More fiction.
Here is a character history I wrote for another Requiem game: Anton Mikhel Valnikov
Life's Blood
Dana and Jenna hurriedly climbed out of the taxi onto the damp cobblestoned walkway. "Come on, Jenna, we don't want to miss a thing!" Dana's coat rustled in the wind, the belt coming undone and flying open, revealing an outfit that she would never normally wear. The black leather and lace contrasted so greatly with their normal attire that Jenna tightened her grip on her own coat in embarassment. The cold New England wind sent chills up her spine.
"What makes you think they'll let us in, anyway?" Jenna whined, eyeing the dark shadows found in abundance. "This is the most exclusive club in New Haven. They've turned us down three times already." Dana just smirked and plodded on, treading down the unlit alley where the establishment's only door stood. Today was payday, and Dana could think of nothing better than telling the old stuffy boys club down at Yale how she got into Twilight's and they had to put up with the decrepit bars down Whitney Av.
They reached the line of people waiting to get inside the old warehouse that contained New Haven's best kept secret, and Dana dragged Jenna past them straight to the bouncer. He seemed to stand seven feet tall above the crowds, thick ropes of muscle threattening to tear his shirt open as they walked up to the black velvet rope that separated them from the club. Dana stepped forward, whispered in his ear, and slipped the $300 bribe in his pocket. Hope dazzled in her eyes and she prayed that this would finally be enough to get them in. He slid his thick finger down the front of her coat, opening it up and examining her like so much meat.
Jenna was now pawing at her arm, threattening to drag Dana away at any moment, but then the bouncer got a faraway look in his eyes, nodded, and let them in. The coat-check girl removed their extraneous clothing and smiled when she didn't have to pat them down. They headed in. Electric lights in wrought-iron gas-lamp fixtures lit the walls, which were painted a blue-gray, simulating fog and the night sky just after sunset. Stars twinkled overhead. The furniture in the various booths was warm, plush, and inviting, threattening to swallow you whole. The dance floor was black and reflective, stepping onto it reminded Dana of walking on a quiet pond at night. But this was no quiet night, the pounding Industrial beat of the far room permeated the Gothic ambience of this dance room, and her senses were flooded with more information than she could handle.
The Mekhet leaned against the wall, barely moving. His limp arm held a wine glass filled with the irridescent green of absinthe, it seemed to the casual observer that he had drank too much, but maybe he had simply forgotten he was pretending to drink it at all. His eyes were doing all the drinking. All the sounds, the pounding rhythm of the music, the heartbeat of the dancers, the lights and reflections of the objects, the faces and Auras of the Damned around him, he absorbed it all, studying it, seeking out its mysteries, finding the knowledge hidden within.
The Daeva was found passionately necking in a nearby booth. He kissed and pulled and teased his neighbors, drawing out the sensual pleasures found in each one. He pushed and prodded their passions, controlling, molding, shaping them, adding them to his repetoire of Vices to use against them later. He fed off their Lust, their passion, using them to stave off the hole in his dead heart left at the time of his Embrace. He replaced what he lacked in himself with what he found in them, casting them aside when he was finished, only to find himself empty yet again.
The Ventrue sat at a low table, on a sofa with his entourage all around him, his feet propped up and a fat cigar held at arm's length, smoldering uselessly onto an ashtray. He watched and commanded those around him, slavering fools begging for attention from their Lordly patron. His number, servants all, existed at his beck and call, following orders like butlers or Hounds. Businesses and laws lay spread out at his feet, he could destroy your corporation with a gesture of his hand, the prodding of his foot, or the embers of his cigar. He could make or break your reputation wherever you went with but a thought.
And off on the dance floor, the Gangrel danced, her passionate twirling entrancing those around her, like prey gathered to the dancing lights of a Predator. Her movements, animalistic, pulled from the fluidity of a creature unburdened by the thoughts of man, leaping, screaming, twisting and thrusting, she found her admirers drawn ever closer, her clawed hands tearing at their shirts, drawing blood from the pumping hearts and wounded skin of those around her, the pain exciting only deeper the pleasure inside them, the pull of her animal magnetism, the draw of her power, the snare of her trap.
Dana watched all this, confused and entertained and Enthralled by her surroundings. She had long since forgotten about that useless, ungrateful bitch Jenna, who was no doubt sucking dick in the bathroom or hiding her embarassing little head crying in the corner. She was absorbed, lost, unaware of her surroundings when the Nosferatu struck. He wrapped his arm around her, her scream stifled in her throat by the powerful hand clamping down on her mouth. His arms squeezed, the breath forced out of her, the bones pushing in, threattening to snap due to the pressure he put forth.
