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Well, it's more of an explaination for him discovering what ethnic minority of wolf he's part of, and therefore it justifies me completely going to town on everyone.

"Why'd you just massacre that key NPC?! He was pivotal to the storyline!"

'The Grubrah are monsters beyond words. They gather in small hunting parties by night to raid the countryside, devouring entire villages over the course of several hours. Those of the Grubrah Clan are huge and imposing, often standing head and shoulders over their Humanii prey. Often, the giant monsters bear large scars and necklaces of teeth taken from difficult kills. Their reputation as barbarous savages is well known, and even Opriknikki are hesitant to engage them in combat. Both the Opriknikki and the Grubrah have a healthy respect for one another, earned from centuries of bloody conflict and death. Bitch.'

Great stuff as always ghosty.

Bernard Katz paced about his office, feeling older and more worn out than he should at 56, in truth the past few months had weighed heavy on the man and the burdens upon him were starting to take their tole.
Katz rubbed his eyes and poured himself a drink, he had found himself doing that more and more lately...escaping into the bottle rather than admit to himself that what he feared ...what he prayed was taking place wasn't.
Slowly Katz sipped at his whiskey and looked over the last inteligence reports sent from the "Network"...there was no denying it any longer..
Reports from Prague and surrounding villiages...several members of the Holy Order of Hunters missing in action, villagers attesting to having seen a mysterious house that appears in the darkness of night...yet is gone come morning...
Katz hand trembled as he finished his drink, his lips shook as he whispered " The Crooked House"...
With a still shaking hand...Katz reached for his phone.

BIC:… Interbellum Part 3 ….

Vegas looked up to the darkened sky from the safety of Rick’s Toyota. Small flocks of snow falling down, swirling through the busy street. Vegas cleaned Rick’s pistol removing all fingerprints from the gun. She looked at the entrance of one of the highest buildings of Saint Petersburg. Despite all the people traversing the sidewalks, nobody entered the building. How longer Vegas looked, she came aware that most folks didn’t even looked at it. They looked at the ground, friends,…everywhere except the building. After a month’s searching, she had finally found her …. The Oracle of Delphi.

Vegas decided that she couldn’t spend the rest of her life in the car. She stepped into the snowy wind and threw Rick’s pistol in the backseat. She walked down the entrance hall, There was no one in the white hall, Fresco’s ran across the entire room. Depicting the struggle of ancient Gods. She looked at the fresco of Damocless. Somehow she felt just like him, but she was determined to take the sword and use it. She refused to let faith take control. Vegas looked at the end of the hall when the elevator started beeping, it was coming down. Vegas quickly crossed the distance, leaning against the wall. She pulled her two pistols and cocked the hammers. Her heart pumped steadily while she waited for the elevator. With a bleeping sound the elevator affirmed his arrival. Vegas jumped in the box as soon as the door opened. Her pistols aimed….. at a young little boy. She could see the fear running across his body, but the boy bravely pressed his chest forwards. “The oracle is expecting you.” He said in flawless Russian. Vegas clicked the hammers back in position, and returned the pistols back to their place. This boy was harmless.

“Please step into the elevator.” Vegas complied and slowly walked into the metal box. The boy stood on the top of his toes while he pressed the right floor. The doors slit shut, and the familiar music filled the cabin. “So what’s your name kid?” She asked while trying to light up a cigarette. The boy looked at her with anger. “I am Alexander, and you can’t smoke here.” “You’re kidding right?” she asked looking at the defiant kid. “I never make jokes, miss hunter.” Vegas sighed and placed the cigarette back. The boy turned around broadly smiling over his victory. The elevator grinded to a halt, the door opened revealing an open and luxurious penthouse. “Wait here” Alexander said, while disappearing in the penthouse. Vegas let her eyes stroll down the room, It was stylish with a lot of ancient Greek elements. There was even a bust of Plato in the corner. “Welcome Vegas.” A voice said. Vegas saw an old crinkled Woman entering the room, heavily leaning on the little Alexander. “Are you the oracle?” she asked, not sure if she had been tricked. “No need to pull your gun.” The oracle said with a broken voice. “I am the oracle.” “Prove it.” The old lady sighed. “Why does everyone asks that” she muttered to herself. “That vase behind you is going to fall.” The oracle simply stated. Vegas turned around, her overcoat pushing the vase of the little table.

Vegas looked at the remains of what once was a beautiful vase.“How did you…” “Ah, that’s not the correct question. You should ask what would have happened if I wouldn’t have mentioned it. But I’m forgetting my manners, Please sit.” She gestured at the two seats. Alexander helped the old lady sit down in a comfy chair. “My old bones don’t work the way they used too.” She said apologizing.” Vegas seated herself across the oracle, placing her pistols on the table. She wasn’t taking any chances. The oracle just smiled. “Alexander, could you bring some tea.” Alexander clearly didn’t liked the idea of leaving the huntress alone with the oracle, but he nodded and disappeared once more. “So what do you want to ask me?” the oracle said a soft smile lighted her face. Revealing a glimpse of the young women she once was. Vegas looked at her unsure if she would proceed with it. “Come now, nobody goes to the oracle without questions.” “…Is there a cure.” Alexander appeared once more, and poured the oracle a glass of hot water. “Thank you.” She said. She looked back at Vegas. “This question… I heard it more than once….Mothers, fathers….sisters…” She placed her teabag in the cup. “But, I think you already know the answer to that question.” Vegas body turned to stone, she knew. It was foolish of her to hold on to it. But she had to ask. She saw sorrow in the eyes of the Oracle.

