This is a World of Darkness game. Only players are allowed to post in this thread. If you are interested in becoming a player, check out the recruiting thread. Lurkers are welcome.

---

Ghost
Longchester Hospital for the Insane
The weather was not exactly horrible when Doctor Frederick Einhart parked his car outside of Longchester Hospital for the Insane on his first day as the man in charge. No, the weather was rather gloomy. Gray and empty of any emotions. Not exactly bad, but far from being good. The morning was cloudy and Doctor Einhart walked for the first time into the building that housed the town’s greatest lunatics.

Doctor Einhart walked through the plain white hallways with the attitude fitting a doctor in his position. This job may not have been the best one a man with his education could have had; in fact it was a step down from his previous position in Berlin. How on earth he ended in this hell-hole was a mystery to him. It just somehow happened all of the sudden. But it did not mean that he should not act like the boss that he was. Despite his attempts, he still looked old and fragile.

“Good morning, love.” The nurse in charge of this hospital greeted Doctor Einhart much the same way she would have greeted anyone else. “I’m afraid visiting hours won’t start for another three hours.”

Doctor Einhart did not like this casual treatment of the nurse. He could not really blame her since they had never met before and there was no real way she could possibly have recognized him. There was just something about this place in general that irritated him. The way that the nurse spoke, her choice of words, her flaming red hair and lipstick to match, even her fat figure irritated him. That woman was simply irritating.

“I am not hier to visit anyvan,” he said in a distinct German accent. “I am Doctor Frederick Einhart, the new doctor in charge of thees place.”

“Oh, right,” the woman said in her lively voice. “They said you might pop up today. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Fred. I’m Rosie. Would you like me to show you around.”

The doctor was insulted, but Rosie had a knack for not seeing anger in people’s faces. “I vould very much like you to refer to me as Doctor Einhart. And yes, I vould like you to show me vhere my office is.” Rosie smiled, only to reveal slightly crooked and yellow teeth. Frederick felt like this day was getting worse every minute. No wonder his predecessor killed himself.

Rosie showed Doctor Einhart to his office. It was almost as small as a closet crammed with filecabinets, a desk, some books on shelves and some books not on shelves, one chair on either side of the desk, a dried up plant on the desk and a light stretched out from the ceiling. Doctor Einhart noticed how the light was stretched further from the ceiling than it should (he had an eye for such things). “Poor Tom hung himself from there. He was a bit heavy though; they say that his toes were touching the floor when they found him. No one has bothered fixing it, I’m afraid.”
Rosie then continued showing “Fred” around the hospital. She showed him the lounge where there was mostly just open space, some tables and stools, barred windows and an old record player playing classical music. “Some of these people won’t ever sleep,” she said, “and even become hostile if we try to force them, so we figured that we could keep them here to better watch them. We can’t afford sedating all of them every night. One would think that this town cared enough about the insane that they would give us more funds for sedatives and such”
The tour continued until they came to the room of a certain girl. When Doctor Einhart looked into the room he saw the girl, perhaps about 15-18 years old, sitting in the middle of the room and staring at nothing while drawing a picture on a piece of paper. She did not smile, but it was almost as if she was looking at something specific.

“Vat is vrong vith her?” Doctor Einhart asked with the voice of an interested man. “Is she van of those suffering from insomnia?” Although Doctor Einhart was a doctor, he was also a man. A very sick, old man to be exact. He did not care as much about the girl’s problems as he cared about the girl. His job often required him to work late and once he had finished his work for the day he often needed to relieve himself of some stress. A man in his position, with clear access to sedatives, rarely found that to be a problem.

“That is our jewel,” Rosie said, almost as if she cared about the girl. “Her name is Annabell Holms. She’s 16 years old and has been with us for most of the past ten years. She started suffering from bad dreams when she was about five years old and she pretty much stopped sleeping by the age of six. She’s been in and out of hospital, meeting with doctors and what not since then. Last year she was put in for closer observations. She sleeps from time to time, but most of the time she experiences those nightmares. Would you like to meet her?”

***

Annabell sat in the middle of her room. She was drawing a picture on a piece of paper she had on the floor in front of her, but she wasn’t looking at her drawing but kept her eyes fixed on the empty corner of her room. The door opened and two figures walked in but Annabell did not look away from the corner. She heard a distant voice that she recognized as one of the nurses, Rosie. “Hi, Annie. I brought someone who’d really like to meet you.”
“What is your name?” Annabell said without looking away from the corner or stop drawing her picture. The man replied in a distinct German accent but no less distant than Rosie’s voice. “Mein name is Doctor Frederick Einhart. Und vat are you drawing there, Annie?”
She did not look away from the corner and kept on drawing with her Cryons. “It is what I dreamt last night,” she said, “but I wasn’t asking you. I was asking him.” Again, Annabell could hear Rosie’s distant voice talking. “Honey, there’s nobody there,” said Rosie’s voice. Annabell could hear them talking some more about the pictures she had already drawn, hung up on the walls of her room. Then she could hear them leave the room and Annabell continued drawing the big wolf from her dream.

