The memory ruptured. Hiram found himself standing in the middle of the field, gazing out at the shoot before him not through a child’s eyes but with full benefit of his adult stature. Though he knew the ground must have been frozen underfoot and a sudden gale of bristling, icy wind tugged and clawed wildly at the scarves and overcoats of the old men around him, the spectre himself could hardly credit either sensation. Glancing down, the ghost could see his white lab coat blown and twisted about him by an angry breeze, but could not feel the fabric tug and whip against his skin. Implicitly he understood: he was dead here too.

The light was fading overhead, late morning vanishing into dusk in the blink of an eye, as the wind rose to a crescendo. The farmers, not seeing, not hearing the turmoil about them blindly continued their shoot, an occasional blast from their guns punctuating the gathering storm. A prolonged, unearthly shriek rang out from the darkness, the cry of no man, no quarry Hiram could ever dream of having encountered, and Annabell crumpled to her knees by the ghost’s side. Staring out across the open field Hiram could see it too, a behemoth of a beast, larger by far than the wolf its form resembled, stalking towards them. “You are not to meddle in this business, phantom,” the creature’s voice rang out as the creature prowled ever-closer, but Hiram had no intention of obeying. Whatever the creature could be, its reluctance to face him suggested that it feared he could do it harm, and the ghost had no intention of lightly surrendering his new patient - a patient he bore responsibility for bringing here - into its hungry maw.

Hefting a weapon himself, one of the spare shotguns that had been brought along in case of malfunction, and slipping two bright shells into the gun’s chamber, Hiram stepped forward to stand between the beast and Annabell’s huddled form. “This girl is my patient,” the ghost replied simply, “find your victim elsewhere.” Adopting a balanced shooter’s stance, weight balanced evenly between his two feet in preparation of the weapon’s recoil, Hiram took careful aim on the encroaching animal. Doubting he would get the chance to reload, he resolved to make the blast count, awaiting the moment when his target would get close enough to offer a clear shot.

OOC: If it takes more than one round for the creature to reach Hiram, then he’ll spend the time aiming (+1 die each round).

Stats-wise I’m pretty sure there’s no way I’ll be able to take the thing down (which, let‘s face it, would probably be pretty anti-climatic at this point). IC Hiram’s not so sure.

William was led by Dorian through the club to the VIP-room. The brutes at the door had given him a disgusted glance, but seemed to recognize Dorian and let them in without a word. The structure was huge. Had William had any knowledge of architecture, he'd have recognized the style as Gothic. It was hard to imagine the place as a nightclub and not some demonic church. Churches had always made William uncomfortable, this building made him relive the feeling.

He was still only wearing his coat. Luckily it covered most of his body, although his bare feet and a small part of his chest were visible. A good thing the weather wasn't colder than it was, or his private parts would've gotten a chill.

Inside, the place was even grander than on the outside. Bars lined the walls on their initial entrance and the dancefloor was up ahead. Everyone was dressed fashionably. It seemed almost exaggerated. William saw Dorian looking at the dark-stained windows overlooking the dancefloor, getting the notion that it was their destination. Whoever he was about to meet seemed to reside there.

As they entered, William was not impressed. Their host was above average height, but slender as a reed. He was, like everyone in the club, dressed so well William would've believed any claim that he changed clothes every two hours. The man seemed insulted by his presence. William hadn't been so amused since the last time a werewolf threatened him.

"William", he replied absent-mindedly as he watched their host's associate - no, servant - go fetch him some clothes. William was no giant, but he was well above average height and would have gladly watched the man trying to find him some clothes. He turned back to their host.

"I'm not allergic to soap. Neither has the week been any longer than most others. I'm afraid you'll just have to settle with the fact that not everyone is as afraid of the opinion of their peers as you are".

William was no psychologist, but he'd known a man like this one before. A 'man' named Richard.

"Also, I would appreciate it if you did not speak about me as if I was not here. I'm rather sure I could give you better details about myself than Mr. Grey ever could, although I am rather astounded by his knowledge."

William was rather well-spoken for a man who shunned human society, and his voice carried well around the room. He turned to Dorian.

"I must say though, Mr. Grey, that I am also curious about this contract. I'm afraid you'll have to clarify the points of the contract. What do you mean by 'services'? What kinds of benefits will we reap? Who is this superior?" He paused before the next question. "And what is this 'priceless artifact'?"

There was a gleam in his eyes as he spoke. Anything that could help him against the foe he had hunted so long was a blessing in his eyes. Any elder of his tribe would likely had advised against making a deal such as he was about to make, but the dream of ever returning to his people did not occur to him. At first he had been to afraid to return, too afraid of his own failure to protect his pack. After all he had been through, he wasn't even sure they'd want him back. He'd just murdered two of the Forsaken in cold blood just to relieve frustration. Maybe such a deal would be the final blow to his soul, the last drop that would send his soul screaming to the depths of madness? At the moment, he didn't care. He wanted his final stand against the one foe that mattered...