“Where is she.” The oracle took a sip from her tea. “Holly….i can’t tell you where she is, But I can tell where she is heading. But you need to promise something.” Vegas hands curled around her pistols. “I didn’t came here to bargain.” She sneered. “Don’t worry my child. I have accepted long ago that I would die tonight. You, Vegas … are my angel of death. I long wondered how I would feel if I came close to my death,… to you.” She raised her shoulders. “I feel empty, the only thing I find myself craving for is rest. Too lay my head down and never awaken. But if you will let me,… I would like to see the sun for one last time.” Vegas looked at the old woman, and nodded. “Thank you Vegas.” She said drinking from her cup. “The one you seek will come to Prague sooner or later.” Vegas released her hands from the two pistols. “How do you know this?” The Oracle smirked. “I don’t…” she continued when she saw Vegas mistrusting face. “The future is a peculiar thing, its flow changes every moment. The future is based on the decision of people, I look ahead of the path and see possibilities. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“So you’re just gambling?” “Well to be correct you would have to say I’m gambling, while counting the cards.” Vegas grinned, the greatest seer, was just a gambler. “So I just have to believe you counted correctly?” “That’s completely up to you, but I have to warn you… I feel a storm gathering over Prague, I don’t know what’s happening, only that it will happen.” “You lost count?” The woman sighed “If someone decided to go somewhere along time ago and holds on to it…. I clearly see it. Split second decision are different… In the past I’ve seen glimpses of this, and as time passed it became clearer…” Vegas nodded, Prague was her destination. And sometimes a lucky guess could be all that you needed. The Oracle placed her empty cup back. Alexander retrieved the cup and walked towards the kitchen. “He’s a bit young to be a thrall, don’t you think?” The Oracle’s face darkened. “I had to do it,…. For you Vegas.”

Vegas frowned “Me…?” She whispered. “Most people that find me, ask me how they will die. I never respond, knowing your end … doesn’t ease your conscious. I appreciate you didn’t ask this, but its important you know this. ….The gathering storm will kill you Vegas.” Vegas heard the news of her own demise. “There are more important things than myself.” “indeed” the Oracle laughed. “but for your sister… I suggest you at least try.” She pulled an old book out of her gown and laid it in front of Vegas. The cover was made of dark leather, golden letters stamped on it. “Malleus Malefacorum” Vegas whispered. “The witches hammer.” “I see you already heard about this, but this isn’t one used by catholic priests…. This is an original one. … I hope you will make the right decision.” Vegas took the old tattered book and placed it in her overcoat. “Why do I need the child?” “Read and everything will become clear,… Now please help an old lady walk towards the light. Vegas stood up and let the oracle lean on her. “Let’s go to the balcony, I always liked the view from there.

Vegas helped her on to the balcony and seated her on the bench. The view of saint Petersburg was impressive. Alexander appeared again. “I don’t need your help Alexander, go inside and play.” The little boy nodded and walked inside. But Vegas saw he just crawled onto a chair and watched them from a distance. She pulled out a cigarette and lighted the tip. The smoke burned into her longs. She smiled at Alexander who was infuriated by the fact she started smoking. “So Vegas… Tell me about Holly…” Vegas looked at the old woman staring at the firmament. It didn’t matter, she tried to remember who Holly was and started talking about the mischief they had caused, the ghost story’s,… Vegas talked until the sun came up, she even told her about Colt. “She seems a real nice girl.” “Yes,… she was”

The first rays of sun started to pierce the sky. “I hope you find what you want Vegas…. Cause I never did.” Blisters started to form on her face as the sun rose from the darkness. “Always remember this Vegas, For each thing gained something must be given.” … Her hair started to smoke as she looked into the sun. “… now, let’s see what’s on the other side.” A tear appeared under her eyes, quickly turning in to steam. Vegas stood up next to the oracle who started to combust. “I hope you find what you want…” Vegas threw her cigarette over the edge and walked inside. She saw the young Alexander shivering in the chair. He was created for her….but why? Not knowing the answer she picked him up. “Lets go downstairs kid.”

Damn silly...I really like the direction you've taken Vegas and am really enjoying your RP's.

