts that swirled around her in lazy, twisting eddies of emotion and possibility. “I see…. that the journey you have been on this year is coming to an end.” She said finally. “And that is a good thing, my dear. Change is always frightening because it is an adventure into the unknown - a trek into blackness, where anything is possible. But my dear, this is part of your path and you must embrace it.”

Elsa squeezed the woman’s hand, and Moira shivered slightly at the coldness of her touch. “When we embrace change, we look for the opportunities for that change to be a blessing. When we close ourselves off, we only look towards the past. And the past is gone - so there is no point in worrying oneself about it.”

“You must move on, dear Moira.” Elsa released her hand suddenly. “Find a new path, and I promise you it will be a better road than the one you have been on.”

"Thank you, I wi...

Before the woman can finish the door is rudely slammed open and then back closed with much more force than necessary.  Standing near the door with a smirk is a young man with black hair, blue eyes and dress in a stylish suit.  He was well known as a messenger for the court and at times the Harpy (Isabella Da Rossi).  His name was Nick Renault.

Bowing his head towards Elsa and her guest he cracks his knuckles and tries to look sorry.  "I beg your pardon ladies.  I don't want to interrupt but I really need to have a word with you Elsa, that is if you have time to help me find my path."

The last was said with dripping sarcasm but his face spoke of genuineness.

[Secret to Elsa Lamarre: Figured I'd just get started this way.  Nick is a Ventrue and basically a herald/gopher/messenger boy.  He has been visiting regularly trying to get Elsa to come speak with the Harpy Isabella De Orssi.  I'll post some info on Isablella shortly.]
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:42, Mon 13 Apr 2015.

Startled by the loud, sudden sound of the door slamming open, Elsa jumped to her feet with a slight gasp. If her heart could race, it would have. As it was, she noted the subtle absence of pressure in her chest, and wondered if she would ever grow accustomed to this strange separation she felt between her thoughts and her body.

“Moira,” she touched the woman lightly on her arm. “Slip out the side door if you like, and take the garden path. You know the way.”

As her client departed, Elsa gathered the money from the side table and counted it slowly, turning towards this new visitor. There was a calm, leaden serenity to her gaze as she regarded the nicely dressed man.

“I believe you have already chosen a path, my dear.” She approached a few steps more, brushing aside the antique beaded curtain that separated them. “Are your harpies like those of ancient mythology - do they steal your feast, even as they gorge and caw their lamentations to the eerie trees…”

Elsa felt a warm fog settling around her temples. She pushed away the strange thoughts like cobwebs, turning her attention fully to the man. “Is it truly your own path that you are curious about, Nicholas? Or is there a different question that you have for me?”
This message was last edited by the player at 23:01, Sun 12 Apr 2015.

Pools of blood dripping from his fangs...young Nicholas screaming but only blood pouring forth as his skin darkens and peels back..a black raven circling overhead while a silver wolf howls in the distance...

Nick sneers as Elsa says his full name but then quickly regains his composure as he runs a finger over a shelf and frowns at the small amount of dust that it gathers.  "Harpies eat what they want but all of them gobble your soul if it furrthers their own goals.  Still we are all either pawns or the hands that move them...sometimes both.  Which are you my dear?  You cannot ignore the invitations forever.  Eventually it will be decided that you are not a friend of the court and then....well then what happens to your little business and those you call friends?  This is what we are and there is no changing that...Isabella's words not mine but consider the message delivered.  What you do with those words is your own choice.  Now as to paths...stay out of my head and I shall offer you the same courtesy.  Trust me you'd not like me planting suggestions in your mind.  Now if you will excuse me I have other messages to deliver this night.  My lady..."

Bowing with a flourish he sets down a small silver broach on the counter.  "If you choose to visit the court Isabella would like for you to wear this.  It will offer you some shelter from questioning eyes."

[Private to Elsa Lamarre: Orange italics will indicate visions.  Some fleeting some longer.]
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:39, Mon 13 Apr 2015.

For a brief instant, Elsa smelled the hot, intoxicating aroma of blood. She tasted it between her teeth, and Nicholas’s words drowned beneath the sound of his terrified screaming. The vision lasted only a moment, before she was thrust back into the room with him, her mind scrabbling at the words spilling out of his mouth, trying to find the thread of conversation that had gotten lost beneath the deluge of another time and place.

It was frustratingly difficult sometimes, to know if a vision spoke of the past or of the future. Were the images symbolic or literal, or somewhere caught in between?

The silver broach was placed on the counter before she fully regained awareness. Everything else he had said came back slowly, as in a dream half remembered. “Nicho-“ she caught herself short. “Nick. Our kind are few, and we are precious. I would never use my abilities to harm you, nor to pry where I am not wanted - it is not my way.”

She turned the broach over in her hand, wondering for a moment what terrible stories it had to tell. The metal seemed to squirm beneath her touch. “I do not wish to be a stranger to your customs, it has only been so… so much to take in. But I will visit Isabella.”

She nodded to him with a warm, if slightly concerned smile as he left her abode, hesitating before adding. “Guard yourself against wolves, my dear - whatever that may mean to you.”

——

Once the young man had left, Elsa took some time to collect her thoughts. After calming her nerves, she quickly selected clothing for the occasion and smoothed her tangled hair - frowning at herself in a mirror for several minutes, before pinning it with a clasp that looked something like a bird (or a Harpy perhaps), and arranging the loose strands into something that felt almost presentable. How had she become so… scattered looking. She wondered. Less than a decade ago, she would have known how to dress and how to act for a formal occasion. Now, she felt so lost.

Elsa stopped on her way to the door. Her fingers reached autonomically for the deck of tarot cards sitting on the shelf. She turned over the top card, her thoughts on Nicholas and the horrid vision she had just experienced, hoping for a flash of insight.

Then, she was out the door.

[Private to GM: It felt like the scene was wrapping and Nick leaving. But if he had more to say or do, I can just delete the part that happened "after he left". ]
This message was last edited by the player at 05:01, Mon 13 Apr 2015.

Nicck does indeed turn and leave but not with the flourish that he had tried to a moment ago.  The mention of wolves seemed to confuse him a bit.  For a second he stares at her with a dumb look on his facce before snorting derisively, "There have been no wolves here in over a decade.  Seems you're as crazy as they say.  Too bad, Isabella is going to be disappointed."

With that he leaves.  As Elsa moves around the shop and selects a tarot carrd teh Seven of Cups is revealed.  As she looks to the card another vistor steps into the shop.  The young woman has a red windbreaker on that hides her brown hair in a pulled up hood.  Pushing it back she smiles politely and glances around.  "Sorry...I had to see inside.  My friend's said you were a psychic.  Do you do palm readings?  I can pay...wait you prrobably already knew that."

[Secret to Elsa Lamarre: Roll int + alerrtness diff 6]

Elsa frowned slightly at the card. The seven of cups was a card of transitions and illusions, dreams and change. It was … vague, but not without meaning. She placed it carefully back on top of the deck, just as the woman burst inside.

“I….” Elsa seemed a bit frazzled, but eventually conceded, “Of course my dear. Will you please step inside? Make yourself comfortable.”

She gestured towards a seating area with plump, embroidered floor pillows arranged around a low circular table. Mahogany book cases framed the room on two sides, filled with various texts on psychic phenomenon, mythology, poetry, and law. The third wall was covered in heavy damask curtains, and a ray of moonlight spilled in through the dusty window panes from the garden outside.

[Private to GM: Elsa Lamarre rolled 2 successes using 5d10  with a target of 6 ((1,8,10,6,4)). I am re-learning how to use the dice roller. I think I did it right! Also minor note - Elsa runs her business out of her home. It is fine for people to come in, but just wanted to clarify that it isn't really a "shop". Although I am happy to change that if a shop fits better! ]

The woman seems normal enough but something about her is out of place.  It took a moment but then it settled in...she had a posture about her that screamed military and she was wearing a very small ear piece that could have been a hearing aid or something else.  Smiling and taking the seat she shifts a bit trying to get completely comfortable.

"How do we proceed?  Do I just hold out my hand?  Pay first?"

While seeming genuinely excited her eyes kept darting around the room as if sizing up the area and looking for points of egress, perhaps a security check?  Focusing her attention back on Elsa she holds up her left hand while shifting a small purse to her lap and waiting for an answer.

Elsa felt the pressure starting to build in her eardrums - a low buzz, like a thousand bees gathering at her temples. Her sire’s words echoed back at her, from the night of her embrace. Words of warning that she could neither make heads nor tails of at the time. Now, she could not shake them so easily. Crawling shadows flickered at the corners of her vision, like specters waiting in the dark.

“You may pay at the end,” she murmured finally. Sitting cross-legged on one of the pillows, Elsa tried to look calm as she reached for the woman’s hand, examining the unique criss-cross of lines covering her palm.

“The left hand is special…” She tilted her head slightly, watching how the moonlight played across the woman’s skin. “It is a reflection of who you were at birth - your core essence and potential.”

“I see…” Elsa frowned slightly. “A woman who cares about the well-being of others. A woman of great action and great personal sacrifice…. When I see lines such as these, they often represent people who would do well in service to others. Policemen, firemen… soldiers. Those who guard and protect, who are very skilled in what they do because lives often depend on their choices.”

She watched the woman for any signs of reaction, and pushed her senses open, searching for the beautiful swirls and eddies of color that existed just beyond human sight…. at the bleeding edge of our reality.

[Private to GM: Rolling an Auspex 2 check to look at her aura: Elsa Lamarre rolled 2 successes using 6d10  with a target of 6 ((2,8,3,8,1,6))  EDIT: Checked the book. Difficulty is actually 8, so I would only have 1 success from that roll.]
This message was last edited by the player at 07:56, Fri 17 Apr 2015.

Danger and anger course through the woman's aura.  As Elsa mentions the word soldier the woman visibly fliches a bit but quickly resets herself and smiles broadly in anticipation of what else may come.  Letting Elsa do her thing the woman seems pretty fascinated and leans closer to see what was going on.

Speaking as she leans in with a shaky voice the woman seems to almost have a tear in eye.  "I served two tours in Iraq...how'd you know?"  Her eyes scan Elsa as if looking for some sort of trick but seeing none she scoots closer waiting to see what comes next.

“This is your life line, your fate line, your heart line….” Biting her lip slightly, Elsa tried to concentrate on the reading. “This is someone in your future - a great love. You will find this person when you least expect it, and although you will not like each other at first, that will change in time… Your fate line, is fraught with challenges, with battles yet to be fought,  but you have the strength of character to overcome them.”

“You carry the burden of so much…. anger.” Elsa traced a line on the woman’s hand, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to keep her own from shaking. The swirls of chaotic red and umber sparked and swirled around the woman’s fingers, like a worm, wriggling. “Like a coiled snake, I can see it waiting in the underbrush although you hide it so well.”

“You have walked the path of war for some time. You may continue to walk it still…. there is something that you believe in, something you want to change about the world perhaps. But…. my dear you must take care, that the war you fight does not harm innocents along the way.”

Elsa held on to the woman’s hand for a moment longer, before releasing it. The sense of dread did not leave the room, but she did not think the woman planned to strike. Not yet.

“Is there anything else you wish to know, my dear?”

"Innocents...heh tell me, how many innocents have fallen to snakes hidden in the clothes of men?  How many have been used to satisfy unnatural desires, how many more fall even tonight?  No, dear lady, do not talk to me of innocents."

As she speaks her voice seems to grow more and more harsh.  Her right hand raises and rests on her right thigh.  In her hand is a small almost taser looking thing.  Its not a device that Elsa has ever seen but the hum of high voltage electricity now rings through the air.  The woman's eyes have taken on a harsh look and her finger taps the trigger, almost impatiently.

