Liam relished his first night in the monitoring station. It was all his own. No villagers to sort out. No headstrong stoner witches to protect. Just him and his thoughts. He slept very well that night in the break room, even without a mattress.

The ghouls must have been very formidable indeed, because he didn't hear them setting up. His first inkling that something was wrong was when the night bright him back to his full senses, and he smelled a presence in the main room.

Two ghouls stood at attention at either side of the only door leading out of the monitoring station. None other than van Fokke himself was seated in an old leather chair. The sigil on the floor, same as the one he had seen on the boat, indicated he wasn't actually in the room. He was a little less pressed than he had been on the ship, but he too was newly risen.

"And here I was expecting a Nosferatu," he said, mostly to himself. "Come in, have a seat." He gestured to a folding chair across from him. The ghouls must have set it up, because Liam had never seen it before. "I know you're not supposed to give furniture as a housewarming gift, but you must admit the place is rather Spartan."

"Funny thing, so was I," Liam admitted. "But I've not seen a one of them. Its as if they've up and left."

He cast his gaze around the room before settling upon the spectre of van Fokke. "It is a little austere," he confessed. "But with a couple of throw rugs and maybe a house plant I think it has real potential."

He gripped the folding chair from behind and spun it towards him, sitting backwards across from the apex of the Tremere pyramid himself.

"Nice of you to let yourselves in. Please," he said, indicating the two ghouls with an open palm. "Make yourselves at home."

"Oh, but this is our home," van Fokke said. He looked Liam over appraisingly, and squinted. "Now, I'm sure I've seen you before, but I can't imagine where. It'll come back to me eventually. Please, refresh my memory. Mr..."

Liam met the apparition's gaze, then glanced upward at his two enforcers. "Beaumont," he said after a moment. "I don't believe we've met. I'm quite certain I would remember."

Van Fokke chuckled. "No, you're not Luc Beaumont. Close, though. It was definitely a file photo. Hm, no matter. Keep your anonymity for now."

An obsequious servant dissolved into view as he stepped into the circle. He held out a silver chalice on a platter, and van Fokke took it. Behind him, Liam could hear the ghouls pouring something. Moments later, one appeared, holding out a chalice of black ichorous liquid for Liam to take.

"As you no doubt already know, I am Noonian van Fokke," he said. "And I'm going to guess that you're the reason those two old faggots have gone back on the offensive. I'm also going to guess that your old haven is the one in Riverhead that exploded, oh, what is it, a month ago? Stop me if I'm getting warm, here."

He raised his glass to Liam, and took a sip.

"That was rather impolite, if I do say so," Liam said, eyeing the goblet distastefully. "I'd kept some very rare books and sundry personal effects there that were altogether irreplaceable."

He reached out and took the chalice, saluting the ghoul with the brim of the cup.

"I confess I rather expected we would meet eventually," he said, turning back to the apparition. "Although certainly not as I was leaving my bedchambers."

"What happens if I decline your hospitality? I presume your footmen do to me whatever it was you did to the Nosferatu?"

Van Fokke's expression lit up as Liam mentioned the rare books. He made a signal to an aide out of sight. However, he let Liam keep talking. He chuckled at Liam's question.

"No, I would sooner beat someone with a stained glass window than send two accomplished vassals into such a mismatched fight," he said. "But let's ask them, shall we?" He looked at one of his servants. "What say you? Think you could take him?"

"No sir," the vassal replied. He gave Liam an appraising squint. "A... Gangrel of his advanced age and skills would be beyond our ability to capture or kill."

"I believe you've misunderstood the purpose of my visit, sir," van Fokke continued. "If I wished to kill you, I'd have sent Witch-Hunters with them. Or I would have had them burn you while you slept, instead of furnishing your apartment, serving you rare and exotic vintages, and arranging this meeting. No, I was hoping that the person who had the audacity to make a home in my sewers would be the one who recently lost theirs. The author of this."

He stretched out a hand, and a servant placed a familiar-looking journal into it.

Liam met the ghoul's gaze briefly and wondered how much of what was said was an earnest assessment and how much was an attempt at flattery. He nodded ever so slightly as the ghoul rendered its judgement before redirecting his attention.

"I'm grateful to find myself in such civilised company then. After my first greeting you can imagine I was rather apprehensive."

As the journal came into view he glanced down at the familiar cover and absently swirled the black chalice in his grasp. "Well now, I'm pleased to see not everything burned up in the fire."

"What makes you think I'm the author and not merely a collector of antiquities?"

"A handwritten journal, written by someone who is not a professional scholar, about a topic very specific to this city," van Fokke said. "You're either the author, or you know him very well. Or you've killed him. Please, illuminate me as to the truth of the matter."

It was Liam's turn to chuckle. "Is it that apparent from my writing that I'm not a professional scholar? You can blame my poor provincial education, I suppose. I thought I managed very well, all things considered."

"There was a woman's kerchief with the book. Blue like a robin's egg. Did that survive as well, or was that of less interest to your collectors?"

Van Fokke opened the cover, and showed Liam Liza's kerchief, still pressed between the pages. "Please do not take my assessment as an insult," van Fokke said. "When scholars study, there is a regimentation to the process. It is distinct to their school of thought, and similarly distinct when there has been no formal training. You may have it back, if you like. Both the journal, and the kerchief. They are yours, after all.

He placed the book on the floor. There was a slight shimmer as the illusion became material.

"You will forgive me for making a copy," he said. "The information within has been... invaluable in my studies of the ruins. The creature that dwells below is so very alien to us. Understanding its language is a struggle, even for my most gifted scholars. And unfortunately, my brightest are needed for more important work. Those that remain at the site are bright, but well beyond their depth."

Liam stood up and stepped around the chair, crossing the distance between them as though neither van Fokke nor his ghouls were present. Stooping low he set down the chalice so that he could pick up the book and opened it carefully to the first page.

There it was. Liam reached out almost reverently and took the kerchief in his grasp, bringing it up to his nose. For hundreds of years it had sat pressed between the leather and page. It smelled of parchment, but he could almost imagine it smelled of her.

Liam smiled faintly.

"Mister van Fokke," he said, looking up at the apparition once more. "I forgive you for burning down my home. Anything else that went up in smoke pales in comparison. Some things are irreplaceable. You may keep your copy of my work with my gratitude. May it serve you better than it served me."

Van Fokke gave what appeared to be a genuine smile. "There's an expression I recognize," he said. "And envy. I forgive you your transgressions as well. The property you have destroyed, the terrorists you have abetted, and the promising young minds you have extinguished before their time. All I ask in return is for information. One of the many riddles left amid the ruins is one that I do not expect the original occupants to have transcribed. What became of them? They were, by all accounts, far more advanced than any civilization on the globe at the time of their extinction. And the bones left behind tell of a violent end. But how did their society collapse? And to what extent was their God involved?"

"How else? Greed destroyed them. Their God whispered promises into their dreams. Brother fell upon brother until none were left."

"I don't expect you care for my advice, Mr. van Fokke, but wisdom is letting those old bones lie. No good has ever come from waking those ghosts."

"My dear Mr..." He paused, and cocked his head. "Mm, no. Still not coming to me. But I'm assuming you were present for the recent... troubles with a cult built around this God? Was that, in your estimation, their mistake as well?"

This time Liam shrugged. "I could tell you that Greed is at the root of most of our failings but I would sound as though I were moralising. If anything, I would say that Pride was their downfall for thinking they would somehow escape the fate of their forebears but I was raised a Catholic and I’m given to such fatalistic interpretations.”
This message was last edited by the player at 17:31, Sun 11 Oct 2020.

Van Fokke laughed. "Oh, the Catholics," he said. "You have to admire the gall of placing feeling good about oneself being worthy of beating down into the centre of its core ruleset. I suppose it's chiefly responsible for their ability to endure despite being wholly unpopular for most of its history."

"But listen to me prattle on," he said with a wave of his hand. "When we were discussing a far more interesting little cult. And their God. What did you learn about the deity Vamanando? It was impossible to find a single engraving that didn't reference Him, but your journal mentioned Him very little. I suppose it's easy to dismiss all that religious speak when you've escaped Catholicism, eh?"

"My intention was to produce a lexicon," Liam admitted. "It was very much not intended to be a theological treatise. I had hoped to one day understand the people. I don't know that its possible to understand their deity. The creature, as you say, is utterly alien. Its consciousness is overwhelming and any meeting of minds would be as if one were to hold up a candle in the face of a driving gale."

"I must admit some confusion, Mr. van Fokke. Flattered though I am by your interest, I would have thought this expertise was already in your Chantry - curated and analysed by actual scholars and not merely the dabbling sons of peasants."