Ghost & Mage
Within a Dream
The mighty beast came closer, and the closer it got the bigger it looked. It looked much like a wolf, but with fur that seemed somewhat foggy and glowing red shimmer where there should be eyes. The weather got even darker, to the point where the sun seemed as if it had sat down already. The dark fur of the beast made him look nearly invisible, yet Hiram could see him as clearly as in daylight. Bigger than any wolf Hiram had ever seen or thought of, the eyes of both him and the beast were at equal height. As Hiram aimed the shotgun at the wolf’s head, he could have sworn that his target smiled, revealing a row of dark, metallic teeth as long and sharp as the longest daggers.

“You are brave, phantom,” the beast spoke, “but the girl’s fate belongs to me.” The beast walked slowly as if it had no need to rush, but even though it moved slowly it advanced quickly and before long it came within Hiram’s range. Annabell could not move, nor did she look like she even tried. She just kneeled beside Hiram with tears running down her cheeks.
“The girl is mine,” the beast spoke again, “but you will feel my fangs as well!”

As the beast leaped forward, Hiram could hear Annabell screaming his name, and he squeezed the trigger of his weapon.

Piers saw everything from a distance. He could not hear what the beast or the man in a white lab coat said, but he was fairly certain that they both said something. He only saw the great big wolf leaping forward, a girl screaming and a shotgun being fired.

Hiram could see as the shells from his firearm ripped through the beast’s form, but what poured from it did not look like any blood he had seen. Instead, it looked like smoke gushed from him, and for a split second Hiram could see frightened faces forming in it. The beast launched his ripping fangs into Hiram’s leg, pulling him off his feet and throwing him away into the distance. Hiram hit a barn not all that far away from where he stood a moment earlier, and broke through the wooden wall like he was ripping through a tissue paper.
“You are brave, phantom,” said the beast that now stood over him, “but here it is I who holds power.”

---

Vampire & Werewolf
Dorian seemed somewhat annoyed at the questions the two asked them, as well as Ren’s polite way of insults. “Indeed, baron Majere,” Dorian said, “the artifact is our way of helping you. With it you have another weapon in your armory, but without it... well, let us just say that you would be severely lacking in your attempts. We will not guaranty your success, but we will give you increased chance.” He poured wine into his glass and drank. Each sip seemed like an ecstasy to him, each drop was another orgasm. “This is good wine,” he said, “I will give you credit for that.”

Dorian turned to William as he asked his questions. “By services, I mean anything that we can think of asking you to do, that will not directly be of any harm to you. Although we may not ask you to cut your arm, we may ask you to kill others in any brutal way or commit any sort of crime. Do not think your services will not be of any value to our cause. You both are too valuable to be used needlessly.” He paused to pour and drink more wine before continuing. “These ‘benefits’ that are included into your contracts are directly linked to your services. While under this contract, your skills or abilities will be affected, but these benefits will be lost as soon as your service is no longer needed. That is, when your contracts are no longer valid.”

Again, he paused to drink more wine. Even from the view of those who did not know him, it was obvious that he enjoyed his wine. “Each of you will get a priceless artifact, once our.. mission, if you will, is complete. By no means will ending the contract mean that it has been completed. If the contract is ended prematurely, you will not get this artifact until our goals have been reached, unless you have broken the contract in which case you will never see your rewards.” Dorian paused slightly, and then continued as he sat back in a relaxing pose. “Is any of this unclear to you? Are you ready to sign?”

“This girl is my patient, find your victim elsewhere,” Hiram informed the creature, the shotgun’s steel and wooden body gripped tightly in his hands as he took careful aim on the approaching beast.

“You are brave, phantom, but the girl’s fate belongs to me,” the monster replied, its shadowy lips curling back in the grotesque parody of a smile to reveal a maw that bristled with jet-black fangs: a sinister promise of impending carnage. “The girl is mine,” the creature repeated, it's voice raised to a roar as it prowled ever closer, now no more than a few yards from the pair, “but you will feel my fangs as well!”
As the beast bounded towards him, Hiram squeezed firmly on the shotgun’s trigger. A deafening roar shook the field, almost drowning Annabell’s panicked scream, as the ancient weapon exploded, two barrels of compressed shot tearing into the impending predator’s body and flanks. Gusts of black, oily smoke streamed from the monster’s wounds, and in the heartbeat before it tore into him the spectre could see a string of anguished faces forming in the mist, but the beast kept coming. For the first time in seven decades the dead psychologist found himself gripped by an icy, uncontrollable fear as a mass of shadowy muscle and jet-black teeth launched itself towards him and, consumed by a primitive survival instinct, brought the gun’s wooden stock up to protect a face and jugular which no longer served any practical purpose in sustaining a long extinguished life.