"There is evil in the world and I've seen its face.  Tell me where Jarrod Cromwell is and I'll make sure you aren't experimented on."

Elsa reflexively scrambled backwards, falling partway off the cushion and hitting her head against the tall bookcase. A crystal ball fell to the ground with a solid thud, a large crack opening along its surface.

“I…” Elsa watched the woman’s aura bloom like the glow of a campfire, bristling and flickering with brilliant red light. She worried that it would catch the curtains on fire - a flame like that.

“I do not recognize that name,” she tried to keep her voice steady, but the tremble was all too obvious. “However... if you brought me an object that belonged to this... Mister Cromwell, perhaps my gifts could be of use in finding him. Preferably an object that saw him disappear, if such a thing exists."

"LIES!  It has always been that way with you Isabella.  Yeah, you don't remember but you killed my sister eight years ago.  Greater good and all...she had seen too much.  Took a while but my mind is clear now.  Her name was Lisa and this is for her.."

The weapon in her hand fires to life and lightning sparks through the air.  Hitting Elsa's skin it sets her arm on fire and paralyzes her muscles all at once.  The woman's face is contorted into a mixture of rage and satisfaction...

Then its as if a fog lifts and Nick is just leaving.  The woman in the doorway is standing there looking confused.  "Is it alright if I come in?  If you're closed I can come back later..."

She looks different than Elsa remembered.  Her hair was auburn and the jacket she was wearing was black leather.  Her brown eyes looked confused and a little bit worried.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:45, Sun 19 Apr 2015.

Elsa was trembling, shaking as she stood in the doorway. She murmured a faint, unintelligible reply to the woman, before pushing past her and stepping outside onto the cobbled path.

“Nic- Nicholas?” Her voice was hardly more than a croak as she looked frantically about for the young Ventrue, her wispy blonde hair fluttering about her face in the nighttime breeze.

She took several steps after him, her bare feet relishing the coldness of the stones. A blade of grass peeking out between the cobbles curled away from her skin.

Catching up, she grabbed for his arm and clung to him, desperate to feel something solid and real. “You must contact Isabella immediately,” she murmured in a rasp. “She is in grave danger…. or…. “ she relented slightly, “The danger may be old and gone….but I… fear for her, Nicholas.”

[Private to GM: In your post, you said he had just left. If I am assuming too much in catching up to him, let me know and I will correct!]

Nick was just getting into his Dodge Challenger when Elsa caught up to him.  With one leg in he climbs back out and listens while a confused expression crosses his face.  "Whoa...whoa, slow down.  What danger...where...how...Isabella's in danger.  Tell me what you know and how."

As he speaks Nick pulls out his IPhone and presses Isabella's number.  Looking to Elsa his face is a mask of concern that seems genuine.  Holding up a finger he cuts off Elsa before she can speak, "Mistress De Orssi, yes ma'am I have delivered some of the messages but I...yes I understand the importance of all of them but I have a message for you.  Hold a second please.  It might be better if you heard it from her."

 Holding out the phone to Elsa, Nick motions for her to speak on the device.

She gripped the phone like a lifeline, trying to stop her hands from shaking. Her voice trembled for a moment, but as she began to speak prophesy and recount her vision, her tone became strangely calm and even.

“There is a woman who wishes you harm, and she will succeed if you are not prepared my lady. She will wear a red parka, concealing brown hair and a wreath of anger and rage bright and brilliant as a flame.”

 “She will come for you to avenge her sister, Lisa. She will come with questions, searching for a Jarrod Cromwell who has gone missing…. If he is not missing yet, and if Lisa is still alive you may wish to keep them safe.” Struggling to grasp the details, she shook her head dismissing an idea “No… she said her sister died eight years ago. I doubt she is alive still… that piece may be set in stone now.”

“She … she spoke of experiments, a place she would take you, if your answers did not satisfy her. But… my vision ended in pain as her weapon discharged into a thousand arcs of electric shock… The rest is black…”

Elsa’s voice shook slightly, the events still warm and real in her mind. “I - I cannot say with certainty if what I have seen is the near future, or distant. Or if this is the past, and you have already defeated this danger….But with the urgency of this vision, I must believe these events can still be prevented.”

Finished with her account, Elsa felt weakened and light-headed. She leaned back against Nicholas’ car, her head throbbing, and waited tensely for a reply.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:48, Sun 19 Apr 2015.

"Calm yourself my dear.  I need yu to come with Nick now.  This is no longer a request it is a need.  Get here as fast as you can Nicck will keep you safe.  He has already received his orders and he will do as he is told.  If trouble finds you run and find a way to contact me again.  I will see you soon."

Withgout letting Elsa speak again Isabella hangs up the phone.  Almost immediately after she hangs up Nick all but pushes Elsa into the vehicle as an inky black cloud erupts around them.  Isabella's voice echoes in Elsa's head.  "Stay calm Nick is doing what he must to ensure you are not followed."  Fear not you are still safe."

Though the shadows seem to be trying to choke every sense Elsa has and is very disorientating Nick's hand on hers can still be felt.

The blanket of darkness undulated around her, smothering, choking, gripping at her from a thousand different directions. Like tiny hands or alien cilia, probing, strangling, blotting out the very air…. She gasped for oxygen, before remembering that she did not need to breathe. That realization gripped her with a greater sense of panic, and she held tightly onto Nick’s hand.

In the blackness, a thousand dark visions assailed her, a thousand whispers of terror and desperation. How many innocents have fallen to snakes hidden in the clothes of men? - The echo of the woman’s voice hissed into her eardrums, and Elsa flinched away from the memory even as she went with Nick wherever he might lead her…After all, what other choice did she have?

Elsa sat in the car with her knees pulled up to her chin, and her arms wrapped around her legs tightly.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:07, Mon 20 Apr 2015.

Soon the car stops in front of the Elysium, the Old Ryman Theater.  This night it was closed for a private event, or so the sign said.  As the vehicle rolled to a stop four men moved swiftly to the vehicle and practically dragged Elsa from the vehicle and into the buidling itself.  Once past the first hallway the men stop and Isabella stands in a doorway to the right.

"Sorry for the extreme measures my dear.  Please allow me to welcome you to my private study.  There is an elevator back here.  Once we decend you will find the space far more comfortable.  Hush for now, too many prying ears nearby."

Not really waiting for Elsa, Isabella quickly leads the way to the private elevator and down into a rather comfortable room aden with numerous very expensive works of art.  The center of the room is a partially completed sculpture of a large horse being carved out of obsidian.  It is remarkedly detailed and very intricate but doesn't look like its been worked on recently.  A quick glance around the room reveals Monets, Rembrandts, and some roman sculptures of gladiators that are chipped and damaged and quite old.

Motioning towards a plush looking couch Isabella pours two wine goblets full of a thick red liquid that smells of fruit and blood.

"Please accept this drink my dear.  It will help settle your nerves."

Taking a big drink herself she wipes her lips with the outside of her wrist and looks downwards for a few moments before exhaling deeply and pouring herself another drink.

"On the phone you said a name.  Would it be rude if I asked you to say it again so I can be sure I heard it right?"

The trip through Elysium was disorienting for Elsa. The hot burn of the electric lights commingling with the pale, silent moonlight and the brisk coolness of the air at night… She was hardly able to feel her feet touching the concrete, then the carpet, then the sinking stillness of the elevator, before being ushered out into Isabella’s private study.

It was quiet here, still and strangely calm, yet Elsa felt the various objects and paintings whispering to her gently and softly - her fingers twitched, longing to touch a Monet and drink in the stories it might tell.

She accepted the glass, but it hung limply in her hand with the intoxicating perfume calling to her. She did not drink, at least not yet.

“His name is Jarrod… Jarrod Cromwell. She said that he is missing, or will be missing one day.”

She considered the glass for a moment, marveling at the very concept of serving blood like wine. It felt so impersonal, so removed from the act.

“Lisa is the sister, perhaps that is the link to discovering who this woman is and what she may want. I… have never had a vision like this my lady. It was…. so close to waking, I could not discern the edges of the dream.”

Setting the glass down Isabella slumps down to a seat and looks a bit forlorn.  Shaking her head for a few seconds she mutters something about snakes hidden in the clothes of men...  Looking up she looks directly at Elsa.  "Jarrod Cromwell...you are certain that was the name?  My dear the fates, if what you say is true, have given you a glmpse behind a curtain that few see.  Jarrod is a problem of the worst sort.  I'm not sure whether to be happy that he is missing...or will be or scared of where he'll pop up.  Tell me, did you see anything else.  I mean anything other than this Lisa."

As she mentions the name her eyes fall to the ground and it is said with a hint of regret and anguish.

"I remember her.  She was young, gifted in the art of sculpting."  Rising she runs a loving hand along the sculpture of the horse and sighs heavily.  "This was hers.  She was so talented but also sick in the mind.  She was not a good woman.  Pain and violence were her muses and though I tried to teach her different her work was never as good if she did not kill before working.  I gave her so many lives in hopes she would finish this masterpiece but she refused.  The refusal angered me...it tore at my beast...ate at my soul.  I did not want to hurt her but the beast demanded retribution for her refusal to finish this work.  I think part of me thought I could finish after feasting on her.  I didn't know she brought her baby sister.  She was three at the time...so quiet...so precious.  When I...when I drained her sister Brianna started crying...there was soo much blood.  The cries woke me from the beast's embrace.  My servants tell me I should have killed her too but I couldn't bring myself too.  Life is precious and to take one so young was just too much a pull on what was left of my humanity.  No, to do that would have damned me forever.  Instead I placed a suggestion in her mind to hide the truth...and now it has been broken.  I would like to know how but I think that might be a dangerous question to ask..."

As Isabella spoke about the past, Elsa approached the statue, tilting her head slightly to one side to better observe its raw, unfinished form. Echoes stirred within the figure, just out of reach.

“I have always found that some of the most beautiful works are unfinished ones - the flaws and rough hewn forms often provide a clearer window into the artist’s soul. Michelangelo’s third pieta, for instance. It is not his most famous pieta, but there is an honesty and a sorrow that speaks of the man in his final days, struggling still to unmask the form hiding within the stone…  I see it as his truest work, and his most beautiful, although it will never be completed.”

The desire to touch the statue was almost overwhelming, and Elsa diverted her gaze. “But I am not here to offer my opinions on art.”

“There…  was another glimpse beyond the veil. A brief omen whose pieces I do not yet understand… but perhaps they will mean something to you. I saw Nicholas, red pools of blood pouring from him as his skin pealed away…” An involuntary shudder passed over her body, “… A black raven circled in the sky, and a silver wolf howled in the distance.”

“I sense … a wind of change, a tide of something approaching that we may only see the vaguest and smallest hints of in the present moment. This woman… this Brianna, she seemed to belong to a group - she wore an ear piece, and mentioned a place where experiments are run. She had the aura of a soldier, one who is still fighting although there is no war…Perhaps whoever she has allied herself with is able to break your spell over her. Is such a thing possible?”

"There is always a war somewhere my dear.  Still your vision troubles me, anything with wolves does."

Pacing the room she seems about to say more but pauses just before it leaves her lips and instead she runs a loving hand along the front of the unfinished piece of the statue.  "It is always just beneath the surface waiting to come out but you don't know if its beauty or hideousness beneath.  The stone takes the form it wants to...if only things were so simple for us."

Weakly smiling she reaches forward as if she is about to touch Elsa's cheek but pulls up short and closes her hand before looking away.  Slumping down to onto one the couches she leans forward and clasps her hands just beneath her chin.

"You have shared much tonight and the fates have tangled you in their web...more deeply than you know.  I have seen your face as well my dear...surrounded by daggers looking towards the dying light.  I have pondered it many a night but have not figured out what it means.  Tell me your thoughts my dear.  Is it an omen of ill will or one of hope.  I have thought both myself."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:00, Fri 24 Apr 2015.