"I'm a man who consults every source when I'm doing my research," van Fokke replied. "And it's not as though I found a member of the Verdant Falls Chantry down here trying to make a haven. Though I'd be curious to know to what extent you collaborated with the Chantry, and what you think of their methods."

“Had I collaborated with the Chantry on my work it would be an awfully simple matter to put a name to my face,” Liam chuckled. “Not that I expect you won’t.”

“No, I puzzled through this on my own in quiet for many months. I can’t comment on their methods. Still this is an area where you and I agree. One can never have too many sources.”

"Indeed," van Fokke said. "And I can't thank you enough for the opportunity. Now, where were we? Ah yes, the God sleeping beneath the city. And that comment about its consciousness. How did you reach that conclusion? Did you find a way to connect with it?"

"Certainly you must be able to feel it? Its presence hangs upon the city like a miasma. Even the kine can feel It, at least some of the more sensitive souls. Like psychic static on long atavistic antennae, Its whispers never ceased. We've just become inured to them."

"I've never sought to draw Its gaze. Quite to the contrary, I initially thought to keep my distance. While Seavers presided over the ruins that was essentially mandated. But it makes no difference. We're insignificant to It, I think."

"May I ask you a question, since we are collaborating? Where you there the night Seavers died? I ask with no animosity, though I regarded him fondly. I simply wish to know what happened."

Van Fokke considered the question carefully for a moment before answering. "I'm sure if you knew Seavers, I do not need to tell you that the creature had influence over him," van Fokke replied, his face somber. "I fear that the influence that his God had over him had become too strong. He was irrational, combative, and paranoid. Prone to lashing out in increasingly erratic ways. Regretfully, I confess you would not have recognized him near the end. And much like when our kind who fall prey to our own Bestial natures, he had to be put down. For what it's worth, I regret having to do it. He took knowledge with him that I fear is lost to the world forever. Hence my eagerness to connect with you."

Liam sat down heavily upon the chair. "No, I don't think I would have recognised him at all if he was as you say," he replied. "The Seavers I knew was always collected. Courteous. Prepared."

"I cannot fathom this irrational, erratic spectre."

"I'm not sure if you knew," van Fokke said. "But the two of them spent some time... Together. I'm not sure if that's when the seed was planted, or-"

A blond-haired figure appeared at Liam's right side, as he faded into the circle. He had a dossier in his hand, which he passed to van Fokke. He was adorned in the long coat of the Tremere witch-hunters. Their ranks were denoted by arcane symbols unfamiliar to Liam, but the fact his insignia were gilded gave Liam the impression that he was highly regarded in their ranks. He smiled at Liam, but the way his eyes sized him up made him feel like he'd do well to remember his face. He had a tattoo of a number 5 in the crook between his thumb and forefinger.

"I trust that the Magus wouldn't be interrupting unless he'd determined your identity," van Fokke said, taking a moment to thumb through the document. "So why don't you introduce yourself?"

"Magus Michael Flynn," the Witch-Hunter said. "And may I say what a pleasure it is to speak to a fellow Irishman, Mr. O'Farrell."

"Admittedly I had low expectations of making it through the end of the night unknown, but I'd thought I might at least make it to the end of the conversation," Liam said with a hint of a grin. He inclined his head civilly towards the Magus. "Well spotted, Mr. Flynn, although I suppose it doesn't exactly work in my favor that there were only three gangrel active in the city during the time period in question."

"Well, that certainly didn't make it easy, regardless," Flynn replied. "Most of the records kept of the city were destroyed when Holloway left the Alhambra. And most eyewitnesses are either dead or... Uncooperative. Putting a face to the name wasn't easy either. You're younger in your photos. A bit of an oddity for a vampire, I must say. Though not entirely unexpected for someone so chummy with the Sabbat."

"Paradoxically the unwavering face in the mirror became less and less familiar over time. Eventually he seemed to me to be a stranger," Liam conceded. "I left that life behind a long time ago."

"And who among us is above a little vanity?" he said with a smile.

"It could have been worse, you know. A gangrel of my age."

"You're not wrong there," Flynn said with a chuckle. "The Beast does strange things to us all. I can't speak for the esteemed Councilor, but I find it more and more difficult to restrain myself around the Redwatch with each passing year."

van Fokke's eyes looked up from his dossier for a moment, but he said nothing.

"Well," Liam said, with a wave of his hand. "Now you know who I am. And the full litany of my transgressions is laid bare. I have genuinely enjoyed our conversation, admittedly much to my own surprise. But I sense we are approaching a conclusion. What is to become of me now?"

"Oh, I was enjoying our little chat," van Fokke replied. "But if you'd rather get straight down to business, we can do that. Would you give us the room, please?"

At his request, the two ghouls behind Liam turned to leave. Liam heard the door close behind him. Flynn, however, stayed right where he was, standing behind the Councilor's chair to his right.

"Now, Mr. O'Farrell, I am about to give you a very generous offer," van Fokke continued. "You seem like such a decent fellow, and I'm tired of being your enemy. Come work with my team in the ruins. You may take up residence here, or in the Alhambra, and you may bring with you whatever little friends you please, or even the herd you've stolen for yourself. Share with us what you know - and I know you know more than you're letting on - and I will personally guarantee your safety, and the safety of your friends. You will be generously compensated, and will want for nothing."

"That is a generous offer, Mister van Fokke. I believe you. Especially since you've been so gracious already. And for what its worth, I'm not invested in being your enemy either."

Liam paused and pursed his lips, considering the spectres before him.

"My alternative?"

"Leave the city in peace. And never return. You will not be accosted on your way out."

"Also generous," Liam acknowledged. He was silent for a moment while he considered the paths before him. "You owe me nothing, Mister van Fokke, but I would make a request all the same. May I visit the old city on my way out to pay my respects to an old associate? I needn't enter. It's not his haven any longer. I think perhaps I would prefer not to see inside."

Van Fokke seemed genuinely surprised by the request. "I suppose that would depend on who that associate is, now wouldn't it?"

"Seavers Rare Books," Liam replied, simply.

"I don't see the harm," van Fokke said. "Though I must warn you that I don't know where dear Gilbert went after his Master passed. If he doesn't have access to Kindred blood, I fear that he may have already expired."

The door opened up again behind Liam. He heard footsteps behind him. "It appears Mr. O'Farrell won't be working with us," he said to the figures in the doorway. "See that he makes his way out of the city. Via Smythe and Seavers rare books."

The hand that touched Liam's shoulder didn't belong to either of the ghouls. They'd had friends waiting outside, apparently. An icy chill went over Liam's body. His limbs felt heavy, and his brain went numb. Similar to the feeling when Robyn had stunned him. Only this didn't go away.

"Tertiary binding complete," the Witch-Hunter said to van Fokke.

"Just to make sure no harm comes to anyone," van Fokke said. "You understand. We will release it when you're clear of the city. And when you see your people, I hope you'll tell them that despite our disagreements, I'm a man of my word."

"Come, sir," the Witch-Hunter said. "Let's get you where you're going."

[Physical attributes capped at 4. No access to active or passive disciplines, blood buff or instant healing.]

Liam stood, though his head still swam from the touch of the witchfinder. He nodded at van Fokke. "Good evening, Mister van Fokke," he said. "Mister Flynn."

Turning to regard his escort he smiled faintly and then followed them from the room.

Little was said as the Witch-Hunters led him through the sewers. Sure enough, the manhole that had been tiled over was now hastily ripped open. He wasn't sure where the two ghouls went, but his escorts led him to a black SUV. Liam was ushered into the passenger seat. One of the hunters drove, while the other sat directly behind Liam, to ensure there wasn't any funny stuff.

It wasn't long until they pulled up in front of Smythe & Seavers Rare Books. The place looked abandoned, although there was no attempt to board it up. Most of the store's inventory still lay on the shelves. The two Witch-Hunters leaned on the SUV while they waited for Liam to conclude his business.

With his powers bound, escape would prove difficult. And something about the predatory look in Flynn's eyes told him it was unlikely that they'd just drop him off at the end of the evening. Especially not with what he knew.

Liam climbed out of the SUV and walked solemnly up the steps to the front door of Smythe and Seavers, laying his hand upon the grand old wooden door. It creaked beneath his touch. No one had even bothered to make sure it was sealed shut. It was a wonder the elements hadn't invaded, or the rodents and vermin that made the city their home.