Player- Mordoskul
Character- Pontius of House Brutii
Race- Brutii
Physical Description- Pontius, like the rest of his race, is pale and attractive, with short dark hair. He has a strong Roman nose, and smells of oil.
Equipment- Pontius carries a gladius made of iron on his person at all times, as well as a garnet ring given to him by Cain himself shortly before his disappearance.
Backstory- Shortly after the reign of Caesar, Pontius was Embraced by the reborn Brutus himself, making him his Childe. After Brutus left this world for the World Tree, Pontius became a noble in what is today Germany, later fighting in the Crusades. During the Great War, Pontius fled to Africa, with many of his 'children', where he encountered the Obayifo, the Vampires of Africa. Pontius kept himself hidden for decades, gathering followers and assets in the American metropolis of Empire City. Bending the Kindred within the city to his will, Pontius became Empire City's Prince, ruling with an iron fist, executing those Vampires foolish enough to leave evidence of their meals. When the local lycanthropes began murdering the citizenry, Pontius took note, and began preparing for the inevitable conflict. Meeting in secret with Nero the Mad, the Roman planned his next move, gathering dark forces to his side for a brutal, but subtle war. Learning from his fellow Ancient that Rasputin the Sage was being held in the farm country surrounding Empire City, Pontius made haste to the small farmhouse. Questioning the Russian mystic, Pontius learned that the Sage had lied to him on the subject of Cain's return. In a legendary fury, Pontius dragged the sorcerer outside, where he was crucified on a post used for hanging scarecrows. Being of the Kindred, Rasputin would be unable to survive long in the glare of the sun, save for the fact that he wore the Amulet of Osiris, an artifact that regenerated flesh in the blink of an eye. Pontius intended for the Sage to suffer for weeks as his meat melted and swirled back together, eternally in a flux of gristle and bone. Leaving the farmhouse and taking the two Opriknikki guards with him, Pontius returned to his lair to plot. Later, one of his carriers was intercepted by the Cattle, forcing Pontius to retrieve the artifact she carried himself. Already hot from Rasputin's lies, the Ancient stalked into the Police Office, his choler up. The Roman tore the officer at the desk in twain, but fell short of retrieving the item he came for, returning to his sanctum smoldering with rage. For hours, the Roman dismembered thralls with his bare hands, drinking deep of their Vitae before creating gory works of art with their innards, which were later framed and hung with care. As a city-wide manhunt began for the murderers, Pontius called for Oliver Lane, the famed Blade of the Covens, who stole away into the Police Office and murdered the carrier and retrieved what his master had sought; the Blade of Ages, a kris forged by a race far older than the Humanii made to kill those of the blood of Cain. Days later, Detective Pinkerton came across the crucified form of Rasputin, whose screams caused one of the officers to madness. Pinkerton impaled the mewling man-meat with a spear of wood, placed him in the car, and drove off in search of his new allies. The allies in question were agents from the Network, sent to investigate the bizarre murders, which they correctly thought to by the work of werewolves. In the days that followed, a careless lycanthrope was caught on camera making a kill, the tape falling into the hands of Matthew Crossman, a reporter with no morality, who planned to sell the tape to the highest bidder. During what was later known as the Center, a four-way battle between werewolves, Network agents, police officers, and the servants of Pontius, each of whom sought to see the tape destroyed. In the end, the tape was destroyed, as werewolves led by Musatei tore Crossman apart. In the end, nearly all of the officers, both federal and state, lie dead or dying, with the animus of Pontius controlling Federal Agent Nash like a puppet of meat and bone. In the days that followed, Oliver killed over seven officers in the safety of their own homes, even going so far as to stroll into Pinkerton's house, leaving subtle clues to the intrusion. Later, the young lycanthrope known only as 'Atlas' killed Musatei in a bloody duel that saw them both dead, but left the Pack without an Alpha. Elsewhere, Lillith began to make her way to Empire City, an event that caused Pontius no small amount of worry. Competition was the last thing he needed at a time like this. As the days flowed on, the Ancient Longinus Embraced Pinkerton, trussed him like a prize hog, and dumped him in the front of the Police Station as a warning. Pontius was livid when this was revealed to him, and desperately attempted to pin the blame on the Network as Nash. The attempt failed, but bought Pontius enough time to prepare for the coming storm. Thanks to the actions of the Gladiator, the Cattle knew that the Kindred existed, something Pontius could not allow. Sending Oliver and the Opriknikki to execute the Ancient, the Roman was forced to quit the body of Nash when the Network stepped into the station with Vampire-slaying relics, returning to his base in the Ordo Dracul Chapter House. Longinus was killed, but at the cost of Oliver being sent into Slumber, nearly having his neck severed by the Gladiator's fangs. As the final pieces came together, Pontius ordered thralls to incite riots and start great fires, drowning Empire City in a tide of violence. Releasing a horde of Larvae onto the streets,, the city soon became a slaughter house, with hundreds dead in the course of several days. However, Pontius and his servants were nowhere to be seen, having left North America for Prague, where they took residence in the reality-warping Crooked House, where the witch Black Anise showed them to an ornate room filled with the trappings of royalty. Seated on a great throne made of minute images of shrieking and fearful Humanii was non-other than Cain, Father of the Race of Vampyre.
Location/Resources- Pontius currently dwells within the Crooked House.
Virtue- Industria, Pontius plans in advance, ensuring that every factor is accounted for.
Vice- Superbia, Pontius vastly underestimates the Cattle, seeing them as far beneath his attention, a trait that may prove to be his downfall.
Other info- Pontius despises werewolves as degenerate savages, fit only for a bit of sport before disposing of them.
Spells- Master's Lure, Crimson Mist

Major NPC
Player- Mordoskul
Character- Oliver Lane
Race-Vampire
Physical Description- This eccentric englishman wears clothing taken from a victorian painting, with a beige suit and a black stove-top hat. His razor-sharp features are surrounded by his black hair.
Equipment- Set of flensing knives, revolver with silver bullets, cane.
Backstory- Oliver Lane was born an orphan in the streets of London, he was adopted by a gang of killers and thieves, moulding the small child into a murderer. After his gang was killed by a raging Pontius, Oliver was spared due to his cruelty, and was Embraced by the Roman. Now wandering the world as the goto man for the Covens whenever they need to send a message, Oliver is rightly feared by the enemies of the Kindred. During the Empire Affair, Oliver was called by his sire to send a message to the Cattle, murdering an officer of the law every night, working his way up the ranks to Pinkerton himself. But alas, this was not to be. Longinus had Embraced the detective, dumping him in front of the Police Station as a warning. This act exposed the Kindred to mortal eyes, forcing Pontius to write a Nex Proeliator, an order demanding the execution of another Vampire. Oliver and the two Opriknikki broke into the Gladiator's stronghold, brining the Roman's harsh judgment to the Ancient. In the end, Longinus lay dead, and Oliver was sent into slumber, his head barely attached to his shoulders. Having now awakened within the Crooked House, Oliver has resumed his dark deeds, picking off Pontius' rivals one by one.
Virtue- Patientia, Oliver despises the reckless, taking time to ensure that his mark is where he is supposed to be, when he's supposed to be.
Vice- Ira, Oliver never forgives nor forgets, holding onto grudges for decades, long after the offender has forgotten the slight.
Other Info- Oliver has done a great deal of research on the members of Pinkerton's task force, and plans on killing one every night until the Blade is recovered.
Spell- Temporal Flux