“What is hopeful for the fox, is often an ill omen for the hens…” Elsa murmured, settling down onto the couch near Isabella. “How do we judge a vision - by its perceived impact on our own lives, or the impact it may have on others?”

“I cannot blame Brianna for her anger, not entirely. There is truth in what she says. We are forever playing the part in an elaborate masquerade, a trick of the light pretending to be human… Sometimes I believe we do this not to fool them, but to fool ourselves.”

Pausing for a moment, she finally took a small, thoughtful sip from the glass.  “Still… I do not believe that visions are given without a purpose, and what purpose is served by a vision that has no hope? The fates do not speak to us to taunt us, or torment us... it is a blessing, not a curse.  Even a vision of Pompeii erupting provides hope - the hope to escape, before the world is covered in ash and death…”

Elsa regarded Isabella with some curiosity, peering at her over the lip of her glass. “Strange, my thoughts have been turned so inward recently that I did not even realize, though I am certain now that I heard rumors… How long have you had the gift? Has it always been with you?"

"Gift...no my dear mine has been a curse, even in mortal times I was loccked away, never to find love, never to feel the carnal pleasures of the flesh.  You see, my people believed it would steal my gift if I were touched by a man...if only it were so simple.  Enough of my sob story my dear.  I will continue to think on the vision but without a rosetta stone of some sort to give context I'm afraid I may not know the meaning till after the usefulness of the vision has passed."

Shrugging she rubs her left temple and seems about to say something else when the doors swing open and a man in an expensive looking suit enters.  His slicked back blond hair and ice blue eyes arre framed almost perfectly by his pale skin.  His gait is one that speaks of military training from an era that has long sinced passed.  It is almost an arrogant march as he crosses the room.  "Ahh...good to see you this night Heinrich.  I was not expecting you but what may I ask brings yourr pleasurable company to my study this night?"

The irritation in her voice is not hidden but doesn't seem to faze Heinrich as he bows respectfully and speaks with a thick German accent.

"Truly a pleasure as always Frau Orssi.  Herr Lassiter asked me to inform you that the news crews are reporting a crucifixion and burning at LP Field."

Smirking he bows again and turns on his left heel before heading to the door.  Isabella quickly pulls out her phone and soon a television appears from behind retracting walls.  The news channel shows a female reporter outside of the stadium as police block off the area.  The caption on the bottom says something about gunfire and a murder....

The flash of brilliant color from the television screens washed over the room, and Elsa rose from the couch to stand quietly near Isabella, watching the moving images and talking faces. She was finding it difficult lately, to concentrate on television - it was all a flicker and a blur, a sea of light without substance. Yet, the words spoken by Heinrich were more real and she clung to them with a sense of dread.

Elsa could feel the flashing blue and red lights from the police cars pound into a pulsing rhythm. The carpet felt like sinking sand.

“Is this connected to what we have seen, do you imagine?” Her own words sounded like someone speaking from a great distance away. She shook her head and tried to concentrate. “I… Is there anything you would have me do, Madame de Orssi? If I could touch a piece of the cross, perhaps…. perhaps there is a story it may wish to tell.”

"It would seem that your gift is different than mine my dear.  Tactile...most interesting.  You should keep that secret to yourself or else you may find yourself locked in a room only allowed to touch what others want you to.  Knowledge is power and power is intoxicating.  We will talk to Rocha. I am sure he can get you access to the evidence but for nnnn......."

Isabella's eyes  roll into the back of her head and her body shakes violently as she crumples to the floor.  Clenching her hands she forces herself into a seated position and grabs Elsa's arm.  As she does shadows invade Elsa's mind and block out the room.  As they peel back Elsa can see herself standing ten feet away with a large piece of charred wood lying on the table in front of her.   Reaching forward with a trembling hand the Elsa she is watching tries to touch the wood but then is interrupted by a large dark skinned man with a shaved head and shaggy beard.  His voice is thick with an African accent.

"I am sorry child but what must be done will be done."

Raising his left arm with a large curved blade he slices it across her left cheek opening a deep wound.   Raising the blade once more he seems ready to drive it into herr ribs but she is too fast for him and pounces forward plunging her bared teeth into his neck.  Her eyes darkened she looks up at where Elsa watches herself from and tilts her head to a side as if confused before snapping the man's neck and rushing forward with a vicious ferocity....

The world then snaps back to the study with Isabella's nails piercing deeply into Elsa's wrist but not deep enough to ause any serious wounds...
This message was last edited by the player at 04:26, Sat 25 Apr 2015.

Elsa was already reaching for Isabella as she collapsed to the ground in a fit of tremors, but she was not fast enough to break her fall. As the older vampire’s hand grasped onto her wrist, and the vision came violently into her mind, Elsa gasped and sank to the carpet, staring wildly at the scene as it unfolded around her.

This vision felt different than usual, perhaps because it was not her own. It was a surreal and disorienting out of body experience to watch herself in this manner. She reached out her own hand towards this strange version of herself, shuddering slightly as the vision broke. Like coming up rapidly through the surface tension of a vast pool of dark water, the room flooded and crashed back in around her.

“It seems approaching the cross is a fool’s errand... daggers in the darkness indeed,” she murmured and closed her eyes against a sudden burst of pain in her temple. She sat silently for a moment, before speaking again in a halting voice. “Do you know this man, and what he may want? I…” Elsa withdrew from Isabella slightly, settling back on her haunches and hugging her knees against her chest. “I hardly recognized myself - a beast is more similar, who kills without a thought of compassion….”

“Is this always how it is for you, my dear?” She reached out to touch Isabella’s arm for a moment, in a gesture of empathy and regret. “How… how is it possible for us to have shared this together?”

"Always my dear though less frequent nowadays.  As for how I am able to drag others into the visions, well a girl has to keep some secrets."

Winking Isabella takes another glass of blood wine and drinks deeply.  "The beast claws beneath all of our skins my dear.  When it manages to escape its confinement it is never pretty.  If I had to hazard a guess I would say that for some reason you frenzied and lost control, though what you saw where we stood is a mystery as you could not have seen us.  Now, for the man...I don't know him but a type like him would stand out here.  I can put the word out and see if anyone knows of him?"

“I-I’m sure that would be helpful…” Elsa worried her thumb against the wounds on her wrist, her brow furrowed in thought. “…but it may not be the fastest course of action.”

After a few more moments, she stood up with a sigh, and smoothed the creases in her long, white dress. She regarded Isabella from across the room with a strange sense of clarity. “We know where this man will be. If not now, then in the very near future.”

“I do not imagine he was following me specifically… I am hardly that interesting. More likely he was keeping watch over the evidence room, or perhaps he went to the police station to retrieve an item that was recovered from the crime scene. In either case… we know he will be at the station, and that he is armed.”

“Perhaps… perhaps we should proceed as planned, and gain access to the evidence room. Only we will not be caught unawares this time. Instead, we will be prepared to capture this man and to question him.”

Elsa had no answers for Isabella’s other questions, so she left them alone for the time being. That woman - that facsimile of herself that she had seen in the vision, was someone she did not recognize. With luck, and the blessing of foresight, she hoped to postpone meeting this woman - this creature, for at least a little bit longer.

Sighing heavily Isabella pulls her cellphone from her pocket and dials a number without another word.  Soon her call is apparently answered, "Rocha, love.  I have an interesting insight that I believe you will need to be witness to, especially since it involves one of your domains....yes, I am here in my study....really?  See you in a bit dear."

Hanging up the phone she turns towards Elsa and smiles, "First night here and you already get an audience with the sheriff.  Aren't you lucky my dear.  A ccouple of things, real quick.  At his core our dear sheriff is a brute.  Surface wise he is an introspective silent man but bubbling beneath the surface is a rage that is barely contained.  The good news is that he is 100% loyal to our dear Prince and to the court.  He will see to it that the Masquerade and the ccourt are both protected.  Speak truthfully and answer directly.  He will take a disliking to you otherwise.  Seems he is here."

Turning towards the door she smiles and bows her head as a large man in an expensive black suit enters.  His eyes are an intense hazel color that scan the room and seemingly assess every item in the room with a cold calculating glance.

Bowing his head respectfully Rocha pulls his right hand to his heart and crosses the room to greet her up close.  Leaning in he lightly kisses her left cheek and hugs her before saying something in a foreign language that has an almost Spanish sound but not quite.  Stepping bacck and looking to Elsa he bows his head once more and extends his right hand.

"I do not believe we have met my lady and on account of that I rue the lost days that I was unable to bask in your radiance but now this night has made everything right with the world .  I am Rocha DaSilva, the meager Sheriff of this city.  Might I inquire your name so that I may explain true beauty to those I meet in the future."

His eyes seem to be eitherr measuring up Elsa or soaking in every detail.  As he waits he motions towards the couches and waits for the women to lead the way.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:22, Mon 27 Apr 2015.

Elsa opened her mouth to thank Isabella for the warning, but too soon Rocha arrived. She watched his interaction with Isabella, and regarded him with a wry glimmer of curiosity as he approached her with his hand extended.

It was not so long ago that Elsa dealt with men like this on a regular basis. She did not enjoy it, but she felt that she could navigate the turbid waters well enough. Feeling rather out of practice, she shoved her insecurities down and put on her best professional demeanor - playing the part of her old life, as best she could.

“Elsa Lamarre,” She took his hand politely, in a crisp and professional handshake. “The pleasure is mine, my dear Sheriff.”

Walking with him towards the couches, Elsa glanced at Isabella seeking her approval before continuing. “There is a man of interest, that we have been discussing in connection with the crucifixion at L.P. Field. We have reason to believe he will be at the Police Station tonight and... we would like to arrange a surprise for him."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:30, Sun 26 Apr 2015.

Rocha waits as Isabella gives her approval to sit.  Once the two women have been seated he claims a seat opposite of them and leans forward listening intently.  After Elsa lays out the short and quick version he scowls for a second before running a hand over his brow.  "The events at the stadium could represent a serious breach of our laws.  As such, despite the fact that I hate to ask, I need to know what you know and how you know it.  My apologies for asking so abruptly but it is my duty to ask."

His face seems to convey that his words are the truth.  He leans forward clearly interested in the answer but only a fool would believe that he was only using the mortal tools at his disposal to listen.  Isabella almost interjects but he ccuts her off with a quick glance her way.  Rolling her eyes she leans bacck and shakes her head in irritation.

“Of course,” Elsa sat down on one of the couches, leaning forward slightly to look directly into the Sheriff’s eyes. Her own gaze remained steady and calm. She had no intention of deceit.

“You are familiar with Madame De Orssi’s gift. Moments ago, we shared a vision together. We saw a dark skinned man with an African accent, a smooth head, and a disheveled beard in the evidence room at the Police Department. I was there as well - a future version of myself, presumably to examine the piece of the cross that was recovered.The man attacked me with a curved dagger, and in this vision I retaliated. There is nothing else at the moment - but in knowing where this man will be tonight, we have the ability to act before he can prepare. We can catch him off his guard.”

In retelling the facts of the evening, Elsa realized how improbable this must sound. However, as an associate of Isabella, she hoped the Sheriff kept an open mind about such things. "And so... I would rely on your expertise in these matters my dear Sheriff. I do not presume to know the best course of action to keep our own secrets protected, and yet to acquire the answers that this man may be able to provide."

His face stern Rocha leans back and folds his hands in his lap.  As Elsa completes her tale he looks to Isabella and raises and eyebrow.  "It would seem that you are indeed blessed.  My understanding is that only a select few can share in the fates' message."

