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  1. Hey guys! Sorry I blipped for a few days. My daughter just started teething and I've slept maybe three hours in the past couple of days until last night. She's still teething, but I'm learning how to get her to sleep anyways. Anyhoo! I thought we should have a monthly (after June) OOC so that we can easily find things discussed in the OOC as time goes on. I'll be working on character submissions today as well, though Carver is out of town so anything that requires Mid approval will still have to wait until she gets back (after Memorial Day). Thanks for the patience!
  2. Alrighty, guys. It's officially July and after a month of game, we have a few things to discuss. First off: PbP as we've been doing it is simply not going to work for a game that is also tied to a LARP that advances in real time. Writing and going back and forth between people simply takes too much time to keep the forum game at all in sync with the live action games. It can work, but it takes people being online pretty much all day and rapidly responding to posts. I don't know about you guys, but I have this annoying, insistant thing called a life that gets in the way of posting every fifteen minutes. So, where do we go from here? We have a few options: Try to pick up the pace this month and keep going with the current set-up. I think this has a low chance of being viable long-term, but I am willing to give it a shot. Close the venue. <-- I will cry. I'm just sayin'. Try doing chat-based nights during the month and leave the PbP aspects for private scenes and solo character mood threads. Something else? If you have a suggestion, please speak up! If we go with the hybrid of chat and threads, then when and how often would people like to have chat scenes scheduled? My Thursdays are booked, and the third Saturday of every month is when I go to the nearest SPI LARP to me. As I'm in the Midwest, USA, so I'm in Central Standard Time (on Daytime Savings, because we're bad at practical change); that translates to -6 GMT. I have an infant, so my general schedule is 8-ish to 10-ish most days (so, 3 AM to 5 PM Zulu). I'm fine with running a once-a-month chat session up to a weekly chat session. The chat program here on RPGPost is great; we can have a dedicated room and there is the option for private PMs, and an in-chat script for die rolling. I know there are more sophisticated/complicated chat options out there and I'd be willing to entertain using them if people have a good suggestion or I find one that seems exceptionally well suited to our use, but the chat here will work just fine as well. Let me know what you guys think. I hope we can hash this out within the first week of the month and get going with whatever the new set-up will be quick enough not to lose a month of gameplay.
  3. Monday, June 1st Early Evening Many things were said of Prince Giles Del Mar, but all could admit that the Invictus Ventrue certainly knew how to throw a party. Word spread among the Kindred community of his latest diversion for his court and subjects: a midnight safari in the countryside around Cape Town. A meeting place was set, the Belville Veladrome, and the Prince’s limoes were waiting when the city’s Kindred arrived. The drive took nearly an hour and a half and lead to mostly empty field; massive tents with low tables and large piles of multi-colored pillows filled out the ‘safari’ feel. Paper lanterns lit the area in a warm glow. True to form, the Prince was dressed in the quintessential British safari hunter’s outfit. He beamed at the gathered monsters and welcomed them with open arms. “Greetings, my fine hunters. This evening has a few rules, and then we can begin! First, the prey: scattered around the area are small camps of rhino poachers. They’ve been a pernicious problem this year and particularly crafter for their breed of pest. Your goal is to take as many of them as you can tonight. You will receive a point for each body, with bonus points awarded for cleverness, style, and good bragging.” He grinned, then wagged a finger at the crowd. “However, anything that needs to be cleaned up before morning, other than the bodies brought here to camp, will subtract points. Have fun, but mind the Masquerade.” He gestured grandly at the tents behind him. “For those not of a hunting frame of mind for the evening, you may earn points by entertaining the court back here at camp. Tell stories, jokes, dance, sing, whatever you think will please. Not all of the court is here yet, and some will go hunting themselves no doubt, but Madelaine and I will be here all night.” The seneschal nodded when the Prince motioned to her. She was dressed unusually casually for her in camo sweatpants, a white t-shirt, and an army surplus jacket, but her standard issue clip-board was still cradled carefully in her arms. “There isn’t a safety net on this one, ladies and gentlemen. The poachers are armed and paranoid. If you get in over your head, there’s no rescue waiting in the wings. I strongly suggest you team up. Points will be evenly split for team efforts and will give you more chances to earn points for style and clever group tactics. Also, the Prince prefers comedy acts and has a penchant for pop songs.” Del Mar clutched at his chest and bemoaned, “You give all my secrets away, my dear!” Turning back to the gathered predators he announced with a grand gesture, “Let the hunt begin!” ST Notes and Pictures This is open RP, feel free to introduce your character and mingle. If your PC is going to go straight for the hunt, please give me a Survival roll to track them (or whatever else you're doing to find them). If you want to make rolls for entertaining the court (currently just Madelaine and Del Mar), please give me the appropriate skill roll or PM with what you want to do if you're not sure what roll it should be. Have fun, guys! Prince Giles Del Mar: Seneschal Madelaine Von Gruskov:
  4. What is everyone thinking about playing in Vampire? Maybe we could use this Topic to discuss character ties and start to form an IC court? Sam P.S. I am hoping at playing an Elder Malkovian Lance