Major NPC
Player-Mordoskul
Character-The Darkness that Lurks
Race-Strigoi
Physical Description- The Darkness that Lurks stands just over six feet tall, with long spindly fingers that end in black talons. His flesh is pale and hairless, drawn tight against his bones, giving him a skeletal appearance. The Darkness possess none of the beauty or charm possessed of by the rest of the Kindred, in fact, the rest of his race regards him with disgust and abhorrence, shunning him like a black secret.
Equipment- Trench coat
Backstory- Not much is known of the Darkness that Lurks, save that he is of the blood of Strigoi, and that he dwells within the Crooked House. The Darkness is an assassin and spy first and foremost, striking from the shadows, drinking life as eagerly and as greedily as a glutton guzzles wine. His specialization is the murder of other members of the Kindred, a fact that makes him loathed and despised by the rest of the race of Vampyre. Yet none dare touch him for fear of drawing the wrath of his employer, Pontius of House Brutii, whose wrath would be swift and terrible.
Virtue- Humilitas, the Darkness knows that he is a weapon, nothing more.
Vice- Gula, The Darkness that Lurks takes great pleasure in supping upon the Vitae of other Vampires, and will partake of it at any opportunity.
Spell- Exsanguinate

Minor NPC
Player-Mordoskul
Character- Jaime Summer
Race- Dhampyre
Physical Description- Jaime is a wondrously attractive girl of twenty or so, with brown hair that curls slightly upwards at her shoulders. Jaime's canines are ever so slightly pointed, a trait Jamie herself is slightly self-conscious about. Her green eyes glitter with charm and allure, but their is something more, a slight hollowness that belies her darkest secret. One who peers deeper will see incredible pain and sadness, enough to shatter a soul and unmake dreams. On the small of her back is a raw and red brand in the shape of an open eye, a mark that seems to slowly warp and change into a variety of macabre symbols the longer one looks at it.
Equipment- Cell phone, penknife, car keys.
Backstory- Jamie came to Prague to get away. She had recently lost her job and gone through a rather ugly breakup, and sought to have some time alone to get her bearings and plan out her life. She never knew why she wanted to sped time in Prague, it just seemed like a good idea, a decision she would later come to sorely regret. Staying at a cheap hotel in the center of the city, she spent most of her time at a local cafe, reading job applications on her laptop. Then she met him. He was a charming englishman who introduced himself as Oliver, and told Jamie he was visiting relatives in the Czech Republic, but was always happy to meet another english-speaker. For weeks, they would meet at the cafe and talk about their lives, exchanging anecdotes and jokes. After the fifth week, Oliver invited her over to his summer home for a chat, Jamie agreed and a date set. However, the address he had given her made no sense, it was far out of the city, deep in the middle of a forest. However, she made up her mind to go anyways, and drove off into the night. When Jamie arrived, she couldn't believe what she was seeing; a great Tudor mansion that warped and twisted with horrid fluidity, barred by a gate of spiked iron. Oliver stood in front of the gate, clad in a beige suit and top hat, a purple crane mask obscuring his features. Jamie had since fallen to her knees, weeping in terror at the utter wrongness of the house before her, but Oliver's voice held her gaze on him as he led her inside. Jamie remembers nothing of what occurs, but now she spends her days chained like a feral dog in the basement, serving Oliver as a slave, spying for him and his master. Every night, Oliver produces a saucer of his blood to her, which she laps up eagerly, a reward for her work. The blood, it's all she cares about now, the coppery tang of Vitae rolling down the back of her throat is the only thing that matters. Deep down, she hates Oliver, and wishes him dead, but knows that without him, the blood would stop, and then, who knows what would happen to her.
Virtue- Humanitas, Jamie prefers to greet others with a smile, making new friends as easily as others breathe.
Vice- Acedia, Jamie wishes deeply to escape from Oliver, but believes that she would be unable to escape her prison, so she does not try, continuing to languish beneath the floorboards.

Player:The Zoat
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Character: Hockeyhead

Race/Affiliation:Hunter/Djinn

Physical Description:Tall, wears a coat (too big) and a hockey mask. Seems bald. (Edit) Also has a hugely oversized wizard hat, like black mages from Final Fantasy.

Equipment: Shotgun, Hockey mask, underarmor, Big silver machete and a copper staff.

Age:???

Backstory: Was found in a hunter's building, half dead. Said the base
had been attacked by ghouls. Never said very much after that.

Vice: Wrath, Hockeyhead doesn't really care, thus no regard for life.

Virtue: Diligence:As a result of not caring, Hockeyhead never stops.

Location: Network Base in hluboka
Vehicle:None
Stats: WS-5/BS-4/S-4/T-5/W-3/I-4/A-3/Sv-3+

Abilities: Holy Bolt and Touch of the sun

Minor NPC
Character:Jason
Race/Affiliation:Hunter/Joan
Equipment:Shotgun with silver shells and mini-flamethrower, and silver knife
Physical Appearance:Jason is slightly over-average in terms of height, but has a disfigured
face he hides with a paper bag.
Location: Network outpost in hluboka
Vehicle:Snowmobile
Stats:WS-5/BS-5/S-4/T-4/W-3/I-5/A-3/Sv-3+
Backstory: Was a normal hunter until he burnt his face with his flamethrower...

Good luck with this one FITZZ, will defo be looking into it with interest!