Liam glanced back over his shoulder and nodded at his minders. Then he stepped through the threshold into the mausoleum beyond. The storefront smelled of old parchment and wood. Dust coated the aisles, bookshelves, and the desk where Gilbert had once stood at the ready to receive all inquiries and customers. He turned down an aisle at random, running his finger across the spines of old volumes that no one would ever read now.

Pausing at the end of the row he stopped and opened his own book back to the first page, retrieving Liza's handkerchief and raising it to his nose. Liam turned and looked down the aisle, leaning into the one power he had left.

Sense the Other. To the best of Liam's ability to tell, is he alone?

Snapping the cover shut he stuffed the kerchief into his pocket... and retrieved the small pebble lying therein. Cellphones were obvious. The signal traceable. Assamite sorcery however was not - at least Liam hoped.

Still, he assumed he was being eavesdropped upon even if his minders had had the decency to wait behind at the car. The sending stone vanished beneath his tongue as he rounded the end of the aisle and doubled back towards the desk, stopping with his hand upon it.

"Well Old Man," he said, looking up at the high shelves with a wistful smile and looking for all the world as though he were addressing the house itself. "You'll never guess who was waiting for me when I woke up tonight."

Liam rapped his knuckles against the desk and shook his head.

"Your old friend Noonian van Fokke. Seems I chose just about the worst place in Verdant Falls to lay down my head. And now I expect he'll do to me what he did to you, or perhaps to Msizi. I'm not sure which is worse."

Running his palm off the edge of the desk, Liam turned towards the back of the house and started walking.

"So I've come to say good bye. van Fokke offered me that little kindness, at least. I don't expect I'll have long. The Witchfinders outside will only be patient for so long."

Liam stepped into the back room. He spoke to two ghosts as he continued, one living and one dead.

"You were always kind to me, Mister Seavers. There for me when I needed you most. I have not forgotten."

He paused in front of the entrance to Seavers' haven proper.

"I regret that I couldn't be here the night you needed me."
This message was last edited by the player at 00:56, Fri 23 Oct 2020.

Hasan was no fool. He caught on immediately. "Hold tight," Hasan said. "We're coming to you. Ten minutes or so. Stall 'em as best you can."

It looked as though the truly occult books in the back room had been rifled through. The hidden entrance to the tunnel leading to Seavers' haven, however, wasn't open. The trapdoor remained untouched. Likely, van Fokke and his team had taken the main entrance in the ruins.

Liam stared at the concealed entrance and tapped his chin in thought. "Now how do I open the entrance to the tunnel again?" he mused. "Gilbert would have known."

"I could really do with your insight right now. You of all people would have known what to do with Pockets, and now they've gone and done the same to me," he continued. "I don't think I've ever felt quite so locked into my body as I do tonight."

There was a pause. Longer than Liam would have liked.

"There's a hidden latch in the top right corner of the third bookshelf from the left. It unlocks the second bookshelf. We'll be there as soon as we can."

The front door creaked open. "Mr. O'Farrell?" a familiar voice said. Flynn had arrived from the Alhambra. "Wondering if I can have a word with you." He had not found Liam in the backroom.

Liam fished the kerchief out of his pocket along with the spray bottle and gave it a spritz at close range, careful not to let the mist hang in the air. The spray bottle disappeared into his pocket again and the kerchief vanished up his sleeve, close to his skin. Liza might well save his life again. At least if he didn't overdose like Jack.

Ten minutes. Hasan needed ten minutes. Liam painted on a smile and reached for the top of the third bookshelf.

"Ah. Magus Flynn. I was wondering if you were going to join us," he said from the back room. "Come. I was just going to join Mister Seavers for one last drink. I'm sure a fellow Irishman would understand."

"I'll never say no to a drink," Flynn said, slipping into the back room. He leaned against the door jamb. "And I've heard that Seavers had some legendary vintages. Didn't think he kept any in his bookstore, though."

"But its not just his bookstore, is it?" Liam said, finding the catch. He felt it move effortlessly. "Its his haven."

With the path unlocked, Liam reached for the middle book shelf and swung it back.

"Your lads came in from below, but Seavers himself used this entrance as often as not. Don't worry, I know they're still hard at work down there. I have no illusions of running away."

"Come," Liam beckoned. "And Liam is fine. Between you and me, I've always found the Dutch to be very stuffy. Not nearly as formal as the two fellows waiting back at the car though."

"Since we're being so informal, why don't you call me Mickey?" Flynn said. "Those boys are all right, when they're not escorting an infamous terrorist. We've even given you a chance to know 'em. And I can't say I particularly mind the Dutch. Especially when I'm knee-deep in goose-stepping Krauts and their suburban-redneck modern counterparts all day."

He smiled widely as Liam revealed the hidden tunnel. "Well look at you," he said. "I bet you'll know where he kept the good stuff too."

"Don't get me started on the krauts," Liam said in dry acknowledgement as he turned to lead the way in. "And I knew where the good stuff was kept. As to whether its still there depends very much on how heavy handed your friends where when they came through the first time."

The walk to Seavers' Haven proper was dark. Very dark. The sconces, eternally burning with cold magic flame, had died along with their master. Without access to his supernatural powers, Liam couldn't even see his hand in front of his face.

Fortunately, Mickey had a flashlight on his smartphone. The meagre light was enough for them to make their way through the tunnel.

Once they were through, Liam immediately noticed lights in a room down the hallway to his left. The library, if he recalled correctly. Mickey was able to procure a couple of battery lamps from the Tremere's expeditionary caches. With a more reliable light source at their disposal, Liam was able to take in the cold remains of the Kiasyd's former stronghold.

The parlor was down the hall to his right, in the opposite direction to the library. Seavers' vintage vitae collection lay in the cellar beyond that. The gleaming floors and intricately formed stonework hallways looked much as they did in Seavers' time, though the lighting did them absolutely no justice. One of Seavers' homunculi stood motionless in the hallway. It was beyond Liam's ability to tell if they were now inanimate, or merely dormant.

"They say he formed this place without tools," Flynn remarked, taking in the intricate carvings. "Using disciplines and force of will alone. It's a shame madness took him."

Liam paused and glanced towards the library in passing. "Someone's burning the midnight oil in the library," he observed, his thoughts immediately going to Miss. She'd mentioned she was going to petition van Fokke to catalogue Seavers holdings. Swinging his light around he stopped short immediately upon illuminating the looming figure of the homunculus, its expression vacant and inert. It was neither fearful or pitiable. Just empty.

"He was a wilful individual," Liam concurred. "I would not be surprised if the stories are true."

"I am surprised to hear of this madness towards the end of a long and illustrious death."

Liam dragged the pool of light away from Seavers' inanimate servant and resumed course towards the parlour.

"Unless of course madness is another name for rejecting Noonian's overtures, in which case I am deeply sympathetic to Seavers because I too appear to have come down with a terminal case of madness. Practically Malkavian. Hence my determination to drink until I am sane again."

"Yeah, the boss has a couple of locals from the Chantry cataloguing his books," Flynn said, producing a pack of cigarettes and taking one out. He tossed the pack to Liam, and paused a moment as he lit his. The smoke danced over the lantern light in ghostly rays. "The man had an impressive collection, but an utterly alien sorting system. That, or someone from the Alhambra snuck in and mixed them up to make their job harder. Word to the wise: if you do end up working with us, don't get on van Fokke's shit list. He's not above petty shit like that. Let's leave 'em be."

Flynn headed down the hallway with Liam towards the parlour at a leisurely pace. "This is the room where it happened. I can walk you through how it went down, but... Let's get a couple drinks in us first, eh?" He produced a hip flask, took a sip, and tossed it over to Liam. It smelled like Jack's Own, but the flask's mouth was too narrow and the lighting too poor to see inside.

He seemed genuinely offended by Liam's allegations. "Hey man, you'd be stupid to believe everything he tells you, but I can personally attest to that fact. I was the one who told van Fokke he was off his nut."

He threw the doors of the parlour open, and with an impressive display of accuracy and speed, he threw a whirling ball of fire clear across the immense drawing room. The fireplace sprang to life, bathing the entire room in its glow. "He wanted to let that thing out of its cage. I was keeping an eye on him, and I found out."

The struggle that had ended Seavers' life had painted its proof all over the drawing room
Seavers' ethereally comfortable chairs lay on their backs, one shredded with claws, and the other with a scorch mark in the middle of its backrest. Tables were up turned, bookshelves broken and spilled, and the stone floors scuffed and scratched. Plenty of blood, too. Any ashes, if they had indeed been present had been respectfully cleaned up.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:32, Thu 29 Oct 2020.