  5. Pierce-Niege was once a grand country estate, a summer home for foriegn nobles just far enough outside of Paris to bask in the glory of the throne - from a safe distance. Like so many things, the hamlet of Anteuil had eventually been swallowed by the great city, but the family had kept the marbled buildings and green expanse safe from the predations of time and unrest. It was a quiet home, usually - the Camporgiano family entertained, but the events were exceptionally exclusive and occurred with an almost obsessive regularity throughout the year. Mysterious campers could sometimes be found among the trees and small clearings away from the main roads around the estate, though those that intruded on the estates to catch glimpses of these odd guests were far more lucky to be found by irate security than by those elusive campers. They were a source of endless speculation by tabloids and slow news cycles, but not even the most dedicated paparazzi or would-be journalist had yet to completely suss out the relationship between the family and these strange denizens of the estate. As the sun set over the city, old fashioned candelabras were lit in the main rooms, with electric lights ignored in favor of the flickering flames of the candles. Drapes were folded neatly back from their windows by crisply dressed servants, and the itinerant guests of the true masters of the house made their way to the servant cottages, entertaining with fiddles, guitars, and dances. They kept a teasing distance from the main home, both eager and wary of an invitation by the lord of the manor or his lady. They kept their own dance, the lord and lady of the house. He rose before her these nights, he had ever since the second Great War. He used the time to see to the household and their larger holdings, leaving the rest of the night once she rose for his undivided attention. She, of late, had started to smile again and play little games with him - sneaking out of the manor house to go dance with the gypsies or leave clues for him to follow her 'round the city. Lovers games that reminded him of nights before wars of guns and trenches. She was still deciding the entertainment for the evening, if she felt more to be hunted or to seek her love out to hunt together, when she came across the flowers in the front hall. They were handpicked, the stems ragged instead of precisely cut as shop flowers would be, and laying vase-less on the small table near the entrance. Rosemary and viscaria, tied with a laurel branch instead of ribbon. She'd been dead for centuries, her body a mockery of the natural order, but her blood pushed through her body so her heart could skip a beat and she took in a sharp breath the hold as she stared at the message. She picked up the crude bouquet petals catching on the fabric of her gloves as she turned it over her hands, caught between a keen sadness and the bright pangs of renewed hope. "I've been told it's proper to bring the lady of a house a gift, when visiting." She started at the voice from behind her, and flushed; she turned blindly, throwing herself in the arms of the Kindred behind her with a childish abandonment. She held him tightly, crushing the flowers between them in her carelessness and bursting out in her native Italian. "We thought you-...that we'd might never see you again, but we hoped!" She smiled up at him as he grinned, his own Italian still spiced with the exotic accent she'd never been able to properly place. "So I see. Pierce-Niege? The Ventrue have infected you," he teased. She playfully brandished the bouquet at him and asked archly, "Just us?" "Fair play," he relented and kissed her cheeks. He twined her arm in his, acting the proper gentlemen she knew he wasn't and certainly didn't look in his off-white t-shirt and threadbare jeans. "Where is your better half, little dove? I was told you were both here..." She almost teased him back, but caught the slight look of fear in his eyes when he asked. After so long, it's hard to believe until you see him. I'd want - I did want proof and now you're here. She squeezed his arm and smiled reassuringly. "Gianlucetto!" she called out, startling the servants and mortal family within earshot with her unheard of indulgence in impropriety within the house. "Gianlucetto, we have a guest!" The Guest
  6. "What's on the agenda tonight boss?" Adrian looked over to Jordan. She was actually using the Nordic he'd gotten her, giving her more staying power than the average bear, or average Bel Air wife for that matter. "I need to pay homage to my boss tonight. Every month or so we get together and hash the shit, see what needs to get done, or who needs to take care of something. The usual mobbed-up stuff," he responded. "Well, watch your back, okay?" He nodded to her. Personally, he owed no more favors and even had a tiny bit of cred right now, but he understood that all of that could change at a moment's notice. Being on top of the situation had its advantages, but it also meant no one had a vested interest in seeing him remain in existence. "I'll keep three eyes open, Jordan. I promise." Two eyes forward and one in the back of the head. That had become one of their inside jokes. "Should I stay up?" her voice tinged with hope. It would have been easy to say 'No'. It would be just as likely for her to ignore him. Adrian compromised. "How about you stay up until two? I should be back by then, but if I'm not, I'm likely to be coming in real late." Jordan gave a playful shrug of the shoulders, "Wheel in the Sky." Adrian nodded. "Understood." He walked to the door, hand outstretched behind him. Though he couldn't see it, he could hear the keys jangle as Jordan set herself up and took her shot. He felt out the passage of the keys through the air, and with only minimal effort, caught them in his hand. It was a portion of their parting ritual that he really liked. He walked out the door and took a look at the cars. It looked like a Jaguar night. "Night Adrian. Wake the Dead." "Night Jordan. Lock the door." She stood in the doorway watching Adrian walk to the Jag. She always waited for him to pull out of the drive before shutting the door. Already, the glass storm door separated them, but every time she felt that desire to run to him and hide somewhere in his care - to not let him too far out of her sight. In a way she knew it was silly. Jordan knew what had happened to his previous servitor, Gwen. She knew that he was keeping her away from others of his kind for that very reason. Still ... as the engine noise faded into the night, she shut and locked the door.