"I've been wanting you for too long, little thing," he rasped, his breath foul and his words cutting. "From the moment I opened your coat on the street to the time I told the bouncer to let you in...all the way back to when you first came here and I saw the look of embarassment and shame on your face. I knew you were the perfect Prey, little thing, and now you are mine." The pain from his crushing grasp, the void of breathlessness, and the panic of hearing such words were lost as he plunged his fangs into her neck, feeding on her fear, her pain, her confusion, and her blood. Her life's blood.
"What makes you think they'll let us in, anyway?" Jenna whined, eyeing the dark shadows found in abundance. "This is the most exclusive club in New Haven. They've turned us down three times already." Dana just smirked and plodded on, treading down the unlit alley where the establishment's only door stood. Today was payday, and Dana could think of nothing better than telling the old stuffy boys club down at Yale how she got into Twilight's and they had to put up with the decrepit bars down Whitney Av.
They reached the line of people waiting to get inside the old warehouse that contained New Haven's best kept secret, and Dana dragged Jenna past them straight to the bouncer. He seemed to stand seven feet tall above the crowds, thick ropes of muscle threattening to tear his shirt open as they walked up to the black velvet rope that separated them from the club. Dana stepped forward, whispered in his ear, and slipped the $300 bribe in his pocket. Hope dazzled in her eyes and she prayed that this would finally be enough to get them in. He slid his thick finger down the front of her coat, opening it up and examining her like so much meat.
Jenna was now pawing at her arm, threattening to drag Dana away at any moment, but then the bouncer got a faraway look in his eyes, nodded, and let them in. The coat-check girl removed their extraneous clothing and smiled when she didn't have to pat them down. They headed in. Electric lights in wrought-iron gas-lamp fixtures lit the walls, which were painted a blue-gray, simulating fog and the night sky just after sunset. Stars twinkled overhead. The furniture in the various booths was warm, plush, and inviting, threattening to swallow you whole. The dance floor was black and reflective, stepping onto it reminded Dana of walking on a quiet pond at night. But this was no quiet night, the pounding Industrial beat of the far room permeated the Gothic ambience of this dance room, and her senses were flooded with more information than she could handle.
The Mekhet leaned against the wall, barely moving. His limp arm held a wine glass filled with the irridescent green of absinthe, it seemed to the casual observer that he had drank too much, but maybe he had simply forgotten he was pretending to drink it at all. His eyes were doing all the drinking. All the sounds, the pounding rhythm of the music, the heartbeat of the dancers, the lights and reflections of the objects, the faces and Auras of the Damned around him, he absorbed it all, studying it, seeking out its mysteries, finding the knowledge hidden within.
The Daeva was found passionately necking in a nearby booth. He kissed and pulled and teased his neighbors, drawing out the sensual pleasures found in each one. He pushed and prodded their passions, controlling, molding, shaping them, adding them to his repetoire of Vices to use against them later. He fed off their Lust, their passion, using them to stave off the hole in his dead heart left at the time of his Embrace. He replaced what he lacked in himself with what he found in them, casting them aside when he was finished, only to find himself empty yet again.
The Ventrue sat at a low table, on a sofa with his entourage all around him, his feet propped up and a fat cigar held at arm's length, smoldering uselessly onto an ashtray. He watched and commanded those around him, slavering fools begging for attention from their Lordly patron. His number, servants all, existed at his beck and call, following orders like butlers or Hounds. Businesses and laws lay spread out at his feet, he could destroy your corporation with a gesture of his hand, the prodding of his foot, or the embers of his cigar. He could make or break your reputation wherever you went with but a thought.
And off on the dance floor, the Gangrel danced, her passionate twirling entrancing those around her, like prey gathered to the dancing lights of a Predator. Her movements, animalistic, pulled from the fluidity of a creature unburdened by the thoughts of man, leaping, screaming, twisting and thrusting, she found her admirers drawn ever closer, her clawed hands tearing at their shirts, drawing blood from the pumping hearts and wounded skin of those around her, the pain exciting only deeper the pleasure inside them, the pull of her animal magnetism, the draw of her power, the snare of her trap.
Dana watched all this, confused and entertained and Enthralled by her surroundings. She had long since forgotten about that useless, ungrateful bitch Jenna, who was no doubt sucking dick in the bathroom or hiding her embarassing little head crying in the corner. She was absorbed, lost, unaware of her surroundings when the Nosferatu struck. He wrapped his arm around her, her scream stifled in her throat by the powerful hand clamping down on her mouth. His arms squeezed, the breath forced out of her, the bones pushing in, threattening to snap due to the pressure he put forth.