“What is your name?” she said and waited for Hiram to reply.

---

Vampire
Prince’s Palace
The nights of Longchester were growing longer as the winter became ever closer. The rain kept falling as if God had ordered another flood. It kept most of the living inside at home, but the dead had business to attend to this evening. The Prince of Longchester herself had called for two of the town’s damned. Both were of the same clan and both had reputation in this town. That reputation was the reason why the Prince had called for them and not somebody else.

The Sheriff of the Longchester’s vampire society himself was sent to fetch the two Mekhet. Archer Herst had a reputation among the damned. He had been one of the former Sheriff’s Hounds and back then he had already gotten the reputation of being a brute without mercy. It wasn’t as much as Archer’s nature, it was just something he was good at. Once the old Sheriff disappeared, Archer was given his job.

Truth be told, Archer hated his job. Even more so, he hated this job. Standing in the rain waiting for one of those Mekhets to show his face. It was not the kind of activity he had intended to do this night. He was hoping to sit alone in his office and read a good book. He did not want to stand outside the Purple Tulip dance club and wait for some lackey to come along. Yet still he did. If the Prince asked for something, the Prince would get it. Those who dared say no rarely got out of the Palace again.

“Finally,” he said as the Mekhet approached. “I’ve been waiting for you. The Prince has sent for you.”

The ride back was silent. No one spoke, and if the Mekhet asked anything the Sheriff didn’t answer. They arrived to the Prince’s Palace where Archer Herst showed them into the waiting-room. The waiting room was big, considering that no one else was waiting to see the Prince. There was only dim lighting in there and from time to time the Mekhets could see someone walking into the waiting-room, grabbing something and walking back out. The two Mekhets waited in there for well over three hours and no one let them in.

Finally, the door into the audience hall opened and a figure walked out. The figure did not speak but signalled the two Mekhets to enter into the audience hall. The two Mekhets had already seen the audience hall before, although it had changed a lot since they saw it the first time. The hall was large, with enough room for two dozen people standing in there without being crammed inside. The tapestry that once hung on the walls when the Mekhets came here first had been replaced by paintings of various people.

On the opposide end of the hall sat Prince Amanda Christian in her throne. The Prince of Longchester was a very beautiful woman. In fact she was so beautiful that very few could keep their eyes from her. Her dress expressed her slim figure. Her hair was long and fair, and her left eye was green and her right was brown. Her voice was like a melody as she spoke with her fair voice.

“Welcome, my kin,” she said and the two Mekhet could feel her voice sting with a pleasant pain. “I have summoned the two of you because I am in need of your service. The Masquerade is threatened and I need the two of you to deal with the problem. A vampire has been seen using his Disciplines openly in town and that can not be tolorated. So far he has not used his Disciplines in front of many witnesses, but this must be stopped before that happens.

“You will be given what resources you need to complete the task and once you are finished you will report back to me immediately.”

Her voice was a melody, her voice was a pleasant pain, and the Mekhets knew that she would destroy them if they would not obey.

“What are your answers? Will you accept this assignment?”

Longchester Hospital for the Insane:

Day flickered into night and back into day again. The sterile white floor of the operating theatre lay strewn with a generation’s filth: torn and battered crisp packets mingled with old condom wrappers, broken and dirt-encrusted syringes and the black earth that was blown through shattered windows. What little they had left here, when the doors had been closed and bolted, when sickness had been driven out to find its home elsewhere, had long since been looted or, if it had no value, smashed into tiny pieces for the sheer joy to be wrung from its destruction. Graffiti tags, crude, vulgar and gaudy, adorn the peeling paint of the old place’s walls and, before he had roused himself to drive them out, the babble of delinquent youth: the sound of things adulterated with brick-dust and ground chalk being sold from clear plastic bags, had been the only sound to replace the bustle of medical life. And yet, the hospital lived on as the past reached out to reclaim it. In the pale light of early morning a rotting corpse clad in a bloodied lab coat, now yellowed with age, was sometimes to be observed prowling the hospital corridors- or so the junkies claimed when others scorned them for so readily abandoning their traffic at the old place. Strange visions, images of corruption, pestilence and death, overwhelmed those so foolish as to avail themselves of the merchandise at hand, or even fall out of sight of their peers for a heartbeat. In the end they abandoned the old place altogether, and the past was vindicated, taking a savage delight in thrusting back the inquisitive hand of time and, indeed, finding fresh roots in the distant but never forgotten memories that lay discarded beneath two decades of accumulated filth.

And then, as though the old hospital’s prayer for deliverance -for the chance to live once more- had been answered, the chains were struck off and its rusted gates flung open to admit a busy stream of repairmen. Heavy paint rollers erased the sins of the recent past, smearing the walls with the unblemished white of a fresh canvas once again. The evidence of a generation’s disservice was scraped from the floor, deposited in scores of ready black bags and hauled off like the garbage it was. The past looked on, eager to see the place reborn, and if those who scoured the dirt from its floors were less thorough than he might have liked, if the machines and furnishings that were carted in by the lorry-load appeared strange and alien to his practiced eye, that was a price to be borne readily enough for the moment when the hospital resumed its working life and a handful of white-coated doctors strolled through its door, laughing and bantering among themselves, to pay homage to the old place once more.