Colliding heavily with his body, the creature instead lowered its head to catch one leg with razor-sharp jaws, throwing the ghost high into the air to collide with and crash through the barn’s wooden wall. The dream did not end as the beast tore past him: it could not yet have reached his patient. Landing, sprawled on his back amidst the wreckage of where there might once have been a haystack, Hiram could see the beast looming over him, feel its hot breath against his icy skin. “You are brave, phantom,” the creature boasted, drinking in his fear, “but here it is I who holds power.”
Willing the dream to end, determined that if he could at least distract the monster long enough to allow Annabell to escape then some element of victory might yet be gleaned from the encounter, Hiram surrendered fully to the wave of berserk, animal terror that swept over his spectral remains. The white doctor’s coat and the shirt beneath it shredded as the phantom’s skin tore open, burrowing back inside his flesh to reveal a mass of raw, shredded meat, shattered bone and pale, ropey entrails that seized and enveloped the limbs and body of the beast before him. Hundreds of hungry, biting mouths, each capped by a ring of tiny, needle-sharp teeth, burst forth from every inch of the dead psychologist’s flesh to gnaw at his attacker. A voiceless, primeval scream of “mine” consumed the spectre’s agonised face, though Hiram himself would have been hard-pressed to qualify whether he was referring specifically to the patient he had claimed as a daughter or merely pronouncing an empty denial of the beast’s claim to a hegemony of power. Then it too vanished before a mass of broken flesh, bone and jagged teeth as the ghost raised itself to bite at the beast it held grappled with a dozen coils of intestinal muscle.

OOC: Yep, Hiram is indeed using Transmogrify on himself. I'm just using "Grappling" here for descriptive effect... not trying to claim any mechanical benefit.

He’s also trying to use Dream Thief to try to end the dream. I’m guessing that Baba Yaga’s spell or the beast’s own powers might get in the way here, but it's worth a try.

William stared at the contract, looking as if Dorian's explainations went straight past him. This was not the case, as he instead listened to every word and played them over and over in his head. This was either a sure way to power, or a path to utter damnation.
But was it too late to turn back now? Could he just walk out the door as if nothing had happened? He'd gone along until now out of curiosity, believing that he could turn back at any time. Now he wasn't so sure anymore.

An image of Richard popped into his mind, and he clenched his fists involuntarily. He knew he needed any edge he could get. He turned to Dorian.

"Do you have a pen?"

Ren watched amused as he watched Dorian down the wine with relish far beyond that which he would consider natrual. But then again he couldn't understand any desire for food anymore, he couldn't even remember how a piece of bread felt on your tongue. Nor did he remember the feeling of soft drinks or wines, although he did have a faint memory of the intoxicating taste of the fine red wine. But it was so small that no matter how he tried to grab a hold of it it ran through his fingers. It was like trying to grab a hold on to smoke, you know its there, but you can't take it.

Slowly he reached out with his right hand and pulled the parchment further towards him and let his eyes run over it. Moving very, very slowly he picked up the pen and once again pierced his wrist and let his blood flow into it. But as soon as the pen touched the parchment he stopped like he was frozen in time. It wasn't that he was having second thoughts, he had thought this over a hundered times in the last couple of weeks. But he decided to let Dorian sweat for a sort while. This way he might see some hint of if he was actually important or if Dorian was just trying to play his ego.

But after that short moment, he signed.

Ghost & Mage
Within a Dream
Hiram warped his body, changing form into a far more fearsome creature than he originally was. But the beast did not flinch. Indeed, the monstrous wolf seemed to find this entertaining. As Hiram grabbed a hold on the wolf, it chuckled, even laughed, at Hiram’s attempts to bite unto its flesh.

“You are a fool, phantom,” spoke the beast, “to think that your visage would frighten a creature of fear itself.” Hiram could how the beast’s body somehow changed, how suddenly another set of teeth appeared Hiram clinged onto it. He felt how the teeth ripped through him, and as he fell of the beast he knew that his arm had been taken from him.

Looking back at the beast, Hiram saw how it too had reformed into more bestial appearance. The wolf no longer appeared as a wolf, but a warped replica that was covered in glowing red eyes and maws filled with rows of metallic teeth. Its fur had been replaced with misty shadows. As it spoke, all maws spoke at once, making its voice sound as in multiple layers. “Here it is I who hold power!”