"I've been wanting you for too long, little thing," he rasped, his breath foul and his words cutting. "From the moment I opened your coat on the street to the time I told the bouncer to let you in...all the way back to when you first came here and I saw the look of embarassment and shame on your face. I knew you were the perfect Prey, little thing, and now you are mine." The pain from his crushing grasp, the void of breathlessness, and the panic of hearing such words were lost as he plunged his fangs into her neck, feeding on her fear, her pain, her confusion, and her blood. Her life's blood.
New Haven Register: Suicide at Saint Mary's
November 7th, 2004, New Haven:
The body of pedophile priest Father John Mulligan was found today as Parishoners began preparing St. Mary's Church for normal services. Accusations had fallen that he had molested several children over his decades of otherwise stellar service to the Church. The Suicide, obvious from the direction of the bulletwound and the nature of the material scattered about the room, deeply shocked Tom Willard, the deacon.
The body of pedophile priest Father John Mulligan was found today as Parishoners began preparing St. Mary's Church for normal services. Accusations had fallen that he had molested several children over his decades of otherwise stellar service to the Church. The Suicide, obvious from the direction of the bulletwound and the nature of the material scattered about the room, deeply shocked Tom Willard, the deacon.
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tired
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Introduction: A World of Darkness
Alice sighed and put the pizza box down. The kitchen trash was now ridiculously overful, and she knew her boyfriend wouldn't be taking it out to the trash cans any time soon. She opened a new bag and filled it with the chinese takeout cartons, the pizza boxes, the burrito wrappers, and couldn't help but wonder about the last time they had cooked dinner.
She banged the back door open, carrying her two bulging sacks of garbage, and tried to open the trash can with her pinky finger. She dropped the bags and grabbed the lid, and only noticed then that it had been torn open. There was a deep gouge in the metal can, aluminum shreds torn to scraps about it. There was also a man lying on the ground, moaning in pain.
"I...you...Stay Back!" was all she could stammer, and he just grimaced with pain.
"Don't worry, darlin,' I'll be on my way," he was able to groan out, as he rolled over, revealing a bloodied gash in his side. Her concern for herself opened up momentarily, and she offered him help, but he just shook his head.
"Don't be ridiculous! I'm calling the Paramedics," she let out as she ran back in, dialing 9-1-1 and calling aid for the man. When she went back outside, he was gone...
It was the police, not the paramedics, that answered her 9-1-1 call. "Evening, ma'am, we received a report of a bleeding man and some 'claw marks' in your driveway, is that correct?"
Alice was confused, but responded. "Yes, he was injured, so I called for an ambulance. Is something wrong?"
The police officers loomed and their tone of voice grew dark. "Are you aware of the penalties for aiding a wanted criminal?" She missed the threats in his voice and continued to protest that she was only seeking medical aid for a wounded man. "Have you had any dealings with this man before? We may need to take you in for questioning..."
She was on the verge of denying everything when alarum sounded on their radios calling all available units to a nearby street. She didn't hesitate to not tell them that the nearby street was just over the fence behind her house.
She strained to listen for activity beneath the wail of the sirens, but all she could hear was gunfire. She went to sleep clenching her eyes shut and covering her head with a pillow...
In the months that followed, she found herself clipping newspaper articles. Anything about a missing person, a disappearance, an All Points Bulletin, vandalism, animal attacks, would catch her attention. She gathered it all, trying to piece together what was going on - who that man was and why the Police were so hostile to her.
Sometimes she thought about burning her notebooks, and sometimes she did. But eventually, she always heard someone or something crashing out by the trash cans and she would grab her flashlight - and her gun, and investigate - try to find a clue to satisfy the growing doubt that she had the slightest clue about what was going on in the World.
This is the World of Darkness. Terrible things loom behind every corner, and the shadows conceal only more shadows. A little bit of knowledge shatters a world of ignorance, and the constant unknowing doubt may be your undoing. But you cannot go back. You cannot unlearn what you have learned, you cannot suppress the curiosity that consumes you.
There is no leaving Wonderland, Alice. There is no blue pill.
She banged the back door open, carrying her two bulging sacks of garbage, and tried to open the trash can with her pinky finger. She dropped the bags and grabbed the lid, and only noticed then that it had been torn open. There was a deep gouge in the metal can, aluminum shreds torn to scraps about it. There was also a man lying on the ground, moaning in pain.
"I...you...Stay Back!" was all she could stammer, and he just grimaced with pain.
"Don't worry, darlin,' I'll be on my way," he was able to groan out, as he rolled over, revealing a bloodied gash in his side. Her concern for herself opened up momentarily, and she offered him help, but he just shook his head.
"Don't be ridiculous! I'm calling the Paramedics," she let out as she ran back in, dialing 9-1-1 and calling aid for the man. When she went back outside, he was gone...