***

The pale, shimmering figure of a man of middling years sits, squatting on the toes of each shoe, by the young girl’s side. Like the light from a guttering candle his image flickers unsteadily in and out of focus, and only the hint of a chocolate brown upon his suit and the tie, now loosened, which hangs about his neck, the merest trace of gold within the tangled hair which tops the soft, plump face, served to give colour to its ethereal whiteness. Though he could never be called handsome the tight, harried look which bedevilled his face in life has slackened its hold in death and, could anyone else discern it, his manner, would seem easy enough as he gently questions the girl, asking her about her drawing.

Perhaps she reminds him of the daughter that he and Emily might have raised, had his life not been cut short, for certainly she bears some of the grace, the fairness of form which the spectre has come to attribute to those distant memories it yet clings to of its departed spouse. Perhaps it is merely the desire to reach out to the world as a doctor once again, to heal rather than harm, that animates the ethereal figure perched beside her. In any event she seems to object little enough to his presence and chatters away readily, though the ghost struggles to discern all that she says, as the image of a snarling wolf takes form on the paper below her.

The door swings open to reveal one of the nurses, an overweight woman with dyed red hair and gaudily painted lips, accompanied by a slender, fading man clad in an old grey suit. Though Annabell barely seemed to register the intruders, the phantom turns slightly to view them with distaste as the modern world imposes itself upon him once more. “Vat is vrong vith her?” the stranger asks in an enquiring tone “Is she van of those suffering from insomnia?” and, though his questions seem innocent enough, the sound of his voice is enough to unleash a tide of bitter memories the spectre had thought long since forgotten. Again a small boy the spectre lives once more the din of brass bands rousing Longchester to war in the doctor’s harsh Teutonic tones; sees his father, clad in Khaki alongside scores of others, waved off on a train to Dover, recalls once more long, awkward evenings in his parents’ home when the old man finally made it back, hands shaking and unable to even hold a cup of coffee whenever a train passed on the bridge overhead and a wave of forgotten anger washes over the phantom once more, with an intensity that surprises even Hiram.

“Hi, Annie. I brought someone who’d really like to meet you,” the fat nurse speaks, though Hiram has not been gone long enough from this world to escape the object of the stranger’s interest as he leers down upon the young girl’s form. Forgetting for the moment his own child bride the spectre shakes with scarcely restrained rage, his image flickering more fiercely than ever, against one who seeks to defile his patient. Should the German doctor return again he will need to be taught a lesson in proper medical responsibility… and should he fail to heed that last warning Hiram will not hesitate to wring every last breath of life from his shrivelled, decrepit form.

“What is your name?” the girl asks again, and, even as the wraith begins to plots the form his retribution will take for the moment when the stranger will transgress, he replies softly, in a friendly, even tone: "My name’s Hiram, I used to be a doctor here a long time ago.”

OOC: Making a Ghost Speech roll to utter the final sentence… that’s one Essence point down. If it fails then he’ll try again next round.

Unless Annabell has anything else to ask, he'll probably move on after a while to follow Einhart and see what else he's doing.

"well if i get a chance to kill i will gladly accept." came syanides cool and emotionless reply. Not a drop of emotion showing in his eyes as he scaned the room not at all to happy at being hearded to a place were he could not even freely negotiate the terms of his own services.
"Were was said vampire last seen."

The club was quiet this evening. There were only a handful of people with only two that looked palatable. Not that that was the reason Jed was here. Not that Jed had a reason to be here, he just was. He enjoyed the atmosphere and the music, usually. At the moment he was just sitting and watching while enjoying a nice margarita. He didn’t plan on staying late tonight. He needed to gather his notes from his last investigation and put together the book he had been promising the Ordul. He downed his drink paid his tab and walked out of the doors. He spotted Archer Herst almost immediately. Having been motioned over Jed walked to have a chat with Archer.

“Finally,” he said as the Mekhet approached. “I’ve been waiting for you. The Prince has sent for you.” Jed noticed that he wasn’t the only one included in that comment. Nodding Jed followed Archer back to the Palace. This was the first time Jed had ever met the Prince. I wonder why the Prince would summon me. Surely She doesn’t bother to read the crap I generally publish for the World Weekly or any of my sappy love novels. The Palace itself wasn’t overly grand in the way a Sultan’s Palace would be. Then again it wouldn’t with the need to blend in. Entering the Palace was fairly short in reference to time, getting around to meeting the Prince was overly long. Probably a test of some kind. Jed sat and waited patiently at least as patiently as he could.

“Hey, you’re a Mekhet too. Fancy meeting you. What’s your profession? I’m a novelist.” Jed said to the other. “When do you think the Prince will deign to see us? I hear she’s lovely, have you ever met her before? This will be my first time.”

After about three hours a messenger led them into the Prince’s throne room. Upon entering Jed bowed respectfully. This wasn’t the first great Vampire he had met but it was a great Vamp and he as not, at least not as great as her, so she deserved some respect.