The men that had been shooting into thin air were gone, disappeared, but the girl remained. Piers could see her in the distance, but suddenly he noticed that she had also seen him. Annabell started running towards him and within moments Piers could see that this was the same girl as was attacked in his last dream.

“Please!” she called out to him as she ran. “Please help us! You have to help us!” Her face was red, her eyes were filled with tears, and her voice sounded like the fear that covered her completely. “Please,” she repeated, “you have to help! Hiram! It is going to kill him!”

***

Hiram did not really feel very well. He had his arm back, not that he was surprised that he did, but his mind was somewhat broken. It was like he had a harder time focusing on anything in particular. Multiple thoughts clashed inside his mind, each fighting for attention. He had been forced out of Annabell’s dream and up against the wall. He knew that it had not been him that had ended Annabell’s dreaming. One of the guards had seen Annabell twisting and turning in bed and had decided to wake her up.

The guard asked her if she was alright, but as soon as she saw Hiram she jumped to him and put her arms around him, just as if he was solid. Seeing the patient hugging thin air, the guard left the room in a dash, saying something about getting the doctor. “Oh, Hiram,” she said between her sobs, “I was so scared that you were hurt.”

***

Piers slowly opened his eyes. He was no longer in his seat, but lied in the bed that he had seen inside Baba Yaga’s room. Ryozo was still sitting by the table, and as soon as he noticed that his apprentice had awaken he stood up and walked over to the bed.
“How are you feeling?” he said in a low voice. “You’ve been sleeping for over an hour.”

---

Vampire & Werewolf
Dark Nirvana club
The figure that was Dorian Grey grinned as he watched the two signing the two contracts in blood. Ren tried to see if his service was really needed or if any signature would be enough by hesitating as he was signing, but it only slightly shaded Dorian's grin. As they had signed, Dorian retrieved the two contracts.

“Well, then,” he said as he rolled up the contracts and put them away underneath his jacket, “what we really need from you two is to bring us three items. We know where one of them are but...” He did not get to finish his sentence because someone knocked on the door and Ren’s driver, Drew, peaked in. “I’m really sorry, sir,” he said in a begging voice, “but I was hoping I could have the rest of the night off. See there are these two hot Asian chicks who really want to show me a good time, if you catch my drift.” He began to chuckle as he started to think of all the nasty things he would get to do, but then figured this was not the place. “Please, sir,” he begged, “I’ve already talked to Thomas and he is willing to do the driver’s thing instead. Please, sir, it’s just for this one night.”

As the security guard’s rough hands shook Annabell from her slumber, Hiram found himself torn from the hungry maw of an adversary whose strength he could not hope to match. Consumed by adrenaline and pure animal terror the spectre gnawed ineffectually at the beast’s hide with a thousand barbed mouths as the memory of the farm crumbled about him and his right arm vanished into the creature’s jaws. Over the past seventy years he had grown arrogant, thinking himself the only supernatural terror this world had to offer, and confident in his ability to shepherd and punish the living with impunity when they encroached onto his hospital’s grounds. Now, returned to the relative safety of the hospital ward only by a chance intervention from the outside world, the ghost knew he could no longer afford the luxury of such illusions. Heaving with relief and unspent aggression, the phantom’s pale form flickered more wildly than ever in the half-light of early morning as he gazed out once more at the collected sketches with a fresh-fledged interest and trepidation.

Disentangling herself from the guard’s questions, Annabell rushed across to the phantom, flinging her arms about his shimmering, incorporeal form. “Oh, Hiram, I was so scared that you were hurt.” What cause she might have to care for his continued well being the spectre could hardly help but question, for the altercation at the farmhouse might well have provided a warning signal that her best interests would not be served by continued proximity to the ravening horror the spectre had revealed himself to be. Still, it assuaged the phantom’s ego that she should worry for his safety, and he determined to repay her trust with better care in the future. A temptation was certainly there to retreat into his previous routine of policing the hospital and forget the supernatural horror that had imposed itself into his world, but Hiram could not in good conscience abandon his patient to a life of continued fear and paranormal predation. If a way could be found to cheat the beast of its victim then he would work to discover it, and if he could not match the creature’s raw physical strength then he would rely upon a natural ingenuity and resourcefulness to find some way to meet the deficit.

The guard, seeing the girl rush past him to wrap her arms around the unseen phantom, hurried out of the room in alarm and (Hiram suspected) slight embarrassment. No matter, the ghost had already taken note of his name and face and, once the chance presented itself, would repay him in full for the good turn his vigilance had done the pair. Good conduct, along with bad, must be seen to reap its just reward if the hospital was to prosper.