Liam paused and held his lamp up for Mickey to light his cigarette. He'd been resisting the urge to do the same out of respect to Seavers, but now that a pack had been placed in his hands he found it difficult to abstain. The need to light his way forward meant that he was short a hand to hold everything that had been offered to him and he could do little more than salute Michael with the flask and raise it to his lips in the half light of the corridor before handing it back off.

"Dark as a tomb in here," he muttered as Michael threw back the doors. When the hearth burst into flame his eyes went wide.

"Christ almighty," he whispered. "You two weren't kidding around."

Liam was a few moments drinking in the scene before he spoke again, without turning to look at his escort.

"Seavers had spent decades safeguarding Its prison. Longer. I wonder what caused him to reconsider at long last..." he said faintly.

"That much I couldn't tell you," Mickey said with a shrug. "Same emanations came up as when the Third Tribe was active. Same scratchings at the door. When he started putting out feelers for the Tome, well, I had to act. And I'll tell you this much, he sure didn't order just the two of us to come. Let's crack that cellar door, though. Let's have some Fae blood, in honour of the old man."

He took a large swig from his flask, then tossed it back to Liam. There was an equally generous portion in reserve. "You can kill it," he said.

Liam caught the flask and eyed the neck. "Jack knows his way around a bottle of bourbon, but even he can't compare with the wine of the Gods."

"Sláinte," Liam said, tipping the drink back. He hoped Mickey didn't spike his own drink. If he did it was up to Liza now to keep him safe.

Liam handed back the flask and wiped his mouth. "Lets open the cellar."

Mickey followed Liam to the cellar. It had been largely picked over, but there were still a few bottles left. Fortunatel, Seavers didn't keep any mediocre bottles. After a moment of searching they managed to procure two bottles of Fae blood. Pooka for Liam, and Sidhe for Mickey. He pulled the cork out with his teeth, and took a long draught.

"How 'bout you sleep this off at the Alhambra?" he said as they made their way back up to the parlour. "We can take you where you're going tomorrow night. And gives you a taste of the life you'll be passing up."

"A lot of eyes in the sky tonight," Hasan said, in his mind. "All of them on you. Mooks, too, looking out their windows. Exfil is gonna be a bitch."
This message was last edited by the player at 04:58, Thu 29 Oct 2020.

Liam laughed. "It's a good life, I'm sure," he replied. "Very tempting." He stared into the depleted liquor cabinet looking for a very particular bottle. Hopefully it had gone unnoticed amidst the pillaging. Coming away with his trove in hand, he righted the chair with the scorch-mark in the back. Seavers' chair.

Liam toasted Mickey and sunk down into the seat. "To Seavers," he said, drinking directly from the bottle for want of a glass that had not been shattered into a thousand crystal shards. Fae blood was like no other vitae Liam had ever tasted.

"I won't say no," he said at last. "We'll see where the night takes us."

"Tell me how it happened, Mickey," he said, gesturing around the room.

Saulot's blood was, unfortunately, nowhere to be found. It was either taken by the Tremere, or had been secreted away somewhere Liam wasn't familiar with.

The Fae blood tickled as it worked its way down his throat. He began to feel giddy. Playful, even. Sparking lights worked their way around the room, dancing in the shadows. He wasn't sure if he was hallucinating, or merely seeing something previously unseeable.

Mickey took a pull off his own bottle and shivered. "Oof, that's the stuff," he remarked. He walked around the room as he spoke, starting with near the door.

"So when I told van Fokke what I expected, he called us all in. Every last Magus under his command. Even flew in others from nearby posts. Nine of us in total, not counting the man himself."

"We marched up to Seavers' front door and demanded an audience. He allowed van Fokke to enter alone, while the nine of us waited above ground. I'm not privy to the conversation that took place, but it's my understanding that he Bound Seavers, and was hoping to give him the Black Chalice. This would have bent the Kiasyd to his will, and ultimately spared his life."

"However, Seavers was not so easily defeated. Though Bound, he still put up a formidable fight. And unlike it does with the Gangrel, the binding didn't take away his claws. Van Fokke was losing, and he called out to us. We stormed the haven, and found them locked in combat."

"He ordered us to kill Seavers, which I'm sure you can appreciate is not an order I can or would refuse. We unleashed hell upon him. He still managed to slay two of our numbers before we finally reduced him to ash."

He took another long pull. "I hope you know he died well. No begging, no cowardice. He fought tooth and nail 'til the end."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:13, Fri 30 Oct 2020.

Liam was silent for a few moments after Mickey concluded. He sat pensively staring into the hearth, and swirled the contents of his bottle. "I expected nothing less of Seavers," he said, breaking the still at last.

"Though until I sat down in this chair and heard you retell it, part of me still believed he'd somehow escaped. I always thought he was prepared for everything."

He took a sip of the fae blood.

"I know you can't refuse an order. I don't begrudge you that."

"I don't think I would have made a very good Tremere," Liam said, musing over his wine. "For a number of reasons, obviously. Not least of which is that I was never a very good student. But more to the point I think it would have made me a deeply cynical soul."

"Although I'm not sure I've been a very good Gangrel either, come to think of it. I can't seem to leave this city well enough alone."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:44, Fri 30 Oct 2020.

"Nobody told me unlife was just one big bureaucracy," Flynn said. "And the Tremere's one of the worst. Don't get me wrong, it's got its perks, but it's pretty open about it being one big pyramid scheme."

He took another sip from his bottle. "Now I can't say I disagree with you about the Gangrel. You may have been on the other side of things, but at least you stayed. I don't have much respect for a clan that pulls up its stakes, and turns its back on a conflict. You put your own convictions ahead of your clan. That, I respect."

"What about you?" Liam asked. "I realise the constraints placed upon you by the pyramid make it so you don't have any choice in the matter - you don't get to pick your side the way I do. But would you still be here if you could?"

"Is this..." Liam gestured broadly, encompassing far more than just the ruined salon the pair now occupied. "The vision?"

"You served," Mickey said. "Did you agree with all the methods your side was using? Did you think that everyone on the other end of your bayonet deserved to die? Would it have mattered? You did what you did, like a good soldier. And that was without a blood bond."

He raised the bottle to his lips, and drained it. He gestured for Liam to flow him back to the cellar for more. As he filled his arms, he continued to talk. "I spent the war in deep cover with the OSS," he said. "Working, living, and breaking bread with the cream of the SS crop. Not all of them were monsters - though many were. But when the time came to kill them, I never hesitated." he popped the cork on another bottle of Fae blood, and passed it to Liam.

"I won't lie to you and say I'm happy to be working alongside them now," he continued, setting the extra bottles down in the parlor. He opened another one for himself. "Of course, that pales in comparison to how they feel about serving under Teufel Nummer Fünf. I was a ghost story among their ranks. I must say it makes it a little easier being in their presence knowing the fear and rage my presence summons up."

"It wasn't actually the SS I was referring to," Liam replied, following obediently behind and taking the bottle from Mickey's hands. "As objectionable as I find them to be, they're still just a means to an end. A particularly brutish page in the same book that the Camarilla has been penning for a thousand years."

"Its the Fugue. You're right. I was a good soldier. I did what was asked of me. No one compelled me to do what I did. I think it would have been so much worse if someone had."

"This isn't the same book anymore, Mickey. Its not a means to an end. It is an end. Perhaps the end. Maybe not of us, but I'm not sure that really matters. This new world - it scares the hell out of me."

"I don't know if you're keeping up on current events," Mickey quipped. "But the world is ending just fine without us. If the plague doesn't wipe them out, it'll be a footrace between climate change and nuclear war."

He draped himself across the slashed armchair, and stared at his bottle thoughtfully. "But I get what you mean. The Fugue scares me too. The idea of controlling the kine is like something the Sabbat would have dreamed of. It's not far removed from their own warped philosophy. But what's the alternative? I really don't know what you're fighting to preserve, because the Masquerade is all but gone. We live in a world without secrets now, and I don't know how much you know about what's going on with social media, but the evidence that we exist is already in circulation. The only thing that's stopping the truth from getting out is a sad pack of Technocrats and the Kine's own disbelief."

"Yeah, the Boss' plan isn't perfect. But the only alternative is extinction. Because once the outside world wakes up to the fact that vampires walk among them, they're going to come after us with a fury that'll make the Spanish Inquisition look like a tea party. Can you imagine what that maniac down south and his unwashed rabble will do when they have vampires to blame all their problems on?"

"I got eyes on your two escorts outside," Hasan said. "Just waiting for Jacob and Tyr to get into position."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:01, Mon 02 Nov 2020.