“Milady, you are lovelier than the rumors, though that isn’t their fault it’s just that no words devised can describe such beauty as yours, How can a lowly writer such as myself serve such a great being?” flattery never hurts and in this case I’m only slightly exaggerating
“Welcome, my kin,” she said and Jed could feel her voice sting with a pleasant pain. “I have summoned the two of you because I am in need of your service. The Masquerade is threatened and I need the two of you to deal with the problem. A vampire has been seen using his Disciplines openly in town and that can not be tolorated. So far he has not used his Disciplines in front of many witnesses, but this must be stopped before that happens.
“You will be given what resources you need to complete the task and once you are finished you will report back to me immediately.”

“What are your answers? Will you accept this assignment?”

Jed was usually not a frontline man. Not that he couldn’t be, he was trained in various weapons and in fact now wore a longsword that had it’s share of nicks from previous fights. But just cause he could didn’t mean he was. In fact he had obtained a rep for surviving the almost impossible and exaggerating the details. There’s only two reasons I was summoned: either this is one of those supposedly impossible survival situations or it’s supposed to end up in World Weekly There was also the question of what Vampire would be stupid enough to expose himself in such a way. The law of not using your disciplines was not a political control law, it was just common sense. It was easier to hunt prey that didn’t know you were dangerous. Not even the Invictus would make such a move
“Of course I’ll do what I can. But before we start pray may we have the name of our target?”

Ghost
Longchester Hospital for the Insane
The girl smiled, as if she had made a friend. "My name is Annabell," she said friendly. "Annabell Holms, but my friends call me Annie." She continued drawing her picture, but this time she focused on it completely and looked away from the corner she had been fixated on. Once finished, she hung the picture up on the wall where dozens of other pictures hung already. The wall was nearly full and it was not easy to find a good spot for the wolf she had drawn.

***

Doctor Einhart finished his tour of the hospital with a visit to the girl named Annabell. After that he returned to his new office. He thought the place was horrible. Perhaps that was the reason he was sent here; to straighten things up. He sat down by his table and started looking over some files. Without much thought he had taken Annabell's files to look at first.

---

Vampire
Prince's Palace
The Prince listened to the two Mekhets' answers, and she was pleased, but their questions irritated her a little bit. "Do not bother me with questions, my kin. Archer Herst will give you the answers and resources you need." As she said this she signaled her servant to show them out.
"This way, gentlemen," the servant said and signaled them towards the door.

***

Archer Herst was waiting outside of the palace. "Get into the car. We've got work to do." Since the car was neither big nor fancy, one could hardly say that comfort came first inside it. Those sitting in the back would have to squeeze and the one sitting in the passenger-seat would have make do with a broken safety-belt.

"The vampire is unknown so far. Nobody seems to recognize him or know anything about him. So far we know that he is strong and pretty fast but he is working too much in the open. He is old-fashioned, just under six feet tall and is most probably a Nosferatu judging from his appearance. He was last seen in the Havens while you were talking with her Highness." Herst wasn't driving very fast, much like if he was not in much of a hurry to get where they were going. Furthermore, they did not seem to be going to the Havens.

Syanide continued to look around the room. Watching the princes obvious annoyance at there questions, absorbing every facial change.
“This way gentlemen,” the servant said and signaled towards the door
Syanide was quick to follow. As he walked back across the hall he looked to jed and said once again in that cool and emotionless tone
“In response to your earlier question about my profession, I am a dealer of sorts,” came syanides
as syanide walked out of the door he was greeted by Archer Herst.
“Get in the car. We’ve got work to do.” Without missing a beat syanide opened the door and crawled in the back of the car .
"The vampire is unknown so far. Nobody seems to recognize him or know anything about him. So far we know that he is strong and pretty fast but he is working too much in the open. He is old-fashioned, just under six feet tall and is most probably a Nosferatu judging from his appearance. He was last seen in the Havens while you were talking with her Highness." came Archer Herst voice once they got in the car, and heading away from the Havens.

“So were exactly are we going. If he is in the Havens shouldn’t we go there for information” said Syanide growing a little annoyed at not knowing everything that was going on. He had always hated not being able to control every

Hiram returned Annabell’s smile amicably enough, straightening to stand fully as the tour moved on and the ward’s heavy door swung shut. His interest was already wavering, and the phantom’s image of the tubby, be-suited man flickered wildly like a flame in the wind before the girl turned away and he was gone altogether. There were matters that he must attend to.

Unseen, unheard he prowled the corridor through which the small party had retreated. The tie, loosened informally around his neck, squirmed and writhed as if of its own volition as it struggled to contract about his throat until a tight noose was formed once more with a broad Windsor knot at its apex. Something was beeping in the distance, a harsh metallic wail that swept the hallway, but he gave it little mind. One of the hospital staff, a tall Indian man pushing a trolley of folded white blankets, was making his way from the opposite end of the corridor and the spectre, impatient to reach its destination, swept straight through him, leaving the startled orderly at odds to explain the sudden burst of Artic cold which had chilled him to the bone.