Character: Musater

Race/affiliation: Werewolf/Lycaelon

Physical Description: 6'6", wears a suit, brown hair with blond highlights

Equipment: Machete, cell phone, and a sledgehammer.

Backstory: Born in 1383, Musater was placed into this world in a small village in the deep woods of Transylvania. When he was in his 30s, his sister got lost in the deep woods. When he went after her, he found her dead on the forest floor, a few weeks after she left. Whilst carrying her corpse back to their village,, she re-animated, and bit her brother before running off. Stumbling around in the woods, he began to black out. When he awoke, he was stronger, taller, and had a lust for the flesh of his former kin. 6 months ago, he received a package in the mail. His sister's head. As the newly elected Mayor of Prague's assistant (Thanks to his very powerful ties with his fellow Lycaelons), he has begun a secret war against the people who killed his sister.

Flaws/Vice:
Revenge: His sole purpose in life is to now kill everyone who is related to the death of his sister. He knows that each side in the war has had a hand in her killing.
Power: If Musater can get power, he will.

Virtues:
Loyalty: If you are Musater's ally, he will try to help you in any way possible.

Location: Prague City Hall, and a penthouse in the Fashion District.
Vehicle: Dukati Hypermotard 1100 Evo SP
Stats: WS-9/BS-2/S-7/T-7/W-3/I-6/A-4/SV-3+

Special Rules:
Vengance is Mine!: If Musater knows you have had something to do with his sisters death, his strength and WS go up +1.
As old as the curse itself: As one of the first to be affected by the Lycan Plague, he can control it better than most werewolves ever dream. He will never change without him willingly want to change.




MAJOR NPC:

Character: Kiev Pliuta, Sergeant

Race and clan/archetype: Ghoul

Physical Description: 6'3", Slim, Blond hair, Shifty eyes

Equipment: Riot Gear (Armor, Shield), M4 Carbine, Smoke Grenades, 9mm Handgun

Backstory: Born during the Soviet Bloc in the 50's, Kiev was a Former Spetznaz Operative, who ate what he killed. The Russian's didn't mind it much, very clean, always got rid of the body. When the Bloc fell, however, things changed. It was harder for Kiev to get a meal, and was almost turning Feral when he was saved by a nice man in a suit. The man, called only Musater, picked him up, helped him get on his feet (Physically and financially) and gave him a few meals of Homeless bums before getting him a job with the police force. Now the principal SWAT member, Kiev still owes his life to Musater. And once in a great while, he gets a call, asking him to do something... Unfavorable. Now, Kiev has been called on to help solve a grizzly murder. The murder of Musater's sister.

Other info: Married, 3 kids (All Adopted)

Virtue- Kind soul: Will help the needy whenever possible, even if his life is on the line.

Vice- Bonded for life: Kiev if forever in Musater's debt. And without him, Kiev would go insane.



MAJOR NPC:

Name: Evanna Lansat

Race/Clan: Werewolf/Mgral

Physical Description: A lot of black. Red hair, and blue eyes.
Equipment: .45 Magnum in her purse, a bottle of holy water, and a silver bullet.

Backstory: Turned at the age of 22 in 1997, Evanna is the youngest Lycan in Musater's inner circle. She was turned by request by Musater after she had seen him in Werewolf form, while they were dating. With no other options besides killing her, Musater turned his one love into a creature most foul. Loving referred to as "Pup', Evanna and Musater can be seen together frequently. They were married in 2000.

Virtue: Read you like a book: Evanna is an expert at telling if someone is lying.

Vice: Meth. Pretty self explanatory.



MINOR NPC:

Name: Mr. Pickle

Race: Rottweiler

Physical Decription: 30 inches long, 140 pounds.

Equipment: Choke Chain, RFID tag

Backstory: Musater and Evanna's 6 year old trained Military Rottweiler. Goes for the neck, and for the ball.

Virtue: Never Back Down: Stubborn like a mule, Mr. Pickle will never back down.

Vice: Steaks and Bacon: Really likes his meats.