Sighing heavily he seems almost jealous but then rises abruptly and bows respectfully, "Allow me to go fetch this intruder and we shall see what he knows.  If it is alright with the two of you I would prefer to question him and relay what I learn to you.  No sense in either of you lovely women sullying yourself with the brutality of an interrogation, unless you wish to be there of course."

Looking to Elsa then to Isabella he waits to see their response.

Elsa considered the Sheriff’s question for what felt like a long time. On one hand, he was quite right - she wanted nothing to do with a long and bloody interrogation. On the other hand, pain was an ineffective means of gaining reliable information. This had been proven time and again, in various courts and in various lands.

Her fingers twitched in agitation, as she felt herself being pulled further and further into this dangerous situation. Finally, Elsa sighed softly and shook her head.

“I have a gift that is similar to Madame de Orssi’s…. and although it was her vision that revealed this man, my own senses have been … stirred by the events of the night and the near future. I….” Elsa pressed the tips of her fingers against her temple in thought. The edges of the room were melting, and she closed her eyes for a moment to shut out the sudden vertigo.

She knew it would be safer to just go home, to hide from prophecy rather than embrace it. But if the night had taught her anything at all; she was already part of these events, and nowhere was truly safe.

“I may be able to discern something about this man and his motivations, if I am included in this …. interrogation. A piece of the cross may also provide unique insights, if such a thing is possible. However... of course the final decision on the matter is yours, my dear. I do not have the right to ask.”

"You have every right to ask.  As you haven't pledged your allegiance to them you are free to make demands since you are helping them."

Smirking at first Rocha then Isabella she casts a wink at Elsa before sprawling down on a couch letting her leg hang over the arm.  Crossing her hands behind her head she yawns unnecessarily and looks to Rocha with bored disinterest.  "I suppose I should tell you that a group of idiots is starting a new sect of Anarchs...that is if the Sabbat doesn't recruit them first.  Now, my dear sire...how about we talk about how mucch longer I have to keep playing this charade.  I have goals of mine own that this pretending to be disinterested in everything is getting in the way of."

Isabella shakes her head in disapproval and moves to remove Katherine's leg from the arm of the couch with a tssk sound coming from her lips.  "The sins of your youth must be made right before you are ready to move out.  I did not make the mistakes my dear childe but I have given my word that your debt would be repaid.  We will talk when company is not here.  Please, allow me to introduce you to Elsa Lamarre.  She is new...here and I believe she will prove to be a master of her own destiny and have value whatever she chooses but you are not to poison her ear with whispers of greater gifts and treasures for serving others.  Her choice is hers, not yours."

Rocha sneers at Katherine but doesn't speak as Isabella addresses her.  Once she is done he looks to Elsa, "I will obtain the cross and this man.  Is there a way for me to contact you when we have secured them?"

As Katherine entered the room, Elsa felt the floor beginning to tilt at an uncomfortable angle. There were too many voices overlapping, and she found it difficult to concentrate on the matter at hand. The color sloughed off the walls, and the room became dark around the edges.

She decided to focus on the Sheriff for now, blocking out the other distractions.

“O-Of course,” Elsa fished in her bag for a moment, locating a piece of paper and pencil. Scribbling her number down in a flowing script, she handed it over to the sheriff after only a slight hesitation. “I do not know what assistance I will be able to provide, but I am willing to try.”

She kept her head somewhat bowed as she turned to address Katherine and Isabella, in an effort to remain centered. “I appreciate the kind words, Madame De Orssi. In truth, your—our politics are still largely a mystery to me. But I … hope to be helpful, in my own way.” Elsa shook her head slightly, finally raising her gaze to regard Katherine directly.

“Treasures and gifts are hardly of interest to me… I would not know what to do with them. But your people have become mine, and I do not wish to see them come to any harm.”

Smirking Katherine shakes herr head and then replies, "Are you of these people?  There are many factions in any family young one, make sure you chose wisely because the ones oyu do not choose will seek to do you harm."  Looking to Rocha she conntinues on, "and some you choose will cause you harm.  Be wary of daggers hidden within the shadows my dear."

A stern hard look from Isabella causes herr to laugh lightly before shaking her own head and shrugging her shoulders before looking to Isabella.  "I am not selling her on any faction my dear mother.  I am selling her on making a choice, the choice that suits her best."

Isabella's lip curls up in a sneer for a seccond but she composes herself quickyl and addresses Katherine, "Uninformed choices sre the cause for many a young woman's downfall."  Her eyes remain loccked on Katherine and after a second Katherine rolls her eyes and rises from the couch.

"Good evening my dear sire. I shall stop by later for my nightly berating but right now the night is young and I have chaos to sew."  Glancing to Elsa she winks, "Remember my words and don't make any hasty decisions that you'll regret later."

Turning on her heel she quickly leaves the room without looking back.  Once she is gone Isabella smiles at Elsa and shakes her head, "Aww, the impulses of youth.  What can you do when your children know everything?"  Laughing out loud she smiles and claims a seat.  "You've learned much about me this night but I still know so little of you.  Would you do an old woman a kindness and share the story of yourr lineage with me?  I know its horrible to ask but the fates touch so few of us and perhaps I ccan narrow where this gift comes from."

A puzzled expression crossed Elsa’s face, as she watched Katherine prepare to leave. “We divide ourselves into clan and country,” she murmured thoughtfully, more to herself than to anyone else in the room “…but are these distinctions more than a pale illusion carved in the sand? Will they not wash away with the nearest tide…”

After the others departed, Elsa sighed softly in relief. The return to quiet was a welcome reprieve. Relaxing back against the couch, she rests her head in her hands for a few moments before responding to Isabella’s questions.

“It is not rude to ask… but there is very little that I can tell.” Brushing the hair back from her eyes, Elsa thinks for a moment. “This is not a gift of the blood. My sire, Anton Thierry, is not a seer if that is what you are wondering. It has been a part of me for many years now - and it has gotten me into a fair amount of trouble.” She smiled slightly, then grew pensive and quiet again, drawing her hands together on her lap.

“My great grandmother had the gift, but she passed when I was very small. I never had the chance to ask her … any of the things I might have wanted. Her name was Frances Abigail Sloane, but if there is some greater connection to the oracles of the past… That is a complete mystery to me, I am afraid. There are rumors and whispers of course, and… stirrings of memories that are new to me, from objects that I once thought of as familiar and old.”

Her fingers twist thoughtfully around an antique silver pendant hanging from her neck. “If any object holds her story, this might. She wore it in every photograph I ever saw of her. But would it whisper of things that matter, or only of secrets best left forgotten? I cannot say, as it has never spoken to me.”
This message was last edited by the player at 04:59, Mon 04 May 2015.

"Tactile...interesting..."

As she speaks and Elsa shows the pendant her hand reaches towards it but she stops short and drops it back into her lap.

"Seems that the fates use us for their own purpose and not our own.  My gifts have never directly been about me...always someone else but always useful....."

She continues to speak but her words fall out of focus and a new voice followed by an echo intrudes..."Wickedly wickedness or weirdly weirdness....shadows of life...shadows of light....shocking...or exploding...seizing or releasing....choices of minee...no choices of yours made by her....

The voices fade away and Isabella is still talking.  "...York.  In fact a friend of the Prince escaped harm that day...lost his home and possessions but his life was spared."
This message was last edited by the player at 02:14, Wed 27 May 2015.

As the echo of the strange voice fades, Elsa clutches the sides of her head with a grimace and leaps from the couch. She paces halfway across the room, but stops abruptly, her entire body trembling in exhaustion.

“No - whoever you are, this is not the time Tonight has been too many and too much all at once,” she murmurs to herself in a low hiss, clenching her fists until her knuckles turn white.

Letting out a ragged sigh, she attempts to calm herself - pressing away the demons of the present moment. “I … apologize, Madame di Orssi. Tonight … tonight has been exhausting already and I…” She shakes her head, trying to focus. “I cannot say that what I just experienced was a vision. It may have been something… else.”

“Wickedly wickedness or weirdly weirdness…” she mutters, rolling the strange words over on her tongue. “…What does all of this mean, I wonder?”

Concern clearly etched on her face Isabella runs a hand along Elsa's back in a soothing gesture.  "There, there dear....everyone needs rest, especially on stressful nights such as these.  Tell me...where did you hear those words...wickedly wickedness?  After that I will make arrangements to see to your safety and let you rest."

Though a smile plays about her face there is a spark of concern in her eye.  Her gaze is almost studying/searching over Elsa now.

A shudder passed over her body, and Elsa felt herself vaguely shaking her head again - but it was an action taken at a distance, and her thoughts felt very distant from the small room underneath the city.

After a moment, she heard Isabella’s words, and felt the comforting touch. “I… it was nothing I am certain, madame di Orssi.” Elsa murmured, furrowing her brow as she concentrated on remembering the strange phrasing.

“It is only…. as you were speaking just a moment ago, I heard another voice. It spoke of shadows of life and light, and of choices. The words were… strange. I cannot say if it was another vision in a different form, or something else altogether.”

"Hmmm...indeed..."

Rising she pauses for a split second looking down at Elsa before moving away and almost pacing before picking up a phone and speaking in a slavik sounding language.  Quckly moving through clipped words she smiles at Elsa before switching back to english.  "Marcel will take you home, or a safehouse of your choosing.  He is trustworthy and extremely loyal.  You'll be safe regardless.  Now, please my dear, get some rest.  If my suspicions are correct the sheriff will calling on you again very soon."

Almost as if waiting just outside the door a man in a tailored suit enters and bows his head respectfully.  His shoulder length blond hair falls forward and frames his face thus hiding his peircing blue eyes.

Marcel will you be so kind as to make sure our guest is comfortable and feels safe.  Feel free to use whatever means you need to ensure she feels safe."

"As you vish my vlady."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:15, Fri 29 May 2015.

Still visibly shaken, Elsa merely nods at Isabella’s words and makes her way towards the door. She pauses before leaving, and casts a glance back across the room towards the woman with whom she had spent the majority of her evening.

“Take care of yourself, Isabella. The night is not safe for either of us, I suspect… and should anything ill befall you, I would feel immensely responsible.”

She turns her attention to this new man in the door, tilting her head at him in curiosity for a moment.

“If it is possible, some fresh air would be nice… a park perhaps, or a garden. I would like to clear my thoughts.”

"Vere to my lady?"  His thick slavik accent intrudes into his English making some of his words have an unusal pronunciation.  Still as he asks the question he moves with the gait of a trained soldierr used to marching in formation.  His steps are evenly paced and precise, any turns are made on the heels of his feet and made decisively.  Leading the way out of the haven of Madam De Rossi Marcel pauses at the door and waits for the count of four breadths before exiting and moving swiftly to a waiting car.  Opening the door and ushering Elsa into the vehicle with speed and precision before climbing in himself.  As he claims a seat he removes a large caliber pistol from his back waistband and sets it on his lap.

"Ve vill keep you safe.  DO you have place to go or ve find you haven?

Relishing the brief moment of fresh air outside the building before she is ushered into the car, Elsa gazes upwards at the pale stars, high in the night sky above. They felt so far away, and yet the stars had said much already this evening.

Once inside the vehicle, she sits quietly, brushing the mess of hair from her face and looking out the window at the world beyond. “Home I think… unless there is a reason why I cannot.”

She sighs and stretches, feeling the tension in her arms and neck from the night of various prophesies. Although she had come away with a new friend, she couldn’t help but worry that this prophesy and its price, would be far too costly to pay. She looks towards Marcel, and the gun in his lap.

“Are you … friends with Madame De Orssi, Mister Marcel? Do you also have some title or position with the city?”

Bowing his head to her wishes he relays the instructions to the driver in what sounds like French.  Looking back to Elsa he follows her gaze to the weapon in his lap.  Sheepishly moving it beneath his coat and out of sight he shakes his head in response to her question.  "Vun such as me does not count Madam De Orssi as fend.  Debts are owed and repayment is required by my master.  As such I serve her till such debt is repayed.  My position in the city is as a ghoul's vuld be.  But do not worry I have been dis vay for long time and my men are all trained kil...soldiers.   You vil be safe."