Soon, for Hiram knew the hospital complex too well to falter, the Head Doctor’s office was reached and the wraith waited while Einhart fumbled with his keys at the door, using the pause to closely inspect the German doctor once more. Finally he found the right key and the portal swung open before the old man’s intrepid fingers, the ghost following a mere half-step behind him. Somewhat less than dispassionately Hiram watched as the doctor deposited a smart leather briefcase on the desk beside him, stooping to unlock the battered cabinet in which the hospital’s medical records were kept. Reluctant yet to acknowledge the nourishment, the savage joy, it took from the fear of those it haunted, clinging yet to the dry bones of a decent, rational man, the apparition was stalled, uncertain how to best proceed. The lesson, when it came, must bear sufficient force to dissuade the new Head Doctor from any further transgressions, must ensure that the faith that had been placed in him was not abused… and yet for the present Einhart had done nothing wrong and the spirit was wary of giving the old man too strong a start lest it still the beating of his tired heart.

The doctor’s shrivelled hands, liver-spotted with age, reached for the cabinet’s “H” section and Hiram moved quickly around the desk to get a better view. Sure enough, the old man’s nimble fingers drew forth Annabell Holms’ file from the locker’s depths and the apparition was drawn closer to stand behind one shoulder, following closely each page that Einhart turned. Whatever his sins, the phantom had been born of a generation which had not yet despaired of the hope that reason’s advance must banish insanity’s spectre from this world forever, that madness and delinquency alike must yield before science’s ready advance, and he has not lived to see the dream fail. Now, easily keeping pace with the doctor he shadows, Hiram scours each page in turn to build a picture of the girl’s deficiency. His attention in particular is drawn to the symptoms of her derangement and what conclusions the doctors of this recalcitrant present have been able to piece together regarding its origins and most likely treatment.

Vampire
Somewhere in Old Longchester
Syanide seemed to Herst as the anxious sort; he wanted to get straight to business. “So were exactly are we going. If he is in the Havens shouldn’t we go there for information” had Syanide asked but Herst didn't seem enthusiastic about answering. Not until they stopped outside a house in the east side of Old Longchester. There Herst stepped out and signaled the others to follow.

Looking up the hill south of town, one could hardly see Longchester Asylum in all its diminished glory. The clouds and the rain blocked much of the view, and hardly anyone could see that building if they didn't know where to look.

"Yes, we are going out hunting for a rogue vampire," said Herst as he walked into the old building. "And if said vampire won't listen to diplomatic reason? Do you intend to fight him off by yourself?" Once inside he opened a locked door that lead to the basement and lead the others downstairs. When Herst turned on the lights in the basement, the Carthian's armory was revealed. "We're here for supplies. Then we hunt."

---

Ghost
Longchester Hospital for the Insane
Doctor Einhart continued looking through the files for Annabell, not knowing that the ghost of Hiram Withers was reading the same file over his shoulder. The girl seemed to suffer from a case of schizophrenia and insomnia caused by severe nightmares. The doctors that had examined her could not find any causes for the schizophrenia except that the lack of sleep might have caused her to see and hear things that should appear in her dreams. In a way her mind was dreaming without any actual sleep.

Before continuing, Einhart lit up a cigarette, inhaled and exhaled. Then continued. Annabell Holms was the daughter of Chancellor Samuel Holms and Teresa Holms. According to her file she also had two brothers, one of which was murdered when Annabell was six. The file said that she had witnessed the event and said event had caused her nightmares since then.

Doctor Einhart looked at Annabell's photo in the file and grinned an ugly grin. "Du bist mein heute Nacht, Annabell," he said and looked at the clock that hung on the office wall. Three minutes past seven. Doctor Einhart looked at his watch to compare. The office clock was either around five hours late or around seven hours early; his watch said the clock was only around noon. He put the file away and buried his cigarette in an ashtray on his desk. Time to make an appearance with the staff.

---

((OOC: I suck at German ))

A mere footstep behind the doctor’s right shoulder Hiram looked on, scanning each printed page in turn as the old man continued, an expression of pronounced distaste forming upon his face as he did so. The doctors of this present age must be either altogether contemptuous of the sufferings of their patients or simply incompetent beyond belief, for to have dragged out a case of insomnia- brought about by post-traumatic stress following her brother’s death if the phantom was any judge- for a decade and more was unforgivable. Worse yet Annabell’s mental infirmity could only have been exacerbated in the past years of sleep deprivation and by the tedious isolation which was an ever-present feature of institutional life. Still, where the slack practice and incessantly chattering machinery of this noisome present had failed, tradition’s guiding hand would be ready to unpick the damage done by their shortfall and no further time would be lost in setting the girl’s troubled mind on the right tracks once more before her prospects suffered further detriment.

“Tonight you are mine, Annabell,” the German doctor boasted and the spectre was struck once more with the sudden urge to snuff him out there and then. He had ministered to the hospital for too long now, leading it patiently through those dismal years when it seemed the world had abandoned all hope of recovery, to see the old place fall into the hands of a reptile like Einhart. And yet… he had promised himself that he would give the old man one final warning before he made his move. One way or another the new Head Doctor’s tenure would be a short one, of that much Hiram was certain.