As the door swung closed, and the two were left alone once more, Hiram stepped backwards, lightly retreating from his patient’s embrace. “Oh, there’s really no need to worry about me,” the spectre gently reminded her, fobbing off her concern with an assurance he did not feel, “I died quite some years ago.” Almost as an afterthought the dead psychologist continued in a more sober tone, “it was brave of you to trust me back there, I’m just sorry I couldn’t take better care of you.”
The dead psychologist had no doubt that a doctor or some other member of the hospital staff would soon be on their way and it would not do for them to find his newest patient crying and clutching the empty air where he stood. Glancing ahead, through the shuttered window the ghost could see a new day dawning overhead, and struggled to rouse a new energy in its tired remains to meet the challenges of the morning to come. Exhausted not merely by his skirmish with the dream-beast but also by an afternoon of near incessant engagement with the material world the urge for sleep, to retreat from the living and lie dormant for many days to come until his energies slowly replenished themselves, was almost overwhelming. But Hiram Withers had not been raised to lie indolent when there was a job to be done, and the discipline he had nurtured in life harried his tired remains even in death. There was work to be done, and the spectre’s agile mind already leapt to the task of plotting and ordering the long day ahead.

OOC: According to the WoD book Ghosts regain one point of Essence and Willpower each day. I’m not sure if you’ve factored this in already, but if not it seems as good a point to bring it up as any other.

Anyhow, I’m making a few more Ghost Speech rolls. Could you give me a name for the security guard? I’m assuming they wear name tags as well, right?

((Sorry, gonna have to keep this a shorty).

William was displeased at the interruption. He looked over at Ren with a scowl on his face. Couldn't the man manage his employees? Aching to know more about these items he was to retrieve, he turned towards the newcomer. With a loud "Leave!", he flung the pen, still dripping with his blood, towards the wall next to the man.

Without even checking to see if the man had even got the idea, he turned back to Dorian.

"Please continue, Mr. Grey"

There where a few things in this world Ren loved and one of those things was being begged. But he did not like his employee begging him like that. Surely mortals couldn't be expected to behave like the kings of the night, they where nothing but dogs. But this was his dog, a dog that in a sad way represented him. So he had hoped his men, especially the men he put into trusted positions would act like proud beasts but not like sniveling mutts.

He was about to send the man of to be disciplined by Twitch but his guests sudden outburst cut him off. For a moment he couldn't believe his own senses but then the outrageous behavior he was witnessing suddenly registered in his mind. He rose from his seet, throwing his chair back onto the floor and slammed his hand into the table.

"Don't you ever try to order my men around like that and don't even think about threatening them with your brutish behavior again.."
Ren quite literally growled at the man sitting before him, staring deep into his eyes, weaving every word with the power of his mind. An attack on his men was an attack on him. And such utter lack or respect he would not tolerate in his house.

"As long as your under my roof i will expect you to behave at least half presentably or i will be forced to do something about it.. I'm a generous host and i do not believe i deserve such violations of my hospitality.."

He said, his voice a lot calmer and more under control than it had been before as he picked his chair up from the floor and placed it where it had been

"And you.. Get out of my sight, I'll deal with you later.."

Ren said to the man, giving him a sharp glare clearly telling him that it would be a rather unpleasant thing.

"I'm truly sorry for the interruption Mr. Grey.. Please continue.."


((OOC: Uses Dominate 2 on William))

“Well I feel like I weigh a ton.”

Piers couldn’t help but wonder at what he had just witnessed. He knew one thing though he needed to find the girl and this Hiram fellow. Piers got up for the bed slowly it wasn’t easy feeling like you weighed a ton but he made to his feet kind of before he fell back down and started over.

“I got some info but I still need to process it this dream was different then the other but had some of the same cast.”

He made it to his feet again as he said this then fell on his face. Then he started to get up again.

“I went with noncombative trying to learn more but wasn’t sure how my abilities would work in the dream since I hadn’t gotten to use last time so didn’t want to take a chance or I might have learned more.”

He finally made his feet and managed to keep them this time.

Ghost
Longchester Hospital for the Insane
The day started and continued much like any other day since the reopening of the asylum, aside from two markable things. Most residents did not notice them though, but a sedative shot was found on the floor of one of the corridors. Of course, it was quickly removed by one of the nurses so that it would not become this morning’s gossip, which she of course started around noon. The story was that one of the doctors was going to take it with him home for some personal use. Combined with the story that the new head doctor did not leave the institution last night made it into a specially juicy story.

Indeed, Doctor Einhart did not leave the asylum at all. Although he would not admit it, he hardly left the corner of his office. Of course, he told no one that he thought he had seen a ghost in the middle of the night. Who would believe him? Or better yet, who would trust him to do his job if they thought he was insane? The fact whether he was insane or not was not relevant to the matter. Einhart liked his job and intended to keep it.