Nodding his head in response to his own comments Marcel looks out the window and seems to scan the people on the street as if assessing threats.  Looking back up he bows his head and continues on, "As of now I serve vu.  Madam De Orssi has transferred my debt to vu and now I will keep vu safe dis I vow on my life."

As the lights of the city flash by the window of the vehicle, Elsa leans forward to regard Marcel with a glint of curiosity in her slate grey eyes.

“Fascinating,” she murmurs, resting her chin on her hand. If possible she would have blushed, realizing that she had been gawking at the man.

“Forgive me, my dear. I have the impression that you are much older than I - all of this is familiar to you I am certain. But to me, you are such a lovely curiosity. You retain the qualities and pleasures of a human, and yet the lifespan of a … well, one of us.”

“Do you… prefer to remain as you are? Or do you think that you will fully transition some day? I … apologize if it is rude to inquire.”

"I have no desire to do either.  I vish to join my wife and daughter in eternity but cannot do so if I let or do myself harm.  Ven my master believes I have repaid his kindness he vill let me go and I shall waste away."

Seemingly aware that his words might cause her distress a puts a reassuring hand on hers and looks inot her eyes with a smile of kindness and sincerity.

"I am pleased that da powers who vield sway over my life have led me to dis point.  I have seen such vonders of man and the horrors created by them but through it all der fate wavers not.  I am proud of vut they can be.  Even after all dese years I still believe in dem.  Now dose like vu...centuries pass and dey only lose touch with that hope.  Vu are new but years of being like dem will drain vut hope vu have.  Vun day your eyes will not shine as dey do now.  Cold and black dey vill become...forgive me my vady.  I do not mean to speak ill of dose who have shown me so much.  I vill not speak of it again."

As Marcel speaks his accent sways between numerous dialects making it difficult to place his origins though French and German seems to be a constant muddled with others.  Casting his eyes down he does seem repentent for his diatribe.  Avoiding looking at Elsa he shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:03, Mon 01 June 2015.

Elsa sits quietly for a heartbeat, somewhat stunned by Marcel’s honesty. Was it true, that vampires were cruel, and dead of spirit as well as in body? She did not feel it, and yet as he said - she was young, inexperienced. Elsa shudders slightly, recalling the brief glimpse of her own future from Isaballa's vision. There was something bestial living inside her, as much as she wished to deny it.

On impulse, she reaches out to squeeze his hand. “I know your family will be gladdened to see you again, some day. You must love them and miss them very much.”

Elsa releases his hand after a moment, conscious that her touch carried a biting frost, and could not be comforting. Considering the rest of what he had said, she sighs softly. “On the other count… I sincerely hope that you are mistaken. There must be instances of people who remain good… it would be too unimaginably cruel to give only monsters an immortal life.”

“But if you are right, and all things have a time to live and to die - I hope that I will have the courage to walk into the sun, when it comes to it. I do not ever wish to be a plague on the world.”
This message was last edited by the player at 09:34, Mon 01 June 2015.

At the mention of his family Marcel seems to almost flinch but steadies himself and offers a sad smile before replying, "Monstras....if only things ver so simple."

Leaning close he tilts his head to a side as their eyes meet.  Holding her gaze he speaks while teaching out and squeezing her hand, "Very few set out to ruin lives around them yet few consider the ripples of their actions on those out of sight.  The beast does not live inside of vou...vou live inside of the beast.  Strive for peace vit it and embrace its needs for then they vill not overwhelm vou."

When he pulls away his hand a small swastica sits in her palm.

"That is not a symbol of evil.  It was a symbol of hope, a symbol of purity.  That old, original meaning is now obscured by a beast and what he made it into.  Vou are pure and good, do not let yourself be hidden beneath evil.  If you vill accept it I would like for vou to keep that symbol.  It vas belonged to my little Sasha.  She vould vant vou to keep it.  Ven the beast is rising hold it and think upon the what it used to be.  It vill hurt but I hope it will work."

When he first left it in her palm it was cool to the touch, as he spoke and explained its meaning it now seemed to burn slightly.

[Private to Elsa Lamarre: Hopefully the swastica is not offensive to you personally.  It is simply included to make a point and not meant to be offensive at all though i recognize that it can be a very hurtful symbol to some..  If it is I apologize full heartedly.]

An expression of shock crosses Elsa’s face as she sees the small swastika sitting in her palm. She nearly drops it reflexively, but relaxes somewhat as Marcel explains its meaning and why it was given.

“Yes…. yes, I am familiar with the original meaning…” she murmurs, peering down at the small, terrible symbol. “The crooked cross has been a symbol of hope and good fortune for many hundreds of years… that meaning persists even today in some cultures, despite the terror enacted under its banner….”

She sighs sadly, running her finger over the small piece of metal. “Yet, when an evil man tarnishes such a symbol… can it truly maintain its original connotations, or must it be linked to evil from that moment forward? I am not so sure the two can ever be separated again…”

Elsa looks at the tiny swastika for another moment, before closing her hand around it despite the strange burning sensation. “I do understand your meaning though, Mister Marcel. I am afraid I will not display it… but I will keep it, for the reasons you described, and for Sasha. Thank you for the kind gesture.”

[Private to GM: No personal pain associated with the symbol. Though I'm not sure if I would respond graciously to being given one. Even though I know what the original symbol means! ]
This message was last edited by the player at 03:57, Fri 05 June 2015.

"Depends on if people choose to remember the old meaning just like if vou choose to remember being human.  Isabella forgot that long ago.  She has moments but she is long lost in the darkness.  Ask her about Ahmed...."

Looking a bit ashamed at his words he looks away for a moment and exhales slowly before looking back, My apologies my lady.  Was not my place to speak ill of another.  My opinion does not matter...what mattters is knowing what lurks beneath the facade of kindness.  After a while all such as vou have ulterior motives."

Looking at the symbol in her hand he runs a loving finger along it before pushing her hand closed around it and leaning forward to touch his forehead to her hand.  "I vill see vou soon my dear Sasha..."

As he speaks the symbol burns in her hand and her vision blurs for a second.  When it clears a pretty woman with black hair sits looking down at Elsa with a motherly smile on her face.  She speaks in a strange language and continues brushing Elsa's hair.  Though the words were unknown the context was obvious...it was a mother's love reflected in her eyes and as she turned to put the brush up Elsa can feel herself moving to pick up the small hand mirror.  The reflection is a precious little girl of about six years old.  Her big blue eyes search the mirror as if looking for something and soon a man's hands gently drape a silver chain and the symbol currently in Elsa's hand around her neck.  A bright smile spreads across her face and as she lays the mirror down the reflection of Marcel can briefly be seen followed by a single word...PAPA....then focus returns as Marcel lets go of Elsa's hand and settles back into his seat.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:58, Fri 12 June 2015.

Elsa gasps as the remnants of the vision fade from the edges of her mind. Like breaking through the surface of a still pool of water, her thoughts return to the vehicle and its steady motion down the street.

As Marcel releases her hands, she reaches to grasp his for one last moment. “Your daughter is beautiful, Marcel. I … I wish that I could share my vision with you, but I am sure your memories are just as vivid.”

Elsa sighs, releasing his hand again. A red tear falls down her cheek, and she reaches to brush it aside with the back of her hand. “If there is ever anything that I can do to help you, I promise that I will… What that might be however, I am afraid I do not know.”

As Elsa speaks of his daughter Marcel visibly flinches as if he was just hit in the face.  Blinking a few times he swallows hard and seems to foce back tears that threaten to spill forth from his eyes.  "She was the most beautiful thing I had, have or ever will see....her laughter could make even a Tzimicie smile in joy and her kindness could soften the heart of the Nosferatu...but all her gifts could not save her from...no matter...what is done is done.  I thank you for your kind words my lady and one day I will ask you for a favor...it will not be an easy one but it will be important to my Sasha and I will be eternally in your debt for it but now is not the time to have this conversation.."

His eyes flicker towards the driver and then return to Elsa.  As they do the car begins to slow and Marcel looks away through the window before sitting up quickly and reaching forward trying to sweep Elsa to the floor of the vehicle at the exact same moment bullets begin to shred the front of the car.  High caliber rounds rip through the metal and then the driver and soon the vehicle reeks of blood and something begins to stir within Elsa.

As the blood spills from the driver's riddled body everything starts to move in slow motion and a red tinge starts to invade Elsa's vision before the burning sensation in her hand draws her attention back to it and away from the hunger that was stirring.  Though still there it seems to be well under control.

"We must go.  Hold on to me and do not let go.  What happens next will be very disorientating.."

As he speaks morre rounds start tearing through the vehicle but this time they seem more like shotgun rounds but flames seem to lick everywhere the rounds hit and just after seeing a round explode the seat next to her Elsa is enveloped into a smothering darkness that seems to pour into her eyes, ears, nose and smother out all her senses almost like drowning in thick dark tar....

Stifling a scream, Elsa clutches onto Marcel as he shields her from the rain of bullets. As the glass shatters around them and blood begins to fill the car, her mind retreats to another place, far from the horror of the present moment. The chaos becomes muted and fuzzy, as she struggles to focus her attention on what is happening now, and how to remain alive.

If she had only listened to her sire, really listened to him before all of this began… perhaps she would be more prepared for living in this war-zone. As it was, she felt utterly incapable… a child thrust into war too early. Her hand tightens around the small metal pin, worried she would lose it in the chaos.

She clings onto Marcel as instructed, and when the shadows roll over like a tidal wave she shuts her eyes and holds her breath (as if she needed to), trying to ignore the sensation of darkness crawling over her like beetles in the night. A panicked cry waits in her throat, but she bites it back, waiting for Marcel to get them out of this situation. Somewhere above, the moon was shining. Somewhere in the music district, songs were playing and people were still alive, and still hopeful… Elsa worried that for her, those nights were coming to an end.

Seemingly forever passes in the crushing darrkness but then it seems to fade away and Marcel almost drops Elsa as he stumbles against a wall.  The smell of charred flesh quickly replaces the muted darkness.  Marcel has a grimace on his face and his left shoulder has smoke rising from it.  Breathing heavy he slides to the ground and offers a meek smile to Elsa before grimacing once more and reaching towards his smoldering shoulder.

"Seems you've already made some friends my vlady.  Vell armed too.  Dragon's breath if I am not mistaken.  Vou were their prey tonight.  I almost failed vou on account of my rantings and preachings.  I apologize for my lack of attention."

The alley itself is fairly quiet and though sirens echo through the night Elsa gets the feeling they are not near the car anymore.  By the loks of it they are downtown, probably near the old Omni hotel but its hard to tell without landmarks.  As Marcel talks a small stray dog creeps out from underneath a nearby dumpster and skitters off with its tail between its legs.

"Do vou have phone?  If so please destroy.  Don't want those people to track us.  We must get phone and call Mistress Amodora.  She must be warrned."

“Yes, I — “ Elsa fumbles for her bag in a dull haze, sifting through the contents blankly without recognizing the objects inside. After several moments of looking at the same few items, she remembers how quickly she had left her home earlier that day. The phone must have been forgotten in the scuffle. "No, not on me it would seem. At home.."

An involuntary shudder runs through her body, and she wraps her arms around herself swaying back and forth underneath the ray of moonlight that faintly illuminates the alley. “I have a new sympathy for the monsters in books. Frankenstein’s cadaver, the Cyclops… why do humans always wish to kill that which they do not understand?”

Then, seemingly jarred back into awareness, Elsa moves over to Marcel and sinks down next to him on the ground, reaching cautiously for his shoulder. She stops just short of touching him, hesitant to draw near the fresh blood - even if it was the blood of a ghoul.