Einhart, his academic curiousity apparently sated, finally moved to stir himself from the desk and the spirit saw no further reason for dalliance. Passing lightly through the thin, wood-panelled door the spectre began tracing its way down the hallway once more. A group of medical students, on a placement from the local university, were making their way through the corridors to lunch and Hiram chose to fasten upon the mind of the last of their number: a thin, freckled, young woman who walked nose down in one of that morning’s case files. Psychotherapy seemed the way to progress and, reluctant to further squander his sparse energies making direct contact with the living, he must possess a body to proceed.

OOC: Making a Possession roll on the medical student (Seven dice vs. Resolve and Composure). Should it succeed then he’ll make his way back to see Annabell if not he’ll wait for the next doctor to come past.

Looking up the hill south of town, one could hardly see Longchester Asylum in all its diminished glory. The clouds and the rain blocked much of the view, and hardly anyone could see that building if they didn't know where to look.

"Yes, we are going out hunting for a rogue vampire," said Herst as he walked into the old building. "And if said vampire won't listen to diplomatic reason? Do you intend to fight him off by yourself?" Once inside he opened a locked door that lead to the basement and lead the others downstairs. When Herst turned on the lights in the basement, the Carthian's armory was revealed. "We're here for supplies. Then we hunt."

“Perhaps some supplies for fighting him would be better, but I have the weapons I need,” came syanides voice dripping with that arrogant self sufficient tone once again, “though perhaps I could use some more ammo for my gun”

"This way gentlemen" A servant politely lead the way and Jed politely followed. Jed was too involved in his thoughts about what resources he could safely call upon and what the identity of this rogue might be to notice his surroundings.

“In response to your earlier question about my profession, I am a dealer of sorts,” The other Mekhet's words brought Jed out of his thoughts.

"Oh really..."Jed was about to ask what the merchandise he dealt in was when Archer Herst burst down upon them.

"Get in the car. We've work to do." Archer Herst is not a polite Vampire, then again it appears my fellow Mekhet is more business than pleasure as well. Ah well, what happened to the old romantic Vampire?
Jed climbed easily into the front seat, admittedly without checking or waiting on the others.

"So you're supposed to have the details about this little outing. Do we have a name? Where was he last?" Jed slipped into a reporter frame of mind.

"The vampire is unknown so far. Nobody seems to recognize him or know anything about him. So far we know that he is strong and pretty fast but he is working too much in the open. He is old-fashioned, just under six feet tall and is most probably a Nosferatu judging from his appearance. He was last seen in the Havens while you were talking with her Highness" Herst answered Jed's questions though Jed couldn't tell if that was because Herst heard him or if Herst was just going to say all that anyway. Jed looked out the window and noticed that they weren't exactly going to the Havens. I wonder just how stocked the Prince's supplies are.
“So were exactly are we going. If he is in the Havens shouldn’t we go there for information” A bit impatient. I wonder if he stopped listening at I've got a mission for you or if he just missed the Prince saying that she'll give us what we need to finish this. Jed sat quietly not because he didn't already know the answer but more because he wasn't in a position to answer politely.

They pulled up in front of an old house. Somehow even if we don't have romantic vamps we still get classed in the renassaince period. Jed thought wistfully looking at the ancient building.

"Yes, we are going out hunting for a rogue vampire," said Herst as he walked into the old building. "And if said vampire won't listen to diplomatic reason? Do you intend to fight him off by yourself?"

"So wait are we going to try diplomacy? I thought we were going to take him from a distance." Jed said as he reviewed the armaments on display.

Ghost
Longchester Hospital for the Insane
The students had been invited to the Longchester Asylum to have a look at its operations, although few liked what they saw. One of them, however, found the visit to be very educational. The young girl was in fact so interested in the visit that she couldn’t stop working. On the way to the staff’s coffee room, she was still reading one of the inmate’s files and falling behind in the process. This would be Hiram’s target of possession.

The girl gasped, and dropped the files onto the floor. “Sandra, are you all right?” The girl in front of her had turned around and seemed worried. But Sandra’s mind had been pushed back into a corner. Hiram had taken over. The girl in front still looked worried and Hiram could see her name-tag with the name of Diane. “Sandra?”

Hiram didn’t stop for long, but made his way towards Annabell’s room.

(OOC: Your possession roll succeeded, you have ‘Sandra’ under your control.)

---

Vampire
Armory of the Carthian Movement
“The vampire in question hasn’t yet revealed himself,” Herst said, “so we can’t actually attack him without giving him a warning first.” Herst stood over his desk and wrote something down on two pieces of paper, then handed those two pieces of paper to both Syanide and Jed. “If things will go out of hands, this is your right to take out the bastard. We should hurry; we only have few hours before sunrise.” That being said, Herst grabbed a single gun and a shotgun along with a sword. Then they walked outside and got into the car.