Hiram could notice that the ‘good’ doctor appeared a bit paranoid. Everywhere he went he seemed to look around himself as to try to catch a glimpse of the specter that had frightened him the previous night. He did so very subtle, hardly ever turning his head but frequently turned his eyes. Hiram suddenly heard a laughter that belonged to an unearthly voice. It did not sound like any human voice he had heard, but it was not close to being the voice of the beast he fought in Annabell’s dream.

“Laugh or cry,
Laugh or cry.
The good doctor is coming by.
Laugh or cry,
Laugh or cry.
Tonight is the night you’re gonna die.”

The voice came from behind, and as Hiram turned to see who was speaking, he saw a man dressed like a doctor, but the skin was scorched nearly to the bones and his clothes had obviously burned with him. He had only few strands of hair on his head, and his insane smile revealed ugly set of teeth and could have struck great fear into Hiram if he had not been dead. No one seemed to notice this person, except Einhart who filled the whole asylum with his girlish screaming. When Hiram looked again, the burned doctor had disappeared.

((OOC: I’m ruling that your last Ghost Speeches were still performed in the same Scene as your last exceptional success with that Numen, so they are made freely. I’m also going to add to your Willpower and Essence. The guard is what I call an extra, which you have as much control over as I have, so you can just make up that name by yourself if you want.))

---

Vampire & Werewolf
Dark Nirvana club
"Don't you ever try to order my men around like that and don't even think about threatening them with your brutish behavior again.."
Ren’s voice was powerful and even more so to the ears of William, who could not but help obeying Ren’s orders.

"As long as your under my roof i will expect you to behave at least half presentably or i will be forced to do something about it.. I'm a generous host and i do not believe i deserve such violations of my hospitality.." As Ren let these words pass his lips, Drew was about to open his mouth again but was interrupted by Ren’s commanding voice that told him to disappear.

Both Ren and William then asked Dorian to continue.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” he said humbly. “What was I saying? Oh, yes, the three items we want you to deliver to us.” He poured more wine into his glass before continuing. “We know where one of them are. We need you both to recover the diary of Morpheus, which just so happens is located in the Longchester Library. It belongs to Salomon Lopez’s private collection, which is why we need you to get it for us.” Dorian finished his glass of wine as he stood up and walked to the door. “Use any means necessary,” he said as he turned to them with a wide grin, before walking out of the room, “and play nice; you are going to be working together for a while.”

---

Mage
Scarlett Hearts
After listening to Piers’s story about his dream, Ryozo looked worried. Piers knew his mentor well enough to tell that he knew more about these dreams than he was letting on. Baba Yaga seemed so as well, but she looked more happy about it than Ryozo.

“We should go,” Ryozo said and quickly walked to the door out.
“You should tell him, Ryuuchi dear,” said Baba Yaga with a sinister smile.
“This can’t be happening so there is nothing to tell, you old hag.” Ryozo did not wait for Piers but opened the door to leave the room.

((OOC: Didn’t make this long for you, Drakar, but you have several choices here, including leaving with your mentor or ask him to stop.))

EDIT: Did some minor change on the Ghost update. The burned doctor disappeared, which I forgot to include last night.

The morning passed uneventfully, like most others since the hospital’s reopening. As Hiram idly prowled its wards, continuing the incessant hunt for impropriety which had become his routine, his mind worked over the past night’s events, deliberating over how best to proceed. Since his death he had made little attempt to interfere directly with the hospital’s administration, content merely with the enjoyment of minor victories: terrifying an orderly who stole or dozed off on the job, drawing the attention of the nearest doctor when a patient suffered a seizure, working tirelessly in a small and unobtrusive way to ensure that the old place functioned as he knew it should. As time wore on these pursuits had grown stale- they were still worth performing, no doubt, and indeed he could scarcely comprehend doing otherwise, but the thrill to be reaped from them had grown tired and dull and they were no longer sufficient to absorb the ghost’s interest. Now, still flushed with the excitement of the past night’s events, the spectre began to wonder whether it might be worth making a bid for the hospital outright.