“In helping me, I’m afraid you have put yourself in harm’s way… will my… can my blood heal you?” She glances down at her wrist, honestly uncertain of her own power in this situation or whether Marcel would even accept that kind of assistance.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:36, Wed 15 July 2015.

"I am not permitted,  To do so would violate my oath and bond to Lady Amodora.  I vill be fine.  Pain is temprary and I have enough vitae in me to heal but am saving it for ven I have need."

Shrugging his shoulders Marcel begins to rise by pushing himself up the wall with a grimace.  "Dis is new my lady.  The humans do not do dis in the open.  Dis is something more."

The concerrn in his voice is not hidden and fear seems to push its way through.  His eyes reflect it and his voice seems to fade away.  Looking around he gets his bearings and motions for Elsa to follow him.  Quietly moving through the alleyways he cautiously searches each intersection and seems ready to murder anyone who moves closer than ten feet near them.  Still it doesn't take long before he finds an old pay phone and dials  but the phone rings and rings before the line goes dead.

Narrowing his eyes at the phone Marcel hangs up and frowns as he shakes his head in dismay.

"Tis not right...something bad has happened."

Dialing again he waits with an impatient air about him as the phone rings once more.  Slamming it down he curses under his breath in a foreign language before looking around again.

"There is a safe house near.  I suggest we seek refuge there and figure out our next move.  Returning to your home may not be wise at this point."

Elsa follows Marcel silently onto the street, looking up and down the block for any sign of the people that had attacked them earlier. She had only been assaulted once in her life, before this moment. An irate client had cornered her in the parking lot, after losing an especially tense case. Elsa had bought a gun after that encounter… but that too was lost, tucked into a drawer at home. Out of reach.

“Did we … have we done something to make them angry?” she asks, wandering in a slow circle to look up at the surrounding buildings. “A reaction as strong as this is usually precipitated by… an act of aggression or perceived injustice, by the other party…”

Elsa is mostly muttering to herself, fidgeting with a long string of hair that is frizzy and flying loose in the air. She continues to follow Marcel, but seems barely to recognize the streets and alleys that they pass on their route. Occasionally, she flinches away from an invisible something that leers at her from the alleys, feeling the lick of dragon’s flame over her skin, and at one point she stumbles out into traffic - throwing her hands up against the blinding lights of an oncoming car, before skittering back over to the sidewalk.

“Fine, fine, that’s fine dear. To the safe-house then. If you believe it is safer than here.” She follows him more closely, staring down at the sidewalk as her feet hit the pavement. Counting the cracks.

Shaking his head Marcel frowns and looks around quickly.  "If I had to guess I'd say military unit.  Their gear was high tech and the weapons are not something you'd pick up on the streets.  Not sure why we were targeted."  Running his hand through his hair Marcel moves quickly up 4th Avenue and soon ducks into a stairwell for an underground parking garage.  Leading the way down to the lowest floor Marcel stops at a blank concrete wall and glances around before pressing a loose brick, causing the wall to slide downwards.

Stepping over the lowered wall Marcel holds out his hand to help Elsa over the door.  Once inside Elsa can see a rather drab concrete passageway leading down to an ominous looking metal door, half covered in rust.  Moving towards the door Marcel stumbles and slumps  against the wall.

"Clearly my strength is failing me.  Would you be a dear and help me to the door?"

Elsa holds her breath as she steps through the entranceway, not remembering for a moment that she no longer needed to breathe. The narrow passage seems to stretch endlessly before her, and she stops cold - staring fixedly at the door at the end of the hall with a mounting sense of trepidation.

Could this be a trap? The thought crosses her mind. But it was only her sire’s paranoia, his sickness, nipping at the edges of her thoughts. This was not her cross to bear.

She turns back towards Marcel, concern furrowing her brow, her eyes wide. “Yes, yes of course. What was I thinking …”

Elsa hurries to Marcel’s side and snakes an arm around him. “You aren’t hurt too badly, are you, my dear?” She does her best to support Marcel, walking slowly down the hallway towards the metal door. The sense of dread rises in her chest, but she bites her lip and manages to suppress her misgivings, for now.

Marcel leans heavily on Elsa, clearly he was more injured than he had let on.  As Elsa came near she could smell blood and any close look reveals his shirt is now stained with blood, mostly centered around his left oblique area.  Forcing a smile to his face he pulls his jacket tight to his hip and shrugs his shoulders, "I didn't want to waste the vitae healing...started low today."  Taking a deep breath his eyes narrow and he winces with each step until they reach the door.

Seemingly sensing her concern he reaches towards the door with a blood stained hand that at first stirs something inside of Elsa but that thought is put aside as the smell has an odd, sickly smell to it.  Pushing aside a metal plate to reveal a retina scanner he leans against the door with some fatigue but manages to look into the scanner.  A few beeps later and the door rumbles to life, sliding to the side.  As it opens the lights inside flicker on to reveal a rather posh setup.  The center of the room houses black suede looking sectional couches and a large oversized chaise.  The floor has a large wolk skin as a rug (way too large of a skin for modern day wolves) and a large decanter full of what appears to be red wine.  The left side of the room holds a small half walled area atop three steps.  Looking through the opening Elsa can see a large bed with many pillows, all of which looks plush.  To the right, an open floorplan kitchen and dining room, each adorned in very expensive looking wood.

"Isabella's gift to you.  Use as you like.  The doors lock from the inside and the kitchen is well stocked with many vintages...though I would avoid any as Isabella is known to spike offered drinks with her own blood.  You may use the phone to call any you wish, also Hasiin's number is next to the phone.  He will arrange anything you need....now if you would, please help me to sit on the floor and be a dear and fetc....retrieve that decanter for me.."

Motioning to the table near the couch he offers a reasurring smile, and as he does it occurs to Elsa his accent is significantly less than it was earlier in the evening.  It's still audible but less than what it was just an hour ago...

“All the world’s a gilded cage …” Elsa murmurs softly, squinting as her eyes adjust to the bright lights of the fancy apartment. The amenities were much more than she felt comfortable with, and still she could not shake the sense of unease that permeated this place. Although she was grateful for Madame de Orssi’s kindness, she felt trapped and smothered by the luxury.


Carefully lowering Marcel onto the floor, she hops away from him and over towards the decanter of “wine” on the table.

“Is this how you live? Chased and hounded, night after night … What a waste of a long life, to be hunted like this.”

She brushes distractedly at the side of her dress, which is stained with Marcel’s blood,  smearing streaks of crimson across the white linen. Elsa picks up the decanter and walks slowly back to Marcel.

She sinks to the ground in front of him, her legs loosely folded beneath her. She holds the decanter towards him, studying him with a curious expression. “Has your accent run away from you, my dear. Or is it just that I am not hearing it any longer? It is always so hard to tell, what is truly perceived versus what one merely believes to be so …”

Taking the decanter and drinking deeply Marcel closes his eyes as he gulps the liquid.  Judging by the thickness and smell it was more pure than blood wine...and fresh.  As he swallows gulp after gulp his gasps lessen and color begins to return to his flesh.  After gulping down about half of the container he slowly lowers it and wipes his mouth with his left arm.

"''Tis real and is not at the same time.  Isabella thinks it's disarming to veke like dis.  Puts people at ease.  I'm not so sure, though it is my real accent.  I am originally from what is now Mother Russia, but it wasn't always that way.  It also helps to keep conversation at a minimum but for you, not so much....

As to this being my life, no....this is different.  This is precision hidden in chaos...

Still I apologize for the deception.  I find myself in your debt, for surely I would have perished this night were it not for your kindness.  I shall not deceive you again.  My apologies, my Lady."

Looking down he genuinely seems embarrassed.

“I am the one who owes you a debt of gratitude, mister Marcel,” Elsa tilts her head at him, a puzzled look dancing across her features for a moment. “You put yourself in harm’s way to keep me safe, and I am grateful for your kindness and friendship tonight.”

Smoothing her dress, she stands up and wanders off into the kitchen, where she begins to search through the cabinets for soda water. She checks the fridge for lemon, and with whatever she has been able to find, Elsa dabs at the stains on her dress, hoping to get the blood out before it sets.

“As for the other part … We all put on masks from time to time. Especially when we do not yet have trust …” She frowns slightly, thinking back on her peculiar night, and the people that she had met. “It is easy to slip into the disguise of our past selves. I found myself putting on a performance of sorts for your Sheriff, wearing the mask of the person I used to be years and years ago … It is not a lie, but it is also not the person I am now.”

Elsa sighs, fussing with a particularly set-in stain. “Identity is mutable, to some degree … What remains, I think, is the intention of the spirit. And you are a kind man, whatever accent you decide to wear.”

"If only that vere true my lady...you know not what I've done in the service of others but I appreciate the sentiment."

Looking away with an embarrassed expression Marcel pulls out his phone and offers it to Elsa.  "If anyone is worried about you please feel free to call.  The phone is encrypted and safe to use.  In fact you may keep it."

Waiting for her to take the phone Marcel pushed a bullet out of his stomach and stares at it with intense curiosity.  The tip is almost see through and a pale green liquid sits beneath a partially cracked head.  Whatever it is, it is most definitely not lead....
This message was last edited by the player at 08:55, Sat 03 June 2017.

She takes the phone, turning it over in her hand like a foreign object. “No … There is no one to call. Although I will need to re-connect with Sheriff Rocha, once prophesy connects with the present. Not …  yet, I do not think.” 

Elsa sets the phone on the kitchen counter, and hesitantly extends her hand again. “The bullet, however.. May I? It may have a story to tell, if we are very lucky.”

Truthfully, Elsa was not certain if she wanted the bullet to speak or remain silent - its secrets locked dutifully away. The night had already been difficult, and coaxing a vision from an object of violence was always a dangerous proposition.

She steels herself, waiting calmly with her hand outstretched for the bullet.

[Private to GM: I tried to roll my Auspex 3 preemptively, but I think I'm doing it wrong. The dice roller wants to tell me I succeeded or failed, but not exactly what I rolled (every die number). I don't think diff 6 is correct, either.

23:25, Today: Elsa Lamarre rolled 2 successes using 6d10 with the World of Darkness 3rd ed, Specialised system with a target of 6, rerolling 10s.  Auspex 3 - Perception + Empathy.

I did roll a second time, trying to see if I could get it to display the exact die values. But the 2nd roll failed. So, use whatever you feel is appropriate, or I can roll again with the correct difficulty.]

Pain....muscles locking up.....a military compound.....kindred in cages....kindred flayed open....hunters.....a blond haired woman with pale blue eyes and a scar running up her neck....Project Daylight....

The images are chaotic....jumbled...vicious...horrors to come....horrors of a by gone era?  It felt like there was more seething images in the flashes but they were just out of her grasp.  There but hidden from her mind's eye almost taunting her to see them but at the same time hidden in a fog.

When the flashes clear Elsa finds herself lying in a bed with a concerned Marcel standing over her.  "Thank heaven you are avake.   What happened?  You fell to the floor, almost like you were having a seizure.  Do I need to fetch a healer?"

Elsa’s entire body trembles as she sits up in the bed, hugging her knees against her chest. If it could, her heart would pound like a jackhammer against her ribcage … As it was, she felt oddly hollowed out, gutted, and aching with the sense that she had missed something essential. The hazy details of the vision taunted her.

“…Project daylight,” she shudders, hugging her knees even more tightly. She does not look at Marcel, but stares blankly across the room. Her eyes fixate on the wall, seeking comfort in the dullness of the flat surface. “Does that name mean anything to you, Marcel?”

“Or … perhaps the woman, with flaxen hair and a scar … Just here.” Elsa runs a finger absentmindedly along her neck, remembering where the wound had been in her vision.