"I'm not fighting to preserve anything," Liam remarked over the neck of his second bottle of the night. "The Masquerade is a lumbering corpse that has simply refused to lie down. Its days were numbered from the very beginning and the most charitable thing that could be said about it was that it bought us time to plan for what came next. But if this is the best we can come up with then I'd contend it was a mistake from its first inception. Or a squandered opportunity."

"This isn't about Camarilla versus Sabbat any longer. Its not about Kindred versus Kine. Its the idea that we have free will - freedom of conscience and self determination - or we do not. If the kine were to get wise and nuke Verdant Falls into the ground before Noonian put his plan into effect, I wouldn't fault them. Those are stakes worth fighting for."

Liam took a swig from his bottle.

"And besides, when the curtain comes down we wont be the only ones standing in the spotlight. The fera will be there alongside of us. The wizards. The wraiths. God knows humanity can't fight all of the dead. I've been to the Shadowlands. It would only feed upon their misery."

"There will be a reckoning to be sure, but we have endured for millennia. I wouldn't be so quick to count us out, Mickey. You're forgetting in the age of the Inquisition, humans clung tight to a burning and inflexible Faith. They worship a new god now. Capitalism. And flexibility is inherent to its domination of the globe."

"I tell you, I'd rather be facing down a pack of frothing religious zealots than a cabal of greedy plutocrats," Flynn mused. "I must say I dread the idea of 'coming out' without the Fugue because of what corporations are gonna do to us. Mandatory Vampire Testing, for a start. They'll probably develop testing for ghouls, too. But that's not what really horrifies me. Imagine what they're going to do when they figure out we're a workforce that's practically indestructible, doesn't age, and that the rest of the world by and large wouldn't miss. The only work we'll be able to get will be the jobs Kine can't or simply don't want to do. I hope you like 36 hour shifts in an airless mine. Or walking the bottom of the ocean looking for salvage."

"I'm not afraid of final death. That slow death they've created for themselves, and force everyone - be it through starvation, incarceration, or indoctrination - to sign over their lives to. I'd rather sit and watch the sun rise than dance that merry jig. The Fugue is going to end all that. Imagine how the world would be if tomorrow, all the billionaires of the world gave their wealth over to social programs. If all the governments of the world stopped quarreling and started co-operating. If everyone in the world stopped struggling to survive and started doing what they do best?"

"You're probably too busy trying to end the atrocities that you haven't taken in the successes. We've ended poverty, theft, domestic abuse, substance abuse, rape and murder. Never mind that we've had a whopping twenty real cases of COVID-19 since the outbreak began. All traceable back to one of your organization's ghouls, I might add. Every child is driven to excel, they're directed towards their aptitudes and passions, and their material needs are met for their entire lives. The price they pay for that is small compared to the gains."

"Mickey, they live in terror," Liam replied over the top of his bottle. "Constant, abject, unremitting terror. You can see it behind their glassy eyes. This world that has been crafted for them is a waking nightmare, not a utopia. They know what's going on and they're helpless to escape it. They get dragged from their homes at a whim to entertain Redwatch patrols. Family and friends disappear randomly and without explanation into the night. Every passing day they must wonder who among them will be next."

"What does it matter if the kine commit no murders if the Vozhd feasts night after night? You could just as well claim to end human misery by killing the lot of them. You won't have actually solved anything, just taken an axe to the denominator."

"And how does a child even know what their passions are? Aptitudes, fine, testing can tell you anything - but passion is the pursuit of the heart. You're an Irishman, Mickey. We’re the most passionate fucking people on this earth. The heart was never meant to be caged."

Liam stopped and took a swig from his bottle. He could feel the heat in his blood, even if he couldn't touch his essence.

"Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity."

He looked up at Mickey, pausing at the end of the first stanza. Every Irish son had been taught Yeats in grammar school. Liam had learned this particular poem later in life, it having been written two years after his death but he knew it by heart, and he was willing to bet that Michael Flynn knew the rest of it.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:21, Fri 13 Nov 2020.

Mickey smiled wide as Liam recited the stanza. When he was finished, Mickey craned his neck back, and breathed out slowly. He stared at the ceiling, limp across the ruined chair. "You've got a bit of a rep for being a convincing sonofabitch," he said. "But my files don't do you justice. I'm beginning to see why van Fokke didn't want me to talk to you. Dirty pool pulling out Yeats."

He lit another cigarette, and tossed the pack back to Liam. "He wanted you dead, you know," he said. "But I'm convinced the operation needs some new blood. The Council is completely divorced from their empathy, and I... can't voice any dissent. But if the Fugue is going to endure, the kine have to want to be a part of it. Just because we don't have the luxury of giving them a choice doesn't mean they shouldn't be happy with the arrangement."

"Rest assured, I'm as appalled by the Redwatch's behaviour as anyone. And when the time comes that they've outlived their usefulness, I hope you're around to help me dispatch every last one of them. And as soon as the COVID incompatibility issue is solved, our experimentation losses will cease - though I fear your efforts to hobble our development may have ultimately increased the body count in that regard."

"What is currently slouching towards Bethlehem can't be stopped," he added. "What I'm offering you, among other things, is an ability to help shape its form."

"Ready to take out the two by the bookstore," Hasan said. "The go word is 'Beast.'" Hasan knew his Yeats, too.

Liam reached for the pack and drew out another cigarette. The room was hazy with smoke now. "Mickey, my son, just imagine all the trouble I could have caused if it had been a blue blood ventrue stalking the Somme in '17 instead of my bastard of a sire." He laughed and let out a plume from his lungs.

"I know you can't dissent," he voiced in understanding. "I know. Though if Noonian wanted me dead, I expect I have you to thank for talking him into this welcome reprieve. A last chance to talk some sense into me."

Liam took a sip and met Michael's gaze over the top of his bottle. "I thought it was too good to be true that I should be dropped at the edge of the city and simply cut loose. So lets have it," he said, beckoning with his fingers. "We're both old soldiers. What are your orders? And what are you offering? The good and the bad."

Mickey blanched a little, and took another swig before he answered. "I'm to recruit you," he said. "By any means necessary. I'm hoping you'll take the carrot, so I don't have to use the stick."

Liam took another long pull on his cigarette. "I suppose that ride to the edge of the city is out of the question then," he said, letting it out. "It doesn't seem like I have much choice in the matter apart from negotiating what colour band I get to wear. And yellow has never really been my colour."

He paused, drumming his fingers on the glass of his bottle.

"This, charm," he said, gesturing with his fingers. "This tertiary binding. How long must I endure being locked into one form?"

The Fae blood was now coursing readily through Liam's veins. He felt daring, careless, and brash. He was particularly tickled by the dramatic irony of his own situation - both with regards to the handkerchief and his hidden rescue team. The glimmering dancing through the air was now a dazzling light show. Shimmering vines bearing lantern fruits crept their way up the columns of Seavers' Grand Hall, and formed a mesh of broken fractals on the high vaulted ceilings. The chair beneath him breathed as it bore him, silent and stoic as an ox.

"If it's any consolation, you won't be drafted into the Redwatch," Mickey said with a smirk. "They have their own recruitment process, and you'll be working with the Tremere. You'll be directly under me, too, so you'll have some clout. Most of us ain't bad, and we're a fair sight better than taking orders from Nazis.

He drained the last of the second bottle. The fae blood was beginning to affect him, too. He stared at the ceiling, taking in the same display as Liam. "As for the binding, that depends on how things go down. If you come willingly, it'll stay on until I am convinced you're not gonna murder your way out. Take the Black Chalice and you'll probably get away with having it off sooner. We'll be taking the car to the Alhambra either way, though. I wanna pick your brain."

"Mickey, Mickey, Mickey," Liam said, lounging back in his chair with his head lolled to better view the hallucinations plaguing his vision. "There's no poetry in this new world of yours... no poetry..."

The bottle fell from Liam's grasp and clattered to the floor.

"And what rough beast, its hour come round at last..." he paused and smiled wistfully.

"I supposed we'd best slouch off towards the car then."

"Hey now,“ Mickey said. He got unsteadily to his feet and drained the last of the bottle. "There's even more room for the arts in our world than in this one. When's the last time poets were allowed to be poets under capitalism?"

He uncorked another bottle and took a swig. Then he passed it to Liam. He shoved another under his arm for the road. "You say you've looked into their eyes and seen the fear. Have you stopped to consider that what you're seeing is their fear of you? Or their fear of how the Fugue forces them to act when they're around you? You see these calm, placid sheep walking around in a trance and you think it's always like that. When we aren't around, most of 'em just... Go about their lives. And those lives are a lot less complicated now. I'm sure the racists and pedophiles and wife-beaters are all screaming inside because they can't act how they wanna act, but... Fuck' em."