  7. "The test is simple, but hard, Slave Adrian." Adrian was chained in the basement. His hands were chained to opposite corners so that he had enough movement to touch his mouth, but barely. His feet had much less room. It was impossible for him to bring his ankles together. He wore a nice white dress shirt, nice slacks, and little else. His bare feet felt cold against the concrete floor. Virginia stood some distance away to one side. His Master, Thomas, Initiate of the Void, was talking to him. "You will be drained of all your blood. When I am satisfied that you are dry, you will be given only enough blood to fight off the frenzy. You will not frenzy. If you do frenzy, you have failed the test and can't try again for a half-year. If you succeed, you will be released and monitored. You will only feed once a night, every other night, of the next six nights. Your victims must be capable of leaving you under their own power. If you resist the frenzy for the entire week, you will have passed and I will confirm you as Supplicant of Hunger. Adrian had already faced the Chrysalis, but only barely survived it. It was the ultimate transformation of the vampiric form. That wasn't the important test for him right now. Now was the 'draining all the blood' part, and that was his first concern. "Master, how will I be drained?" "I will administer ten cuts across your body. You will heal each cut. Any other questions?" Adrian shook his head in the negative. He was too afraid to ask any serious questions anyway. Thomas stepped forward and opened Adrian's shirt. The knife was presented before Adrian's eyes with a flourish. The Master looked into the Slave's eyes. He slashed down with an economy of motion. Adrian winced. Thomas waited for a moment then Adrian remembered his part of the ritual. The wound healed. Nine more times the blade came down, digging into his flesh and causing him to flinch in pain. At the time of the fifth wound, he began feeling the hunger building up in him. On the sixth, the Beast was at the gates. On the seventh, it rattled the cage and stretched the gate, but the lock held. The Eighth wound began the real struggle. Adrian hadn't felt this way since his First Night, when the Beast had raged out of control. It was another fear layered upon the fears of pain and failure. The Ninth wound's healing brought a growl to his lips and a clawing in his guts. The Tenth was almost anti-climatic. There was a dusty emptiness inside him. It was something he had not felt before. It was the sensation of a truly dead body. He could hear voices around him, but they were unclear. The Beast stalked instead of raged. The cage was not of flesh, but solely of will now.
  8. Thomas Coventry had made a fortune gaining water rights in the Owens Valley. He swindled hard-scrabble farmers and ranchers of the water beneath their feet. He turned around and sold these rights to the City of Los Angeles when they decided to build the aqueduct to feed the growing city's thirst. He profited off other people's misery, robbed them of not only their fortune's, but their livelihoods. The city's growing thirst drained the water table, drying up Lake Owen and lowering the water table. Plant's couldn't grow, even those that were normally drought resistant. Thomas Coventry destroyed hundreds of lives. Thomas Coventry built the Coventry House in 1923. His friends thought it terribly odd that he built it so far away from the city center, in the heart of Bundy Valley. He claimed to have loved the isolation for him and his growing family. The Coventry family was a constant fixture in the LA social scene. Coventry invested shrewdly, showing as much financial acumen in Hollywood as he had shown in Real Estate. People who crossed Coventry tended to come to a bad end. It was rumored he had ties to the burgeoning Mob presence in the city. His ties to the local government were well established so no criminal investigations were ever pursued. On November 1st, 1930, when a local produce grower went up to the house on his weekly deliveries, he discovered a horrible bloodbath. Mrs. Coventry, all of their nine children, and all five of their staff were found murdered throughout the dwelling. The police immediately investigated the property. They searched the surroundings hills for Thomas' Coventry's body. They waited for someone to contact them with ransom demands. Finally, they accepted the thought that Mr. Coventry had done the deed. Descriptions were sent out across the country and to Canada and Mexico. Nothing ever came of these inquiries. Privately, the police and political leaders came the realization that Coventry was most likely dead. None of his accounts had been touched. If he was on the run, he was penniless. For that matter, he was a man in his fifties, in Depression Era America. They decided that Thomas Coventry had been murdered by one of his shady cohorts and that they would never find the body. In 1937, they quietly seized his accounts and lands, adding them to the city's coffers. By the end of World War II, the story of the Coventry House was forgotten.