“I-I’m sorry that I could not see more.” She shakes her head slowly back and forth, trying to clear away the fog that gathered in the corners of her mind. “There was a military building, and …. and death. So many dead … opened up like pigs in the slaughterhouse” She shudders faintly, growing paler as she remembers the butchered, gaping bodies.

"Project Daylight...no it does not ring a bell but I can ask around about it, if you'd like?"

Sitting on the edge of the bed he extends his hand to brush a lock of hair away but stops just short and instead pushes himself up and looks a bit uncomfortable.  Shifting his weight back and forth for a moment Marcel eventually turns and grabs the phone in the room.  Quickly dialing he waits but a second before he begins to speak, "Madame De Orsi.......no, she is safe but we were attacked......she is well....WHAT?  HOW COULD YOU?......not anymore.....you passed my vow to her.....I'll see you pay for that....oh no you mistake my words madame....it's a promise."

With that he slams the phone down and looks to Elsa with concern.

"Did you drink from the glass Isabella gave you earlier this evening?"

Marcel's fist is clenched and his eyes flash with a mixture of rage and concern.

Elsa presses her fingertips to her temples, closing her eyes and listening to the distant patter of conversation without focusing on the words. When Marcel addresses her, she looks up sharply, confused for a few seconds before the question solidifies.

“I — No …” She pauses, thinking back over the evening’s events. “Y-Yes, yes I think so. Why, what is the matter?”

A coldness creeps over her head - icy pinpricks electrifying her scalp and spilling down her neck like a glass of ice water. She could hear Anton, her sire, admonishing her carelessness. He had warned her to be suspicious, to be wary of her environment; to be wary of gifts and those who seemed kind …

A shadow passes across the corner of the room, and she flinches away from it. Sliding her legs off the bed, she gets up somewhat unsteadily, looking to Marcel for answers.

“Was it Madame de Orssi’s blood in the glass?”
This message was last edited by the player at 04:32, Sun 04 June 2017.

With a flash of anger Marcel sends the phone flying across the room and solemnly nods his head.  "She seeks to enslave you...to use your visions for her gain.  Gather whatever you need, we must leave, immediately."

Moving to the North wall Marcel slides open a secret door revealing an alarming number of weapons.  Grabbing several pistols, a Vector Kriss, and two swords he loads weapons up with a certainty that promises violence is to come.  Oddly though he a calm seems to settle over him and a soldier's efficiency kicks in.  Weapons are checked, loaded and stored on his personage quickly.  Barely glancing up he seems to be lost in the task but his eyes show his thoughts to be far away and with murderous intent.

Looking up his eyes take on an apologetic look.  "If you had drunk anything here she would have her second dose into your blood stream.  Everything here is laced with her blood...I apologize for not stopping this.  I....was foolish....I thought her concern real...."

Elsa flinches as Marcel throws the telephone, nearly sitting back down on the bed again in a daze. The shadows were coalescing at the edges of her vision, and she heard the harsh, admonishing whispers of her sire circling around her. Taunting, judgmental.

Finally, she steps towards Marcel. Reaching out, she gently touches his arm. “It is of no matter,” she says, softly. “We have enough enemies who wish to cause us real harm. Whatever Madam de Orssi’s plans … for now, we are on the same side. We must be united, or else this threat will destroy us all, in our squabbling and disarray … ”

Elsa squeezes his arm reassuringly, and removes her hand. “I will be more careful in the future … It was a foolish mistake on my part, to trust so blindly.”

“Now, if you feel it is best to leave, I will go with you of course. Do you have a handgun in that arsenal?” She peers past him into the array of guns, looking for something that is manageable and not military grade.

"You don't know what it is to be her thrall.  Trust me that's a nightmare you do not want to experience....I'm sorry...you just remind me of someone who was taken from me by Madam De Orsi.  You should know....she just ordered me to stake and leave you here until she has need of you.  I of course would not do it."

Letting the anger slip away he reaches into the room and pulls out a Sig Sauer P238 cast in pearlescent purple with and ivory grip.

"Its small caliber and easily hidden.  If you would prefer something larger I have 40 and 45 caliber glocks."  Pointing to a few of the guns in the room he also motions towards the knives and swords.  As he does he pulls on an overcoat that hides the slew of weapons he just loaded up.  Waiting for her answer Marcel's cell springs to life...a call from Isabella.

[Private to Elsa Lamarre: Not sure if you have his phone or he has it.  I think he gave it to you.  Also, he's going to be way over protecting because of his back story which may come out throughout your interactions with him.]

“What … why would she do that?” Elsa’s eyes widen in alarm, as Marcel explains Isabella’s plan. “I have not withheld my assistance, nor would I. My only concern is to prevent further bloodshed. Yet there is precedent for locking oracles away … Sybil lived in a cave, after all.”

She accepts the handgun blankly, turning it over in her hand. While a higher caliber gun would be preferable in some regards, she had very little practice outside of the shooting range. Perhaps the smaller weapon would be safer, especially with her nerves rattled as they were. She nods an acquiescence and slips the handgun into her bag.

When the telephone rings, Elsa visibly jumps. She searches for the phone, remembering finally that she left it on the kitchen counter. Walking over quickly, she picks up the telephone and hesitates before answering.

Once the line is open, she is quiet at first. Perhaps it was a mistake to answer at all, but she had felt a closeness with Isabella and thought she owed the woman something. Perhaps it was the blood bond influencing her emotions . Finally, she speaks. Her tone is calm, quiet, but clear. She does not let anger overwhelm her words, even though her shoulders shake as she speaks into the phone.

“I have no desire to foster animosity between us, Madame de Orssi. Ours is a gift that is rare and precious, and I wish nothing more than to help you overcome whatever this … threat is, that assails our city, and our kind. However, I will not be treated like a caged thing … I will not give my visions to a jailor.”

She looks to Marcel, hoping that it was not a mistake to answer the call.

“I have seen something else, but you will understand if I will hold my cards for the moment. Do think things over, and let me know if we should continue to foster a relationship. I will still try to prevent what is happening, either way.”
This message was last edited by the player at 20:34, Sun 04 June 2017.

"Foolish child.  Are you really believing the lies Marcel has told you?  Check the magazine of the gun he just gave you...look at the bullets carefully.  Then think about what all he's told you....what he's done this night.  Would seem to be he's trying to isolate you, turn you against those who are like you.  Tell me...can you feel his disdain for what you are and what he was made into?  Where's his loyalty truly lie?  He needs vitae to survive.  Without it he'll crumble to dust.  I think maybe you've chosen your allies poorly and your enemies even more poorly..."

The disappointment in her voice is palpable.  It could remind one of a mother lecturing a wayward child.  While she talks Marcel seems to be gathering various items from the apartment, rope, a decanter of red fluid, car keys, flashlight, backpack....

Elsa’s words catch in her throat. She holds the phone, trembling with fear and uncertainty. Who could she trust? A moment ago it had seemed so clear, and yet now, the shadows closed in around her, every bit as oppressive and suffocating as the tide of blackness that washed over the car earlier in the night.

She hangs up the call abruptly, placing the phone back on the counter. A red tear streaks down her cheek, which she brushes away distractedly, her hand shaking beyond her control. She trusted Marcel more than she trusted Isabella - she had seen an aspect of both their souls tonight, and Marcel’s had been softer, kinder than the cruelty that lurked in the other vampire. And yet, could it have been a facade? Could all of this be a trick? Anton had warned her …

I warned you ... She flinches away from her sire’s voice with a whimper. “Shush. You’re not here …” Elsa hisses back into the shadows. Silence responds. “Oh, I’ve ruined everything in just one night …” she laments, softly to the darkness, suddenly wishing her sire would come in and fix everything she had messed up.

With a sigh, she roots around in her bag for the gun Marcel had given her, and opens the chamber. She removes one of the bullets and examines the casing carefully. Although she was not an expert in such things, it certainly did not hurt to look.

[Private to GM: If it helps, Elsa does have heightened senses to examine the bullet. Let me know if I should roll anything and the diff.]

Marcel looks concerned and asks "What did she say?"

His face is one of concern.  As Elsa speaks to apparitions his concern grows and he starts to step forward.  As he does Elsa slips out the mag and looks to the rounds within.  The rounds, at first look standard but closer examination show the gold color wax sealing the end where one would expect an actual piece of lead to be.  There appeared to be no actual bullet, just a sealed cartridge.

Marcel stares at the rounds with confusion and stands there dumbfounded for a moment before sliding the mag out of the Vector Kriss.  Pulling a round from the mag he turns it over his hand before cursing under his breath and moving back to the gun wall.

"Rookie mistake, not checking ammo.  Are vu sure vu never handled a firearm before?"

Another tear rolls down her cheek, and she doesn’t bother wiping it away. She stares at the wax-sealed bullet for a few seconds, then sets the weapon down on the counter next to the phone.

“She said … She said that you were trying to isolate me. That I was foolish to trust you over her … That …” Elsa breaks off, gripping the counter as the room swims around her. “I trust you. I do …” she manages, finally, sounding sincere but shaken. “I just … I don’t know who to trust. This is … I-I’ve never been hunted before. I don’t know —“

Elsa stops talking, her brow furrowed. She brushes the hair from her face with a shaking hand. Her chest ached - she felt suffocated and unable to breathe. Which, of course, was true. She could not breathe. She could feel the weight of the grave closing in around her.

Closing her eyes to center herself, Elsa wills herself to breathe. Slow, steady breaths. Her dead, dry lungs waking up for the first time in days. It helped, somewhat. To feel something human for a moment.

“Is there a pay phone nearby? I think I would like to call someone, and if Isabella gave you this cellphone I do not trust that she cannot listen in.”

[Private to GM: 1 blood point spent to breathe]

"This is what they do.  Everyone is a marionette and they the puppet masters.  You must believe.....I would never hurt you Sash.....Elsa...."

His tone was one of sincereity and the name slipup causes him to grimace and turn his eyes away from Elsa.  As he looks away he slides a HK VP40 across the counter.

"These rounds are most definitely live.  If you think me a threat then please use the weapon to remove said threat.  I would never harm you.  As for the phone...well pay phones are not common but there is a Walgreens nearby...there you can purchase a burner if you wish to."

The slip of the name was not lost on Elsa, but it wasn't something she felt comfortable commenting on. It was enough to calm her doubts for the time being, however. Taking the weapon from Marcel, she feels the heavier weight of it in her hand - unlike the small handgun, this was a weapon designed to kill. The thought of actually using it to harm another living creature was troubling. She sets the gun back on the counter.

"Of course I would never ..." she looks horrified at the suggestion of shooting him.

“I am troubled to think that your life is now in danger, because of me …” Elsa says softly, regarding him with a look of concern. “Please do not put yourself in harm’s way for my sake, Marcel. Your life is no less valuable.”

She steps over to the kitchen sink and quickly rinses the blood from her eyes and cheeks. With a sigh, she smooths her dress and checks to make sure that she has not left anything behind. The steady, if forced, rhythm of breathing helped to keep her centered, calm. For now, the shadows stayed at a distance.

“We should go. If there is time to purchase a phone, so be it … If not, I could use yours. Anton always has his own precautions in place, and to be honest he may be upset with me however I call …” She frowns slightly, wondering if her sire would even answer the phone. If he had even an inkling of the events of the night, he might rightfully stay far away, locked away somewhere safe from the risk of gunfire.

“Earlier tonight, you mentioned a woman. Amodora, I believe her name was? Is this someone that you trust? And could she also be in danger from whatever … whatever this is?”

[Private to GM: Edited. Originally I had Elsa take the weapon, but on rereading your post I am not sure if Marcel was actually offering it to her. So, I redacted that. ]
This message was last edited by the player at 09:27, Sat 10 June 2017.