Watching Einhart closely as the German doctor made the hospital rounds, Hiram was pleased to note that the old man still appeared on edge from the warning that the ghost had administered to him on the preceding evening. With the application of a little more pressure, the spectre was willing to wager that the new Head Doctor might even be willing to cede him the authority he craved. As ancient memories were jarred and startled to life within the dead psychologist’s brain a near-forgotten ambition resurfaced and, somehow, even after the passage of so many years, the fact that Hiram had made it no further than General Practitioner himself re-emerged as an issue of some resentment. Along with his mortal remains, the ghost’s medical career had fallen victim to the early death that had claimed him long before he could climb to the upper echelons of the hospital hierarchy and there seemed some perverse justice in the fact that now, in death, he would have the opportunity to claim the position that had been denied to him in life. He knew the hospital, the dead psychologist reasoned, had tended to the old place for near eight decades, and was certainly to be judged more capable of managing it than Einhart or any of his contemporaries. If anything it would be a criminal waste to deny it, and its patients, the benefit of his experience and expertise and the new Head Doctor was certainly not to be trusted if left to his own devices. The memory of the beast too, lingered within the phantom’s mind: he had provoked the antagonism of a powerful enemy indeed, and with the hospital’s staff and other resources at that command he would be that much better placed to take the fight to his adversary, whatever it might be, to prevent it from taking his patients as prey.

Thus decided the ghost latched onto the mind of another visiting intern, a youth whom it had been trailing for the last five minutes or so. The student, a tall man who looked as though he might play rugby for the university side, had time to exhale a sharp breath as Hiram stepped into his mind, but proved unable to resist the spectre’s hold. That much ascertained, the ghost and his victim set off together in pursuit of the new Head Doctor. Finding a small notepad and fountain pen in the youth’s jacket pocket, Hiram began composing a letter as he walked, setting down the message he had been deliberating over for the past quarter hour in an elegant, Edwardian hand. Tearing the page free from the pad with a satisfying rip, the phantom waited for the ink to dry before folding it neatly in two. That done he continued at a brisk pace, turning the corner and continuing down the corridor in hot pursuit of Einhart.

***

As Hiram finally caught up with the doctor, the folded page still gripped firmly in his left hand, he could see an expression of utter terror form upon Einhart’s face. Could the old man somehow have become conscious of his presence? A disembodied voice rang out from behind the spectre, “Laugh or cry, Laugh or cry. The good doctor is coming by. Laugh or cry, Laugh or cry. Tonight is the night you’re gonna die” and the spectre turned abruptly, astonished at the interruption. There was some thing hanging in the air above his head, a burned and blackened apparition clad in the remnants of a doctor’s coat akin to his own. The dead psychologist’s mouth fell open, ready to voice its owner’s surprise and indignation at finding another ghost in his domain, but he was cut off by Einhart’s abrupt scream before he could find the words. Then, in the blinking of an eye, the creature was gone.

Irritated by an interruption he did not understand, and refusing to tolerate any further disturbance, Hiram seized the new Head Doctor by one shoulder with his free hand, ushering the old man through the door of the nearest empty ward.

[[[Pending Einhart’s reaction.]]]

Pushing the door shut behind them with his free hand, blocking any avenue of escape, the phantom began to impart his message, in a tone that brooked no interruption. “Doctor Einhart, we need to talk. Take this and read it. I believe you must have some notion of who I am.” handing the old man the letter, the spectre stood over him, holding the door firmly closed as he began to read.

[[[If Einhart actually takes it and starts reading.]]]

Pleased to find a pack of cigarettes in the student’s pocket, Hiram lit one and began smoking while the doctor read. “Now,” the spectre continued in a more affable tone, “If you have any questions then this would seem an opportune moment to ask. I can assure you that our recent visitor, whatever it might be, was done of my doing. I believe you’ve witnessed first hand that I take good care of your patients and staff. If you’re willing to do as I ask, then I can extend you the same protection. Not a bad deal, I’d imagine, with a creature like that on your tail.”
[[[If Einhart’s agrees.]]]

“One final point. I’m going to need you to sign a note excusing ‘Tom Bradley’”, the phantom glanced down to check the identity badge on the intern’s jacket, “from work for the next couple of hours or so, and permitting him to speak freely with your patients. Write it up and we can both move on.”
OOC: I’m making a few assumptions about Einhart’s reaction here. If he resists then Hiram will try to manhandle him through the doorway- if he thinks he can get away with it without making too much of a scene.

Here's the note. Sorry if it's a bit long, I probably went slightly overboard writing it.

Dr. Frederick Einhart

Before we begin I must make two things plain:

1. You are not insane. I exist, as an entity in my own right, no less than you and your living compatriots. It would be a mistake - and one which I would not be disposed to look upon kindly - for you to dismiss me as merely some figment of a strained or tired mind.
2. I am not here to do you harm. If I wished you dead then I have ample power at my command to ensure that you would have joined me already. My sole interest is in ensuring that Longchester Hospital continues to perform its proper purpose and that due standards of medical responsibility are met.