  9. War is not a fast and delicate dance. It is born of numerous clumsy steps, exercised by the Unready on the Unwilling. ~Anonymous Justine Torjas paced back and forth in the waiting room of her sires court, though they appeared to be nothing more than corporate offices to the uninitiated. Through her numerous contacts, she had already learned of her assignments. One of the Invictus had crossed the line with a one of the Carthian groups. Now, they wanted to exchange some properties held by the Invictus (read: her sire) for the wayward kindred. It was a simple exchange, but one that required a steady hand. The Invictus of Los Angeles, or more appropriately, the Invictus of South Central Los Angeles, were not ready for a war, nor were the various fractious groups of Carthian's. The door opened and one of her sire's favored ghouls came out to politely summon her. She strode in like the proud Ventrue she was, confident and self-assured. She immediately recognized three of the four kindred in the room. Her sire, Amos Cantrell, sat behind the desk. Directly in front of him stood the head of the Westwood Invictus, the Gangrel Jorge. On Jorge's right was the Daeva Moses Collins. Moses was the 'knight' of this domain. The kindred on the left, she didn't recognize right away. Justine did the math in her head and came up with the most likely answers - Adrian Moss, Mekhet. She didn't know much else about him, so he had to be a very low status kindred indeed. Formal introductions were made, long in the Invictus tradition. The stranger was indeed Adrian Moss, childe of Vickers. Justine could only feel supremely confident in her grasp of the situation. Lord Cantrell started into the meat of the conversation. "Madam Torjas, you will take Mister Collins and Mister Moss to a rendezvous arranged by a neutral party. You will go to the Cantor Lines #12 Warehouse at the Port of Los Angeles at 1a.m tonight. A Mr. Oglethorpe will arrive five minutes later with two other kindred as well. Lord Collins is to take the suitcase with the paperwork for the extorted properties and place it half way between your group and theirs. He will withdraw to you. Once he has done this, they will send their hostage, Mister Jenkins to you. When the hostage makes it to the halfway point, one of their party will then to pick up the suitcase. You will load up and return here. Is this clear?" "Yes Lord Cantrell," Justine responded eagerly. "Any questions?" "No Lord Cantrell. Your plan is flawless. I will execute it as you have instructed." Cantrell nodded then placed his hands on his desk. "Very well, the three of you are dismissed. I should see you within four hours." 'Collins was a steady hand, but this Moss was an unknown' thought Cantrell. The Ventrue Lord detested Jorge of Westwood, but right now he needed the help. His faction, while larger, was less fixated on combat. They were bankers and businessmen, either Daeva or Ventrue. He had hoped he could buy Jorge's favor for this assignment, but the Gangrel asked too much. Jorge wanted to be Reeve. Anticipating Cantrell's reticence, Jorge had brought this Adrian Moss as a lesser Soldier to take his place. The cost was less severe - a minor boon to Jorge. Whatever Moss was getting out of this was of no concern to Cantrell. He and Jorge moved over to the Chess board for a 'friendly' game to pass the time.