The drive was not long. Only few minutes and then they had entered the Havens. Hardly a soul could be seen walking outside. Not surprising since it was the middle of the night and it still rained like crazy. Herst slowed the car down and drove around the district.

---

Vampire
Twa Corbies, Old Longchester
The pub was pretty much empty at this hour. Ren Majere and few of his thugs were the only ones in there. Of course the thugs only had a vague idea about what was going on, but Ren knew exactly what was going on. He had been sent by Marcus Dahl personally to meet some guy that had contacted Dahl’s contacts with some ‘big’ information. Marcus Dahl had selected this place for the meet because it was one of the Invictus’s safe havens. It did not look like much, which was exactly why few would expect it to be actually owned by the most aristocrats of the vampires living in Longchester.

“I have a job for you,” Marcus had said to him few hours ago. “Our contacts have been approached by a man with information of great importance, or so he says. He wants to meet with us and discuss these informations and I have picked you to meet with him at Twa Corbies. Take whomever you want with you but I want you to report to me immediately after he has shared with you what he knows. Once he has done so you are free to do what you want to him. You leave immediately.”

The guy was already late. He should have been there an hour ago. Most had been tired of waiting, but the mission was important. One of the thugs came to Ren hesitantly. “Sorry boss,” he said, almost too frightened to continue, “but we were wondering – all of us, not just myself – what exactly we are waiting for. We’ve been waiting for hours.” Shortly after he said those words, a figure entered the pub. Dressed in fine suit and his hair neatly combed he walked up to Ren’s table and sat down.
“I am sorry you had to wait,” he said as he removed his black shades with his hands dressed in black leather gloves. His voice was humble and his eyes shone with experience. He did not seem threatened by the least. “Your friends can wait outside, mister Majere,” he said humbly, “I am not here for a fight.”

---

Werewolf
Somewhere in the Fieldriver district
The Fieldriver district was covered in mist and darkened in the night. Few residents of the district could find their own way during this night, but precious few knew exactly how to get from one place to another. The streets were their wilderness, people the sheep under their protection, and the buildings were their caves and mountains. And some fool was intruding into their hunting grounds. The members of the pack called Bone Holocaust were proud wolves and no one would be allowed to intrude without answering to them.

Eliza was the first to catch the scent of another werewolf. She ran quickly through alleys, trying to avoid detection by the sheep. She jumped over fences, manuevered herself through tight space, and ran over crates with ease. This intruder would not get away. From time to time it felt as if she would lose the tracks, but sometimes it felt like she was only few feets away. The game of cat and mouse took time, and during that time it crossed Eliza’s mind if she was in fact the mouse and not the cat. But she would handle it if it were a trap. At least call for help that should not be far away.

There! Only just through that alley and there should the intruder be hiding, or waiting. Eliza didn’t like taking any chances. She grabbed hold on her two blades, both etched with archaic runes. If there would be a battle, she would at least be armed and ready.

***

William had only just arrived to the town when he felt the smell of others of his kind. For some reason had did not like confronting them, but started running instead. Only one was close to catch him. By the smell of it, she was female, relatively calm, and young. She was a good hunter but would she be as strong as her nose was accurate, that was the real question that intrested William. Either way, this game had been going on long enough.

The alley up ahead would serve its purpose to confront her. Things might turn ugly and the alley would hide them both if there would be a fight. There he waited for the huntress to reveal herself. And reveal herself she did.

As soon as she turned at the corner into the alley she stopped in her track. She prepaired her blades for an attack, but did not move.

“You are trespassing on Holocaust terretory!” she said in a commanding voice, one that clearly did not belong to her. “Spill out your name or I will spill out your gut!”

---

Mage
Longchester Park
It was cold, yet Piers could not feel it. It was autumn, the sky was grey and wind was blowing colder and colder. Piers knew it but he still could not feel it. For the first time in some time he felt happy. There was nothing troubling him. He was having a walk with his fiancé without worry. They had the park all for themselves. Hand in hand, they walked through the park, and they were happy.

That was when Piers noticed that something was not right. Nothing seemed familiar, yet he knew exactly where he was. He did not know the girl he was with, but he knew that she was his fiancé. He had never seen her before. He did not actually see her even now. Every time he tried he did not look right at her, but through her, like if she was not really there at all. Her face was always blurry when he did this, and never in focus.

On the middle of the bridge they stopped, or at least she did. Piers felt like he was only going with the flow. She looked him in the eye, but he saw nothing as he looked into hers. He knew that he was talking, saying something, but he could not make anything of it. He was asking her something, something important. At least it felt important. She looked away. She did not want to look into his eyes again.
“Bad things are coming,” she said. Her voice somehow did not sound completely human, like if someone’s voice had been mixed into hers. And that second voice did not sound very kind. It was weird, since Piers had never heard her voice but still knew exactly what it should have sounded like. “Bad things are coming, and you could save many lives. But if you do, you will be risking your own life.” Again she looked away, into the woods on the other side of the bridge. Piers looked with her, and he could see two eyes staring back at him. He could feel fear rushing into him. Something big, and something bad was in those woods.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” yet another voice said. A girl’s voice, coming from behind Piers. The woman he had been with was gone, disappeared, but the knewly arrived girl seemed surprised at seeing Piers on the bridge. He could see the girl in complete focus. She had black and long hair and did not seem completely grown up. Like a teenager, yet dressed in a cute, pink dress that would only fit children. “You’re not safe here,” she said with tears in her eyes, afraid of what was hiding in the woods.

HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa...

A deep and calm sound, almost like if the wind had been given a voice. “Please! You have to run!” the girl cries out. But Piers does not run. He can not run. He thinks about it but his feet will not move.

“Yes, run as much as you like.” The voice followed the wind. It was then that Piers realized that the voice in the wind was the same voice that intruded into his fiancé’s voice. It was the voice of the beast hiding in the woods. “Your feet will not move fast enough to outrun me.” Piers looked into the woods again. The eyes were still there, glowing red. The sky turned darker and the wind became colder, but Piers still could not feel it. The beast frightened him, but still he could not run away from it. The girl behind him had fallen down and started crying.
“Please,” he heard between her sobs, “help me.”
“This is not your place, wizard,” the beast said, “but your life I shall take nontheless.” The beast jumped out of the woods and in one flash, Piers could feel giant teeth ripping through him and the beast passing him by. The concrete bridge embraced him and he heard the girl’s scream as the beast tore her apart. He could see the blurry outlines of a wolf standing over the bloody carcass of the girl, and again he heard her voice. “Please... help... me...”

Then he woke up.

Ren was actually rather surprised that one of his men dared to come close to him for such a trivia matter. On other days he might have shot the man for annoying him like that, but today he simply gave him a chilling glare which quickly sent him shivering back to his buddies. To be honest Ren was getting rather restless himself, it was bad enough that HE was being used for something like this, but now the man was also several hours to late.

"Just how long will i have to wait in this filthy ho-"

He was mumbling to himself, his voice filled with annoyance when he was cut of in mid sentence by the door opening up. The man who walked in looked neat, even by Ren's standards.

"Well, at least i wasn't waiting for a bum.."

He thought smiling slightly to himself as he noted that the man was dressed better than even himself. He had decided on being loose today and was only wearing a black Armani silk shirt and his black faded Diesel jeans. He wore his long silky black hair in a ponytail held together by a thin silver chain. Around his neck he had a small gold trinket in the form of a coiling dragon and he had two ruby rings on his right hand.

"Don't worry, i only just arrived myself.."

He lied with a thin smile on his face. Ren didn't believe in being rude, it was simply unsightly. And he thought the same about showing negative emotions like anger and annoyance to others, its better not to show strangers your weaknesses.

"Yes.. I do guess its rather bad of me to have you surrounded by armed goons when your simply here to talk to me"

He said with a sly smile on his face, his voice soft and fluid as he waved his men away who quickly scurried off

"Well then, what is it you wished to discuss?"

He said with the same clear fluid voice, clearly relaxing slightly now that the man was finally here

He looked around noting that he had fallen asleep yet again reading a book this one was the journal of a wizard from long ago with no name to it. He loved those best it didn’t matter if the book had a name or not there was always lore and things that could be learned from it. The part he had fallen asleep was a detailed battle between this wizard and a werewolf but he doubted that had anything to do with what had just happened. Well he knew what he would spend the day reading about now. To bad it seems he had only been a sleep a couple of hours and it was still sometime till morning. He thought about waking his mentor Ryozo but it was late and Ryozo needed his sleep right now after having just gotten back from one of his trips.

He cast his unseen shield just incase and he picked up his katana and unsheathed it. He would do a little bit of meditation and the sword would help him focus so that the dream wouldn’t effect his meditation. He needed to calm his mind after a dream like that. He wasn’t sure as to what the dream had been about completely but it had been important he knew that. There was no such thing as coincidence at least in his eyes and he knew something must have guided him to this journal in the library of all those he hadn’t read after all he had thought he had just picked a random one but now this he knew wasn’t true he needed to focus his mind first. He meditated till he was focused and then began replaying the dream over and over in his mind looking for every clue he could find before Ryozo called and asked if he wanted to have breakfast as was their morning ritual since he had been 4.

William smirked as the girl shouted at him. Despite all his former encounters with other werewolves, he still couldn't take cute little females seriously. Rather odd, since he knew all about the grizzly-sized form they could change into. He put his hands in his pockets, sliding his fingers into the Silver Knuckles. Better safe than sorry. He hadn't been in a fight in a while, but he wasn't about to fight a full pack head-on. At least not until he had the information he needed.

"Listen, doll", he said with a hint of annoyance in his voice. "My name is of no significance to you. I'm here for information and nothing more. Even if you fight as well as you track, which you did very well by the way, you're still going to end up a little heap on the pavement if you try to take me on. Same goes for the rest of your pack."

He glared at her and stared her straight in the eye. Before she could respond he added, with a hint of humor: "And what's with the catchy pack-name? Back when I was in a pack, which is actually not so long ago, we were named for what we were known. We didn't have your...apparent creativity".

[attempted to intimidate her (stare-down, specialty ^_^)]