Now, if we can set the past night’s sordid indiscretion behind us, and agree that there will be no repetition of its unfortunate events, then you will find my friendship greatly to your advantage. Your patients will benefit from my professional expertise and you may claim the credit for their recovery. When they suffer mishaps, or otherwise endanger themselves, then I will, if nearby, ensure that medical personnel are alerted before any serious harm can be done. Your staff will not steal, will not fall into lax habits when administering their duties and will not abuse the patients in their care, because if they do, I will find them and administer due chastisement. The hospital will flourish and, as Head Doctor, you will find yourself in an ideal position to reap the medical reputation and pecuniary rewards that my hard work will bestow upon you. Conversely, if you are set upon further abusing the responsibilities vested in you then I will have no qualms about removing you outright. If you believe that you cannot be relied upon to do as I have asked, and abide by a code of common decency in accordance with your role, then I suggest that it would be best to seek employment elsewhere.

For the present, while you consider your options, I would advise that you head home. Call a cab if you cannot trust yourself to drive. Shower, change your clothing, drink some coffee, and take the time to review my offer. Should you decide that you would like to remain a part of hospital life then I simply request that you return here by 3 p.m. as I have a couple of minor tasks that will require your (or your successor’s) attention. You will no doubt be aware that your behaviour is already the topic of staff gossip, but some reasonable explanation can no doubt be fabricated. Perhaps you suffer from some unfortunate condition and passed out in your office last evening? Perhaps you merely worked late and fell asleep over your papers? Should it become necessary then I am willing to personally intervene and curtail the further spread of any malicious rumours as, and when, they might threaten your authority.

If you return, I would be greatly obliged if you could look to the following tasks as matters of some urgency. I will return to your office at 5:30 this afternoon, at which point you will begin perusing the information which you have collected and I, along with you, will read through it page by page.

1. If they are not already in the hospital’s possession, contact the town police department and request copies of their files on the death of Annabell’s brother, James Holmes. Be as insistent as it necessary: I need to know who killed him, how he died and the circumstances of his death.
2. Go over the files of the other insomniacs. I would be interested to learn what they dream of when afflicted by nightmares and when their insomnia began. If this information is not already on file then contact the doctors responsible for their treatment and seek answers to these questions yourself.
3. A security guard in the hospital’s employ, one Samuel Taylor, has come to my attention as an individual whose diligent service here deserves some monetary reward. At the first possible opportunity you will offer him either a bonus or a raise of some description, whichever might be easiest to arrange. For your information this man knows nothing of my existence, I merely commend him to you as a good and capable worker. Be so kind as to ensure that this recommendation does not go unheeded.

For the present, this is all I require of you. Should you feel the need to contact me directly, today or at any later time, leave your jacket hanging from the handle of your office door. I will recognise the signal and be with you presently.

Regards

Hiram
"The Demon of Longchester Asylum"

William glared at Ren, clenching his fists as he watched the man's frail form. He wanted to take him by the neck and rip him in half, wanted to tear his still-beating heart from his chest. But he'd already been in a rash fight this evening. One that had ended in double homicide. Without a word, he simply turned back to Dorian.

"A book from the library", William though as Dorian finished his explaination. "Come to think of it, I don't believe I've ever had a library card".

"Alright" he spoke out loud, his words and gaze directed at Dorian. "Doesn't sound too hard. Could simplify things if our good friend here could get me some fresh clothes, though. I'm not exactly presentable at the moment."

He was careful to totally ignore Ren's presence, speaking of him as if he wasn't there.

Ren watched Williams childish games with slight amusement, completely ignoring the fact that he had done the same earlier.. After all, he had the right to do it. His rage was slowly subsiding with every second, quenched by his growing amusement. The sight was made doubly amusing by the fact that Dorian obviously did not intend to spend more words on them but being socially inept the filthy hobo continued to try and converse with him.

"Presentable clothes? if only that was enough.."

Ren said, more to himself than anyone else as his eyes went up and down the man, trying the best he could to decide what sort of look would suit him best. He needed clothes yes, but before that he would have to do a few other things.

"Come downstairs with me, you can use the facilities there to get yourself into shape.."

He said, smiling softly as he stood up and walked towards the door. All his earlier words seemed rather silly now, it was stupid to judge a man entirely by his looks as he had done. After all, brutes where quite useful as well.

"There is a shower and a dressing room down there, there should be some soap there and i will have some fresh razors and clothes brought to you.. Normally im a big lover of silk, but i don't think it would do you justice at all.."

Ren said as he walked down the stairs, mentally dressing William up in everything he could think off.

"No i think fine Egyptian cotton, some stylish denim pants, fine black leather and a bit of rough jewelry would suit you much better"

He said, smiling to himself. He couldn't let himself be seen with someone poorly dressed after all.