Leaving the gun where Elsa left it Marcel finishes arming up with extra ammo but removes the sword.

"If we are to go to Walgreens the sword might be a bit too much."

The smirk on his face melts at Amodora's name.  Its replaced with one of consideration and a bit of confusion.  Nodding to himself he mumbles something under his breath in a slavik sounding language before nodding his head,

"She might.  Our history is complicated and she may react oddly to me showing up on her doorstep.  We have a complicated history.....still any allies might help, no?"

“Oh, I’m sorry … The way you spoke of her, I thought that … Well, you said that you had made an oath. I assumed you must be close.”

She sighs, gathering the loose strands of her hair back into a clip. “You would know better than me, my dear. My sire may also be willing to help, although knowing him … he is likely already in a bunker somewhere, awaiting a nuclear winter.”

Noticing the gun on the counter, she walks back over to take it. Slipping the weapon into her bag, she quickly makes sure that she has everything, and then steps over to the door.

She pauses at the threshold of the door. Once they left the relative safety of the apartment, she knew they were entering a war-zone. It might look like the city she had known all of her life on the surface, but beneath the polite veneer, there was death, there were monsters; and tonight the monsters were hunting her, although she still did not understand why.

Elsa looks back at Marcel to see if he is ready to go. Assuming that he is, she takes a steadying breath, and steps back outside into the hallway.

"Ah mon cheri, we mee at last.  I had thought that door would never open.  Tell me, what does the devil do when she finds herself face to face with God?"

Almost as if appearing out of thin air a well muscled, dark haired man steps out of the shadows and smiles at Elsa.  His face is beautiful but contains an almost predatory glare.  The hilt of a sword peeks out over his left should, the cross pommel lhad a red gemstone set in the middle of it.  His clothes are all dark shades and his pants some sort of tactical gear with various knives and at least two guns visible.  Though his posture is no threatening he looks on Elsa with a clear expression of disgust.

As Marcel rushes forward he steps back revealing his left hand.  There was some sort of grenade clasped there.

"Easy there servant.  I have no quarrel with either of you, but I am looking for one like you.  Tell me, do you know Amodora Cristo?  I'd very much like to discuss a few things with her?"

As he speaks Marcel pauses midstride but doesn't holster the Vector that he had swung towards the man.  As he talks Marcel tilts his head and a curious expression spreads across his face.  He doesn't speak but instead shakes his head slowly indicating the word "No".

The man looks to Elsa and raises an eyebrow...
This message was last edited by the player at 01:48, Wed 14 June 2017.

Elsa jumps, startled by the strange man on the other side of the doorway. When she notices the grenade, her eyes widen in alarm, and she backs up slightly, into the safety of the apartment and Marcel.

“I … No, I don’t know Miss Amodora.” Her voice trembles, but she was telling the truth. Elsa steels herself, drawing a breath and staring back at the man with a rather stern expression on her face. “Please, we’ve had enough trouble already tonight. If you have no quarrel with us, will you let us go?”

She sighs, steadying herself in the door as the room begins to sink lower and lower, dread creeping into the corners of her mind. “As for the Devil? God? I see neither in this room tonight … I am no demon, no monster. Only a very, very tired woman who would prefer a nice cup of tea and a garden to this ceaseless fighting …”

The man opens his hand and a white hot fire erupts from the grenade in a flash of light and power....

It's then the world seems to rewind and Elsa finds herself once more holding the phone with Isabella speaking on the other end, though her words are lost to the Oblivion of the vision.  As the fog clears Isabella's voice comes back into focus.

"You saw it, didn't you?  You must stay locked down till I get there.  I can keep you safe."

The words are reassuring in a way Elsa had never known but at the same time the emotion felt foreign...
[Private to Elsa Lamarre: roll int + occult + awareness diff 7, please]
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:19, Tue 20 June 2017.

Biting back a scream as the grenade explodes, Elsa finds herself clutching at the phone in confusion. The room spun around her — what was real? She could not distinguish the edges of her vision from reality.

“Yes, I saw it … A man, looking for Amodora … He … did he kill us?”

She stumbles backwards into the kitchen counter, gripping at the cold granite surface like a lifeline. Was she in the bunker, or somewhere else? Somewhere earlier? Her gaze frantically searches the room, trying to find something solid to land on.

[Private to GM: Uh. Whoops. Elsa Lamarre botched using 6d10 with the World of Darkness 3rd ed, Specialised system with a target of 7]

Marcel steps into her field of vision and reaches out to grab her shoulders.  Trying to get her to focus he commits a cardinal sin and looks directly into her eyes and speaks,"Breathe...in vith the good air, out vith the bad.  What did she say?  Did she threaten you?"

His concern is real and he tries to be reassuring but the gesture feels off and a wave of distrust sweeps through Elsa's head, but just as quickly it's gone though the tug of a distant voice echoes in her head, just out of reach...

“No … Yes … I don’t —“ Elsa’s bright blue eyes search Marcel’s face, uncertain in that moment whether she saw friend or foe. What was true, and what was something other? The stresses of the evening had made her once simple world much more complicated than she had the capacity to endure.

She tries to take his advice, to draw a breath, but winds up choking on the dry, decayed air in her desiccated lungs. The blood had been spent only in her vision, she could not breathe, and felt the weight of it crushing her chest.

Elsa draws back, a hand clasped to her chest. “Check your bullets. If they are sealed in wax, then at least something I saw was true … And if they are as I say, then call Lady Amodora Cristo. There is a man looking for her … He may be here already.”

Remembering the man, Elsa dashes across the room and presses herself against the flat surface of the door. Her ear rests against the cool metal, listening intently for anything that might be moving outside in the hallway - listening for any sign of approach.

[Private to GM: Using heightened senses to listen for anyone outside the door. ]

Seemingly confused Marcel pulls out his gun and slides the mag free.  Turning it over in his hand and shakes his head and slides it back in place before looking to Elsa with a questioning glance.  He holds his tongue as she presses her ear to the door and crouches low, as if ready to open fire should she indicate the need to.

At the door Elsa can feel the cold steel against her ear and can the buzz of the outside air whipping lightly against it but no sounds of someone waiting on the other side.

Staying quiet for several seconds Marcel waits patiently for a while before breaking the silence with a hushed whisper, "What is it?  Do we need to find another egress?"

[Private to Elsa Lamarre: key thing I forgot to point out, the last bit didnt feel like her typical visions do.  It was less surreal and more forced.]

With a sigh, she pushes herself back from the door and shakes her head slowly, as if clearing cobwebs off the recesses of her mind. Elsa wraps her arms tightly around herself, trying to think through the fog.

“Is it possible … Can Madame de Orssi …” Her brow furrows in consideration. These past three nights, the things she had learnt about the world in such a short time … She could do things that were once impossible. How much more, surely, could an older monster accomplish?

“I’m sorry, Marcel. I believe she was trying to waste our time … and here we are, waiting like Didi and Gogo for her to come.”

Elsa puts a hand on the doorknob. Flashes of the man with the grenade flicker through her memory, and she flinches slightly as the light from the explosion washes over her once more.

Then, she gingerly opens the door into the hallway and peers out, ready to slam the door shut again if anything more than a rat moves in the garage outside.

[Private to GM: Yeah, I thought OOC it might have been a false vision. But Elsa botched her roll, plus she has no idea someone might be able to do that. Also, she has hallucinations on top of visions, so I didn't want her to dismiss it easily. ]

"No need for that.  If she wanted us to stay she would have....no...no she wouldn't have.  She wants this quiet...damnit!  How could I be so foolish."

Shaking his head in anger Marcel heads towards the bedroom area and presses on a wall panel to reveal a rather high tech security setup.  Quickly punching some of the keys he glances towards one of the chandeliers and then towards Elsa.  "No more prying eyes.  She must of been watching to do what she has done.  Tell me, does the name Esteban mean anything to you?"

Running a hand through his hair Marcel doesn't wait for an answer but instead pulls open a large metal door and glances inside before tossing one of his guns down into the darkness.  It clatters down the concrete eventually coming to rest in the darkness.

“No, not that I recall …” Elsa quietly closes the door and returns to Marcel. Her eyes travel over the complex array of surveillance equipment, marveling at the audacity of such an arrangement.

“Why do humans have this urge, to cage a bird rather than watch it fly?” She murmurs, softly, mostly to herself. “I would have helped Isabella, happily. She and I have a kinship … Or so I thought. Why poison that, when we are all at risk from these hunters in the night?”

Elsa sighs, “Well, then … Where do we go now? What corner of the city is free of the harpy’s claws?”

"My former master, the one who made me this way...He used to say, power and fear drive one to heights of paranoia and make one do things once thought unimaginable.  Heh...he used to plant images in my head...horrible things that made me fear and shake with rage.

Now come before another with a grenade comes for us." 

Moving to the door Marcel grasps it and begins to slide it open.

Elsa looks at Marcel in horror as he describes what his ‘master’ had done in the past. Is this the world she had entered into? And if so, was there any respite? Surely this descent into depravity was a choice, rather than a certitude … Yet, the vision of herself as a rabid beast still haunted her memories. It had not happened yet, she reminded herself. It could still be averted.

“Into the Looking Glass, then.” She replies, softly. Elsa stays close to Marcel, following him into the unknown space beyond the sliding door.

"I'm sorry for what you have endured, Marcel. The way you talk about them ... masters and oaths of loyalty. Have we not left behind the time of slavery and servitude? This world is darker than I could have imagined." She sighs, a furrow on her brow. "There must be something that is kind in all of it. There must be those who have chosen a different path."

"Power is a drug and like any drug it decays your humanity.  I pray you find a vay to avoid da horrors of the night."

Smiling he finishes opening the door and steps out into the night.  Pausing for a second he seems to be listening to the wind before looking to Elsa with a perplexed look.

"Blood has been spilled near here.  Steel your beast and be prepared.  I'm not sure where but we might cross the place and you'll hear its call.  Concentrate on Sasha's token and it'll keep you safe from its clutches."

Moving forward slowly he scans the surroundings before reaching the street and once more pausing.  Looking around with a frown he kneels down and looks through a basement window of a building nearby before muttering, _{".....dear God....."}

Quickly stepping through the doorway, Elsa stays close and moves as quietly as possible - her nerves frayed and raw, exposed to whatever the elements might bring.

With a nod, she finds the pin in her handbag and clasps it tightly in the palm of her hand. The cold metal sigil felt strangely warm against her skin, and throbbed dully as a reminder of her own inhumanity. Elsa tries to focus on it, to center herself on what it represented, not what it had become. She told herself that she was not a monster, that she had a choice. For what that was worth.

When Marcel kneels beside the basement window, Elsa hesitates. Did she truly want to know what had shaken a hardened soldier? After a moment, she also kneels and looks inside. There was no sense in hiding from war, not when they seemed to be in the trenches. The pin burns in her hand, steadying her as she peers through the glass.

It takes a moment for her mind to process what it's seeing.  The window has blood splatter on it and as her eyes focus on the room she sees bodies hanging from their feet, flayed open with their organs missing.  All the heads are missing.  As she watches a man with the look of leprosy  moves to the last man still breathing and rips his chest open and begins eating the organs as the man screams in a blood curdling manner.  Slowly he drowns on his own blood...

Marcel turns away and tries to pull Elsa from the window...

Clasping a hand over her mouth, Elsa recoils from the window in horror. She tries to ignore the blood-curdling sounds of the man drowning in his own fluids, but the screams echo in her ears as she follows Marcel away, down the alley.

She stays close to Marcel, still holding the small pin in her fist. Her body trembles, a mixture of anger and fear.

“Was that … creature, the man with the deformities … Was it one of us?” Elsa asks, quietly.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:41, Sat 08 July 2017.