It was the police, not the paramedics, that answered her 9-1-1 call. "Evening, ma'am, we received a report of a bleeding man and some 'claw marks' in your driveway, is that correct?"
Alice was confused, but responded. "Yes, he was injured, so I called for an ambulance. Is something wrong?"
The police officers loomed and their tone of voice grew dark. "Are you aware of the penalties for aiding a wanted criminal?" She missed the threats in his voice and continued to protest that she was only seeking medical aid for a wounded man. "Have you had any dealings with this man before? We may need to take you in for questioning..."
She was on the verge of denying everything when alarum sounded on their radios calling all available units to a nearby street. She didn't hesitate to not tell them that the nearby street was just over the fence behind her house.
She strained to listen for activity beneath the wail of the sirens, but all she could hear was gunfire. She went to sleep clenching her eyes shut and covering her head with a pillow...
In the months that followed, she found herself clipping newspaper articles. Anything about a missing person, a disappearance, an All Points Bulletin, vandalism, animal attacks, would catch her attention. She gathered it all, trying to piece together what was going on - who that man was and why the Police were so hostile to her.
Sometimes she thought about burning her notebooks, and sometimes she did. But eventually, she always heard someone or something crashing out by the trash cans and she would grab her flashlight - and her gun, and investigate - try to find a clue to satisfy the growing doubt that she had the slightest clue about what was going on in the World.
This is the World of Darkness. Terrible things loom behind every corner, and the shadows conceal only more shadows. A little bit of knowledge shatters a world of ignorance, and the constant unknowing doubt may be your undoing. But you cannot go back. You cannot unlearn what you have learned, you cannot suppress the curiosity that consumes you.
There is no leaving Wonderland, Alice. There is no blue pill.
New Haven Register: Midnight Swim Turns Deadly
October 25, 2004, New Haven:
The bodies of Steven Marsh, Accountant, and David Nicholson, Advertising Consultant, were found washed ashore at Criscuolo Park this morning. Evidence found at the site suggested that the two were involved in a homosexual aquatic fantasy when they hit their heads on the rocks and drowned. Investigators reported finding "Pornography, prophylactics, and bottled water. And you know what that means."
Psychologists at Yale University reported that while homosexual suicide rates are down, dangerous nighttime activity is still quite high. The Director of the Center for Homosexual Study had the following comment: "The lifestyle of the average homosexual is still quite dangerous. We urge all of these people to seek counseling in order to deal with their emotions in a safe manner." For more information, dial 1-800-9-NOT-GAY.
The bodies of Steven Marsh, Accountant, and David Nicholson, Advertising Consultant, were found washed ashore at Criscuolo Park this morning. Evidence found at the site suggested that the two were involved in a homosexual aquatic fantasy when they hit their heads on the rocks and drowned. Investigators reported finding "Pornography, prophylactics, and bottled water. And you know what that means."
Psychologists at Yale University reported that while homosexual suicide rates are down, dangerous nighttime activity is still quite high. The Director of the Center for Homosexual Study had the following comment: "The lifestyle of the average homosexual is still quite dangerous. We urge all of these people to seek counseling in order to deal with their emotions in a safe manner." For more information, dial 1-800-9-NOT-GAY.
New Haven Register: Fatal Accident on I-95
October 24, 2004, New Haven:
A three car pileup blocked most of I-95 Eastbound last night shortly after sunset. Witnesses reported a bright flash of light followed immediately by a collision between two nondescript four-door sedans. One driver was pronounced dead on the scene, a victim of severe burns and smoke inhalation from what is presumed to be ignited gasoline. His passenger was evacuated by helicopter to Yale New Haven Hospital for treatment. The persons in the other car were injured but not severely.
A third car collided in the rear of the accident, but its passengers were unharmed. Transportation Officials had the following comment: "There were drugs and alcohol found in one of the vehicles, so this isn't really a surprise. But still, if they had been driving a big, safe SUV, I think everyone would have survived. This is truly a tragedy."
A three car pileup blocked most of I-95 Eastbound last night shortly after sunset. Witnesses reported a bright flash of light followed immediately by a collision between two nondescript four-door sedans. One driver was pronounced dead on the scene, a victim of severe burns and smoke inhalation from what is presumed to be ignited gasoline. His passenger was evacuated by helicopter to Yale New Haven Hospital for treatment. The persons in the other car were injured but not severely.
A third car collided in the rear of the accident, but its passengers were unharmed. Transportation Officials had the following comment: "There were drugs and alcohol found in one of the vehicles, so this isn't really a surprise. But still, if they had been driving a big, safe SUV, I think everyone would have survived. This is truly a tragedy."