He looked up at the light show one last time. "You know, if you wanted I bet I could arrange for you to live here, instead of the Alhambra," he said. "You could make it your own."
This message was last edited by the player at 14:58, Fri 27 Nov 2020.

Liam grunted. He was drunk and he had no witty rejoinder at the ready. Mickey had his points, certainly. Liam just couldn't get himself around the bigger picture, and in his heart he still strongly felt he was in the right.

He paused, bottle in hand, before the homunculus, and stared up into its vacant eyes. With fey blood coursing through his veins, if ever Seavers' steward were to make its presence felt now was the time - even if it was just a trick of his own imagination.

"I don't know. I feel as though I'd always be trespassing," he slurred after a few moments. "Its a sight nicer than the sewers though, believe you me."

"Better someone he cares about than some undead aristocrat five or so decades down the line," Mickey said. "Don't need to answer right away. We won't be done with it for a few months. Either way you'll be getting cozy at the Alhambra for a while. I suspect the boss will want to have you on hand to answer any questions that come up. I got more than a few, too."

He wobbled toward the door. "This Fae stuff should make for an interesting limo ride home," he said, mostly to himself. He gestured at the Open doorway. "After you."

Liam hiccuped and nodded in appreciation. "Thank you, sir," he said, stepping out into the brisk air of the evening with a bottle in hand and a cigarette on his lip.

The walk back to the car was spent mostly in silence. The long dark tunnel from Seavers' haven to the bookstore was much easier to navigate, adorned as it was by the same luminous vines that snaked their way across the ceiling of the great hall. The shorter of the two Witch-Hunters - not the one who had cast the binding - had moved into the bookstore. He was checking his tie in the window glass. He turned as the two appeared from the back.

"What, you got a date tonight?" Mickey quipped.

"No, sir," the Witch-Hunter replied. "Just want to look my best when we walk him in."

"Hes public enemy number five," Mickey said. "One of the architects of the VFU massacre. You could walk him in wearing a pink tutu for all the boss cares. Step lively. Assholes and elbows."

With that, he led Liam outside. The SUV had been joined by a stretch limousine. The taller Witch-Hunter grinned widely as they appeared. The limo driver stood dutifully by the rear door, and opened it as Mickey approached.

There was no sign of Hasan, or his rescue.

Mickey gestured to the limousine. "Your chariot awaits."

"What, only number five?" Liam inquired, ambling towards the open door and managing to walk a commendably straight line. "I've been dragging my heels evidently. Who's number four?"

"The Nagarajah with the iron mask," Mickey said, avoiding the name like a curse. "Fucker's a blight. We've had a bit of a tech problem all over the city for the better part of a decade. Turns out that... Thing can just murder a piece of electronics with its brain and its been behind it all along. Also, it eats a lot of Redwatch ghouls. Like, one every coupla weeks, depending on the size of the last one he bagged."

"Uh, sir, should we be telling him this?" the short one said. He gestured for his partner to follow. The boss was faced.

Mickey gave him a scathing glance, and shuffled over as the other two piled into the back. As soon as the door was closed, he banged twice on the roof and the vehicle began to move. Mickey sat next to Liam, facing forward. The tall one sat across from him, and the privacy screen was closed. As they rolled towards the Alhambra, Mickey continued.

"The new bloods, they don't even bother engaging it anymore. They'll just watch as it melts out of nothing, snaps their buddy's neck, and drags the corpse into a shadow. Ever see a herd of antelope? Kinda like that. They've figured out there's nothing that can do that won't just feed it more."

"My theory is that there's nothing behind the mask," the short one said. "Just a mouth with no face."

"Don't mythologize the enemy," the tall one said. "He's just a really fucked up old vampire that eats instead of drinks blood."

"Oh, you're no fun anymore," the short one said. His hand moved faster than Liam could see. In an instant, it was at the tall one's chest. The handle of a stake driver was clutched in his closed fist. The stake had already found its mark. A look of complete surprise was frozen across the tall one's face

Mickey was operating on a full Kindred constitution, and as a consequence the wine had not hit him nearly so hard as it had Liam. Even inebriated as he was, he was still a Witch-Hunter elite. He had answered with a blast of wild magic, hitting the short one in the ribs.

Liam's options were limited, trapped as he was in his own body, and he knew it. He possessed no weapons to speak of that could harm another vampire and throwing himself between Mickey and Hasan (as Liam presumed) was not only futile but foolish. About the only thing he could do was buy Hasan time by disorienting the bonded Tremere. Liam's hand found the spray bottle in his pocket. Drunk as he was, misting a seated man in an enclosed space was hardly a challenge.

Mickey's own words echoed in Liam's headed, given added life by the fae blood coursing through his veins.

"Not all of them were monsters - though many were. But when the time came to kill them, I never hesitated."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:52, Mon 30 Nov 2020.

The spray certainly succeeded in disorienting Mickey. The short Witch-Hunter took the opportunity to produce a katar from his coat, and plunge it into Flynn's chest. His hand moved much more slowly than the last time, and it was his turn to be surprised.

Mickey did the only prudent thing he could do in such a situation. He opened the door and rolled out.

"God dammit," the short one said. His features melted away, revealing Hasan in an ill-fitting uniform. He slapped the privacy screen and shouted. "Step on it, we're blown!"

Liam looked out the open door at the fallen figure of Mickey rolling away into the night, and wondered what fresh hell he'd just unleashed. "Hasan, he's been sprayed," he slurred. Presumably Hasan had watched him do just this but in his inebriated state Liam felt this bore repeating.

"Fuck me."

He looked to the other witchfinder for help, but witchfinders didn't carry guns. They didn't need them.

The privacy screen slid down, and the ghoul looked back through the rear view mirror. His eyes were wide with fear. "W-w-where we going, mister?"

"North," Hasan said, pulling a high-calibre revolver from his coat. "We make for the trees." He looked at Liam. "Unless you've got a better idea."

Liam turned away from the road and closed the door sharply. They'd already drawn too much attention to the woods as it was. He wasn't about to bring any more heat down on the village if he could help it, and he didn't have a hope in hell of outrunning the gangrel scouts like this.

"Where are the remaining choppers parked?" He could fly now. At least, on a simulator.

"If they're not in the air now, I imagine they're about to be scrambled," Hasan said. "That fucker bound me, so disappearing is out." He fished an earpiece out of his pocket, and grabbed another for himself.

"I... I can get us underground," the limo driver said. "I know a parking garage with access to public works."

"They'd follow us in, but we'd still have a better chance of losing 'em than topside," Hasan said. "We can also try Nex. I'd have owing that creep a favour though."

He placed his radio in his ear. "How we lookin' boys?"

"You got two inbound," Jacob said over the earpiece. "A third's going for that Witch-Hunter, probably going to mean more action soon. Speaking of which, I got a clear shot at him. I can take it, but it'll give away my position."

"Your call, Liam," Hasan said. He opened the sunroof and cocked the revolver. "I got some hunting to do."

Liam caught the driver's eye in the rear view mirror. "Take us there," he said with a confidence he wasn't sure he truly felt. Hasan was right, it would be easier to lose their tail in the public works than out in the open. Liam lurched forward in the cabin and threw open the staked witch hunter's coat, patting down his pockets for anything of use.

"Hold your shot, Jacob," he said over the microphone. "I'm pretty sure we'll still need you in reserve."

The Witch-Hunter had a stake driver of his own on his person, as well as a pouch filled with strange herbs and magical reagents. As the driver sped and wove through the streets, he spied Liam looking for a weapon.

"There's a gun in the trunk," he said helpfully. "Look behind the armrest."

There was indeed a small access hatch behind the central armrest. A high-calibre battle rifle - doubtlessly lojacked - was resting securely in a rack.

Hasan fired off two rounds. "One down," he said.

Liam nodded at the helpful ghoul as he pulled out the rifle and checked the magazine. "What's your name?" he asked, rolling down the window so he could join Hasan in fending off their pursuers.

"Ted Givens," the limo driver said.

Liam poked his head out the window just in time to see one of the scouts blasted apart in a bloom of feathers. The second scout was far more agile, shifting shape in midair and landing claws-first on the hood of the car. Ted cried out, and swerved a little. The Gangrel's Haze was fixed on the driver as he reached for his sidearm.

"Pleased to meet you, Ted," Liam said as he unloaded the battle rifle from near point blank range at the scout. Even drunk and bound he was a solid shot.