  10. Every night Adrian felt Gwen's presence in his life chip away and die. Memory, especially the memory of things that lived as long as Adrian might, made way for new experiences. The old wounds were still there, but the needs of the present built up and up until the past was behind a wall that grew higher every day. Gwen faded. The hunting in the club had been easier. As he narrowed his focus on who he preyed upon, he became more successful. It was that Darwinian existence he led. Now he had primarily three options to satisfy him. The college parties had the extra scent of danger. Adrian could never tell when his truce might fall apart. The Guardian had made a choice concerning Adrian, but that didn't give the vampire much insight into the workings of that mind. Still, drunk, lonely college girls made easy prey. Older women, divorced or romantically unsuccessful, saw in him a young man they could control. Only in their homes did that change. Their emotional games meant little compared to the Hunger. He fed and was gone before they could their hooks into their next victim. Those bothered him the least. Loneliness wasn't an excuse for wrecking someone else's life. That left the vulnerable ones. Mostly women, but the occasional young man unsure of his sexuality, they wanted to be accepted by someone - anyone - but had none of the social skills to succeed. So, that sat at the bar, or alone at a table, and looked around. They avoided eye contact and only sipped their drinks. Adrian was getting pretty good at finding them ... and picking them up. Go outside with a man you've just met? When the alternative was being alone, you would be surprised how many followed the vampire into the dark. The one theme that ran through all these hunts was never to be wantonly cruel and to do as little harm as possible. He would get the victims taxis, or back to their friends, or take them home himself if all else failed. He refused to believe Sarah's words. Everything the touched wouldn't get fucked up. He couldn't give in. Adrian was lost in his thoughts on the way back to his car. He noticed her without actually registering her specifics. When she moved away from the wall, he noticed her more.
  11. Adrian Moss Mekhet Ordo Dracul Embraced: August 3rd 2007 Intelligence: 2 Wits: 5 Resolve: 2 Academics – 1, Investigation – 4 (Crime Scenes) Strength: 2 Dexterity: 5 Stamina: 1 Athletics – 4, Drive - 1, Firearms (Pistols) – 4, Stealth – 1, Weaponry – 3 Presence: 2 Manipulation: 1 Composure: 4 Persuasion (Seduction) – 3, Streetwise – 4 Merits Ambidextrous (3), Resources – 4, Striking Looks - 1, Status (PI) - 1, Covenant Status (Invictus) -1, Covenant Status (Ordo Dracul) -1 Disciplines Auspex - 1 Obfuscate – 3 Virtue (Charity) Vice (Lust) Speed: 12 Defense: 5 Health: 6 Initiative: 9 Willpower: 6 Humanity: 7 Equipment: Reddish-brown duster, twin 9mm pistols, bullet proof vest (isn’t it nice not to feel the heat in LA anymore?), Collapsible Baton, handcuff keys, somewhat fashionable clothes. Background: Was Bernard Vickers ever sure why he embraced Adrian Moss? If so, he never told his childe. What was known to both was that Adrian had been a member – a junior member – of a gang of four toughs that had accosted Bernard when he was out on the prowl. Instead of twisting the situation to his advantage, or just avoiding his pursuers, Bernard had turned on them and thrashed them soundly. It had been terribly easy for the aged Mekhet. Three of the thugs went rapidly to the ground, but Adrian … Adrian had eluded Bernard’s grasp and then shot him. Despite his Celerity, the young man had put a bullet into Bernard, ruining his jacket and shirt and driving him nearly to a rage. Maybe it was because Adrian looked so pathetic there at his moment of death. Maybe something about the boy sparked the long dormant interest. Whatever happened, Bernard embraced the boy and took him back to his manse to begin a new life amongst the Kindred. The next night and the nights that followed were a keen disappointment to Bernard. His Childer was much more of a feral thing than a stable person. Adrian was insular, mulish, sullen and above all, a dolt. There was no indication that he would make even a passable, if hardly memorable, Mekhet. More than once, Bernard contemplated killing Adrian off and consigning this whole episode to ‘the beast made me do it’. It was as he looked into his fireplace that a revelation came to him. Maybe Adrian was some sort of cosmic challenge? Maybe by delving into the boy’s host of weaknesses he would find out more about his own. Maybe by turning the boy into something worthwhile, he would find a way to advance himself. The next night he inducted Adrian into the Coils of the Dragon and the wisdom that was Clan Mekhet. Adrian’s long, torturous tutelage under his Sire had begun. Recently, Bernard has left on an extended trip, leaving most of his mortal affairs in capable hands. He has allowed his child to continue to live off him until such time as Adrian is deemed capable of maintaining himself. In the past year or so, Adrian has gotten to know a variety of people in the city. He is starting to come out of his shell and do more. Having recently received his Private Investigator's license, Adrian has taken a sabbatical away from LA to further his education in the Ordo Dracul. A few nights ago, he returned to his haven, bitter, heart-broken, and seemingly more alone than ever. Still, something new has emerged in Adrian. A sense of purpose, will, and drive to make a difference. In a way, he has discovered his moral core. Appearance: Adrian is a painfully thin young man with raven-black hair and luminescent grey eyes that seem to look out into the soul. He carries an aura of loneliness and awkward indecision most of the time. He would be handsome, but his look is more given over toward that of a beaten dog, both parts tragic and feral.
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