Rutilus Rex Part One

The great chamber was built like a cathedral of old, nay, of structures far older than that. A great ceiling seemed to creep on into infinity, with fluted pillars along the edges of the conical structure, giving the appearance of a great ribcage, holding the vast assembly within. Colossal windows of stained glass displayed scenes of horrid depravity not for sane minds. Knights atop white stallions greedily guzzling blood from corpses impaled upon their lances, kings and priests engaged in awful ceremonies, praising dark gods and eating the flesh of men, angels weeping tears of blood as a colossus of black steel sporting a crown of umbral iron atop his skull sheared off their wings with a great blade. These and a million others adorned the walls, shining baleful red light into the gargantuan chamber, pooling like blood where it's dark influence touched. Great columns of gold inset with crimson rubies formed Cyclopean hallways where dark things milled about, stealing each other's lives with snarls and razor-tendrils, their expirations granting great pleasure to those seated above. Vast rows of gilded seats were arrayed throughout the chamber, each occupied by what appeared to be a man, or at least wore the flesh of a Humanii. Untold thousands sat in the chamber, some speaking in soft whispers, scarcely more than the wind passing through one's ears, others spoke in harsh growls that grated the hearing as well as the mind. Great booths adorned the walls, with shriveled and blackened shadows held court, speaking in dark rasps that would tear a mortal mind to shreds if they could comprehend what they said. Chains hung from the ceiling, each sporting a barbed hook, each upon which a moaning figure was impaled, their Vitae spilling to the thirsty mouthes of the congregation below, their moans serving as a grim and terrible orchestra conducted by daemons and lunatics. A great raised podium played host to a pale man, nay, to call it a man would be to liken an insect with a god. Not a man, by a Vampyre, not only of the Kindred, but one that had seen and traveled more than most of their dark race, supping of the dark and forbidden knowledge he had learnt in his travels and studies. He was attended by two red-clad hulks, their eyes a milky white that contrasted with the utter darkness of their beards. The figure in the center sported great gold and crimson robes that were woven from the softest flesh, and dyed with purest Vitae. A garnet ring glittered on his finger, a sign of office as well as pride. His neat hair was black as wickedness itself, and his perfect flesh seemed to glow with self-confidence. He gripped a pulpit carven from a thousand thousand minute sculptures of screaming mortals, each one unique. The face of a grotesque spewed crimson ichor from it's gilded maw as the liquid flowed into a specially formed canal that ran like a spider's web throughout the chamber, defying gravity as it flowed upwards through the veins of the ceiling. Opening his lips and adjusting his tongue, the figure spoke in a voice of the purest gossamer silk, the words flowing like quicksilver across his tongue. When he spoke, the congregation fell silent, eager to hear the news they had been promised. "Mighty Kindred, long have we dwelt in the shadows beneath the notice of the Cattle, stealing their lives away when they were ripe. The past century has been a golden age for our kind, the Humanii think us mythes, stories to frighten disobedient children. We may take their lives with near impunity, the Cattle simply write off our hunts as the acts of the insane or unfortunate accidents. We are invisible, supreme in the knowledge that we are unchallenged, the dominant race on this world. Some may think my statement false, citing conflict with the bestial Lycanthropes or the laughable 'Network' as proof that we are yet challenged by our inferiors. I say to you; have not the gates of Azak-Araj fallen to our superior intellects and military might? Have not the mortal 'hunters' been dismissed as fools by their gullible kin? It is true that those of the Cattle that seek to slay us are a clear and present danger, but it is false that they would be able to topple us from our rightful place as their lords and masters. You may say that the Children of Lycaelon are more physically powerful than we. I say to you; are not the Black Riders the most feared combatants amongst us, that even the great dogs whine and scurry before their coming? However, there is one threat that may see us lowered in station. Treachery, the most abhorrent of crimes may unravel us yet. Lisping fools and cretins seek even now to make themselves higher than Cain! There are those among us even here, even now that look upon my words with hatred. Hating the truth I convey from this pulpit. Since the day our Father left this world for another, those among us have usurped his power for selfish ends, making a mockery of His grand dream. If we are to continue as we have, we must root these traitors out and see their lives revoked for their gall." At these final words, a giant in the robes of old Russian royalty stepped forward and banged a great iron spear on the marble of his raised box, the sound reverberating around the chamber like an angry god hammering upon a massive forge. Thousands of crimson eyes turned towards the offender, who raised a gnarled hand fitted with a half-dozen rings at the speaker. When he spoke, his voice was akin to the growl of a bear, the words rough and unworked. "Can you provide evidence of this wild claim? You, notorious for your plots and schemes, how can you expect to lecture us on internal threats and phantom foes? You murdered my Sage, ensuring his death was long and painful. You stole two of my sons, who now act as your servants and bodyguards. I demand proof that what you say is true!" The man at the pulpit smiled coldly at the one who dared interrupt him. "Peace, Ivan. Rasputin is dead by fault of his own. He spoke lies and falsehoods unto me, and is the custom of my House, the instrument of his lies was removed, and his flesh made forfeit to myself. As for your 'sons', they came to me willingly, seeing the truth of my words and actions, looking beyond the small-minded brutality of your line. As for evidence, I present to you a list of names, each of whom are guilty of crimes against the Kindred. Those such guilty are as thus: Narkhell of Strigoi, Mamos of Carthage, Anthony of Venice," The list continued on, fifty names in all. Muttering and whispers ruled the assembly, as each discussed the consequences of the speaker's words. But true pandemonium reigned only when the final name was read. "Judas Iscariot." Several of the assembled Kindred rose from their seats and shouted at the speaker, calling him false with bile soaked words. The cohorts of Julii patrolling the chamber raised a shield wall to prevent an attack on the man at the pulpit. Judas stood from his grand box at the center of the chamber, shouting threats and accusations. The things below the chamber in the pillared hall howled as one at the pronouncement, creating a horrid din that would deafen a mortal with the sound. Only when Judas spoke, his voice shaking with barely controlled rage, did the throng quite itself. "Under. What. Grounds. Do. You. Accuse. Me?" Each word spat out like acidic blood, each a phrase unto itself. Upon hearing this, the speaker smiled, drawing back the great curtain behind him, revealing the figure that stood once hidden. The assembly cried out in anguish, some clawing out their eyes with their taloned fingers to no avail, for they could still yet see the thing that stood from the dais. Judas fell to his knees, weeping blood as he tried and failed to choke out the word he sought. The speaker smiled, and spoke: "Why do you wither and scream? Is this anyway to honor the return of your King? Have you forgotten his face? For he has not forgotten yours, his memory is eternal, spanning the lives of stars. Why do you weep? Are you overjoyed at his return? Is his love too much for your minds to contain? Or is his true form displeasing to your souls?" The creature from behind the curtain spoke in a gurgling hiss from a million mouths, speaking with menacing import. "I shall speak. If my form is unfamiliar too you, I shall take the one you are familiar." With a flesh-warping pop, the thing became a handsome man wearing a robe of deepest crimson, his pale flesh flawless in every manner. A scepter of gold was clutched in his hand, his staff of office that none failed to recognize. "Be healed, my children." The Kindred that had torn at their flesh to escape what laid before them found their meat knitting together, once again whole. All eyes now were locked on the figure, and as one, they dropped to their knees in reverence, as is proper in the presence of a god. The speaker addressed the crowd with a sweep of his hand, an expression of glee upon his pale visage. "Ave Dominus Nox! Ave Sanguinor! Ave Cain! Know that our Father has returned, and that I am his Hand!" Cain stalked forward, as if floating on a patch of cloud, so fluent were his movements. "Judas my son, why do you kneel? Are you not the lord and master of the Kindred? Did you not overthrow my heirs a mere century after my departure? It is I who should kneel before you." The Red King gave a mocking bow before pointing a finger at Judas, who vanished in a haze of fog, and appeared at his feet. "Abase yourself before me, oh king." Judas knelt fully before his Sire, tears of blood rolling freely down his face. "Kiss my feet, oh lord." The Betrayer kissed the tops of Cain's feet, shuddering as he did so. "You have sat upon my throne in my absence, ruling over my servants in my stead, the crime of a thief and blasphemer. This is how you shall die, like a common criminal." Motioning to the speaker, the Red King intoned, "Pontius, see that he is crucified."