2 successes.
01:59, Today: Liam O'Farrell rolled 2 successes using 6d10 with the World of Darkness 3rd ed system with a target of 7 with rolls of 9,5,1,10,9,4.  Dex + Firearms - 2.

The gun was already in the Gangrel's right hand when Liam opened fire. He bucked back as the shots raked across his chest, and his grip on the hood loosened. Ted made a hard left, and the Gangrel was tossed clear. The roar of engines and whirling of chopper blades warned of reinforcements speeding their way, They were, for the moment, clear of pursuers. Ted took the opportunity to veer into an underground lot beneath a hulking skyscraper.


As they wound down the floors of the parking structure, Hasan climbed down from the sunroof.

"I doubt the lojack signal can reach down here," Hasan said. "But it won't take them long to figure out where it dropped off. We're gonna lose the radio, too."

"No big," Pockets said over the earpiece. "Liam knows those sewers like the back of his hand."

"Just let us know where you're going to surface and we'll make our way there," Jacob said.

"I ditched the patrol car at the edge of town," Liam said, offering up whatever landmarks he could provide to help get them there. "We'll try to make for that. There's extra arms in the back should we need them."

And should we get there in one piece...

"What are we doing with this lug?" he asked in regards to the witch hunter.

Failure. Looks like we have company in the sewers.

11:26, Today: Liam O'Farrell failed (no successes) using 8d10 with the World of Darkness 3rd ed system with a target of 7 with rolls of 1,10,8,5,1,3,2,3.  Wits + Survival.

"Let's take him with," Hasan said, throwing the staked vampire over his shoulder. "Maybe I can convince him to lift the curse. You know how persuasive I can be." He peered at the man's face. "That's assuming I bagged the right one. Plenty we can get out of him either way. Watch yourself though. He can still hear us."

Liam was canny in the layout of the sewers - moreso than any other kindred alive in the city. Those that entered the sewers behind them were hopelessly lost trying to track them. However, the Redwatch had many agents, and the sewers had many entrances. It was impossible to avoid them all.

Fortunately for Liam, Hasan heard the patrol coming. He signalled to Liam and Ted to halt, and seek cover at a sharp turn. The patrol was moving down the tunnel toward them. There was not enough cover to move past them undetected - shallow niches in the wall provided only partial cover and wouldn't render them invisible, but they would have the advantage of surprise.

Hasan lay out the Witch-Hunter in the middle of the tunnel to draw their attention. Judging from the footsteps, there were two of them. Hasan confirmed this by holding up two fingers. He passed his revolver to Ted, and drew his second katar. He melted into the darkness. Even without his powers, he was stealthy.

The two Redwatch took the bait. One rushed to the downed Witch-Hunter, slinging his battle rifle as he did so.

The other was obviously not familiar with subterranean combat, and had very stupidly entered an underground firefight armed with a grenade launcher. The bulky cylindrical magazine indicated the launcher held multiple rounds, but it would only take one to bring the tunnel down and kill them all.

There was only a moment to act. In a moment the two would look up and notice Liam or Ted pressed into the walls.

Liam thumbed the fire selector to a three round burst and levelled his sights on the grenadier. The muzzle flash and staccato report announced his presence with a vengeance, but all three rounds found their mark. Hopefully it was enough.

Spending 1WP because this night needs to end.
3 success on the shot
6 successes on the damage dropping 1s

19:39, Today: Liam O'Farrell rolled 3 successes using 12d10 with the World of Darkness 3rd ed system with a target of 6 ((8,5,5,1,8,9,7,1,2,1,7,9)).

19:38, Today: Liam O'Farrell rolled 2 successes using 6d10 with the World of Darkness 3rd ed, Specialised system with a target of 7, rerolling 10s.  Dex + Firearms + WP -2 ETOH.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:51, Sun 13 Dec 2020.

The grenadier was staggered by Liam's shots, harmed but not grievously. Ted followed Liam's example, and squeezed off a round at the man with the grenade launcher. He missed completely.

The man kneeling by the staked Witch-Hunter unsung his rifle and aimed at the greater perceived threat. He didn't notice Hasan stalk up behind him and stab his partner. Unfortunately, Hasan's blow was a glancing one. As the rifleman shot at Liam, his companion roared, and spun around. He struck Hasan on the bridge of the nose with the butt of the grenade launcher. Hasan's pride was wounded more than he was.

The rifle's shot landed in Liam's shoulder. The wound was not severe, but it was a painful reminder that he was no longer bulletproof.

"Christ almighty," Liam spat, startled by the force of the blow. It had been a long time since a glancing shot had given him pause, and he could scarcely afford it now. He squeezed the trigger again sending another burst volley centre mass.

4 successes on the attack, spending another WP. 5 damage dropping 1s, of which I am rolling plenty tonight.

21:04, Today: Liam O'Farrell rolled 2 successes using 13d10 with the World of Darkness 3rd ed system with a target of 6 ((4,10,8,9,8,1,1,5,3,3,4,8,1)).

21:03, Today: Liam O'Farrell rolled 3 successes using 5d10 with the World of Darkness 3rd ed, Specialised system with a target of 7, rerolling 10s.  Dex + Firearms -3, WP.

The grenadier took a bullet to the back as Liam fired. He staggered, and gave Hasan an opening. He ran his blade up under the Grenadier's jaw. He fell to the ground, likely torpid and not truly dead.

Ted fired again. This time his shot actually landed, even if it was just a glancing blow to the rifleman's arm. The Redwatch agent switched his target, taking a shot at Ted. Ted pressed flat into the niche, and the shot went wide.

Liam swung the battle rifle around and fired a volley dead centre into the rifleman. The magazine was running light but he figured he had at least another burst or two left should it come to it.

22:42, Today: Liam O'Farrell rolled 8 successes using 10d10 with the World of Darkness 3rd ed system with a target of 6 with rolls of 7,10,6,10,7,8,4,9,9,3.  Damage.

22:42, Today: Liam O'Farrell rolled 1 success using 5d10 with the World of Darkness 3rd ed system with a target of 7 with rolls of 9,4,2,6,4.  Dex + Firearms -3.

Liam's shots landed center mass, and Ted struck another glancing blow. This was enough to distract the rifleman from Hasan's approach. This time his backstab landed. The rifleman slumped forward, torpid.

Hasan scooped up the prisoner without delay and made for the exit. As they climbed up the manhole, the radio started coming through again.

"We're coming topside," Hasan reported.

"The car is clear," Jacob said. "Tyr is making a mess across town, but they don't seem to be taking the bait."

"There's a roadblock on the highway out of town," Pockets said. "Better go up the logging road via the Iron Graveyard."

"That works for me," Hasan said. "Better drop me off at the hideout with my quarry. I don't think Tart 'n' Tiny is gonna be too happy to see me. Especially while I'm wearing a Tremere stole."

The car was parked under the shade of an elm tree. Nothing stood in between them and escape.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:45, Sun 13 Dec 2020.

"Give me a moment," Liam said, pressing the battle rifle into Ted's hands. "I'll make for the car. If no one comes to intercept, you follow. There's a Faraday bag in the back. We'll bag the grenade launcher and strip it later."

"And Ted, you're driving. I'm still drunk."

Scrambling out of the culvert, Liam broke for the door of the cruiser and prayed to God no one was watching.

Jacob's intel proved accurate. The trio made it to the cruiser unaccosted. There was plenty of time to put the launcher in the bag when he and Hasan were crouched in the backseat. The staked Witch-Hunter was poised in the passenger seat, serving as an effective deterrent for any Redwatch who may have considered pulling them over.

Their first stop was Hasan's hideout in the Iron Graveyard. Ted parked under a rotting overpass, and Hasan worked at unloading their prisoner.

"You sure know how to throw a party, Liam," Hasan said. "But until we figure out this curse, don't count on me for much. I think I'm on the DL right along with Pockets."

"Christ, do I ever," Liam concurred. He was starting to sober up. A little. "You can start by purging his bonds to the pyramid and then binding him to you or Jacob. Make him release the curse. But I'll talk it over with the boss when I get back."

He reached out to embrace Hasan. "Thank you. I'd say I owe you one, but I think right now we're square," he said with a wink. "I guess I'm done looking for a haven in Verdant Falls. At least for now."

Hasan returned the embrace, before hoisting the Witch-Hunter on his shoulders. "I'll let you know how things are progressing, but I have a feeling you'll know when he lifts the curse. I'm more worried about what I'm gonna do with myself. Miss ain't gonna want to lift a finger to help me out."

He shifted the weight on his shoulders, and made off on the short trek to his hideaway. Ted waited patiently in the car.