Perkustin wrote:Good luck with this one FITZZ, will defo be looking into it with interest!

Thanks Perkustin, happy you enjoy what we're doing here.

@ Mordo..

Absolutely fantastic stuff my friend.

Player; Berserksteve
Character; Sven Tauben
Race/archetype Hunter/Djinn
Physical Description; Male, 5'11", Long dark hair and a short beard. He dresses in simple and low clothing. His features are dull and emotionless.
Equipment; A heavy revolver, Motorcycle and bastard sword.
Backstory: Sven had a father who he had a strong relationship with and no mother. His father was a strong believer in magic and otherworldly things and had his son follow in his footsteps. He never went to school, instead he got all of his knowledge from his father. As Sven grew up he became more and more lost in magic lore and began to lose his connection this world. His father didn't know want to do with his disconnected son, soon he just left him to live on his own at the age of 13. Sven lived by being a common thief and used his skills to help. Then when he turned 18 he heard new his father had been killed by some beast and that's when Sven learned of dangers that exist in this world. Sven soon found a new hobby of hunter evil beings.
Other info:
Virtue- Humility- Sven will never put himself higher then other and will not over estimate his abilities.
Vice- Sloth- Sven is driven by very little and will find himself ignoring problems, even his own.

Gas was starting to get low. Sven stopped by the side of the rode and pulled out a small squire of paper that unfolded into a 3 foot by 3 foot map of the region. He studied it intently, hoping he had found Prague but thoughts were interrupted by a homeless man who held a small toothpick with the U.S. flag on it and the man spoke in a shaky, rusty voice. “Please help the homeless, sir…”
Sven took the toothpick and handed him a dollar “God bless you, sir…” The man said. Sven wasn’t listening to a word, he just thought it was normal of him to give the man some money, he didn’t feel pity for the man nor anger or disgust, his actions were all mechanical. Once Sven knew where he was he put the flag in his coat pocket and drove off hoping he can find a place to eat.

Nice intro berserksteve..good to have you aboard.

Thank you, I was hoping to write more but I don't have a good idea of things so I'm just going to play it slow till a get into the swing of things.

Berserksteve wrote:Thank you, I was hoping to write more but I don't have a good idea of things so I'm just going to play it slow till a get into the swing of things.

That's usually the best idea when just starting out, but don't worry, I'm sure some of the "Hunter" vets will show you the ropes...and if you have an questions don't hesitate to ask.

Toppling like Dominos- Part 1/3

"You sir! Yes you! Get up here!" The speaker at the seminar said to Musater. "Don't be shy! Come up!"
Musater shook his head, not only at the opportunity to join in one of these so called "Team Building" seminars, but that he had to share this planet with filth like these humanii. They were always second guessing each other, always at each other's throats. He kept the Machete strapped to his thigh, and the Sledgehammer in his closet at work for people his does not like. If he found a way to get rid of what used to be his kind, and simply use them as noursihment, he would. Sadly, he hasn't. Yet.

"Musater, go on!" It was Penelope, the Mayor's favorite aide from Britain. She spoke with such snobbishness that Musater has considered simply smacking her. He would lose his job, however, and if he ever wanted to run this cesspool of a town, he would have to obey the Humanii codes.

"We have a winner! What's your name, good sir?" The man asked Musater. Like he didn't already know.
"Musater." He said, in a dignified, yet annoyed way.
"Any last na-"
"No."
"Ah. I see. Well, Musater, we are going to do an exercise called the 'Trust Fall'. Your co-workers will catch you as you fall, blindfolded."
"Alright. I'm game."

Musater placed on the blindfold, smirking. Using his other senses, he could tell that Penelope, with her Lavender Hand Lotion, Namka, with his "Axe", and Krella, just by the sound her 300 pound body made as her heels hit the floor. She'd make a nice meal for Kiev, Musater thought.

"Ready to fall, Musater?"
"Sure."
"Alright! Fall!"

The sound of the 3 people's bones cracking was enormous, even in a room with acoustics from hell. Crushing the three participants, Musater picked himself, brushed the dust off his jacket, and called 999.

"Hello? 999?"
"Yes. This is Musater over at city hall, and we have a fractured skull, a broken arm, and-" Musater held his hand over the mic on his cell phone. "Krella, is your hand broken?"
"No."

Musater lightly flicked her hand, sending spasms of pain all over her body, and a banshee wail.

"And a broken hand. Room C35."

Musater left the seminar and went home, content that the suffering of his co-workers was a good enough excuse to leave the center of corruption for a few hours.

Good stuff Chowder.

I know.

Chowderhead wrote:I know.

Cocky little spit feth aint ya.

I'm feeling Lucky.

PUNK!

Chowderhead wrote:I'm feeling Lucky.

PUNK!

Hmm, between this and your earlier "Comma Drama"...I'm thinking Musater may be seeing his sister real soon...

Player; TheWildHost
Character; Artyom Nikov
Race and clan/archetype Stalker

Physical Description; 6"3, brown hair, Green eyes, Steady hands, 23

Equipment; M93 Black arrow with never fear the darkness engraved and silver tipped incendinary rounds, .30 Caliber revolver(Black)with silver tipped rounds, and a combat blade

Backstory; At the age of 7 Artyom killed his first vampire(His siblings and father restricting hit of course he just decapitated it and watched the rest burn the body) He is the youngest of a hunter family based near 60 Miles east of moscow, He served with the russian army for three years and the spetznaz for 2 years. He has 9 brothers also hunters.He left with one of his brothers to help the hunter network in prauge

Other info: He is easy to get along with

Virtue- Patience, He was a Russian sniper for 5 years( Normal service and Spetznaz) and can wait for a shot

Vice- Lust, Artyom is still a young man and craves many things,Also he enjoys vodka and a smoke now and then(He has learned to go without smoking while on missions, though)

Vehicle- Artyom Shares a Dark Blue truck with his brother
Major NPC
Player:TheWildHost
Character: Dimitri Nikov
Phsyical Description: Looks like an Older Taller verson of Artyom
Race and clan/archetype: Joan(He is Artyoms Spotter)
Equipment: AK-74 Kalashnikov With silver tipped incendinary rounds(So he knows he hits mainly)
Glock .45 with Silver tipped rounds, two high shrapnel claymores(ATM)
Back Story: Dimitri was born 3 years before artyom, making him is Youngest oldest brother.He and hist brother bothed served the military together being a sniper team. They have a Brotherly bond making them an exelent team for the fact they know eachother well
Virtue: Diligence: Dimitri Picks up things fast
Vice: Wrath: Dimitri dosn't understand true mercy.

I'm just feelin pretty good this week.

But meh. I'm done being an asshat! Goodnight!

Anything I need to change? Im sorry but pictures were non-existint to what I was looking for.

(Well well, it seems I have stumbled upon a pretty successful RP here, hello fellow members, I believe I've RPed with a few of you but this marks the first time I've tried something of this scope. simply put, I try to stay away from stuff that involves the supernatural, too many bad RPs in other places has given me disdain for such things, enter three days ago, when out of boredom, I scanned through the previous Blood moon RP and found that it was indeed, to my surprise, rather interesting, in fact I found it so awesome that I figured I'd throw my lot with the newer one.

And so without further ado, I give to you my character:

Player- WARORK93

Character- Syd Harlow

Race and clan/archetype- Werewolf/ Nrajah

Physical Description- Average height, about 6'3, strongly built, hard in body and countenance, unkempt mane of dark brown hair and rugged facial hair, grey eyes

Equipment/ clothes Wears: A black wide brimmed fedora, an old, brown duster, fingerless leather gloves, cargo pants, hunting boots, a black woolen shroud around his neck used to cover his face.

Weapons: two engraved schofield revolvers in leather holsters, an 1894 Winchester repeater, a sawn off double barrel shotgun, a large, silver, bowie knife

Backstory- Enter the American southwest, circa 1870, the wild west, The lawlessness, the wilderness, the supernatural.....Harlow grew up among the filth and scum of society, he became so averted to such beings that he felt compelled to combat them wherever he could find them. In doing so he became a Texas ranger and battled the criminal element for years on the frontier. His life was as normal as it could be for a lawman of those times but it was not destined to stay that way for long. Little did he know that one of the criminals he had so earnestly chased was an elusive hunter of the supernatural. He evaded Harlow for months and was finally lost to him after a long chase. This was not the end of the story, however, the hunter was also being chased by a pack of wolves and soon Harlow found himself in the middle of the battle between the two forces. Framed by the hunter, Harlow was beset by multiple wolves alone. When the smoke had cleared the only being left alive, though wounded and bloody, was Harlow. The victory was hollow, however, and to Harlow, worse than death. He was bitten and so cursed to be a monster for the rest of his life. Now, shunned by men, hunted by many, he travels alone, on the fringes of society, shunning his less than human form, a lost soul in a now larger than mortal life world. He was chased across the entire continental US and so, in a bid to escape his pursuers, now treks across Europe.

Other info: ---

Virtue- Lone wolf: As a result of his self imposed exile from society, Harlow is completely self sufficient and has learned how to survive by himself.

Vice- All alone: Because Harlow does not trust himself around other people, he is, by definition, a loner, and continuously shuns human contact.

Vehicle- A black Harley Rocker

Stats- WS-8/BS-3/S-7/T-7/W-3/I-6/A-4/SV-3+

Location- The countryside outside of Prague
Human:

Wolf:




Well, that about does it, although, I have to say, this is all new to me, and I hope I'm not already violating any rules by my entry, please let me know if something is askew. I'm going to admit, I've never really played with as stats system. But there is only one question I can think of asking right now:

Where is everyone getting these awesome pictures?)

Looks good WildHost...welcome aboard.

Welcome WARORK, glad you enjoyed the previous Blood Moon RP and hipe you enjoy taking part in this one.
To answer your question about the pictures, our own Sillyboy has been posting them up...I'm sure he'd be happy to make one for you.

Just noticing a lot of new "Hunters" have joined...going to make life interesting for the Vamps and Wolves.