"You better hurry home, Liam," Pockets said over the radio. "They just sent your photo out over the wire. Mooks aren't going to be so placid towards you anymore. Plus... something's up with Robyn. I'll tell you more in private."

"I can talk to Miss. Merry Christmas, Hasan. Stay safe."

Liam turned back towards the car and nodded at Ted to take the wheel. "We're on our way back. See you soon."

Mercifully, the drive home was uneventful. They headed up the old logging road, and through the burned skeletons of the forest that the Redwatch had ravaged a few short weeks before. Ted's hands trembled on the wheel as they drove, which they did in relative silence. It was slow going, as they proceeded with the headlights turned off, but they reached Robyn's haven without further opposition. Pockets was waiting in the garage when they arrived. It was about an hour before dawn.

The two Kindred spent a short time passing Ted off to the villagers. He was badly shaken and likely needed some recovery time himself. On the way back to the house, Pockets was finally free to speak her mind.

"So Robyn took Hank off for a hike in the woods this afternoon," she said. The memory of Hank's betrayal was still fresh in Liam's mind. Melanie was still suffering the aftermath of her overdose. "She showed up back here just before sunset, alone. She told the others that a Redwatch ghoul had attacked them, and she'd buried him out in the woods. When I talked about it in private, she told me there was no ghoul, and she'd killed him herself."

Liam received the news in silence. He was mostly sober now. He also stank like an ashtray which was somewhat novel for him. Despite his habit normally he gave off no scent at all. “I wish I could say I was surprised, but I’d wondered if Robyn would take matters into her own hands so to speak. There’s too much on the line - and I haven’t exactly gone and made it easy on her tonight,” he added. “Still, for all his faults, I’m not sure this is what Hank deserved.”

“Did she say anything else?”

"Yeah," Pockets said, clearing her throat. "But I'll let her tell you herself. Let's just say I'm not so sure it isn't what he deserved."

Liam nodded. "I'll go talk to her. We've got a lot to discuss. There's a present for you in the back of the cruiser. Long range drone. I figure if anyone can put it to good use, its you."

"Oh, you sweet sentimentalist," Pockets said, rubbing her hands together. She headed straight for the garage.

Robyn was in her office, with the door closed. She bade him to enter when he knocked. She was seated at her messy desk. The clutter had been pushed to the edges, and an arrangement of tarot cards was occupying the clean spot. As Liam approached, she laid another card on the spread, and studied the arrangement carefully.

"Quiet night?" she said dryly.

"Well the first part was nice," Liam said, taking a seat across the desk from Robyn. "Very cosy. Can't say I'll be going back again though."

"Mmm," Robyn said noncommittally. "While you were out, I finished work on the binding curse." She nodded to the messy table in the middle of the room. On top of the tallest pile was a neatly bound sheaf of papers. The cover bore arcane symbols beyond Liam's ken. "I've already scanned it, so we've got copies, but that one's for your friend. Take a look."

Most of the knowledge contained within was too technical for Liam to understand. But he could make some sense of the nitty-gritty, and what had happened to both Pockets and himself.

[I've shared the rule notes on the Path with you.]

"There's a small wrinkle, though," Robyn said as Liam leafed through it. "I want to deliver it to her myself. I don't care how we make it happen, but that's non-negotiable."

"Okay," Liam said nodding. "We can work something out. Miss is free to move about the city." Bring Robyn to the Chantry seemed less appealing all things considered.

"Are you okay?"

"Divination is hogwash," Robyn said. "I've spoken at length with a being that can see the future, and I know predestination is a crock. It's only good for looking at the present. Organizing our thoughts. Identifying what's important. Encouraging us to make decisions we're already on the fence about making. Helping us live with the ones we've already made."

She drew another card, and held it in her hand. She lowered her head as she laid it down, and studied the board. "I knew going up there that I was going to kill him. Along the way... He figured it out, too. And we both just kept... pretending. Talking like it wasn't going to happen. But I could hear the fear in his voice. I could see in his eyes that he knew his life was ending. He just didn't know when. I... I felt the kindest thing to do would be to surprise him. It was the kindest thing for both of us."

She looked back up at him, tears running down her face. "I've killed people before. In firefights. One of them was even before I met you. But this... It was so different. It feels different."
This message was last edited by the player at 08:50, Mon 21 Dec 2020.

Liam stood and made his way around the desk to Robyn's side, sitting back against the edge careful not to disturb the tarot cards. He reached for Robyn's hand.

"You did what you had to do. All of us make choices. Hank made his. You made yours. I made mine. Now we have to live with them."

He glanced down at the Tarot. "What do the cards say?"

Robyn took a breath, getting her emotions back under control. She squeezed his hand as she outlined the spread to him. There were six cards, arranged in a plus sign, with two in the middle.

First, she pointed to the centre cards. "My present. Ace of Cups, Inverted. Emotional loss, creative blockage, emptiness. The problem? Inverted Temperance. Imbalance, recklessness, and hasty decisions." She looked up at Liam. "Doesn't take a psychic to know that I'm torn up over the decision I made, and it's going to affect my ability to finish the book."

She pointed to the left. "Influence from my past. Nine of pentacles. The fruits of a great labour. I'm a little fuzzy on this one. It could mean the allegiances I've made along the way - you, Jack, Maeve, Nex. Or it could mean the Cure. Or both. But I know that I've got a lot going for me."

Then, the right card. "Influence from my future. The moon. Illusion, or the unconscious mind; intuition in the face of uncertainty. I hate this card, really. Even as Tarot goes, it's vague. But I don't believe in seeing into the future, so it's right where it needs to be."

Then above. "The conscious; what I'm focused on with regards to the problem. The High Priestess, Inverted. Repression. A disconnect from the inner self. It fits very well with the problem. I've lost my way."

She pointed to the card below. "The unconscious. What's affecting the problem that isn't so obvious. Three of swords. Heartbreak, and grief. To me, this says that I've been affected by this in ways I don't yet understand."

She slowly dealt four more cards, arranging them in a vertical line to the right of the cross.

As she lay the first card, she frowned. "My influence. What I bring to the table. Six of Swords. Transition, and not the good kind. Unhappy, and unwanted change. Letting go of something I don't want to let go of. My innocence, perhaps? What was left of it. Not really sure, but maybe you've got some insights."

As she looked at the next card, she scoffed a little, and smirked despite herself. "External influence. What others bring to the table. The Magician. Funny, when we're dealing with all these Tremere. The cards aren't usually literal, so I'm inclined to believe it's more about willpower, skill, and resourcefulness. You know anyone like that?" She nudged him a little.

She studied the next card, and nodded before she placed it. "Hopes or fears. Nine of cups, inverted. Unhappiness, underachievement, or hubris leading to failure. Seems pretty on the nose. I'm concerned that I'll lose myself, or I'll fail to publish the cure in time for it to make a difference."

She shuffled the deck, and looked up at Liam. "The final card is the outcome. Again, I don't believe in this stuff, but let's hope it's not Inverted Tower." She took a breath, and drew the card. "Whoa... Ace of Wands. Creative inspiration, new passions, renewed energy. Sounds like the cards think everything is gonna be okay."

In response to the Six of Swords, Liam shrugged his shoulders. "You give up a little more of yourself every time you delve into the Book," he suggested. "Or perhaps its Sunny? Maybe its time to let go?"

When the last card turned up aces though he smiled. "You see? The cards think everything is going to turn out okay. Lets hope they're right."

"Something that I'll have to reflect on, I guess," Robyn said with a frown. "And keep my mind open to." She hugged herself uneasily. "If things were normal I'd be seeing a therapist. Not sure if I want to talk about what happened with Joyce though."

"For Joyce's sake, probably not," Liam agreed. "You can always talk to me though. I promise you, I've been there."

"And its looking like you're stuck with me. I can't fly and I can't run. I can't even heal these bruises, and its a good thing they weren't worse."

"That's terrible," Robyn said. "But with any luck, Miss will have the knack of things in a couple of weeks. Til then, you're just going to have to slum it on the ground with the rest of us plebs."

"Lets hope so," Liam replied. "I've got an open invitation to meet with Flores in Bar Harbor. A man like that, I don't want to keep waiting long."

"Good time to be away," Robyn said. "I think I'm going to hunker down and write. And think. And hone up on my new magic. Just so long as we have that meeting before you go."

"I'll sort it out," Liam assured. "But for now I'm going to turn in."

"Merry Christmas, Robyn. Hopefully the cards are right and its a better new year."

[5 xp for the scene, plus a grenade launcher]